#even though it's difficult not to for abled people in single households too

[confused-stars]

as someone who was raised in a very environmentally conscious household, one of the hardest things about learning to navigate my disabilities has been accepting that...

sometimes you have to put your own well-being before the environment.

it's fine to buy pre-packaged foods if you're unable to cook for yourself for any reason, and the alternative would just be... not eating. it's fine to run the dishwasher twice if you can't do dishes by hand and they're stacking up to the ceiling. it's fine to not separate all your trash if you're overwhelmed by the sheer amount that's accumulated. it's fine to use any kind of plastic product if it's the most accessible option for you.

i feel guilty about doing all of this stuff on the regular, even though i know that abled standards shouldn't be applied to me

[warcats-cat]

IT'S READING LIST TIME!!

At least, the first reading list. Hopefully there will be more. ☺️

You can find more details about the rally here! Please join us and share some more fanfics you love from smaller creators//people who need some extra love!

House of Tarot Cards @lickoutyourbrains // FlowerMeat on Ao3

Remus Crowley has fallen victim to a legion of demons, his body and soul now possessed. Though all six residents of the lonely household on Lorre way are well practiced in occult magics, only Patton Stoker had experience with exorcisms. It’s such a shame that past experience had all but destroyed his belief that he can help.

To Rebuild A Home; @a-valourous-choice

After a horrific event rips his family apart, Patton decides to move himself and his children back to his hometown. His youngest son Thomas adjusts quickly but his eldest Virgil, harboring resentment towards his father and full of self loathing, has a much more difficult time. Despite their close proximity, Patton and Virgil have never been more distant from each other but perhaps with some help from friends - both old and new - the Sanders boys will learn that recovery can be a family affair. And just maybe they're not as alone in their grief as they believe.

Starving; LadyoftheWoods (Ao3)

Patton was dying.

Not that anyone else knew it, of course, no, he didn’t want to be a hassle! The others had to deal with his drama enough as it is. They didn’t need to know.

They didn’t know.

It was a wonder, that no one else seemed able to see it, not even Janus, though part of him hoped against hope that someone would.

The other part of him prayed to god they didn’t.

He didn’t know anything anymore, much less how to fix this. How to stop it.

He just knew he ached.

His chest, his heart, ached, like it was cracking in two. Maybe it was, figures of speech sometimes got taken a little too literally by Thomas's head, who’s to say heartbreak wasn’t one of them?

Not him. He’d done enough talking, when he didn’t even know what he was saying, to begin with.

If We're Still Single In An Hour; @fangirltothefullest

Roman and Patton are probably the two most oblivious people in the entire town, or at least that's what everyone around them thinks. The two have been pining after each other for an eternity, but neither of them have realized. At Virgil and Logan's wedding, the two forget to bring the cake for the after party and have to go fetch it. Fate Herself takes one look at these oblivious gays and decides to take matters into her own hands. After all, they're made for each other, and they're the only ones that haven't figured that out yet.

Or: The Royality Shenanigans fic based off of a tumblr text post where they're both in love and deserve each other so badly but are too silly to see it.

Where the Lovestruck Bleeds; @fangirltothefullest

Mr. Remus Princeton, soul of a dark poet and heart shielded with years of sorrow, had lost so much in his common man's life. What little he had, he gave so that his brother could flourish. But for the first time in his life, Remus wanted something that society said he must never have: Deep dark eyes and hair as black as the depths of the sea and uncommonly long, Mr. Logan Blackthorne enthralled him with his mystery and allure the moment he laid eyes upon him at the gathering he was attending for the sake of this brother. How could a man of such standing see him in a sea of better prospects and willingly pursue him?

Mr. Roman Princeton on the other hand, could light up a room just by flouncing into it. He was a delight and all manner of young ladies swooned for him and pined after the artist's affections. But his world was turned asunder when the notable Monsieur Janus D'Ambroise took a shine to his talents. Surely his life and Remus' were about to change drastically and all for the better. They were moving up in the world and right into the mystery and delights of romance and decadence he had long since dreamed of!

Why then, was Remus so disinclined to follow?

Taking Flight; @practically-an-x-man

(Non-TS but so good please read it!!!!)

Fandom: Fablehaven

American kestrel: Falco sparverius, also known as the sparrow hawk, grasshopper hawk, or killy hawk. A species of small, carnivorous falcon native to the Americas. Kestrels are incredibly effective and aggressive hunters despite their small size. They are largely solitary birds, though they form strong pair-bonds and often mate for life. Their widely varied diet and adaptable nesting conditions make them well-suited to a variety of habitats. But this story is not about kestrels.

My Stuff Because I'm Running It Solo And I Can Do What I Want:

The Long Road Home

Ship: LAMP Some say childhood friendships don't last. Others say they're forever. For Patton Bunker, they're life-saving. Virgil Wraith is happy enough to leave his past behind him; left forgotten like the scared little orphan he used to be. He's happy now; he has a steady job (sort of), two loving boyfriends, and he gets to travel as much as he wants. Being a consort to Prince Roman has good perks. But he remembers the injustices he saw. And when he sees his past haunting him from the horizon, he doesn't hesitate. This time, he can stop the pain.

Talking, Whether You Want To Or Not

Ship: Loceit Roman and Remus have plans to help their friends finally talk about their feelings. Remus does not follow the plan.

Crumbling

Being a good friend is hard. Its scary. It takes a lot of work. Patton often felt himself trying desperately to balance the line between doting dad-friend and clingy nuisance. It didn't help that there was an extra voice in his head these days, pointing out all the ways he had already failed. And then he finally pushed another friend too far. His smile was starting to shatter at the edges.

[juriyuna]

every now and then, i'll see someone ask if magireco would ever broach the topic of teen pregnancy, since it has covered several other difficult real-world issues before. and maybe my brain has been milled into a fine dust but i always think about how this would be an interesting struggle to explore with yuna (and by extension, juri)

yuna's anger, trauma, and constant dehumanization of herself making her feel unfit for motherhood; terrified that she'll end up hurting her child, too... man. we know how protective yuna is of her own from how much she dotes on the girls in her gang, but this love is also part of what makes her suicidal-- she's so scared that the blood on her hands will stain everything she touches.

torn between loving her daughter and feeling that the kindest thing to do would be to give her up to a "normal" household... yuna would want the best for her baby, but she'd be worried that she wouldn't be able to provide that herself. after all, no amount of love can change the fact that she's an oni. would it be cruel to the child to have a monster for a parent? does she even deserve to raise something so innocent, after everything she's done? yuna isn't sure.

then there's the scandal that could spark once the public inevitably learns that the mayor's daughter (and torayamachi's respectable student council president) is pregnant at just 17-18. hasn't even graduated yet and she's having a kid with some low-class delinquent girl. [🐉]

some people would take the news alright- yuna's got a few friends at school who would have her back- but others would definitely start spreading some unsavoury rumours about her. she and hikaru can only do so much damage control, and they'd be powerless on the political front.

(not that yuna would necessarily care how it affects her father's reputation, since she started attending torayamachi academy to spite him, but regardless, i imagine it would only add to the reasons her parents would be less than thrilled about the pregnancy.)

... there's also how young and frail yuna is (higher risk of something going wrong), and the fact that she's a magical girl. she can't fight like this; she'd need others to provide her with grief seeds. it's not like she's leaving all of the fighting to her friends out of laziness or anything, but she'd probably feel like a leech for it. (she'd probably also have to tell hikaru not to push herself too hard; girl would be farming seeds for yuna like there's no tomorrow)

even if this was after the doppel system went global, nobody knows how doppeling could affect expecting mothers. yuna would be devastated if she lost her baby. the idea of her own flesh and blood becoming yet another person she tried and failed to protect would be soul-crushing.

juri's father would take the news alright. he might chew juri out for being irresponsible (even though he knows he's the pot calling the kettle black here), but his biggest hangup would probably be that he's gonna be called "grandpa" when he's not even 40 lmao

juri herself... she loves her family more than anything. family is the reason why she made her wish, and why she busts her chops trying to stay in school. she'd be a great dad!! but she would also be so scared of how her "sickness" could fuck everything up. what if she ends up snapping at her kid and ruining their relationship? what if she gets tangled up in something nasty and it drags their whole family down? what if her kid inherits her "sickness" and struggles with life just as much as she does? it's a lot to wrestle with...

juri would stay in spite of her anxiety, of course. she doesn't wanna cause yuna even more trouble, and she also knows from her own dad that being a single parent is Really Fucking Hard. besides, she's too much of a family man to up and ditch yuna and their (eventual) daughter like that.

(on that note, i like the idea of juri being way more protective of yuna than necessary during the pregnancy. keeps fussing over her to the point that she gets concerned and outright asks juri if something is wrong, haha.)

it's a bit cheesy, but man. something about the contrast of two girls who had planned on killing themselves because of all of the death and suffering they'd caused creating a new life... idk insert some smart-sounding allegory for hope and starting over here i love that stuff

juriyuna as teen parents is just. it's so thematically perfect to me. it covers the whole range from painful to bittersweet to heartwarming, and it would be a really interesting conflict for their characters to have to contend with.

[passionforfiction]

Feud: Bette and Joan

This is another series recommended by my brother. Feud: Bette and Joan is based on real-life people and events. Bette Davis and Joan Crawford were big starts in the 20th century. And everyone in the industry knew they didn't like each other. This series looks at them from the point they worked on the only movie they starred together (What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?) up to Crawford's passing.

The 8 episode long series gives us so much more than just a feud between actresses, it gives a glimpse at how hard it was for women to succeed in the film industry in general, it hints at the cruelty of the business too, not just to women but to anyone really. It also gives a glance to the lives of these women off screen. No one really knows why they hated each other so much, but based on what the series gives us, I really think that they were alike in many ways. They mirrored each other's pain, fears and ambitions. Joan and Bette were fighters, they used different methods to achieve their goals, they placed value on different things but they survived because they were fighters and masters of their own art.

Here we have two women who married four times and got divorced that many times. We have two women who had very difficult relationships with their children. Bette's daughter and Joan's eldest adopted child wrote memoirs depicting them as horrible mothers. They relied on alcohol and smoking a lot too. They had to prove themselves still film material once they hit a certain age because the men in the industry didn't believe people wanted to see older women on starring roles. They were played by journalists, producers and directors who wanted to nurture their feud just to keep people interested on the film. I think they could have become cordial at least if they had been left alone. . .

It was sad to see how Joan adopted children so she wouldn't feel lonely and once her twins were older, she was denied the chance to adopt another child because of her age and the fact that she was divorced. And I'm not saying she was in a place in her life where she would have been a great mother; I'm saying that the adopting process then and now is so hard for people that want to be parents and want to give children a home. I do agree the screening needs to be careful, we don't want to send children into abusive households, but why be so old fashion to say a single person can't be an excellent parent, for example?

It frustrated me to see, Pauline work her ass off as Bob's assistant and when she has the courage to show her script and express her desire to direct it, she is turned down - not just by men- but also by women. The culture and men-dominated ideas so ingrained on people 's minds that Joan wouldn't agree to be in Pauline's movie. And Bob, who knew she had the potential, he just brushed her off saying he would support her and then showed his true colors. I was glad to know that later on she moved on to documentaries and there she was able to spread her wings. I would have liked to know what happened to her when we got a little summary of what happened to some of the main people in the series. She was a big part of the story but they didn't give us more information on her. It made me wonder if she was even real or just a fictional character.

I was also fascinated by Mamacita. She was a strong woman and very smart too. She was a friend to Joan and a caregiver too. I liked the scene when she tells Pauline to not lose hope, that at some point the industry would have to start targeting the female population with stories about them, written and made by them. This industry made by men it is still hard for women to break through barriers, though now we do see more representation in the background scenes.

Even though this is a fictionalized representation of real-life, the fact remains, these were hard times for people of the old age in the film industry. Bob also had it hard as a director and was insulted constantly and treated as less then a person. Warner was trying so hard to remain in the race trying to catch up with the popular genres and the likes. . . People in the industry give up their personal and family lives for a profession where they are disposed off once they reach a certain age. It is still so true, actors and actress don't get good, juicy roles offered to them after they hit a certain age and they have to be picky about it. They last longer as directors, writers and so on.

I must say that the cast who portrayed these people did an spectacular job.

I liked the series and recommend it.

[dallasareaopinion]

What can we learn from Tim Gurner’s foot in the mouth moment?

Yes, post his infamous statement that workers need to feel pain and know they work for the employer, Mr. Gurner has made some contrite statements, but let’s be honest he meant it.

I looked up his business and apparently it is in high end real estate. This can be an industry with serious ups and downs so maybe he is feeling a pinch. I did not look up the company’s financials.

I did decide to look at this here in the United States because are workers better off nowadays, are billionaires better off nowadays or what gives. I am not making any comparisons, but am going to lay out one of the bigger problems facing the middle class and why Tim Gurner’s comments are even worse than you think.

I am going to use one company’s financial information to spell out a very simplistic example of how things could be a bit better for the average Joe if we quit buying into the large corporation’s hyperbole about their needs. Now with any major endeavor details are important. This is a 30,000 foot view of the problem using one company, but I honestly feel it shows that workers aren’t the financial problem executives want you to think. I am not going to identify the company, but based on the information I gleaned from internet searches, articles and financials published you might be able to guess. One hint I am giving you for fun is this is one of the liberal tax the billionaires bugaboos.

And I do believe in capitalism, but what we have nowadays isn’t necessarily constructive or productive capitalism. With the wealth gap expanding we are moving away from a society that offers opportunity to many, a strong middle class and is encouraging an elitist class that is doing more harm than good by hoarding wealth. That is another post and one I touched on recently, yet there is much more to this.

For now though, let’s look at this overview example of one company.

First the median household income in the United States is $98,487 according to Nasdaq.com. Now it did not say if this was for a family of four or the family size, but it did compare it to the poverty level of a family of four being $29,960.00. And $98,000 may not sound too bad if this is where half the people make more and half the people make less, yet make note it does say median household income or another words there are many families with multiple earners to achieve this $98,000 figure which is borne out by the fact that the average yearly income of a single earner is $56,940.00 ($1,095/week) as per the Bureau of Labor Statistics.

The company I am using is for my example has a net worth of 433 billion dollars so this isn’t the average size company, but is one of the leaders in increasing the wealth gap. It derives income from various endeavors. One endeavor has 4700 locations where you can find employees that are paid at hourly rates. It was difficult finding a headcount for employees for each location. I found one statistic from 2015 for an average of 6.5. I have to think that has changed since then and so I am just about doubling that number to use in my example.

I did find that there are around four job descriptions that had hourly rates and the average nationally was a bit over $18, yet I am going to use $20 for my calculations. So, as you can see I am expanding the headcount and increasing the beginning number so you can see that these numbers will be generous to the company’s viewpoint when expenses are calculated.

At this point we have 4,700 locations times 12 staff members and not all maybe hourly, but am using this headcount since any salary employees are entry level salary so they are just as impacted as the hourly wage earners in some regards.

So 4,700 times 12 = 56,400 potential hourly workers in a front line role. And with each person making $20 hour that equates to $1,128,000 just to pay all these people for one hour. And on top of that there are other expenses in having employees such as payroll employees, human resources employees, benefits, employer social security tax costs, so to get to this one million plus you have to realize this expense example is not the full picture, yet if these individuals were given a direct raise the social security taxes and the benefits would probably be what is directly impacted along with the actual raise. Payroll and human resource costs aren’t directly affected by hourly raises except all these employees may want a raise too.

Where does this lead? You have $1,128,000 hourly rate times 40 hours = $45,120,000.00 now times 52  weeks = $2,346,240,000. Yes, you are reading that correctly. For this company to have 4700 locations the direct labor cost is over 2 billion dollars and that is for $20 per hour. So how can we help these $20 workers? That is quite a bit of money to pay the employees. I say give them at least a five dollar per hour raise. And not only that we are going to calculate the increase at $8 hour to account for the other expenses the raise creates.

Now plug into the equation above a $8 increase so 56,400 times 8 =$451,200.00 times 40 hours + $18,048,000.00 times 52 weeks = $938,496,000. That is almost another billion dollars. And let’s go back in and add the $3 cost I included for the raise to the original numbers and you have 56,400 times 3=4169,200.00 times 40 = $6,768,000.00 times 52 = $351,936,000.00.

So a rough labor estimate for our 4700 locations to give our workers a five dollar raise is $2,346,240,000 plus $938,496,000 plus $351,936,000 equals $3,636,672,000.00. How can any company afford to give their employees a raise? And this raise only brings the hourly workers to $25 times 40 times 52 equals $52,000 per year, yet isn’t that less than the average income? Yep it is.

What gives you might ask. That extra almost 1 billion dollars (the original labor amount was already calculated in the previous year’s budget) to bring their employees to almost the average income affects the company how? The company’s new worth is over 400 billion, last year’s net income was 37.49 billion so this incredibly expensive $5 hour raise cost the company 1/37th of their net income.

This is just one company and a very large public one at that, but when you hear someone say employees need to feel the pain, it is time to start asking when do they feel the relief?

A pretax income of $52,000 divided by 12 = $4,333.33 with average rent of $1702, average food cost $470, transportation costs range from $400 to a $1,000 a month, and remember the 4,333 is before taxes and probably healthcare insurance is deducted from their paycheck so exactly how are workers making ends meet, yet the CEO for this company enjoyed over $34 million in compensation last year and is worth 1.7 billion.

Yes, Mr. Gurner some people need to feel some pain, but workers? They have felt theirs for decades.

#wealth gap

#worker's pay

[anotherdayforchaosfay]

TFW your anxiety is so high you can barely function beyond getting outta bed.

I wanna finish my current quilt project so I can start on the next one. I have a dr appointment on Thursday that will make walking excruciatingly painful for several days thereafter. Sewing will not be doable because my feet will be in too much pain.

DO NOT SEND ADVICE!!!! I have been dealing with this every two weeks for nearly two months. Your advice WILL NOT HELP so keep that shit to yourself.

If you wanna help, as in meaningful help that does make a difference and won't make me angry or distressed, here's an option.

What has me stressed tf out?

Finances - we are single income household because I'm Disabled. I receive $877/month. Once a month, not weekly. Any other money I bring in is via donations or selling my quilts. This makes saving money extremely difficult, especially with the false scarcity creating bullshit price inflation.

Sleeping alone - our mattress cause my husband excruciating pain. He has been sleeping on a sofa since January because of this. I wake up in pain as well, but not as bad as what he's had to deal with. I also cannot sleep on a sofa because it's SO MUCH WORSE. Sleeping alone means my husband will not be able to feel when I'm seizing in my sleep nor will he be able to pull me out of the seizure because he's in another room, totally unaware. Baby monitors will not work because I make no sound aside from pushing all the air outta my lungs and grunting. My risk of SUDEP is extremely high because of this.

Saving for a new mattress - the money we had saved had to be used for bills and groceries. Currently the mattress we want/need is 75% off, putting it at $805. We cannot afford a monthly payment because we're still paying off vet bills and our water heater (the other one broke because it was 20 years old).

See the dilemma?

All I need and want right now is for people to buy the things I've made. I even made a coupon code, SLEEPCOMFY. It's gonna reduce how much I receive, but something is better than nothing right now.

On top of this, I have chronic medical fuckery that is finally being addressed. I couldn't do the two weak heart monitor thing though, because of my allergic reaction to the adhesive. They gave me hypoallergenic electrodes, but they still gave me a rash. It took only a few hours for thr itching to start, and 36 hours before I couldn't tolerate it anymore. Yeah, I developed hives. There is no other way to see what my heart is doing as I go about my day. This will make determining if i have POTS extremely difficult.

Then there's the other issue I've been dealing with for more than three years now, and has me extremely stressed, resentful, and angry. No, I will nor share wtf it is other than this: if someone says to get a specific product but the store doesn't have it, do not substitute it with something else. If the product has changed, call or text the person who sent you to buy the thing. Don't assume and then get upset because when shit goes sideways. I'm still dealing with this fuckery!!!

Good parts of my day? It's cloudy, humidity is up, and it's below 80 F; these will help control the wildfires. The air isn't as smoky, but I still can't breathe if I open any windows. The housenis stuffy, especially the bedroom. My husband started using a prescription pain med yesterday, one safe for folks without a gall bladder and is diabetes-friendly. He woke up feeling much better than he has in months. I made a necessary phone call and scheduled an appointment that is very much needed.

[slasherhaven]

how would the slashers be when they have a crush on there future s/o and when the s/o breaks up with there boyfriend/girlfriend? the slashers and s/o are friends, so the s/o goes to them crying/ to be comforted telling them what happen, how would the slashers react?

The Slashers reacting to their Future S/O coming to them for comfort after ending their current relationship:

Thomas Hewitt

As soon as you finished speaking with you partner, now ex-partner, you headed to the Hewitt household because you needed to see Thomas. He always made you feel better.

You knocked on the door and Luda May let you in, seeing the tears in your eyes. You’ve known the family for so long that she considers you family, she offers to talk to you and make you something to drink but you just told her that you were there to see Thomas. She understands and tells you where he is.

When Thomas sees you, he knows that something is wrong and is instantly worried.

You just sighed, hurrying over to him and wrapping your arms around him. He instantly returned your hug, holding you and letting you cry if you needed too.

He will listen to you talk about what happened, wanting to know everything, wanting to help you anyway he can.

He hates them. He hates them for hurting you. But he quickly forgets about them, focusing on you once again. You’re what’s important.

Thomas knows that he loves you but he had accepted that you were with somebody else. You were his best friend, his only friend, and you meant the world to him.

He absolutely means it when he tells you that you’re the best thing that they would ever have and that you would find somebody who realises that. 

Maybe that was the moment that you truly saw what had been in front of you this whole time, that Thomas was the one who thought you were the best thing he had ever seen, the person who would appreciate you how you deserved.

Michael Myers 

How you ended up befriending Michael Myers is a mystery. You were probably childhood friends and he must trust you a whole lot to be okay with you having a normal social life.

Still, he is your friend who has been dealing with some very confusing romantic feelings for you, so he is extremely protective of you.

When you come home teary eyed, he assumes somebody hurt you and is furious. Not that you could tell unless you noticed the clenching of his fists.

You just blurt it out when you see him. “We broke up!” he wasn’t expecting that...

He could....kill them for you? Oh, you don’t want that? And you’re quick to tell him that you don’t want him to kill them because you knew what he was thinking as soon as he moved towards the door.

Michael is just silent so you can only guess he is listening as you talk, telling him that it was for the best.

He’s not going to make a move to comfort you, but his presence is kind of comforting, at least to you. He was there to protect you and he was, seemingly, listening.

In the end, Michael didn’t really know what to do but you seemed satisfied with just having him around when you were upset. So...he just stayed while you worked through it.

Jason Voorhees 

You spent as much time with Jason as you could but you still had a life outside of the abandoned camp and he understood that. You were his friend and he didn’t want to take that away from you.

He loved your visits and hearing about your life, it was a bit of normalcy for him. He is nearly completely selfless when it comes to you, he would do anything for you, and despite his growing feelings for you he listened to you talk about your partner and supported you.

Jason was overjoyed when he saw you approaching his cabin, always glad to see you, but he quickly became concerned when he saw the sadness on your face. Something had happened...

He’s quick to approach you, greeting you and asking if you’re alright.

He’s comforted you before over things, but he was still a little surprised when you just hugged him, telling him everything.

He’d hold you without a single complaint, and he would listen to everything you had to say.

Of course he welcomes you into the cabin, ready to help in whatever way he can. If you want something to eat or drink, he’ll get it, he’s been keeping better food around since you started visiting. He would also get you a blanket just to make you comfortable.

You would probably stay at the cabin that night with Jason, he was your best friend and he always made you feel better. You wouldn’t want to be anywhere else after having a bad day.

Brahms Heelshire

You and Brahms had an agreement. You would stay after discovering the truth but you had to be able to have a normal life. 

He is an incredibly jealous person but you were the best thing to enter his life in a very long time, as long as your partner never came into the house he could try to look past it.

He knew it was wrong and he actually felt bad about it but he was glad that you and your partner had broken up. Now he could finally have you all to himself.

But how sad you looked when you returned home just made his heart ache for you.

Despite you and Brahms having grown very close, you didn’t expect a sympathetic reaction when you told him about the break up. 

You knew he was jealous, that he had a crush on you (he wasn’t good at hiding it), and you thought he would be happy.

However, you were pleasantly surprised when Brahms innocently pulled you into an embrace. “I’m sorry, Y/n” he touched the lips of his mask to the top of your head before stroking your hair.

It wasn’t what you expected but you were grateful for it, tightening the hug as you buried your face in his chest, glad for the comfort.

He can be surprising comforting, holding you and reassuring you. He’s very honest with his opinions, saying that they didn’t deserve you, that you are too good for them, and that you belong here with him.

And, well, it was difficult to disagree as you made yourself comforting on the couch as he held you.

Bo Sinclair

As soon as you walked into the house, Bo was about to come and greet you with a flirty comment and a smirk but stopped when he saw your face. You looked upset.

He didn’t falter too much, asking you what happened. Then you told him that you and your partner had broken up, and you came right here.

Even though you had made it clear that you had been in a relationship and just his friend, Bo enjoyed flirting with you.

But now, for once, he wasn’t flirting. He let out a sigh and started to act more seriously.

“C’mere darlin’” Bo’s voice was surprisingly soft as he guided you towards him. He genuinely cared about you, you were one of the few people he cared about, and he didn’t like seeing you upset, especially because of some asshole who didn’t know what they had. “It’ll be alright.”

His embrace was comforting, making you feel safe, and you allowed yourself to just let go and be vulnerable. 

Bo is not good at comforting people but he’ll hold you if you need it. Then he’ll grab two beers and let you talk about what happened.

Deciding to be a decent person, he would lay off of you for a little while until you seemed to be doing better, but then you can bet that the flirting is going to be more than ever now that you’re single.

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent loved whenever you visited, it stunned him that you visited at all. You left Ambrose, you didn’t have to return, but you always did. All because you were his friend.

What he hates most is seeing you upset, he just thinks you deserve all the happiness in the world.

So when you knock on the door of his workroom and he opens it to see your teary eyes, he just wants to help.

Of course he ushers you inside, expressing his concern and asking what was wrong.

You tell him everything about the breakup and were honest about how you felt.

When you asked him if he could just be with you for a while, he instantly agrees and holds you for as long as you need.

Vincent is a little more surprised when you asked him if you could stay with them for a little while, at least tonight. You really didn’t feel like driving home but you hadn’t packed to stay in town. But he agrees, understanding that you didn’t want to be alone.

When Bo asks what the hell is going on, Vincent give him the short story that you had broken up with your partner, and of course Bo patted his twin on the shoulder and told him go for it.

Yes, Vincent had feelings for you and both of his brothers thought it was obvious but you didn’t seem to be aware of them. However, Vincent was more concerned about making sure you were alright than trying to confess his feelings for you.

Now simply wasn’t the time and in the end he just wanted the best for you.

Lester Sinclair 

After the break up, you went to the first person you thought of. Lester.

You didn’t feel like seeing Bo and dealing with him, so you went straight to Lester’s house outside of town. But he wasn’t there.

You were best friends and you were often at his house, so you just let yourself in and waited for him.

When Lester returned home, he saw your car and was just excited to see you. He entered the house with a grin, assuming you would be in a normal mood and greet him with a hug as usual.

You did technically greet him with a hug but he had seen the teary look on your face as you embraced him. 

Lester instantly wrapped his arms around you, asking what was wrong as he comforted you. He just wanted to hold you and make sure you were okay.

You had told him about your partner before and how things had been different recently and, despite his feelings for you, Lester always told you that things would be okay and that it would work out.

He would let you stay at his house, just being a supportive and caring friend that he always was.

“Thank you Lester, you’re the best” he hates that you’re upset and that you were hurt by somebody you cared about, but he smiled slightly into your hair as he held you. 

He would do right by you, he promised himself that.

Bubba Sawyer

As soon as you show up at the Sawyer household, clearly upset, Bubba is worried about you.

He’s your best friend so of course you went to him after the break up, and once the two of you went to his room to sit down, you told him everything.

Bubba didn’t really know what to do. He wanted to tell you that everything would be okay, that he’s here for you, and you got the general idea of that from his noises of concern. 

He wishes he could more easily express those reassurances but will settle for just holding you, whether you need to cry or not.

And he’s a great listener! He’ll let you talk about it for as long as you need. 

Bubba will hold you and comfort you as much as you need but if you need to just forget everything for a little while get him, Nubbins and ChopTop together to cheer you up. You’re family now and they don’t want you to be sad.

Billy Lenz 

How does one befriend a pervert living in your attic that keeps making inappropriate phone calls to your house? You don’t even know, it was a bit of a blur. You just grew used to him, you finally met him, and now he was pretty much your best friend.

It was actually more surprising to Billy than to you.

After the break up, you returned home and were met with a silent house.

As if he was waiting for you, the phone starting ringing only seconds later. You answered it but Billy instantly heard that something was wrong just from your voice.

When he asked what was wrong, you simply told him that you and your partner had broken up.

He instantly hung up the phone and for a moment you thought that was it, until you heard him scampering down the stairs in a hurry to get to you.

You are his best friend, his only friend, and he cares deeply for you. 

He can still make inappropriate comments and jokes but you were used to them. You also had a feeling that he had a crush on you, just from the way he acted, but you weren’t thinking about any of that in that moment.

Billy was quickly asking you if you were alright and pulling you into a hug, assuming that was what he was meant to do. You assured him that you were fine, just upset by it all.

Billy can be unpredictable and not really the most supportive or reliable person but he was trying really hard, listening to you tell him everything that happened.

Asa Emory (The Collector)

You had told Asa about your relationship before. Despite being a little cold at times, he had somehow become a close friend so of course you mentioned it too him.

At first he didn’t seem to care too much but he eventually started to become more interested, like he wanted information on your relationship. Unknown to you, this was happening because he was starting to accept his feelings for you.

Anyway, he instantly knew something was wrong when you arrived at his house. You knocking on the door and him opening it to see your saddened face.

He invites you in and quite bluntly asks you what happened, and you confess that you and your partner broke up.

Yes, of course he is interest in this. He has developed feelings for you and now you were single, that’s an interesting development. 

However, you are his friend first and he does genuinely care about you.

So, he pushed away those thoughts and listens to you talk about what happened, even comforting you when you need it. 

You see a softer side of Asa when you’re upset and he’s attempting to comfort you.

Jesse Cromeans (Chromeskull)

You had started out working for Jesse as an assistant (well, that was your title) and the two of you had become close friends while working together. 

You swore that you spent more time with him than your partner, and maybe that had been one reason for your break up. 

As soon as you and your partner broke up, you texted Jesse the short version. Something as simple as: “Broke up. Need to talk” and he instantly sent a car for you.

If Jesse cares about you, he will do anything for you. You’re his friend and he’s well aware of his deeper feelings for you, so he’s not going to let you deal with this on your own.

If you’re angry with them, you can rant as much as you like and he’ll listen. If you’re upset, he’ll let you cry against him.

He’ll tell you that you’re too good for them, that you deserve better and that he’s sure you’ll find that person soon. He’s...surprisingly supportive?

And he’s taking you out! Whatever you want to do, he’ll arrange it. His best friend is heartbroken and it’s his job to fix that. Anything for you.

Jesse hates them for hurting you but won’t hurt them for your sake (I mean...unless you want him too, I guess), break ups happen and he knows that. Plus, he has to admit that he’s never thought your partner was good enough for you, and of course...he has had a thing for you for a while now.

Otis Driftwood 

When you show up to the house, upset and searching for Otis, he isn’t quite sure what to do with that. If you came in angry at your ex, shouting and frustrated, he could work with that, purposely riling you up.

But you’re calm, just effected by the fresh break.

Otis isn’t great at comforting people, he has next to no experience with it so he’s not completely sure what to do.

If you want your ex dead, he can do that but...if you don’t he’s a little more lost as to how to help. Thankfully, you talked him out of killing your ex and he settled for other ways to comfort you.

If you want some sort of physical comfort, just hug him. He’s not going to push you away, he’ll hold you when you cry or hold you just because you want to be held. It will be quiet but peaceful, and he remembers that he likes holding you like this.

He lets you talk about the break up as much as you want, listening surprisingly intently.

Do you need a drink? Something stronger? If yes to any of these, he will get you what you need and the two of you will just have a good time to cheer you up. 

Otis is a particular taste but he always manages to make you smile.

Baby Firefly 

As soon as you show up on her doorstep with tears in your eyes, she has a good idea what happened because you always confided in her about your relationship.

She invites you in and she comforts you.

Baby is the best at making you feel better because you know that when she tells you that you are amazing, she means it.

She’s quickly telling you that you can do better and that they didn’t know what they had, it’s their loss.

Oh and, if you let her, she is taking you out! She hates seeing you sad and she wants to cheer you up. She wants to take you out and help you have some fun.

And who knows, maybe you’ll realise the right person for you has been right by your side this whole time. 

[comfy-whumpee]

Birdhouse: The Talks

Whumptober Day Two: Talking is Overrated. TW: dehumanisation, slavery, BBU, bad decisions in therapy.

@neuro-whump, @rosesareviolentlyread, @whumper-in-training, @mylifeisonthebookshelf

The new rescue was called Roman. Not by himself, but by whoever had taken the initiative to name their brand-new captive. He hadn’t yet told her who had give it to him, but he had assured her that he was still happy to be known by the name.

Sunita Kaur had been providing therapy to his those like him for years now, in varying capacities, and he was the newest addition to her caseload. She spent the Wednesday of her working week privately commissioned to support the residents of the Birdhouse Shelter, and with the fee its proprietor paid her, she was able to do the rest of her work completely pro bono. That was the way Avis Jacobitz worked. She paid you what she thought you were worth to her household.

Each new rescue came with new strengths and new challenges. Roman had escaped himself, which often gave them a head start, but not always. He was also in good physical condition, which made sense; the Birdhouse specialised in complex emotional needs more than physical ones. Not that any ex-pet came without their chronic pains and weak immune systems. Roman was prone to dizzy spells and took iron tablets daily.

He was sitting on the comfortable chair with his hands resting on his knees and his back straight. To be sitting on the chair in his first session was another strength. But then, not all ex-pets had been banned from furniture.

“My name is Sunita Kaur. I’m a trained practitioner of counselling for pet industry survivors.”

She didn’t miss the way Roman’s lips moved faintly to echo that term. Pet industry survivor. It was difficult to talk about those labels without reinforcing them, but she had settled on one eventually.

“That’s you, Roman. A survivor of the American organisations that attempt to brainwash and remake people.”

There was no sense of recognition in Roman’s eyes as he thought about that. He didn’t reply.

Sunita gave him a moment to think, and then offered, “How do you feel about that description?”

It’s several seconds, unmarked in their passing, before Roman ventures, “I like being called a rescue.”

“Can you tell me why?” Sunita asks, keeping all reaction clear from her expression. If she so much as twitches a nostril, an ex-pet will pick up on it.

Roman glances down shyly, smiling. “Because I was. There was a new cleaner and she called someone to help me, and now I’m here. I like thinking about her.”

Every word was delivered in the faintest whisper. Sunita was straining her ears.

“Why do you like thinking about her?”

His hands sit perfectly still on his unmoving knees. Only his expression changes. “Because she was nice. And she helped me even though she was a stranger, and I like knowing – strangers can help you.”

Sometimes she wondered at the ability of her patients to love people who had been cruel to them. Sometimes, it wasn’t even that. Sometimes, ex-pets loved people in general, through some innate hope and fortitude all their suffering had failed to tarnish.

She was going to enjoy working with Roman.

-

Florence never made eye contact. Their gaze drifted around her face and off again. They sat in the comfortable chair, leaning slightly against its side, long hair tumbling off one shoulder and an arm stretched out to show the curving line of their body in what had to be an uncomfortable position. They looked like an art piece. They played with their skirt. Sunita was used to this. Florence liked textures.

“I don’t mind,” they said. “Avis has lots of people to care for.”

Sunita nodded. It was something that Florence was already dealing with. Avis split her time with equity as her guiding principle, offering the right amount of support to everyone who needed it. Florence was used to their time with Avis waxing and waning depending on the needs of the others in the house.

‘To each according to their need’ was a powerful concept, unless one of your rescues was always desperate for attention.

Sunita hummed in acknowledgement. “So how do you feel about Roman getting lots of help?” They were the one who had brought it up, after all. There was something there.

Florence ran fingers up and down their silky turquoise skirt. Their gaze flittered across the window. “He’s funny. He acts different.”

“Different how?”

There were no birds in the sky, but Florence’s eyes moved as if there were. “He doesn’t have anyone he loves.”

-

“Of course I love them.” Kamala lifted her chin, hands folded on her lap, the picture of dignified confidence. The neat edge of her hijab was broken only by the lightning-bolt pin she had used on one side. She sat on the very edge of the chair. “The Birdhouse is like my family. We look after each other. That’s not particular to Florence. They just like spending time with me.”

Sunita nodded, showing that she was listening, but didn’t interrupt, hoping Kamala would keep going.

“It’s not wrong to give more time to someone who asks for it,” Kamala continued after a moment, smiling earnestly. “Florence is used to being the centre of attention. It makes them happy. And it makes me happy to help them.”

“We’ve touched on this before, Kamala. You derive a lot of happiness and fulfilment from what services you can offer others, how you can fill their needs. I think you know what I’d like you to think about.”

“My needs,” Kamala answered with a pretty smile. “I understand, Mrs Kaur. I took more time to myself this week, although it was hard. I reread some of the comics I got when I first came here, in my bedroom. I haven’t done that in a while.”

She spoke with perfectly believable sincerity, underlined with a hint of eager-to-please nervousness, of am I doing it right?

“That sounds positive, Kamala. How did that feel, to be spending time on yourself?”

“It’s hard, Mrs Kaur. I don’t like myself very much. But I know it’s what will help me in the long term, so I do my best. If you practice self-care, it will become second nature.”

Sunita was sure she had said those exact words to her before. “That is the goal.”

-

Tenten’s twitch was worse today, jerking his shoulder and running down his arm as he spoke. He didn’t make eye contact, but not in the way that Florence didn’t, always busy looking elsewhere. Tenten kept his eyes averted. His limbs were drawn close together, arms on his knees, as if he was unsure how to sit on something soft.

“I don’t, I don’t want-t t-to, to-to make anyone ss-sad. But I did, m-made her, upset-t, I t-t-t, t-t, I c-c-could see. She was.”

“That’s alright, Tenten. Take your time.” She kept her voice soft and soothing. “I’m not going to think any different of you. I will still be your therapist.”

Tenten made an uncertain noise, his shoulder jumping like a livewire. His foot tapped. “You, but you’re her c-c-counsellor too. I don’t want-t, I might, if I say somet-thing she didn’t want you t-to, to know.”

“I understand your concern. Remember, this is confidential. I will never use what you tell me in my sessions with the others.” She smiled kindly as his eyes flickered to her and away shyly. “But do remember that I talk to Avis before I start sessions, to make sure I’m aware of anything significant. I may already know about the conflict you’re thinking of.”

Tenten’s shoulders hunched, “C-c-con, conflict, huh?” he echoed. “What do you th-think it is?”

She made sure to smile gently. “I’d like you to tell me what happened in your own words.”

He swallowed, his throat bobbing under the maroon neckerchief he always wore. He took a breath. “Okay.”

-

“We’ve been here for forty minutes, Avis, and you still haven’t said a word about yourself.”

Avis leaned back in the armchair, frowning at the wall. “I know,” she admitted. “I know we always end up here. I start talking and it’s about how Roman’s settling in, or Florence’s new night terror, or Kamala and Tenten getting into another argument, or… Boo. Everything about Boo and their – situation. It’s just, I spend my whole life looking after those guys. Even when they’re doing something else, like Therapy Day or tutoring, there’s five of them now, so there’s always something.”

Dr Cerasale showed nothing but patient understanding. It was true, that this often formed the bulk of the sessions he held with Avis. It had been improving for a while, before she’d accepted the new rescue.

“And I know, I find fulfilment in my work, that’s not a bad thing, and some people live with different professional-personal balances. And for my kind of job, there’s not much distance between them. But…”

She stopped, still frowning at the wall.

“What is the downside of that?” he prompted her.

Dark eyes flashed his way. “Do you mean me not having any time to myself, or me seeing my son in every single one of them?”

All patients had their challenges. Avis had a unique living situation and a very unusual career path, but the underlying causes of her mindset were very normal.

“Let’s talk about guilt,” he said, and she broke eye contact.

[scripttorture]

One of the central characters in a fantasy story I'm writing has torture as part of her backstory. She was captured by an evil race, and one individual in particular put her through a "training" regime designed to turn her into a useful/trustworthy slave. Specifically the goals of the training were:

- destroy her sense of self / agency

- overwrite her ingrained response of healing herself when injured (she has magical healing powers)

- an affectionate or worshipful disposition towards her captors

- immediate obedience to any command

I feel like both physical and psychological torture / mental conditioning are probably appropriate, though I'm leaning away from including sexual abuse. I honestly don't know much about torture at all and the only things that come to mind as producing a result similar to what I'm looking for are the Game of Thrones torture sequence and the use of obdience collars in the Codex Alera book series. The latter is very interesting to me because it is a magical device that inflicts pain in reaction to disobedience but also inflicts pleasure to reward obedience.

I guess I'm just wondering if you have any advice for what kinds of methods would be good to include in a process designed to produce obedience, rather than torture for its own sake or to extract information, as well as if there are any common pitfalls I should try to avoid in writing about such a thing.

The training itself won't be in the book, but I need to be familiar with it for backstory purposes because later in the story this character encounters her torturer again, and is subjected to some further abuse before she finally overcomes her fear and kills him.

Alright well I’m going to be straight up with you: the scenario you’ve presented is a very common torture apologist trope. It’s incredibly unrealistic. And it’s unrealistic in ways that support torture by claiming it can be ‘useful’.

 Which probably means that you’re new to the blog and haven’t heard me give this talk before. That’s OK, we all learn sometime and it’s not my intention to shame you for the fact you’re not as obsessed with this stuff as I am or couldn’t afford to shell out for the books.

 Torture does not produce obedience. The best evidence we have right now suggests it encourages active resistance.

 If you got a lot of your inspiration from Game of Thrones then frankly I’m not surprised you came up with apologia. The torture in that series is incredibly badly handled. And a big part of the point of running this blog is that most people are getting their information on torture from shows like that. Which happens because the research is inaccessible and hasn’t been popularised the way fictional tropes (sometimes fictional tropes literally started by torturers) have been popularised.

 The important thing is what you choose to do now.

 I’m going to break down the problems here and make some suggestions for what you could do instead.

 Firstly: there is no torture or abuse that will guarantee obedience. Pain does not make people meek or compliant or willing to follow commands.

 Torture survivors are not broken.

 They are not ‘controlled’ by their torturers and the suggestion that they are is used in the real world to bar real survivors from treatment. It is also used to bar them from entering safe countries and to argue that they shouldn’t be allowed visas or passports.

 The best statistics we have for any sort of compliance under torture come from analysis of historical French data where torture was used to try and force confessions (something we know torture can sometimes do).

 The ‘success’ rate averaged at 10%. Under torture 90% of people will not comply long enough to sign their name.

 Secondly: torture does not and can not ‘make’ a victim feel ‘worshipful’ towards their torturer. The suggestion is kind of like asking if someone can tap dance immediately after removing the bones from their legs.

 Torturers have no control over a victim’s emotions. They have no control over their symptoms. They have no control over their beliefs.

 And there is no such thing as a torture that can change someone’s mind in a way torturers can control.

 Once again, this fictional trope is used by politicians and the media to justify marginalising real torture survivors.

 I have read hundreds, possibly thousands, of accounts from torture survivors. I’ve read historic and modern accounts. I’ve read accounts from all sort of people from all over the globe. I have never seen a survivor say anything positive about their torturers. I have never seen anything close to toleration.

 A lot of survivors are blisteringly angry at their torturers. A lot of them feel overwhelming levels of spite and some report literally putting themselves at risk of death in order to spite their torturers. And yes, a lot of them are afraid too. None of these emotions are mutually exclusive.

 Affection is impossible. We are not wired that way.

 Thirdly: I understand that ‘evil races’ are a long standing fantasy trope but it would be remiss of me if I didn’t mention the racism inherent in that idea. That some people are ‘born bad’.

 I’d strongly suggest you look up the Black, Indian and First Nations people that I know are on this site critiquing these kinds of fantasy tropes. Because they will be able to explain it better then I can.

 Fourthly: the term ‘psychological torture’ is a pretty common dog whistle for torture apologia.

 Most of the time tortures that people dub ‘psychological’ are things with real, physical effects that lead to lasting injury and death. They just don’t tend to leave obvious external scars. I use Rejali’s term ‘clean torture’ for these techniques. Researchers distinguish them from scarring tortures because they are harder to detect and prove in court.

 The majority of survivors today will have experienced clean torture. They will have no obvious physical scars. But they will still be disabled. They’re ‘just’ less likely to see any form of justice for it.

 Fifthly: torture is a terrible training method because it decreases a person’s ability to learn.

 Torture causes memory problems. It also often causes lasting physical injuries that make performing basic tasks more difficult. And it causes a lot of serious psychological problems which make performing basic tasks more difficult.

 A trained person who was never tortured will always out perform someone whose training involved torture.

 I probably sound quite angry here.

 I write fantasy and I also write about torture a lot. But I can’t imagine that it’s just flavour for a fantasy world or some artefact of the past. Torture is a real, present threat in the country that I grew up in. If I was to return now I could, literally, be tortured and executed.

 If you want to include torture in your world, in your story then you are committing to telling someone else’s story. You are representing an incredibly marginalised group of people and you are presenting that representation to a third group, one that has never had contact with real torture survivors.

 Are you comfortable with the idea of telling your peers that survivors are still controlled by ‘the enemy’? That they’re passive? That they don’t have the capacity to make their own decisions?

 Are you comfortable knowing that the popularity of this message keeps millions of genocide survivors in refugee camps, blocked from citizenship, aid and safety?

 I understand feeling attached to a story and a character. And I understand that this information is hard to find. Hell I’m probably going to end up with the only English copy of one of the pivotal textbooks because I’m shelling out to get it translated.

 You say you want to write a torture survivor. With respect I don’t think you know what a torture survivor looks like.

 I think the most helpful, and kindest, thing I can do here is describe what torture does to people. Because I can’t tell you whether that’s something you want to write. I could try and rebuild this scenario for you (and if you decide you’re interested in that after reading all of this and all the links then I suggest looking through the blog tags for ICURE, torture as training, Black Widow and Overwatch.) But I think you need to decide whether you actually want to write a torture survivor first.

 Here’s a post on the most common torture apologia tropes.

 Here’s the post on the types of memory problems torture commonly causes. I strongly recommend picking at least one.

 Remember that this would never go away. Improvement and recovery in torture survivors means learning to live with symptoms. The symptoms themselves are permanent.

 It’s a hundred different alarms set up on their phone to try and make up for the forgetfulness that makes them miss appointments. It’s the little bottle of perfume in their pocket to bring themselves back to reality when they get intrusive memories at work.

 Here’s a post on the other common symptoms.

 You want something in the range of 3-5 of those, though more are likely if your character is held for years. Each of them should be severe. Every single symptom should have a large, negative, impact on the character’s daily life.

 Do you know anyone with chronic pain? It warps their world. Work can become impossible. Basic household tasks like getting dressed, cooking, cleaning the dishes are done through gritted teeth or not at all. Hobbies and ‘fun’ activities dwindle as they struggle to find a way to do them that doesn’t hurt. Interaction with other people, even loved ones, can easily become barbed.

 Because the pain makes everything more difficult. It means everything takes more energy, more effort. Which means that things fall by the wayside, whether that’s by a pile of mouldering dishes in the sink or snapping at a child. It means tears and the social judgement that follows them. It means the world narrowing as it gets harder to go out.

 Do you see what I mean? Every part of life.

 That’s an example for one symptom. You need to work out at least four. Then figure out how they interact. Then figure out what the character can do to make her life better.

 With chronic pain that can mean painkillers but it’s always more then that. It’s re-learning how to do things; how to put on trousers without aggravating the bad knee, how to sew with one hand. It means learning to cut down on what they do and it means learning a new sort of flexibility; accepting that there are days when the pain is too much.

 It can mean having the same conversation about disability over and over again. With family, with friends, with colleagues. ‘I can’t do that.’ ‘I can do that sometimes but not always.’ ‘That will hurt me.’ ‘I can’t use that chair.’ ‘I can’t get my arms that high above my shoulders.’ ‘I need help with this.’

 And that sometimes means learning a kind of patience that is really barely held back rage. Or perhaps I’m projecting a little with this last one.

 If you’ve never met a torture survivor, if you’ve never looked at a survivor’s work, then all this is difficult. You’re trying to imagine something from first principals with nothing to fall back on.

 So let’s bring some survivors into the discussion here. Some reality.

 Who’s listened to Fela? How about Bobi Wine?

 Fela Kuti was the father of modern Afro beats music. He was tortured multiple times and during one attack, which destroyed his home, his mother was murdered by the military. When he got out of jail Fela marched her funeral procession past the biggest barracks in Nigeria’s biggest city. He wrote two songs about this attack and he doubled down on his opposition to the military government.

 Fela’s music started causing riots.

 You can read what I have to say about him here. You can listen to his music on youtube.

 Here’s an interview with Bobi Wine, which was conducted shortly after he was tortured in Uganda. He talked about how he was determined to go back and continue fighting. Which he did. He even ran against the president.

 I’ve also got a short piece on Searle who was a cartoonist captured by the Japanese during World War 2. His drawings of what happened in To the Kwai and Back are worth seeing. Especially if you want to write atrocities on this scale. They will show you the scale and how to focus on the small, human elements despite that overwhelming scale.

 Alleg’s The Question is pretty much a must, it’s one of the most thorough accounts from the Franco-Algerian war.

 Monroe’s A Darkling Plain is also a must, it’s a series of interviews with survivors of various different conflicts and atrocities. Some are torture survivors. Some are not. It is essential reading because it shows the variety in survivors as well as giving a sense of their lives beyond the symptoms.

 Finally Amnesty International has literally hundreds of interviews and studies available for free online.

 The most important decision for any story with regards to torture is whether it should be there at all.

 So much of this topic is intimidating and so much of it is difficult to write. Not just in the ‘oh this is horribly effecting’ sense but in the ‘I have twelve things to juggle in this simple scene’ sense.

 Ask yourself what torture adds to this character and this story. What does this backstory actually give this character?

 Because if the point is to have her vulnerable and then ultimately triumphing violently over her attackers I don’t think you want a torture scenario. You could get the same thing from a bad guy trying to drug her and having the kidnapping fail when she fights him off, clumsy but effective nonetheless.

 And she could still come out of something like that traumatised.

 Right now I really don’t see this adding anything but torture apologia to your story.

 Handling torture well in a story means accepting that it can’t be the same story without it. It means watching the characters and narrative warp under the weight of it. It means lasting effects, for all the characters and for the world itself.

 I believe you are capable of writing that if you want to, pet. But this ain’t it.

Edit: I’m having trouble seeing the beginning of the answer here. Can anyone let me know if there are formatting issues again please? The first word in the htmal is ‘Alright’ but what I’m seeing on tumblr starts 8 paragraphs in.

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Disclaimer

[ianthe-is-a-bitch-and-i-love-her]

Flesh, Part 1

Excerpt from Memoirs of a Flesh Eater, never published

Previous Excerpt

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And now we come to what you’ve all been waiting for, the meat of this book {Editing Note: Boooo}. The gory details, such as they are, of how we acquire our flesh. It’s a topic that’s captured the public imagination for a long time - we’ve all heard plenty of lurid stories and speculation all our lives. I frankly wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve skipped straight to this chapter to finally hear it straight from the monster’s mouth. I’ll do my best to satisfy your curiosity. Understand, though - this topic is deadly serious, and more than almost any other subject I’ve covered, I’m aware of the danger inherent in revealing this. If the information I lay out here compromises these avenues of flesh, people will die for it. I will tell you as much as I can without risking that outcome.

{Editing Note: Everything after this needs strict review, and not just from me. Get as many eyes as possible on this before publishing.}

Nearly every ghoul has or will participate in the direct acquisition of flesh at some point. Finding food is an involved process, and not a particularly scaleable one. There are no factory farms for humans, nor should there be. Truly steady supplies of flesh are rare. Most of our methods involve gathering a small group of ghouls periodically, rather than just one or two of us working continuously. This, unfortunately, causes inconsistencies in supply more often than is comfortable. As such, we’ve had ample opportunity to figure out exactly how much flesh we need to survive. 

For the average mature ghoul, 5 pounds of flesh per day is the ideal consumption rate. Very roughly, we should be eating one adult human body per month for peak health. Put that starkly, it’s a grim picture. Extrapolate from that, and that means each of us is eating 12 humans a year. Obviously, we don’t eat that much from the moment of birth. I remember starting to get hungry more often around age 15, and I can count on one hand the number of ghouls I’ve met over 50, so let’s call the 35 years between those two ages our lifespan. Over the course of our lives, we will each eat over 400 humans. When you look at it from that angle, one life against 400, it’s no wonder that you have, as a whole, decided that we need to die.

But that angle misses some important subtleties. For one, we can handle some remarkably flexible feeding patterns. We can subsist on much less than an ideal diet for a very long time without serious ill effects. For example, I follow a fairly common feeding pattern and only eat half-meals three weeks out of every four. The only ill effects I notice are increased exhaustion and soreness, usually beginning towards the end of the second week and gradually escalating until the fourth. We can also go for multiple days without eating before noticing any ill effects. Many ghouls have only one or two very large meals each week. I personally prefer to have smaller meals more consistently - it makes me feel more human - but it’s a pattern I’ve followed plenty of times when flesh is scarce.

The other main subtlety that the math I presented above misses is that, often, we do not have to kill for flesh. People die all the time from causes that have nothing to do with us, and rarely in ways that make their flesh inedible. We have hardy constitutions and strong stomachs - most diseases and toxic chemicals can be processed and rendered inert in our digestive tracts. There are nearly three million deaths every year in the U.S. alone, the vast majority of which have nothing to do with us. If we could utilize all of that flesh, we could comfortably feed 250,000 ghouls without harming a single person. Obviously that’s never going to happen, but I also doubt there are that many ghouls in the country, so… Suffice to say that there is, theoretically, more than enough ethically-sourced flesh to go around.

Utilizing that flesh, however, is a significant logistical challenge. People aren’t in the habit of donating their bodies for our dining pleasure, and people tend to take the security of their loved ones’ remains pretty seriously. Taking flesh by force, even when we’re not trying to part it from a living body, is difficult, dangerous, messy work, so we prefer to sidestep that wherever possible. This brings us nicely to the first of our three main strategies: farming.

Farming is, unfortunately, our least productive method, but it’s the one that I hope we’ll be able to rely on entirely, some nebulous day in the future. Farming is the practice of discreetly smuggling dead flesh, produced by natural causes, out of the facilities where it is held. This is the only method we use that is sustainable, in the sense that it requires one or two ghouls working constantly and delivering a steady supply, rather than the periodic group efforts I described earlier. This method is also unusual in that it depends on us being integrated in human society, integrated enough to have unsupervised access to dead flesh.

There are two primary sources that we farm. First, there are hospitals. Countless surgical procedures result in the separation of flesh from living humans. Sometimes this flesh is passed along for scientific analysis, but most of it ends up classified as medical waste sooner rather than later. As I’ve said, though, we can safely handle most of the factors that cause limbs to be amputated or organs to be removed. Once these have been marked for disposal, ghouls working at the hospital can usually hide away the flesh for later retrieval without anyone noticing its absence. Unfortunately, caution requires our farmers to take less than is truly salvageable, given how damning it is to be caught stealing flesh. They also avoid taking whole cadavers, which are much more closely observed while in the hospital, and are typically handed over to other people rather than fully disposed of. We also, as a general rule, are careful to avoid eating anything cancerous. Tumors are something of a taboo, only to be eaten in times of extreme famine. We are as vulnerable to cancer as humans are, and there is a strong fear that eating tumors may cause you to absorb some of the cancerous cells into your own body, where they will be free to grow again. I can’t speak to the truth of that, but it’s not a fate I’m interested in tempting.

Our other main farming source is funeral homes. Contrary to popular perception, and to government defence policies, we actually have very little interest in robbing graveyards. By the time bodies go in the ground, they’ve usually been rendered inedible by embalming practices. Given how robust our digestive tracts are, it’s my theory that embalming practices were, at some point in history, specifically designed to protect human bodies from us. Obviously not all bodies are properly embalmed, but there’s no way to tell that without digging one up, and digging up a grave is hard. It is far more beneficial for us to intercept the bodies before they get to that stage. Therefore, we find it very valuable to train as morticians. This allows us to take cuts of flesh before a body is embalmed. Over the years, we’ve figured out exactly how much flesh can be taken and from where without showing at an open casket funeral. For closed caskets, or for cremations, we can take nearly the entire body without detection.

{Editing Note: That’s going to be upsetting for anyone who’s ever buried a family member. I’m not sure how to address that gently. I don’t know how receptive most people would be to “it’s okay that we ate your grandma because it means we got to live long enough to eat other people’s grandmas”.}

Unfortunately, there are a limited number of jobs with access to farmable bodies, and as the number of ghouls in those positions increase, so does the chance of one of them being discovered. Some of you, I’m sure, have seen how paranoid everyone gets when one of us is outed among you. We can’t even come close to fully utilizing these outlets without risking a lot of us dying. My household is fortunate - three of our members are farmers, and we may be gaining a fourth, depending on what degree Scarlet actually settles on. But that supply of farmed flesh is not always enough to feed all of us, and it certainly isn’t enough for Yaga’s charity projects. So about once a month, we send out a group to engage in our second method - gathering.

As I said, there are a lot of deaths that have nothing to do with us. Gathering is our attempt to get ahold of some of those dead before other factors take care of them. Death is, unfortunately, unpredictable, so the best we can do is send people out at irregular intervals to scoop up what we can. A gathering party typically consists of at least half a dozen ghouls; the exact size depends on the amount of ground we want to cover, how many bodies we expect to be transporting, and how worried we are about getting into a violent confrontation. Ideally, no one gets hurt by our gathering parties, but no one is going to look too kindly on body snatching, and sometimes we just attract the wrong kind of attention. If we need an especially large group, or if we intend to cover a particularly large area, we might even reach out to other households for extra help in exchange for a share of our find.

A gathering run typically begins at night, in the poorer parts of the city. I’m sure gathering happens in rural areas, but I can’t speak to their methods. In the city, though, it’s the poor and the homeless and the addicts, the abandoned of human society that are most likely to die somewhere we can get to them. So we put on anonymizing clothing and start looking. Our most reliable leads come from homeless communities and drug sites. Sometimes it’s enough to just show up, make small talk, and look around for the dead or imminently dying. If it’s the latter, sometimes we just wait - keep them company while they wait for the end. Unfortunately for us, people don’t generally die all at once at predictable intervals; it’s not uncommon for us to find no bodies at all. Fortunately, there are some people who are desperate enough to sell us leads. Buying leads is a dangerous game - any person who knows us to be ghouls, even if we take pains to conceal our identities from them, is one more person who could bring the exterminators down on us - and the more effective the method of gathering leads is, the more dangerous it is. The safest thing is to find a stranger and offer them money for a lead, one time deal, and never contact them again. Regular contacts have more opportunities to expose us, whether for exterminator money, moral duty, or just by being careless, but if they know to expect us, they can amass leads, or sometimes even hold bodies for us to buy off them directly. I’ve heard that some households even have arrangements with organized crime to act as free, efficient body disposal.

Once we’ve thoroughly checked these areas, the next step is to check accident sites. Typically we’ll separate to stake out common suicide and accident sites. These aren’t particularly reliable either, but they turn up bodies often enough to be worth staking out once we’ve exhausted our more proactive options. Sometimes, on particularly slow gathering parties, we’ll break out a police scanner and listen for any incident reports likely to produce a body and see if we can get there before the cops. It’s a dangerous game, and often no more lucrative than our other approaches, but there is nothing more depressing or upsetting than coming back from gathering empty handed. Coming home empty handed means we need to take more drastic measures.

I’ve been on around a dozen gathering parties so far. Most of them went well enough, with minimal incident and moderate success. I’ve been on two where we had to chase police scanners. And I’ve been on one that came back empty-handed. That isn’t the only one my household has ever run that came back empty-handed, but it’s the one that stuck out most in my mind because it’s the one time I felt personally responsible for what happened next. When our regular gathering still doesn’t produce enough flesh, we have three options, none of them pleasant. We could all tighten our belts, ration our flesh carefully, and try to endure until we can make up our shortfall. There are a lot of factors that can make this approach unsafe, though. Starving isn’t any more pleasant for us than it is for humans, and it can make us less careful than is safe. Or sometimes someone is injured or sick and wouldn’t be able to handle stricter rationing. Our next option is to organize a gathering raid. There are plenty of hospitals and funeral homes that we can’t farm, for one reason or another, but sometimes we can steal from them. This is a high-risk endeavor, obviously. Anywhere that handles human remains is on the lookout for this kind of thing, and even if we get away clean, the raid will almost certainly make the news and bring exterminators sniffing around. That’s not even touching the fact that, just because we aren’t farming somewhere, that doesn’t mean someone else isn’t. The kind of scrutiny a raid draws can be a death sentence for any ghouls working at the raid target. So, most of the time, Yaga chooses to take our third option. She calls for a Hunt.

{Editing Note: I need to talk to Spatha before I write the rest of this. I need to convince her that I’ll just listen this time, and then I need to actually do that. I don’t know if I can do it. I don’t want to reopen this wound between us. I don’t want to risk our friendship. Is this project really worth that? Do I seriously think it will make a difference?}

[thehangeddemon]

Waiting for a Tuesday || Self Para || September 14, 2021

☠ WARNING ☠

This work contains graphic descriptions of violence, gore, and torture

Reader discretion is advised

“More tea, sir?”

Xavier glanced up from his newspaper and gave the waiter a pleasant smile. He shook his head. “I’m fine, John, thank you. You can bring me the check as soon as y—”

“Actually, John. Why don’t you go ahead and bring us another pot of tea? Anything but English breakfast,” he added with a chuckle that almost sounded condescending. “I don’t share my son’s fondness for it.”

The waiter watched as a man, who had seemed to appear out of nowhere and was dressed head to toe in black, invited himself to sit opposite Mr. Rossmara. He’d said ‘son’, but he didn’t really look old enough to have a son Mr. Rossmara’s age. He didn’t really resemble him either but that seemed less strange somehow.

What was strange was the way Mr. Rossmara was looking at the man across from him. He looked…stunned, like he’d seen a ghost or something. But beneath the surprise was an indiscernible emotion on Mr. Rossmara’s face that John thought looked just a little like fear.

At the stranger’s expectant look, John collected himself and cleared his throat, addressing Mr. Rossmara. “…Sir…?”

Xavier seemed to collect himself as well, though far more subtly. He folded up his newspaper and put the pleasant smile back on his face, determined to make it seem like nothing was wrong. Only someone who looked very closely would see how forced the smile was, or how measured his movements were.

“Yes, of course. Does earl grey meet with your approval?”

The man smiled like the proverbial cat who ate the canary. “It does.”

“Very well. A pot of earl grey then, John.”

The waiter nodded. “Right away, sir.”

Xavier waited until John was well out of earshot before he spoke again. “Hello, Father. I didn’t expect you.”

Zagan let out another of those condescending laughs that set Xavier’s teeth on edge and dragged him right back to all his memories of Hell. “No, I’m quite certain you did not.”

“How did you know I was here?”

“My dear boy, it was hardly a mystery worthy of Sherlock Holmes. For as long as you’ve had your shipping business, you’ve come to San Francisco every Tuesday without fail to check in. And without fail, you finish your work just before teatime. By your own admission, this hotel has the best afternoon tea in the city. All I had to do was remember the name of the hotel and wait for a Tuesday.”

Zagan helped himself to one of the cucumber sandwiches that remained on the tray. “You’ve become predictable in your old age, my boy.”

Xavier had to fight to keep from shifting in his seat. Not any-bloody-more. He’d be changing that particular habit immediately. It didn’t suit him at all for someone outside his household to have such intimate knowledge of his movements, especially if that someone was his father. Such information was dangerous in the hands of a man like Zagan. It didn’t matter if it was only the day and location of a standing reservation for tea and cake, Xavier knew from experience that the less his father knew, the better.

Which was largely why he didn’t take any great pains to see him. Unless, of course, he was forced to.

“I see,” Xavier said, settling for an amused smile since a laugh was impossible. “I suppose I am becoming a bit predictable. Anyhow, it’s nice to see you, Father. Have you been well?”

“Well enough.” Zagan was watching him carefully, studying every nuance in his expression, listening to the tone and inflection of every word. Becoming familiar with anything that had changed since the last time he’d seen his demonic progeny.

Thankfully Xavier didn’t have to endure it for very long. John soon returned with their tea, giving him a reprieve from paternal scrutiny as it was poured. It was the only thing that would for the next little while.

This time it was Zagan who waited until they were alone again before he spoke. “So. Tell me. How is that shipping business of yours doing? And your myriad other ventures?”

The next hour or so was spent in what one could call easy conversation. They spoke of Xavier’s businesses, the sights he’d seen, the things he’d collected, the weather, the state of the world. Perfectly light, perfectly casual. At least from an outsider’s perspective.

From Xavier’s point of view things were far more fraught. Everything he said had to be carefully weighed, and there was a desperately thin line between revealing too much and appearing withholding, between looking at ease and projecting discomfort.

Having a conversation with his father hadn’t always been this difficult. In fact, just a few years ago Xavier would have been—and had been—completely comfortable not only talking to Zagan but spending entire days in his company. He’d even sought him out once or twice. But then, Xavier had had far less to lose a few years ago. He hadn’t had a child, a fiancé, staff that depended on him, friends he cared for.

He had all those things now. He had more than he’d allowed himself to have in fifty years, and the memory of how things had gone then still lived all too vividly in his mind.

Getting back to a point of comfort with Zagan after that hadn’t been easy, but he’d done it. There hadn’t been a choice. It was either swallow his pain, grief, and desire for vengeance and make nice, or tempt his father into carrying out his threats.

Sitting here now, Xavier felt much the same as he had then; trapped, resentful, and desperate to get away.

He had no illusions of being able to do that any time soon, however, even when his father finally asked for the check. After such a long absence, Zagan was sure to take up as much of his time as possible.

His suspicions were confirmed almost immediately.

“Come,” said Zagan, getting to his feet. “Let’s take a walk.”

Xavier remained at the table while his father stepped outside, indulging himself with a long, weary sigh the moment it felt safe to do so. It had only been an hour and he was ready for another five-year interlude in their relationship.

What had brought Zagan up from Hell anyway? Surely this visit hadn’t only been for tea and a walk with him. His father hated humans, hated looking at them and being amongst them. There had to be another reason and no doubt it was something Xavier really didn’t want the know the details of.

“Probably scouting his next project child,” Xavier muttered to himself as he pulled his card from his wallet.

Bill settled, he stepped out into the late summer evening and breathed deeply. There was a chill in the air that said autumn was well and truly on its way. Soon the days would grow shorter and the nights longer. His collection of coats would emerge from storage. Every hearth in the manor would roar to life with cheerful, welcoming fires.

He sighed again, longing for the comfort of home as he looked for Zagan among the crowd of people in front of the hotel. That expression of disdain was easy to spot.

“Where shall we go?” Xavier asked, approaching him.

“I don’t know how you can stand it.” His father’s tone all but dripped disgust. “Being here day in and day out among these…creatures and the stench of their cities. It’s revolting.”

“I’d rather smog than brimstone.”

“I think I prefer brimstone.”

Right. That nipped the notion of walking on the street squarely in the bud. If only that were enough to dissuade his father, but alas.

Fortunately, there was a park nearby.

Zagan didn’t say a single word as they made their way there, clearly preferring to stew in his distaste until they were well clear of anyone who might catch a snippet of their conversation. Of course, he hadn’t been nearly so averse to it back at the hotel.

Xavier would just chalk that up to the difference between a well-appointed dining room and a crowded street.

His father’s demeanor seemed marginally more pleasant as they entered the park. It wouldn’t be empty for a good while yet, but it was an improvement from the street. Hopefully it wouldn’t be enough of one to tempt him to stay much longer.

A few long minutes of not-quite-companionable silence passed before Zagan saw fit to fall into conversation again. The additional privacy meant they could discuss things that were far more relevant to his father’s interests than the weather or the goings on at a shipping company. Namely, any magic Xavier had learned, magical artifacts Xavier had acquired, and any kills Xavier had made.

The latter would perhaps prove to be a bit of a disappointment. Not only did Xavier kill less frequently these days, his choice of quarry had changed. The people that he’d once hunted were those he found interesting or amusing or intriguingly intelligent; only on the very rare occasion did he hunt someone who truly deserved it.

That was no longer the case. Lately when Xavier hunted it was only people who truly deserved it. He went for rapists and abusers. He went for people who hurt children, including and especially priests. There was immense satisfaction in knowing exactly where those people were going and what awaited them when they arrived, and even more in describing it in vivid, excruciating detail as they bled to death among the debris of a forest floor.

Hell was a far greater torment than anything he could visit upon them, and he was more than happy to send them on their way.

Zagan let out a loud, derisive laugh at that. “Are you indeed?” The old demon laughed again, putting Xavier’s back up and setting his teeth on edge. “My dear boy, you have been away from Hell too long. Who would’ve imagined? My son, the divine hand of justice for ne’er-do-well priests the world over. Never mind predictable; you’ve grown positively moral in your old age.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Xavier said softly, fighting to unclench his jaw.

His father gave him an amused look. “No?”

He shook his head. “No. I’ve merely…unearthed an intolerance I didn’t give sufficient regard to before.”

“Have you? Well.” Zagan chuckled and adjusted his sleeve, looking positively chuffed in a way that both infuriated and unsettled. “You never did like priests. Who would, having had your childhood? I suppose that particular aspect of your personality was bound to rear its head again eventually. Perhaps…it’s entirely appropriate that it should do so now.”

Xavier didn’t register the movement until it was too late. He only had a moment to feel his father grabbing his arm before he was whisked through the familiar vacuum of demonic travel, and even less to register his new surroundings before he was thrown bodily against something cold and unyielding.

“You unearthed an intolerance, did you?” Zagan’s voice, so casual and amused just seconds ago, now quivered with rage.

Xavier went flying again, this time into something that splintered beneath the force of his weight. Wood?

“And when exactly did you do that, Xavier? Was it perhaps around the time that you became a father?”

Again, back into the unyielding cold. Stone. “Father, plea—”

“Not that I can even tell, since I’ve scarcely seen the child—my grandchild—more than twice since the day he was born!”

Xavier cried out as he was flung for a fourth time, several bones breaking upon landing forcefully on a stone floor. There was something soft beneath him, but whatever it was, it hadn’t been enough to cushion his fall.

He braced for another hit, relieved when none came. He could still hear the echo of his father’s furious footsteps, however, which meant the torment wasn’t over. Far from it. The pleasant Zagan of earlier was gone, and who had remained in his place was someone Xavier was very, very familiar with.

Familiar enough to know that he had only a few precious seconds to catch his breath and orient himself.

There wasn’t much he could see from this position apart from the ceiling of whatever edifice they were in but, not wanting to draw attention to himself too soon—or move lest he worsen his breaks—he observed what he could by turning his head.

Said ceiling, high and crisscrossed with thick wooden beams, appeared to be constructed of the same stone as the walls and floor. Dusty chandeliers covered in thick cobwebs were hung every few feet, the candles in them long unlit. The same went for the metal sconces on the walls.

He appeared to be lying in the middle of an aisle bordered on either side by what he could only assume was the wooden something he’d been thrown int—

No. Not just wood. Pews.

Xavier struggled into a sitting position, heedless of his broken bones and desire for inconspicuousness in his rush to confirm his suspicions, to confirm what he already knew.

Panic rose in his chest as he saw the cross silhouetted in stark relief against the waning sunlight streaming in through the stained-glass window.

They were in a church.

Had this been any other time on any other day Zagan wouldn’t have missed the opportunity to mock and use his son’s fear against him. Xavier’s childhood memories of being harrowed and abused by his stepmother and local priest amused him to no end but on this day, he didn’t so much as comment.

He just stalked down the aisle toward Xavier and slammed him back against the floor with a flick of his hand.

“After all,” he said, voice dangerously soft as he crouched beside his son. “I can hardly drop by for a visit now, can I? Not with all those wards you have on the estate that threaten to annihilate anyone who comes in unannounced.” He almost smiled. “You’ve amassed quite the bag of tricks over the last fifty years.”

Xavier could only shake his head. “The wards aren’t—”

“Aren’t what? Aren’t meant to keep me out?” Zagan scoffed, giving Xavier a dubious look as he grabbed a handful of his hair from the back of his head and stood. “Dear boy, do you really expect me to believe that?”

He gave Xavier’s hair a good hard yank, ignoring his son’s cries of pain as he dragged him down the aisle and deposited him on the small set of stairs leading to the altar. “You didn’t ward against me fifty years ago only because you didn’t know how to. If you had, you would’ve done it in a trice to help keep that pathetic little slave of yours out of my grasp, but I’m sure that’s already occurred to you.”

Indignation fought its way in beside pain and panic, and Zagan noticed. His son’s emotions had always been pitifully easy to read, moreso when they ran as profoundly as he knew this did. The servant was still a sore spot even after all this time.

Zagan paused.

“Had you realized?” he asked, crouching again to run a single finger down Xavier’s cheek, those ancient eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. “That this year marks the fiftieth anniversary? Had you realized, my beautiful boy, that half a century had passed since you came so close to defying me?”

Fifty years of pain and rage and grief so rarely expressed churned in Xavier’s gut and pulled at his soul. That his father could speak so cavalierly of Maximus and his loss made him want to scream and be ill in equal measure.

Had he realized? How could he not, when every day for the past year and a half had been a battle against remembering? How could he not, when every day he walked halls and sat in rooms identical to those Maximus had once drawn breath in, only to remember that they had burnt to the ground?

How could he not, when dead leaves and rose petals and ash were still enough to bring him to tears?

The same tears that streamed down his face now. Xavier was powerless to stop them and even if he could have, he likely wouldn’t have. After what he’d done to Maximus, an acknowledgement of his grief was the least Xavier could give him, even if his father was the only one who witnessed it.

“Oh my, look at that.” Zagan stroked his son’s face again, collecting those tears and rubbing the moisture between his fingers. He tsked, shaking his head. “My dear, it’s been an absolute age since then. How can a measly little servant still cause all this upset, hm? There now.”

Zagan slipped one arm under Xavier’s knees and the other behind his back, lifting and carrying him the rest of the way up the steps as if he weighed absolutely nothing. He gathered Xavier close, even took care not to jostle him too much.

Such loving gestures were not uncommon for the old demon. There were times in Hell when he had been the absolute image of gentleness and paternal affection, when he had held him as he did now and given him a reprieve from the torture.

But more torture had always followed. Showing him affection was rarely meant to comfort; it was meant to torment.

“I’m sure you feel like the past few decades have been a trial, but you see, I don’t think that’s entirely accurate.” Zagan set Xavier down as carefully as he’d picked him up, petting his hair as that indignant look returned to his son’s expression. “Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t doubt you’ve suffered a great deal over your servant. I don’t see why you would when they’re so readily available, but I don’t doubt it. I just think you haven’t quite…put things in perspective.”

With of wave of his father’s hand, every sconce, chandelier, and candelabra flickered to life, allowing Xavier his first real look at the derelict church. Not that there was much to see. No one had set foot in here for a very long time, let alone used it as a place of worship.

But when he turned his head, Xavier saw something that made his blood run cold.

Until now he’d felt trepidation, resentment, emotional anguish. Only when he saw the lines of a demon trap scorched into the threadbare carpet beneath him did he finally feel fear.

“Father…?”

“You see, my dear, I don’t think you realize how easy you got off all those years ago.” Zagan shed his coat and rolled up his sleeves.

“Father, please—”

Zagan knelt beside him. “My own son considers rebelling against me, disobeying me, gives a servant pride of place over his father, and what does he have to pay for it? Absolutely nothing.” He unbuttoned Xavier’s suit jacket and shirt, undid his trousers. “My son defies his father and still he gets to keep his estate, his businesses, his treasures. His life. All these things my son gets to keep, he goes virtually without punishment for fifty years, and does he realize that? Does it occur to him how generous his father has been in his infinite mercy? No. Rather than show gratitude, he has the childish audacity to believe he is the aggrieved party!”

Xavier didn’t see Zagan move. There was just an awful squelching sound, then searing pain as his father, having pierced his torso with a bare hand, sliced it upward and gutted him like a fish from groin to sternum.

“Which doesn’t mean I haven’t noticed your efforts,” Zagan said calmly above the echoing din of his son’s screams. Casually. “You’ve been such a good boy, treating your papa to afternoon tea and accompanying him for a walk. But I have been far too lax with you. You see that, don’t you?”

He gripped the jagged edges of Xavier’s wound and forced them apart to another chorus of screams. “All those wards, the prolonged absence.” Zagan shook his head. “There comes a point where it all gets to be a bit too much. What’s that expression? Getting too big for your britches? I think you’ll agree you got too big for yours a very long time ago. What’s more, I think you’ll agree that it’s high time that you paid the piper.”

Zagan got to his feet and made his way over to the wooden table beneath the stained-glass window at the head of the altar. He retrieved a hammer, a covered metal bowl, and a set of railroad spikes and brought them over to the demon trap, kneeling again.

Xavier could only watch him, borderline delirious as his chest heaved and his wounds bled. He didn’t dare lift his head to look at the damage; he’d seen enough of his own insides in Hell.

There was a vague hope that his blood would break the demon trap and allow him to get away, but he knew it was impossible even as he thought it. Zagan had prepared for this.

There was no getting away, especially once the first spike was hammered through one of his feet, piercing shoe leather, flesh, and carpet as it was driven into the stone beneath. Xavier bit back another scream, only to give in as his father pinned his arm above his head and drove the second spike into his hand.

“A necessary precaution,” Zagan explained, moving around to repeat the process on Xavier’s other side, barely reacting to the scent of demonic flesh charred by iron. “To make things easier for both of us. Remember what I always used to tell you?”

The third and fourth spikes were driven into Xavier’s free hand and foot, rendering him not quite immobile, but significantly limiting his range of motion. He was left completely vulnerable to Zagan.

“Well?”

He turned toward his father. The demon was looking at him expectantly, warmly—a complete contrast to that cold smile on his face that never quite reached his eyes.

“The more you struggle,” Xavier began, breathing raggedly, “the more it will hurt.”

“That’s exactly right. Good boy.” Zagan bent to kiss his brow and set the hammer aside. “Now be a love and stay still for your papa while he works.”

“What are you going to do?” Asked in a voice too soft and timid to belong to a demon.

“I thought you might ask. You see, I needed to come up with an appropriate punishment.” Zagan reached into his abdominal cavity and tore out a chunk of his liver, placing it on the carpet beside him while his son howled in agony. The shock and blood loss weren’t enough to kill him, of course, but there would be a great deal of both before Zagan was done.

“It had to fit the crime, else how could the lesson be truly felt?” His stomach joined his liver, spilling its bloody contents as it hit the floor with a sickening plop.

Xavier hadn’t felt pain like this since Hell. He wondered for a moment if he was in Hell. That endless red sky and the ceiling of the church blurred together in his mind while the stone under his back became the rocky banks of that boiling river of blood. He heard a scream—or perhaps a thousand—but no longer registered it as his own.

When his father spoke, he heard it as only an echo.

“I mentioned taking your estate and your belongings but upon reflection, that wouldn’t be a practical solution to the problem. You could always acquire more, and really, what do I want with a bunch of wine and trinkets and land?” The other half of his liver followed, then his spleen and pancreas, all added to the growing pile of viscera.

Zagan turned to Xavier, whose screams had quieted to pained whimpers as he began coughing up torrents of blood. “No matter how you look at it, it would only be an inconvenience to us both. An inconvenience, not a punishment. That was when I realized that there was something I could take from you that would serve as an appropriate punishment.”

The old demon reached into Xavier’s body with both hands this time, ripping through sheet after sheet of connective tissue as he worked to tear out Xavier’s intestines. Messy work but very necessary, although he did find himself wishing he’d brought a blade to speed up the process. But that’s what happened when one was forced to move with haste; things were bound to be forgotten.

To Xavier, that process seemed to take hours. Perhaps it did. He couldn’t help but think it would’ve been kinder to just kill him.

His only comfort was that the shock setting in made his body go almost numb, a small mercy for which he gave profound thanks. It was liable to be the only one he got. He only wished he could go deaf as well, or better yet, fall into blessed unconsciousness so he wouldn’t have to listen to or feel the rending of his flesh.

More hopes he knew would be dashed.

Such was Zagan’s concentration on his task that he fell silent. Humans did have such a lot of parts, but he had gotten most of it. It would do.

He gathered the slippery mass in his hands, considering adding them to the pile before deciding to simply drop them on his son’s lap. They didn’t need to be removed entirely, just moved out of the way.

“Right,” he sighed, looking around at his handiwork while he gathered his thoughts. “Where was I? Ah, yes. Your punishment.”

Zagan scooted a bit closer and tenderly took Xavier’s face in his hands, smiling beatifically as he stroked his son’s cheeks and smeared that handsome face with blood. “I believe you’ve lived in poor dead Christian for quite long enough, my precious one. Don’t you?”

For the second time since this ordeal began, panic took hold of Xavier. Not just a trickle of it, but huge, violent waves that made his adrenaline surge and had him struggling against his restraints despite the burning pain of the iron.

Please, God, let him not have heard correctly. Surely it was the delirium, the blood loss making him think his father had said what Xavier thought he’d just said. Or if had said it, perhaps Xavier just didn’t understand his meaning. It could mean anything, everything. Too much. Was it to be his life, a return to Hell? Was it—

“Settle down, Xavier,” Zagan chided, placing his hands on his son’s shoulders. “What did we say, hm? The more you struggle the more it will hurt, and this is going to hurt quite enough without you thrashing about like a landed fish. Settle.”

“Wh-what is?” Xavier’s voice was a raspy, choked sound, devoid of its usual elegance. For all that he struggled—or tried to, before pain and fatigue forced him to stillness—it was a battle to get out every single word. “Fath…father. What are y-you going…?”

“What am I going to do?”

At his son’s jerky nod, Zagan smiled and stroked his face again. “Just what I said. You’ve been living in Christian Deidrich’s body for far too long and it’s time for a change.”

“But w-what—”

“I’m going to take you out of Christian, Xavier. You will be removed from this vessel and placed into a new one.”

Xavier looked at this father in abject horror for a few silent, eternal moments before panic and adrenaline flooded back in with a vengeance.

He began to struggle to free himself in earnest as his father’s words and their full implications sank in. Whatever he’d suffered so far—gut-wrenching reminders of the past, the sear of iron, the removal of his organs—it would be nothing compared to what he knew awaited him now.

At this very moment, even the full weight of what it meant to lose Christian as his vessel couldn’t hold a candle to Xavier’s fear.

This reaction pleased Zagan immensely, and unlike before, he was perfectly happy to let Xavier wear himself out. In this weakened state it was all he’d manage to do, which would only make things easier once the real work began.

Besides, even if by some chance Xavier did tear the wounds around the spikes and freed himself, he was still inside the trap. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Zagan hummed to himself, giving his son’s cheek one last pat before getting to his feet.

One by one, he brought candelabras over to the altar. Not many remained after so many years of the church having been abandoned, but they were enough to give him the light he needed. The larger ones were placed around the perimeter of the trap and the smallest just inside. A single candlestick was placed beside Xavier.

Had he been able to, Xavier would’ve knocked that stupid candle over and set fire to the rug. Something his father probably would’ve considered if he wasn’t so obviously confident that it wouldn’t happen.

Xavier couldn’t deny that he was right to be. Already he was exhausted to the point of giving up. Physically, at least.

“Father…” he wheezed. “Plea…please…don’t—don’t do this to me…”

“Ahhh, I see we’ve moved from anger to bargaining,” Zagan chuckled, returning to his son’s side. “I understand, of course. A new face will be an adjustment after so many decades spent looking at the same reflection in the mirror, but don’t worry, my dear one. You’ll get used it.”

Xavier shook his head, swallowing back more tears. He didn’t want to get used to it. He wanted to remain in his body. No matter how mangled it was, it was his, and leaving it would mean suffering beyond measure in more ways than one.

“The spell…”

His father nodded patiently. “Yes, yes, I know. You locked yourself in. An excellent notion, truly. After all, one can never know who does and does not know an exorcism rite. No doubt it would have spoiled your fun if in the middle of a hunt, your quarry dispatched you back to Hell.”

Zagan stroked his hair again. “Pity that your good judgement should have to hurt you now.”

Tears began to flow freely again as Xavier tugged at his restraints with all the might he had left. It was precious little. “Fat-ther, please…please d-don’t…please…”

“Hush now. Begging won’t save you, Xavier.” Zagan picked up the bowl that until now had sat untouched beside the revolting mess of entrails. “As I’m sure you’ve gathered from the very fact that you’re able to be here, the church we are currently in is no longer consecrated ground. Faith left this place…” he shrugged, “a century ago, perhaps more. But despite that, there is one thing I’m so terribly curious to know.”

He removed the lid. “I wonder…despite the decades of absent devotion…if this water is still holy enough to hurt you.”

“N-nononono wait, don’t—!”

An awful steaming hiss drowned out his protests as Zagan slowly began pouring the bowl’s contents into Xavier’s abdominal cavity.

“You’re making it worse,” he said, raising his voice to make himself heard over the cacophony of tortured screams and howls of demonic pain.

His admonishment fell on deaf ears. The moment the first drop of holy water had touched his mutilated insides, Xavier had begun thrashing about in a desperate, mindless effort to escape from the torment.

Exhaustion had no hope of stilling his movements, even if those movements caused the water to splash and slosh about and cause even more pain. This was beyond the physical, beyond the human. Short of an exorcism this was the greatest suffering that could be inflicted on a demon, and Xavier had the great misfortune of knowing that was precisely what awaited him next.

He screamed, he sobbed, he begged his father to stop. At some point he even succeeded in tearing free of two of the spikes. But still the ordeal continued and would until the bowl was empty.

It would continue even when the bowl was empty, because for all that Xavier had moved about, a good deal of holy water remained on and inside of him. As long as it did, nothing would stop the screaming.

“Shhhh, darling, shhhh,” Zagan cooed at his son, pulling out the spikes that still restrained Xavier’s limbs so he could turn him on his side and empty out the water. It had completed its intended purpose and was thus no longer required.

He eased Xavier onto his back again and picked up the candlestick. “Right. I would very much like to say that’s the worst of it over, but we both know that’s not the case. Tell me, should I bother asking where you carved it?”

Although agonized groans and broken sobs had replaced blood-curdling screams, Xavier wasn’t in any condition to listen to his father, much less respond.

“I thought not. No matter. I have a fair idea which rite you used, and I believe that particular one calls for the inscription to be placed on the spine.”

At last, the true reason for the evisceration revealed.

Zagan brought the candle close to the gaping void that was Xavier’s torso, using its light to find exactly where the spell had been carved into the bone—a slightly easier task now that the holy water had rinsed out most of the blood.

“Ah, there it is.” Zagan tried to make out the symbols to confirm his suspicions. “What did I tell you?” he chuckled, setting aside the candlestick. “Predictable.”

Xavier had been left even weaker than before. His chest barely rose. His skin, already pale from loss of blood, looked gray and lifeless. There wasn’t a part of him that wasn’t burning in agony. The dread and fear and grief he should have felt eighty-six years ago when the hangman’s noose had been placed around his neck fell upon him now, far more heavily than they would have then.

Still, he had to try just one more time.

With what little strength he had left, Xavier turned to his father. “Please,” he begged, the barely audible whisper ragged and frail. “Father. Please…please don-n’t. You don’t—don’t kn-now…” he gasped for breath, “…what you—you’re take…tak-king…”

There was a beat of silence during which Xavier thought, just for a second, his father looked apologetic.

“But I do,” Zagan murmured, taking Xavier’s bloody, tear-stained face in his hands. He stayed like that for several moments, studying his child’s features one last time. He loved this face. It gave him no pleasure to destroy it. “I know exactly what I’m taking. My beautiful, beautiful boy.”

He bent to place a tender kiss on Xavier’s forehead. “Don’t fret. The pain won’t last. You’ll still be beautiful, I promise. I could never take that from you. You’ll even look like your brother.” He kissed Xavier’s forehead again, his brow, his cheeks, allowing them both the indulgence of true affection for just a moment.

Perhaps it would offer some comfort in the days to come.

Sighing, Zagan took the candlestick again and made another examination of the spell his son had used to lock himself in. It was simple, but perfectly effective against exorcisms and other such attempts to dislodge a demon from their vessel.

The symbols themselves were spread across four vertebrae and, upon closer inspection, appeared to be burned into the bone rather than inscribed. He had no doubt the process had been rather painful; things like this always were.

He reached in and carefully tore the first vertebra from Xavier’s spine, ensuring he removed only bone and nothing else.

Painful, yes, but not as painful as its reversal. Not in his hands.

Zagan recited a small incantation under his breath, brushing his thumb back and forth over the symbols as if merely rubbing away a bit of dust. With every swipe the symbols grew fainter and fainter until they disappeared altogether, leaving behind nothing but clean, unmarred bone.

He held it up to the candlelight and examined it again. Pleased, he tossed it away and pulled out the next one.

Xavier, no longer strong enough to scream, could only groan and sob as his father ripped yet more parts out of his body, overwhelmed by fear and pain.

But there was another sensation as well; an odd, supernatural pull somewhere deep inside his being. It seemed to exist independently of the pain, and had nothing to do with what was happening to him physically.

It did, however, have everything to do with what was happening to him magically. This body, having been technically dead for so many decades, was dying again. In all reality it had already died again, and as his father methodically did away with his lock, Xavier’s hold inside his vessel began to loosen.

By the time the last vertebra was torn from his spine and the symbols on it erased, that hold was all but nonexistent.

“There we are,” said Zagan, sighing again as he smiled to himself. “Now the real work begins.”

Even if he’d been inclined to bother with an exorcism, it was no longer necessary. Given enough time Xavier would be forced to leave Christian’s body on his own, but Zagan wasn’t inclined to wait.

Instead, he reached into his son’s abdominal cavity one last time, thrusting through dead flesh and fractured bone and into the very core of him, physical and metaphysical, feeling around until his hand closed around what he sought.

Making sure to maintain an iron grip on his prize, Zagan ripped Xavier free from what remained of his moorings. When Zagan’s hand emerged, bloody and singed, it held a cloud of oily black smoke that crackled with electricity.

There were no anguished screams to mark this final parting, no sobs or desperate pleas to echo off the stone.

There was only the burnt out, mutilated husk of a body, the scent of sulfur, and a cloud of oily black smoke.

Zagan smiled at the smoke and released it, leaving it free but still stuck inside the demon trap, before pushing the husk out of the way to give himself more room to work.

What came next would require every last ounce of his will and concentration. This was magic he did not inherently possess, and if he could not see his vision clearly, if he could not believe in it wholly, it would not bear fruit.

He closed his eyes, steeling his will as he began to draw every bit of energy in the room outside his own toward him, no matter how small. The remnants of Xavier’s emotion, the electricity of a demon in true form, the lifeforce of the plants surrounding the church—all were taken and absorbed.

Even the candles were drawn in, extinguishing themselves one by one as Zagan pulled their heat and energy close, inserting his will and chanting ancient magic to manipulate the mass of energy to his whim.

And there, in the middle of the demon trap, it slowly began to take form. A single point of light that pulsed and grew as yet more light surrounded and encased it, becoming a womb for an old demon’s creation.

With every pulse, the air shimmered as it regained its charge, making Zagan’s skin prickle and burn to the point of pain. But still he did not buckle, digging even deeper and giving even more of himself as he watched the light become something at once both liquid and solid, something that elongated and molded itself until it resembled a human body.

Almost done.

He looked up at where the cloud of smoke hovered above his head. It would be cleaner to do it in one fell swoop. Faster. Even for a being as old as he was, keeping this level of concentration took its toll. Mere seconds could be the difference between success and miserable failure.

The new vessel was almost complete; the moment it was, he would draw Xavier into it and seal him inside. He had to move quickly, but gingerly, with the precision of a surgeon.

Zagan took a deep breath. Clenching one hand as tightly as he could to hold his creation in place, he used the other to draw his child down and guide him into his new vessel.

A different kind of light began emanating from the body as it was slowly given life. Zagan grit his teeth against the strain as it grew in strength, as he was pushed to the very edge of his limits by the effort of controlling so much raw energy.

No sooner had the last wisp of black smoke disappeared from view than the light burned out with enough force to shatter every window in the crumbling church.

Zagan fell back, utterly exhausted but brimming with triumphant hubris as he gazed upon his creation. His vision, made flesh.

It was perfect.

Zagan spent a few moments catching his breath and recuperating some of his strength, after which he got to his feet to gather himself. He adjusted his sleeves and went to retrieve his coat, brushing off bits of colored glass before slipping it back on. He placed the bowl and the candlestick back on their table, took a piece of glass and sliced through the carpet, breaking the demon trap.

And when he finally approached the unconscious, supine body that now belonged to Xavier, and watched as he drew his first breath, Zagan bent to place a kiss on his forehead.

“Perhaps now you’ll learn,” he whispered. “My beautiful boy.”

A rustle of wings, and Xavier was left alone in the darkness.

[koo-zy]

hello! do you have any fantasy/historical jungkook x reader fic recs ?

hello lovely!! i’m so sorry i missed this yesterday :( i was actually planning on reorganizing my tumblr because i feel like no fics are ever going to be able to be found my blog LOL so hopefully that’ll be done soon!!

as for the fantasy/historical fics.. i’m honestly not too sure what “fantasy” (do demons count..? soulmates..? werewolves????) typically includes so i’m just going to include a bunch of fics that hopefully fit in :”) here are the first ones that i thought of + summaries included in their main posts!

also.. i’m sure i missed a lot of amazing fics (mainly because i’m dumb as hell and don’t really know what can be included in “fantasy”) and would like to apologize in advance!! 

@inktae ’s entire masterlist (they have a lot of fantasy fics!)

while this isn’t just jungkook recs, @ficswithluv had a fantasy category a few weeks ago!

@kpopfanfictrash ‘s jungkook masterlist

@fortunexkookie ‘s jungkook masterlist

one shots!

énouement - @littlemisskookie Mulan!AU

War is Hell, but it’s what you had to do to take your brother’s place. Of course, between the days of Hell are little slices of Heaven you’d call your Captain, Jeon Jungkook.

midas - @gukyi 

jeon jungkook was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and the power to turn whatever he wants into pure gold. you were born with healing and invisibility powers but without a cent to your name. so when you’re plucked off of the streets for pickpocketing and assigned to be his minder as punishment, you realize you’re going to have to overcome a lot more than class differences if either of you are going to get what you want.

i will not lose! - @jimlingss Magic!AU

A single bet - use every means to make Jeon Jungkook fall in love with you.

a piece of the moonlight - @/jimlingss Mulan!AU

For your loved ones, the people who are waiting at home, the people who have died - you will fight. And sometimes to fight means to sacrifice: who you really are and the person you really love.

dynasty - @/jimlingss Historical!AU

It’s no secret that the Emperor is infertile. But even so, a girl is selected every three months and brought to become his concubine in hopes of conceiving the next heir. This time, it’s you. And in order to prevent execution, Jeon Jungkook might just aid you in conception.

game of temptation ft. knj, myg, kth - @/jimlingss Succubus!AU 

As a succubus, your beauty is unrivaled and shaped to tempt mortals. But it’s still hard to resist Taehyung, and there’s little you can do once you’ve been coerced to do his bidding for him. This time, you find yourself entering the affluent Kim Household as a housemaid. And these poor humans don’t know your intentions are far from being angelic.

knot today - @kinktae

(IDK IF WEREWOLVES COUNT BUT JERHFBDSKNZX THIS IS REALLY GOOD!!)

When your first heat approaches and you are left partnerless, who better to turn to than your alpha roommate that you’ve spent the better half of your life hiding your feelings for?

ego - @luxekook Harry Potter!AU

(..i also don’t know if HP counts LOL)

in which jeongguk is a cocky lil shit and the reader has to take him down a few pegs

stumbling - @hayjeon Prince!AU

an ask in their inbox regarding the prompt: hii! so the royal wedding of prince harry and meghan is today, and since my bias is JK and since i’m such a sucker for royal stuff, can i reuest a fic of bts all being royal of 7 different kingdom, and all of them being invited to jin’s wedding and the girl (oc) is also invited and kookie met her there, and eventually took an interest at her? the girl is also royalty from other kingdom. thanks!

werewolf!jungkook - @/hayjeon

an ask in their inbox regarding the prompt: Werewolf!jk? (im sorry ik it’s overused and unoriginal) where he and his mate have pups to take care of and they’re quite a mischievous bunch!

there for you - @cupofteaguk Hogwarts!AU

Jungkook is always known for doing things unapologetically, and it makes sense given how almost nothing gets under his skin—almost nothing, but maybe there’s an exception that takes a form of a muggleborn with the shy smile and quirky spells.

say you won’t let go - @/cupofteaguk Soulmates!AU

You’ve been eighteen years old for ten years when Jungkook first moves in 

new romantics - @/cupofteaguk Hogwarts!AU

Jeon Jungkook will go down in history as one of the best Quidditch players that ever graced the Hogwarts scene. It seems like he always gets what he wants—his life is very predictable in that sense. What he cannot predict, however, is the newest weekend employee wiping down the tables at the Three Broomsticks.

a cinderella story - @suhdays Modern Cinderella!AU

you are forced to work multiple jobs as you live under your stepmothers roof. unable to move out and strive for complete independence, you do what you can in order save enough. turns out, as a college student that is harder than you thought. so, you distract yourself by joining online chat groups in which you meet a boy that goes to your school. that boy? none other than the rugby star himself, jeon jeongguk. it doesn’t prove to be an issue until he asks to meet you at an upcoming halloween party. he’s never noticed you before so why not hide yourself in order to live your dreams, if only for a moment?

explorer - @1kook Alien!AU

Jungkook does not want to impress the frankly tyrannical ways of his planet on you. He just wants to stay here and keep your couch warm for you, hold your hair back when you wash your face in the morning.

rottenfolk - @junqkook Faerie!AU

a look was as hazardous as chemicals, a kiss as perilous as poison; his eyes and lips felt akin to a cure, but he was purely venom.

the young wolf - @/junqkook Game of Thrones!AU

he was promised to another, meant for another to hold and to love and to kiss. but when his hand lingered on yours for a moment too long to be proper, and when his eyes held yours for a beat too long to be a passing glance, you allowed desire to creep into your veins, to take root inside your heart. perhaps before you might have been permitted to love him freely. perhaps he might have even been promised to you instead. but war was no place for the wants and desires of two people, no matter how much they yearned for it to be.

the lighthouse - @rubycoast S2L!AU

(im not too sure if this is considered fantasy but its one of my favs!)

you and jungkook had one thing in common: you were both lost souls stagnant in the search of some fulfillment. the one of many differences was that your story had been written on your sleeves, while jungkook’s was a story needed to be unriddled.

black magic - @hansolmates​ Magic Uni!AU

a witch with an ambition for learning, you stumble across a crushing spell in the middle of the forbidden section. of course you have to try it out! what happens when the crushing spell not only has jeon jungkook crushing on you, but you crushing on him?

the sea & the storm - @jamaisjoons Fantasy!AU

the sea is a powerful mistress. she is calm and beautiful. she is mysterious and alluring. she is a force to be reckoned with. above all, however, she is lonely. until she meets him. fantasy au.

the lionheart’s oath - @sugaxjpg Knight & Princess!AU

There was no happy ending, no dragon slayer to save the kingdom and get the princess — there was only him: Jungkook. A simple orphan that was lucky enough to be invited into the castle, a former homeless thief that had found shelter in the form of an elysian heir. Now, after twelve years by your side, he was about to lose you to the world you sought to explore.

ghosts just wanna have fun - @/sugaxjpg Psychic & MedSchool!AU

When Jungkook discovered that he could communicate with dead people, the last thing he expected was that they would be there to give him romantic advice.

wartime child - @ktheist Wizard!AU

raising a baby in wartime isn’t easy. but when your baby starts showing signs of magical abilities, you’re forced to ring up the only other person you know he takes after: jeon jungkook.

birth of an empress - @/ktheist Dragon Slayer!AU

partners for three years and friends for longer, jungkook thought you’d remain so until he saw you with the knight at the merchant’s trade.

alternatively, the friendly neighborhood wizard trying to propose to the infamous dragon slayer in the middle of slaying a dragon? now, that’s classic.

series/two shots!

fear in your eyes - @/gukyi Werewolf!AU

(again, idk if werewolves count but hifksdjcx !!!!)

there’s a werewolf in that forest behind your house, they told you, and he’ll eat you before you can even beg for mercy. 

the worshiper series - @/jimlingss 

Long ago, there were gods who resided in Heaven -- existing to watch over and protect the universe. Each of them had their own flaws, trials and tribulations; some which were more sparing than others, but these are their stories...

a promise of freedom - @/jimlingss Wartime!AU

War is cruel and its inhumanity has not spared you. Captured by the enemy, you were brought to the front lines to heal their wounded. But after one night of saving a particular man’s life, he swears to fulfill any wish of yours.

one year, my love - @/hayjeon Historical!AU

You forge a marriage contract with the strangely speaking man who suddenly stumbled into your town with memory loss, but little do you know that he’s actually the lost Crown Prince, and a lot can happen between a married man and woman in one year.

demigod!au drabbles - @/hayjeon

an ask in their inbox regarding the prompt: i have a supernatural au prompt! how bout daughter of hades/loner!reader and son of zeus/bully! jungkook?

into the woods - @/junqkook Goblin!AU

getting hurt and stumbling upon a goblin in the forest leaves you completely at his mercy, though you aren’t sure if that’s necessarily a bad thing.

lionheart - @/junqkook Magic!AU

as a sorcerer, it is of the utmost importance that you keep your magic a secret from everyone. when you become prince jungkook’s servant, it becomes increasingly difficult to keep your identity hidden; especially when you fall in love with him.

a royal exchange - @/hansolmates

she’s the man!au where the princess impersonates her brother yoongi in order to finish his degree on time while yoongi is thrusted into princely duties. jeongguk is in the mess purely through room arrangement

knight!jungkook x princess!reader - @/ktheist

a series with 27 parts!

that’s all i can think of off the top of my head right now :(( not gonna lie, half of these probably don’t even fit into either of those categories and i know there are so so so many amazing fantasy/historical fics out there!! i wish i knew them all but i hope this helped a little bit! if anyone has any fic they’d like to rec, feel free to send it to meee :)

and finallyyyyy i leave my following page open for viewing as well so you can check out all of the authors i follow!! please show all of these authors (and many more) some love! <3

[ladykissingfish]

Under the Mistletoe with the Akatsuki // Part Seven // “Tobi”

Tobi

Expendable. This is the word that Obito Uchiha hears most frequently from his “savior” and Master, Madara: Expendable. “Everyone in that group is expendable, Obito. Pawns. A means to an end. Getting attached is pointless; they are not your family; I am.” And maybe he’s right, but ... it’s already too late for Obito. He IS attached to this group; they’ve become the family that he’s never had. They weren’t Expendable by any stretch of the imagination, and Obito lives just to be around them ... even when he’s forced to act like the simpleton that Tobi is. Still, there are times when the Uchiha can have a lot of fun with these people — and this Mistletoe game is definitely one of them.

Itachi

Itachi is a difficult one for Obito to read , and even harder to understand. On one level, he’s positive that Itachi knows (or at the very least suspects) that “Tobi” isn’t who he portrays himself to be. But on the other hand, two things that Obito can read for sure are that Itachi is sick, and his depression is so immense that it crushes out almost all other thoughts. Itachi is the sole reason Obito keeps presenting himself as the idiotic Tobi, because to reveal himself would mean death, swift and sweet. He’s not even sure that Madara would have the power to stand up to Itachi. Nevertheless, the time and place for such thoughts isn’t standing under the mistletoe. “Heya, Itachi-san! Ya ready to kiss Tobi now?” Itachi merely nods, but makes no move to approach Tobi. So Tobi walks up to him instead, moves the mask just slightly off his lips, and kisses his cheek. “There ya go!” Itachi goes, and Obito breathes out a sigh of relief. Still, though, he can’t help but feel a little sad, at what he feels to be the impending demise of his fellow clansmen.

Sasori

Sasori has mixed feelings about Tobi. On the one had he feels that he’s just a simplistic moron who doesn’t really warrant a second thought. But on the other hand — Tobi seems really, really attached to his Senpai, and Sasori’s partner, Deidara. Attached in a way that seems, at times, in a way that’s more than purely friendly. Almost like he — but wait, why does Sasori even care what Tobi may or may not feel for the young blonde? It’s not as though Sasori has (or desires) any kind of claim on Deidara, right? The fact that Tobi is standing in front of him right now and Sasori wants nothing more than to murder him and toss his body to the wolves has absolutely nothing to do with Deidara, right? The fact that Pein keeps Sasori back at the hideout more and more to help with strategizing, and sends Tobi out with Deidara in Sasori’s place ... it was all for the best, right? “Oh boy! Tobi gets to kiss Sasori-san!” Sasori grimaces, as he always does, at the grating voice coming from behind the mask. Instead of waiting for Tobi to kiss him, Sasori takes the initiative by leaning up and quickly kissing his cheek. He walks away feeling inexplicably angry ... and it’s not until much later that night, as he’s sitting at his desk working on a puppet while everyone else sleeps ... that he realizes that when he kissed Tobi, he smelled the shampoo that Deidara used. He continues working but doesn’t get much accomplished, as he spends half the night pondering why the idea of Tobi being around Deidara makes him feel so unsettled.

Kisame

Ugh; this kid. Or was Tobi older than that? Kisame honestly had no idea how old Tobi actually was; he doubted that any of them did. Granted he acted like a tall 10 year old — but surely that’s just an act. He’d have to remember to ask Deidara later — did Tobi have any special combat skills? Did he know any useful jutsus? What was his fighting style like? So many unknowns, so many things to wonder about. And throughout it all, wafting from Tobi and straight into Kisame’s nostrils, that unmistakable scent of a predator. But in the wild, the only way to show superiority to a predator was to show that you weren’t afraid. Kisame walks confidently up to him, and flashes him a wide smile that showcases all of his razor-sharp teeth. “You ready, kid?” Tobi nods, and to Kisame’s credit, Tobi actually DOES seem intimidated by the death-trap mouth. That, and the fact that samehada, who is currently strapped to Kisame’s side, has his head up and staring directly at the man in the mask. Kisame steps forward and kisses Tobi’s forehead, then quickly walks away again, before his own fear can leak through his brave facade.

Zetsu

Zetsu flat-out declines to kiss Tobi. Partially because he knows exactly who he really is, and the two have been “friends” for so long that a kiss would just be strange. The other reason is because he hasn’t eaten in two days, having just returned from a long-term mission about an hour ago. He’s so hungry that anything and everything looks delicious, and if he were to try and kiss “Tobi” right then — there’s no doubt that he would have eaten him. And Madara would surely skin him alive for that. So he simply nods at Tobi, and nobody questions why the two don’t exchange a kiss.

Pein

Mysterious and concealed. That’s how Pein (or rather Nagato) would describe “Tobi”; mysterious and concealed. Being around Tobi gives him a strange feeling deep in his sunken chest, that maybe, just maybe, Nagato isn’t the one running this show. That Tobi is actually someone he needs to watch out for. Still, though, it is unfitting to show one’s misgivings to one’s (possible) enemy. As far as Tobi knows, Pein just thinks of him like one of his “children”. Pein approaches him and kisses the cheek of his mask, not giving Tobi time to remove it. “Thank you, Leader-sama!” Pein nods and walks away, wondering whether he just imagined a hint of condensation in Tobi’s voice upon calling Pein “Leader”.

Konan

When Obito was growing up, like many of the kids in Konoha, he didnt’ have a household with a mother and father in it. He was raised by his grandmother who, although loving and kind, didn’t really provide Obito with the kind of matronly emotional support that he needed. When he came to the Akatsuki, Konan more or less filled that role for him. As she did with everyone else, she cooked for him, she washed his clothes, she cleaned up after him. She scolded him when she felt he did something reckless and foolish, and, most importantly, she cared about him. To have someone care about you in a reality where you sometimes don’t even care about yourself is an amazing feeling. Konan approaches him with a shy smile on her face, her tiny dimples showcasing the young girl she had once been. Aside from Rin, Konan is probably the warmest person Obito has ever met. He moves his mask, thinks about it, and gives Konan a gentle kiss on the tip of her chin, then another on her forehead. Then he pulls her into his arms, embracing her warmly. “Thank you, Konan,” he says, in a low, almost-Obito-like voice. “For what?” “For being Tobi’s friend.” Konan blushes and smiles; as she leaves she tells Tobi that when he’s done with his turn, to come and get some of the pie she’s made, to which Tobi happily agrees.

Hidan

Hidan is blushing pretty damn hard as he walks up to Tobi; after what happened when it was Hidan’s turn under the mistletoe, it’s understandable why. “Listen, you orange fuck — don’t pull any of that shit you did last time, alright?” Tobi tilts his head and studies him as if confused. “What do you mean, Hidan-san? Didn’t you like kissing Tobi?”, he asks, and then, his voice dropping into a somewhat playful whisper, “Tobi sure liked kissing YOU.” Hidan blushes even harder, and mutters a “Just do it already, weirdo.” Tobi removes his mask enough so that Hidan can see the flash of his teeth, smiling before tilting Hidan backwards ((and Hidan is surprised at how strong Tobi is)) and giving him a soft kiss on the lips. As it was last time, Hidan is visibly flustered. Tobi smiles even wider; in truth, Hidan is one of the few in the Akatsuki that Obito likes the least. He finds him to be emotion-driven and overly violent, and these things don’t make for a very good teammate. Still; there’s no denying that to be able to shut Hidan up, even for a few moments like now, is indescribably satisfying. Hidan is still standing there in a daze as Tobi slides his mask back into place, and Tobi can’t keep the glee out of his voice as he asks, “Aww Hidan-san; do you wanna marry Tobi now?” This snaps Hidan out of it, and his loud cursing and stomping off can be heard throughout the entire house.

Kakuzu

“Isn’t this ridiculous game over yet??” “No, Kakuzu-san! Don’t be shy; come get a kissy from Tobi!” Kakuzu just rolls his eyes; he’s never really been sure what to think of Tobi. He’s been on zero missions with him so he had absolutely no knowledge of his battle prowess or combat skills (but judging by the way Deidara complains about him, they can’t be all that good). Also, there’s the thing with him covering his face with that mask. Kakuzu isn’t really one to judge that; HE wears a mask as well. But with Tobi it’s not just a mask; it’s the long black clothing underneath the long Akatsuki robe. It’s the thick gloves. It’s the way not a single piece of skin save his toes ever sees the light of day. What’s he hiding? Kakuzu strongly suspects that Tobi might be one of the more elite ninjas listed in the Bingo Book, and if that’s the case, all Kakuzu has to do is wait for the right time to catch him off guard, capture him, and collect a (hopefully substantial) bounty for him. He approaches him and lets Tobi press his mask against Kakuzu’s mask in their version of a kiss. He resolves to study the Bingo Book in-depth tonight before bed; surely Tobi’s identify must be in there somewhere.

Deidara

The look on Deidara’s face is as he approaches Tobi is indecipherable, even to the one who has the sharingan. Fear, anxiety, excitement — and something else Obito just can’t read. And as for Obito himself — what exactly IS it that he feels for Deidara?? He’s nothing more than a pawn, right? A means to an end, as Madara would say. But ... there have been times. Times away from the various hideouts, out in the middle of nowhere with nothing but their packs and their thoughts, that Deidara has shown himself to be remarkably different from the Deidara that the others (except, likely, Sasori) sees. A quiet young man. A deep thinker. Sensitive and kind. And — “Oi, Tobi; can I ask you something?” “Yes, Senpai?” “When — when I was under the mistletoe ... did me and you kiss? Or did I really faint like you said?” A beat of quiet, and then, “Senpai always says that the past doesn’t matter, so why should it matter if we kissed or not?” Deidara chuckles and shakes his head. “You always choose to remember the most random things I tell you, hm. Damn you — I can never tell what goes on in your brain, Tobi.” “You wanna know what Tobi’s thinking right now? Tobi thinks that Senpai — Senpai is one of the most beautiful creatures Tobi has ever seen.” Deidara blushes fiercely at this, and tries to cover up his embarrassment by saying, gruffly , “Let’s just get this over with, Tobi, hm.” So Obito obliges him. He moves his mask to expose his mouth, sweeps Deidara’s long hair back, tilts him, cups his chin with his thumb and forefinger, and gently leans into him with his lips. Deidara resists at first, hesitant, but eventually he finds his arms circling Tobi’s broad shoulders, holding him tightly. He HAS to hold on because he’s terribly dizzy; he’s not quite sure what’s happening to him, but Deidara feels as though he’s falling down a very deep hole inside of his mind, and Tobi is the only thing keeping him anchored to reality. The kiss finally ends when (and only because) Sasori suddenly comes out of his room, yelling “Brat! I’ve been calling for you for ten minutes; you know I don’t like to be kept waiting!” Deidara steps away from Tobi, and he’s stumbling as though he’s a bit disorientated. “G-Goodnight, hm.” “G’nite Senpai! Sweet dreams!” Obito watches Deidara walk away, just barely conscious of the strange glance Sasori pitches in his direction when Deidara reaches his room.

[ficforce]

Strong For Me

Sagamiya Konro x Reader

SFW

Set during the great fire in Asakusa

Established relationship

Watching Company 4 roll in on their metal vehicles and dousing the last of the dying flames filled Y/N with more anger than she thought she could bear. They came in like triumphant heroes but where had they been when the fires were roaring and their people were turning into Infernals?

Nowhere.

It had been the Hikeshi running through the town fighting fires and saving anyone they could, it had been regular people throwing endless buckets of water in an effort to save their houses and many of the people who had an ability to control flames were exhausted. She shoved past one of the Fire soldiers as they tried to direct her elsewhere, drawing Konro’s sword on them when the man tried to grab her - she was quickly left alone.

The sword had been given to her before Konro ran off with Benimaru; he had told her to use it to protect herself whilst he was away from her side. The weapon was one of the most precious things he owned and by giving it to her he was telling her he was going to come back.

Only… he hadn’t come back to her yet.

Y/N stepped out of the way as the Captain of the 4th Company headed up the street, glaring at him as he passed but then she heard Benimaru’s voice from a short distance away, “Beni!” Running hurt her possibly broken ribs but it was hardly on her mind as she spotted Konro propped up against a building, “Konro! Konro you’re o… okay?” Dropping to her knees on the side Benimaru wasn’t she reached out to cup his face, turning it a little to properly look at the slash across his nose, “That’s gonna scar but you’ll still be handsome.” Konro tried to smile at her gentle teasing though it came out as more of a grimace and Y/N finally seemed to notice that his skin was smoking.

Her eyes widened once they saw the burnt and still burning flesh over his shoulders, his arms and his neck, “This…” it wasn’t a normal burn, it wasn’t even the kind of burn that someone with fire resistance skin could get in extreme cases - it was burning from the inside out. Inside some of the wounds, she could see what looked like embers and she realised what he had done. “Konro… you… you didn’t have to go so damn hard! What did you do?!” Hearing her voice too loud and almost shrill she covered it with her hands and tried to fight off her tears. Through her blurry vision, she saw him try to lift his arms to hold her but it seemed it was either too painful or they were too damaged.

“I’ll be okay, Y/N.” Konro grit his teeth as a spike of pain shot through his shoulders again, “Just be strong for me.”

x - -

The town was abnormally quiet, even though two days had passed they were still finding their dead and trying to figure out who combusted and who died from some other cause. Asakusa had always been quick to pick itself up and go about its day but this was something different. The fires had destroyed most of the buildings, the Guardhouse was overfull with the homeless even though everyone with a house left were taking in as many as they could - many were frightened that another Demon might appear and Konro wouldn’t be able to beat it this time.

She had been handing out food and blankets to those who needed them when she came across the massive crater Konro had scarred into the land.

It was terrifying to see.

Not only because of what a full-powered Akatsuki could do. Not because it marked where something as catastrophic as a Demon had appeared either. It was where Konro had been willing to sacrifice everything for his Town. Her lover had gone as far as knocking Benimaru out in order to take the Demon on - not because Benimaru couldn’t have handled it but because Konro wanted to make sure someone who loved and could fight for Asakusa as much as him survived.

She could have lost him completely…

Konro had led as many able-bodied men as he could with Benimaru to protect what they could. The crater in front of her didn’t feel real, it felt like if she stepped forward it would dissipate like some sort of mirage. “Y/N,” a thick coat was wrapped around her shoulders as Benimaru came to stand next to her, worry laced his voice as he forced the woman to stand back a little. “You’ll fall in.” He didn’t say anything more as she pulled the coat closer to her body and pressed her face into the material, it was Konro’s coat, it smelt of him - like he did before all of the medicines and charred skin. “I’ll take care of giving the rest of this stuff out. Konro’s asking for you…” What he actually meant was that Konro was in agony and was calling for her.

She turned her head to look at him, her eyes were a little wider than usual and she was trying to smile at him in the same reassuring way she always did. Her hand reached for his hair and she brushed it back a little, stroking her thumb over the bruise on his temple, “Y/N… I’m sorry. I should have done more. I should have been stronger.”

“Y/N…” Konro whispered and tried to reach for her face, wanting to wipe away the stray tear she was trying to ignore - it was agony. His jaw tensed as he tried to clamp down on the pained sounds wanting to escape as he tried to force shredded muscle to work.

Y/N shook her head, “He buried you, Beni… he would have broken your arms and legs if it would have protected you. There was nothing you could have done.” The young man was never going to forgive himself for not being there for Konro, she could see he was already blaming himself and wouldn’t listen to reason. Konro had explained to her how Benimaru had been at his limit, how he had been overheating and for him to be shoved aside so easily further proved that Konro had done right by him.

“…He’s calling for you, Y/N.” He took the supplied from her and headed for the next household that needed help.

Konro appeared to be asleep when she entered the room, the doctor glanced her way before hanging up another IV of who knew what inside, she didn’t care as long as it helped him. There was a large bowl with pinkish water and bloodied bandages soaking inside, shredded packets of medical patches, discarded cooling blankets designed for someone overheating… the room was a mess. The medical rooms were already taken up by the injured so they had moved him to his own room to recover and avoid infections.

“How’s he doing?”

“We’re sedating him as much as we can without killing him, Y/N.” The doctor sighed and began gathering the supplies they’d strewn out of the floor, “It’s tephrosis, his skin is carbonising and the lack of oxygen to his muscles has caused tears all over, he’s got limited mobility in his arms and the muscle around his shoulder blades will take months to heal… if it does.”

Neither spoke as Y/N let that sink in. If Konro couldn’t fight anymore… Strong men were respected in Asakusa, no one challenged the authority of the Hikeshi because it was led by the strongest. Technically, Benimaru was the strongest in a fight but he didn’t have the confidence to lead - someone could easily chip away at his resolve or Benimaru could lose his temper and go too far.

“It’ll heal, he’s stubborn.” The doctor gave her a weak smile and Y/N bit the tip of her tongue, waiting for more bad news.

“His lungs are shot.” There was no gentle way to tell her, “He’s going to be more prone to pneumonia and it won’t be easy for him to fight through it. If he uses his ability excessively not only will it be excruciatingly painful but it will impact his breathing and… the tephrosis could spread.”

It was difficult to imagine what Konro was going through physically and mentally. He wouldn’t regret risking it all for Asakusa but she knew this would be difficult for him. Y/N stood in the doorway with her hands balled up in the material of Konro’s coat, she took in his prone form as if that was going to make her understand how to deal with this. There were cooling blankets beneath him to help fight the inferno beneath his skin, he was pale and even from across the room she could see his skin was clammy as the heat seemed to pour out of him - when was it going to burn itself out?

They hadn’t bandaged his wounds yet, hoping that the air would aid in the healing.

As silently as she could she made her way to his side after the doctor had left, she knelt beside him and reached out to brush the hair from his sweaty forehead, “Y/N?” She nearly jumped at the sound of his voice, her heart hammering against her ribcage as she saw his eyes flutter open weakly, he looked exhausted and her own eyes watered as she saw how much pain was reflected in his. He was doing his best to hide that from her.

“I’m here, Konro,” Y/N leaned down to place a gentle kiss on his lips, “What do you need?” She had never seen him down like this, she had never seen him looking so… weak. He was supposed to be a strong man, he was Asakusa’s protector and now they were saying he would never fight again. Benimaru was torn up inside with guilt. Asakusa was in ashes and its people had lost their usual fighting spirit. “Do you need some water? Or… I can make you something to eat - I c-could…” Her voice got stuck in her throat, the lump that had been forming all morning finally grew too big and she nearly choked on a sob.

“Stop!” She grabbed his hand and lowered it to his side, keeping hold of his hand in both hers, “Please don’t.” Even with her voice breaking she still tried to smile for him, “Don’t hurt yourself anymore, Konro… please.” Y/N could hardly breathe anymore, she pressed her forehead down to his and forced the sadness back - she needed to be strong - “You’ve done enough. You don’t have to give anymore.”

He was the man everyone went to for help or advice, he was the one who brought Benimaru under his wing after the Master had died and kept him on the right track. He gave and gave and gave…

Konro let out a shuddering breath, his lungs ached and he began to cough, every single jolt to his body hurt worse than the previous and he couldn’t repress the pained gasps this time. “It’s okay, Konro, I’m here, I’m gonna look after you.”

x - -

“Building was completed this morning, every house has the bare necessities, schools are open, the market  is trading as fairly as they can and we have a few new recruits training to join the Hikeshi by the end of the month.” Benimaru let out a small sigh as he finished his report whilst trying to learn how to treat Konro’s wounds. He wanted to help in any way he could and somehow, being able to properly treat Konro made him feel somewhat better.

“Three months to rebuild the Town?” Konro mused, “Was it supplies or labour?”

“Labour. Builders worked flat out but most of them were laid up till recently.”

Y/N listened quietly as they spoke, occasionally she would explain to Benimaru what she was doing but it was good to have the young man there to distract Konro. Months had passed but he was still in a great deal of pain, still burning on the inside but the Haijima patches seemed to help prevent the spread and provide some pain relief - she just wished it was something they could replicate so they didn’t need to rely on the Empire. She heard the pained hitches in Konro’s breathing and sometimes he would stop mid-sentence when it got too much. Sometimes it was enough to bring Konro to tears and he was hiding it the best he could to protect Benimaru and Y/N.

“H-how are the twins?”

Benimaru handed Y/N more bandage as she started to wrap Konro, “They’re assholes… they’re gonna come by later and tell you a bunch of lies about me - anything they say is a lie and if it’s not they deserved it.”

“…If Y/N and I ever have kids you’re not allowed to babysit.”

Benimaru snorted and gathered up the medical supplies to toss out, “That’s fine with me.” He stood up and headed towards the door, “Though I doubt any kid of yours would be as mean as two little girls on a sugar kick.” Not a moment after the door had slid shut, Y/N and Konro heard a crash and two little voices mocking Benimaru - it was followed shortly by their squeals and the sound of a nearly grown man chasing two little girls.

Y/N laughed at the noise and for a moment it felt like old times.

Life was slowly returning to Asakusa, it wasn’t surprising really, they were a resilient bunch. “We’re all done for today,” She kissed his heavily bandaged shoulder and rested a cooling blanket over the top, “Ready to eat?”

Konro winced as he turned his head to kiss her temple whilst she rested lightly on his shoulder, “Not really but you won’t take that as an answer, right?”

“Nope,” Y/N had been keeping his meal warm to the side and picked it up as she moved to sit just beside him, more than ready to feed him as she had for the last few weeks, “Konro…” he gave a hum in response, recognising in her tone there was going to be something he might not like. “I know you said you wanted to do it but let me put your sword on its stand…”

Since the day of the great fire his sword had sat in the corner of the room against the wall, she had made sure to clean it but he had told her he wanted to put it back. It was like a target he had set for himself, that if he could pick it up and place it on the stand on top of the dresser, it would prove something. It felt like such a sad thing to see it neglected and thrown aside - Konro had saved up and worked so hard to have it made.

Konro shook his head, “Be a little more patient with me, Y/N… besides, look,” There was a little more light in his eyes and he slowly reached out and took the chopsticks from the tray, “I’ll be feeding myself in no time!” he opened and closed the utensils and Y/N smiled back at him.

“Okay, that’s pretty impressive.” It was a good sign, it meant that he was healing and a part of her was relieved - being strong all the time, keeping his mood up and helping where she could was exhausting. Konro wasn’t a burden to her, she loved him and even if she ha to feed their whole life she would. She wondered how he managed. “You’ll be lifting your sword in no time then?”

“Yeah.” He parted his lips as she fed him a mouthful of rice.

Whilst he chewed Y/N bit her bottom lip a little nervously, “A-and then you’ll lift me up next?”

“Carrying you around is one of my favourite things, Y/N” She brushed a piece of rice from the corner of his lip where she had seemed distracted and missed. “What other challenges have you got for me?

Y/N hesitated before placing the bowl down and she reached for one of his hands, carefully bringing it to her belly, doing her best not to pull at him, “Do you think that in six months time… you could lift our baby?”

“…W…?” Konro’s eyes widened and he stared at her in shock, his mind turning over what she had said and as it began to slowly sink in, a smile a much brighter than any he had had since the fire spread across his face. “You…” Unable to think properly, he moved forward and wrapped his arms around her as best he could, it hurt like hell and she was going to yell at him but he didn’t care in that small, hopeful, moment, “I’ll be strong enough for you both.”

[robininthelabyrinth]

Niecest? With yandere!Huaisang?

Silver Mist - part 1/3 - ao3 

According to Nie Huaisang’s teachers, there was a small voice in people’s heads that told them what was good and what was bad, and that voice was called the conscience.

Nie Huaisang concluded, after some observation, that this was true – for other people, that was.

Nie Huaisang himself did not appear to suffer from this particular affliction.

Which was not to say he didn’t have a small voice in his head, of course he did, only he was pretty sure it wasn’t actually telling him the difference between good and evil. When he was very young, he thought the voice might be his mother, who had died (or possibly disappeared) when he was born – it sounded a bit like the way people described her, witty and enchanting, with a fox’s face and a fox’s mind.

A poisonous beauty, they called her, and they sounded almost afraid.

His mother’s voice might not have much to say on the subject of morality, but it had plenty to say on the subject of people: how to study them and learn the weaknesses even they didn’t know of, how to flatter them and lower their guard, how to deceive their eyes and minds until they did everything you wanted.  Men or women, it didn’t matter much – they were all there for the taking, ripe for the plucking, prey waiting for him to hunt them down. All he needed to do was want it and he’d be able to feast upon them at his leisure, harvest their desires for his own, eat their hearts out of their chests and pick his teeth clean with their bones.

Possibly literally.

His mother’s voice wasn’t very clear on that.

(How did a no-name no-family girl from nowhere marry a prestigious sect leader to become the second Madame Nie, a new disciple asked, laughing, not noticing how the others glared at him, what was she, a man-eating nine-tailed fox in human guise?

He didn’t last long.)

Still, no matter how much Nie Huaisang’s mother’s voice – or possibly his own – entreated and enticed him, Nie Huaisang didn’t go around convincing people to jump off cliffs or murder their spouses out of love for him, not even if he did secretly think it would be a bit funny. He might not have a little voice that told him right from wrong the way other people did, but he still had something to show him the way – something better.

He had his da-ge.

Nie Huaisang loved his da-ge.

Other people said that Nie Mingjue, the great and fearsome Chifeng-zun, was not easy to love, but what did they know? Nie Huaisang had never found it difficult. Sure, his brother was often angry, intemperate, volatile – prone to lashing out and then making it up later – cold and standoffish with those he did not trust – stern and unyielding in his righteousness, convinced of his position and unwilling to compromise – but that was all for other people.

For Nie Huaisang, his precious didi, Nie Mingjue bent his unbending spine, relaxed his rigid standards, denied his obdurate instincts, strained himself almost to the breaking point. He spoiled him and scolded him and believed in him when no one else would – he gave Nie Huaisang his heart, full and entire, laid it bleeding in his palm, before Nie Huaisang even knew that that was something he might want.

The sky could fall down, but his da-ge would still hold it up for him if he could.

And so Nie Huaisang did not, in fact, go around eating the hearts of unwary cultivators, neither metaphorically nor literally – except for a few times when he wasn’t paying close enough attention and let a little bit of that fox-face he’d inherited from his mother slip out, a handful of people falling madly in love with him and pursuing him until his da-ge beat them black and blue and kicked them out of the Unclean Realm, but no one could be held accountable for a few tiny slip-ups, surely. Nie Huaisang did not become everything that he could be, neither great nor glorious nor terrible, but rather stayed lazy and indulgent and indulged, luxuriating in his brother’s attention, whether positive or negative.

And then there was a war.

His brother was gone for months and months and months. He sent letters when he could, asked his friends to check up on him, worried endlessly about his precious little brother – but he was far away and could neither return nor allow Nie Huaisang to come to him.

It wasn’t fair.

Nie Huaisang got bored.

Maybe he also fucked his way through the Cloud Recesses, but he didn’t eat anyone’s heart in the process, so it was still mostly fine, he thought. According to the adorable stuttering version of the talk his da-ge had stumbled through for him at one point, long after Nie Huaisang already knew all about it, sex was something natural and wonderful that two people (or more) shared to express their affections for each other, nothing to be ashamed of, but also please don’t overdo it or do anything that would result in children outside of marriage, as that was more trouble than it was worth – just look at the Jin sect.

Nie Huaisang had a lot of affection to share, and avoiding by-blows was easy, with a bit of creativity; besides, there was a war on, and all those people didn’t really need their virginities, anyway.

It wasn’t enough, though. It didn’t make up for not having his da-ge.

It didn’t make up for not knowing how his da-ge was doing, because obviously he wouldn’t include details in the letters he sent and the people at the Cloud Recesses were inclined to think that Nie Huaisang didn’t need to know about the brutal realities of war, when all he wanted to know was if his da-ge was eating properly and sleeping properly and not working himself up into a stress migraine from unvented rage.

It didn’t make up for hearing that his da-ge was missing.

(He’d fucked that one out of Lan Xichen, who wasn’t supposed to say, on one of his frequent visits, licking bits of knowledge out of his mouth through grunts and thrusts and starry wide-eyed stares that seemed to be mostly puzzled at how he had been so thoroughly charmed by him.)

It didn’t make up for the sudden and horrible feeling of fright, of concern, of fear – the abrupt realization that his brother had been in danger during all this time, not merely called away by duty – the notion that he might not return – that Nie Huaisang might have to do without him forever.

And then his da-ge came back.

That was when Nie Huaisang abruptly realized that he was just too greedy to give up either his da-ge’s affection or sex, and in fact would ideally like them both at the same time.

(His da-ge had come back from the war injured. His robust spiritual energy had been drained from overuse, his strong body broken and beaten down by a force greater than him, broad shoulders bowed; his lips were pale, his limbs weak, and he clung onto Nie Huaisang as if to a savior, refusing to let him go even when urged.

Nie Huaisang liked that.

He liked that a lot.)

There was really only one problem with this little realization, beyond the obvious disappointment awaiting all of his previous lovers: unlike Nie Huaisang, Nie Mingjue really was possessed of that little voice that said do or don’t do, and he heard the sound of it loud and clear, even clearer than most. He was a righteous man, an upright man; even if he were to develop a sudden passion for his younger brother, who he had raised, he would die rather than act upon it.

Right, there was that bit, too – they were half-brothers, sharing the blood of the same father, but Nie Huaisang didn’t see that as a real issue. His mother’s voice laughed like a jackal when he mentioned it, and all the history books were full of salacious tales of noblemen who took twins as brides into the same bed or married someone who fell a bit too close on the family tree; the erotic works he collected as a hobby were stuffed full of such tales, and they were often among the most hotly requested for borrowing. The number of times he’d been asked to play the little didi, asking for his dearest darling gege or jiejie to give it to him hot and hard… if he had a coin for each instance, he’d be a rich man.

He already was a rich man. Maybe he ought to use some other metric.

No, the main problem was the righteousness that Nie Huaisang so admired when it was aimed at everyone but him. His brother had been making exceptions for him since the very first – why not this, too?

Still, sex was such a tricky subject for some people, and thinking back to the way his brother hadn’t looked him in the eyes for nearly a week after that initial talk, that was probably applicable here. Nie Huaisang loved his brother far too much to wish him any real harm – his brother had only the single heart, fragile and precious, and if it broke there would be no recovering it so he had to be careful – and some initial explorations, done under the guise of drunkenness, confirmed that Nie Mingjue had never considered the possibility of the two of them together in that way and almost certainly would be horrified and upset by the suggestion that Nie Huaisang had.

Forcing the issue might win him some small and temporary pleasure, since his brother didn’t know how to deny him anything, but it would shatter his brother into a million pieces to give up something so fundamental to his sense of self as his sense of righteousness.

Perhaps for someone else, that would be enough to convince them to stop.

Not so Nie Huaisang.

He was too greedy, too spoiled. He wanted what he wanted – his da-ge, in his bed, wanting him – and he’d never been denied anything he really wanted before, least of all involving his brother.

He went to his brother’s room at night.

“Da-ge,” he said with a smile. “Let me brush your hair.”

His brother grumbled something about being tired but acquiesced at once, accustomed to Nie Huaisang’s petty dictatorship of their household. He sat in front of a mirror and Nie Huaisang settled behind him, slipping his fingers into his brother’s hair and rubbing against his scalp until he could feel the tension in his brother’s body start to dissipate. He chattered as he worked, speaking of nothing and everything, and his brother at first responded with grunts and hums and occasional comments but soon enough succumbed to the feeling of safety and security and home, slipping as he relaxed into a state not unlike meditation.

He’d trained his brother well.

Normally, Nie Huaisang would only take a little advantage of his touch-starved brother’s torpor, which rendered him so very agreeable, asking for favors or presents or excuses – he’d won his first visit to the Cloud Recesses in just this way, not to mention authorization to start his aviary. In normal times, he couldn’t push too far, since what Nie Mingjue might agree to in a daze might not survive his temper when he’d returned to full sobriety, but Nie Huaisang had recently been watching his brother’s new sworn brothers using musical cultivation to soothe his brother’s ever-present temper, and it had given him all sorts of ideas.

It was easy enough to adjust his voice – Nie Mingjue wasn’t really listening to him anymore anyway – and to modulate his tone into something very near to a melody, the cadence quickening and slowing, rising and falling, infusing it with his own very special cultivation, and it wasn’t long before his brother began to instinctively incorporate the music into his own cultivation just the way he did when it was his sworn brothers who were playing for him. The situations were largely similar, after all, what with there being meditation, music, and a younger brother he trusted.

The fact that the melody was different from what Lan Xichen played, the instrument a voice rather than a guqin, was unimportant; as Nie Huaisang had hoped, his poor nearly tone-deaf da-ge either couldn’t tell the difference or didn’t care to. Nie Mingjue’s own talent took care of the rest, spreading the effect of the music through his entire body at double-quick pace, sinking him deeper and deeper into his pleasant, comfortable rest.

Nie Huaisang smiled down at his beloved brother, his fingers still deep in his hair even though the braids had long ago been fully taken out.

He leaned down and whispered in his brother’s ear, “Wake up.”

His brother’s eyes opened – but they were glassy and blank, unseeing and empty.

Nie Huaisang’s smile widened, and in the mirror he saw a grinning fox’s face where his own ought to be.

“It’s me, da-ge, it’s Huaisang,” he said, voice coaxing, his tone still half-singing. “You love me, don’t you?”

Slowly, as if his head were terribly heavy, his brother nodded.

“And if you love me, you must trust me.”

Another long, slow nod.

His smile widened still more, and the fox’s face gave way to the fox’s voice, which, it was said, could stir up the hearts of men and lead them to their doom.

“Because you trust me, you will listen to me, believe in me,” he crooned in his brother’s ear, watching in delight as the words were carried by the unconscious habit of cultivation straight into his brother’s core. “Whatever I say is how things are. Whenever you hear me hum this tune, you will remember that, won’t you?”

His brother’s brow wrinkled, just a little, instinctively fighting the spell for a moment, but Nie Huaisang pressed harder, with his cultivation and with his fingers digging into his brother’s temples, and after a moment habit kicked in, the tension released, the words accepted, the trance state complete.

His brother was as docile as a doll, as impressionable as wet clay.

His beautiful, wonderful da-ge.

For this first outing, he would not push too hard. His mother’s voice urged caution, care – the prize could not be won in haste, and if there was one quality Nie Huaisang did not lack, it was patience. He would move slowly, gently, and in the end he would get everything his black little heart desired.

Just like his mother had.

“Your didi, Huaisang, is special,” Nie Huaisang murmured in his brother’s ear. “He needs special care and love from you. You know that already, don’t you? That’s why you’re always so permissive with him, so indulgent. That’s why you let him touch you, even when you don’t let anyone else. Even where you don’t let anyone else.”

He let his fingers slip down his brother’s chest to settle into his lap, tracing lightly over the outline of his cock, even though he couldn’t really feel it through all the layers.

“You let him touch you here, sometimes,” he whispered, and the words flowed in with everything else. “And sometimes, as a treat, when he’s been good, you touch him back, make him feel good. It’s not wrong. Not when it’s Huaisang. It’s normal, natural, as easy and unremarkable as breathing – you don’t say anything about it to anyone else, but why would you? You don’t tell people about ruffling his hair, either.”

His da-ge’s eyes stared blankly into the mirror. He did not object.

“You’ll forget about this conversation when it’s done,” Nie Huaisang told him. “Every time I hum this song for you, you’ll return to how you are now, nice and relaxed and quiet and listening, and when you wake up you forget it, every time. That’s normal, too, and nothing to worry about.”

That should be enough for today, he thought. A small adjustment, yet well within the realm of what he could play off as a laugh if the spell didn’t take – and if it did, it would edge his da-ge’s mentality a little closer to what he wanted, to a world where his righteous brother didn’t perceive that there was anything wrong with bedding his own half-brother, his little spoiled fox that he loved so much.

Each future time he took his da-ge down into the quiet, he would reinforce the command, move him just a little closer to there – it would be like replacing a single item in a room at a time, moving so slowly and delicately that the person in the room didn’t ever realize that the room had completely changed.

“Time to wake up, da-ge,” he said, and snapped the connection between them.

A moment later, his brother’s eyes cleared up.

“Are you still not finished?” Nie Mingjue complained, as Nie Huaisang had all but expected. “Some of us wake up early, you know.”

“I was being thorough!” Nie Huaisang protested, rolling his eyes at the mirror and watching his brother smile at him. “You’re always telling me to be! It’s all ‘work on your follow-through, Huaisang’, ‘don’t give up halfway through, Huaisang’, ‘finish what you set out to do, Huaisang’ –”

“All right, all right. Off with you. And go to bed this time, I don’t want to see you at breakfast with circles under your eyes because you stayed up until dawn again, you hear me?”

Nie Huaisang raised his hands in surrender. “Da-ge’s so mean,” he pouted. “I do all that hard work for da-ge, working until my hands hurt, and da-ge just sends me away to bed?”

He got an eye roll in return. “You’re the one who barged in here and insisted on it!”

“I still did it! That means I deserve a reward,” he insisted, leaning back on the bed, spreading his legs.

A hint, although it could be laughed away as innocent if needed.

“You’re so spoiled,” his da-ge complained, but he stretched out his arms high above his head, twisting and cracking the air out of his back and neck, and seemed pleased enough by his improved flexibility. “All right, all right. You big baby. You can’t do anything yourself, can you?”

“Nope,” Nie Huaisang said with a grin, watching as his da-ge climbed onto the bed next to him, his expression open and free and relaxed, and started to open Nie Huaisang’s clothing as if it was the most normal thing in the world to do, his hand sliding down to wrap around Nie Huaisang’s cock as if he’d done this a hundred times before – although the clumsiness of the action suggested otherwise. “I depend on my da-ge for everything.”

“You really do,” Nie Mingjue grumbled, starting to pump Nie Huaisang’s cock firmly. Nie Huaisang made a happy sound, bucking his hips up encouragingly – he’d been hard since he first walked into the room, and honestly the feeling of a plan working out just as he’d intended was very nearly as good as the actual physical pleasure of having his da-ge’s hand on him for the very first time. “What am I going to do with you, Huaisang?”

“Many things,” Nie Huaisang giggled. “Many, many things.”

[mintvender]

Oh! How about Going outside with them! I just need fluff rn lol

Here are some cotton candy to fulfill your cravings, love. Hope you’re doing fine 😊🌿

HaremAU!

BTS’ Reaction to Going Outside

Warnings: Nothing

Masterlist

Chrysanthemums: this particular flower has been said to symbolise fidelity, optimism, and joy. Aside from their beauty, this is a flower that is long-lasting, low-maintenance and quite affordable.

Kim Taehyung

With his constant attempts to avoid doing anything physical, Taehyung does occasionally enjoys the outside setting.

However, most of his time would be spent bathing in nature’s warmth rather than interacting with others. Just having these little silent yet peaceful moments really replenishes his mental stability. It is also a time where memories of the past would revisit him.

Spending time just enjoying your presence under the sun’s warm gaze, and talking about your guys’ memories really makes Taehyung cherish it even more.

Also, don’t forget to bring Yeontan with you guys. As the proud parent of Yeontan, Taehyung would feel so much pride whenever you play with the little pup.

It reminds him of the family that he can come to whenever he needs them and that there are still people who cares for him.

“ The landscape here is so pretty! How did you find it?... Yeontan! Run with Y/n!”

Kim Namjoon

Whenever you and Namjoon go outside, you both always end up in random bookstores littered throughout the different districts.

Spending your time talking about the manuscripts and writings that you both had previously read as you browse the stores.

Reaching out to grab what had interested you while tuning in to Namjoon’s conversation with the seller about the newly released medical books, you began to take out your wallet, preparing to pay for your guys’ items.

After deciding on what you wanted, you headed to the front of the store and payed for your items. Swiftly snatching the books that Namjoon had wanted, you turned around and exited the store after greeting the seller.

Hopelessly sighing at your attempts to prevent him room destroying the products, Namjoon greeted and thanked the seller before quickly running after you. On to the next store you both go.

“ You don’t need to do that, Y/n. You know I won’t accidentally rip the pages, it’s not possible... you can keep it until we get back.”

Jung Hoseok

Coming from a noble household, Hoseok was surprisingly quite comfortable with the outside world. Maybe it’s his natural ability to befriend anyone or the friendly vibe that he gives off.

Either way, it definitely attracts quite a bit of people, even with him dressed as a commoner. You also noticed that he seemed more relaxed here than in the palace, almost as if he had spent years living here.

Anyways, always pay attention to where he is since he can easily disappear when he gets interested in something. Having experienced it a few times, Hoseok does have some presciences to stay close to you but when he gets excited, all of those get thrown out of the window with him rushing to whatever like an overexcited child.

“ The lady at that stall was so friendly, she even gave me an extra bun! You can have it... gasp, Look! They’re performing something, let’s go over there and see!”

Min Yoongi

The amount of times Yoongi have ever step foot outside of the palace’s walls are in the single digits.

As a child, the vicious adults would constantly feed his curiosity by telling him all the myths involved in the streets, and how dirty it is.

As a result, he was quite hesitant in going out to the streets. However, Yoongi will go out as long as he is with you.

If you both are alone, without any guards or servants to accompany you; the trip will be quite interesting. Like a little child, he’s quite hesitant on venturing out so do expect him to be quite attached to you.

However, as he is in the public, he does have to maintain his little persona. To others, he might just look possessive of his companion, but to you, it was more like an act from an overly dramatic kitten. Though, you will have to make sure to keep that thought to yourself. After all, Yoongi has a reputation to uphold.

“ What is that? ... Food? Is it really edible? Is it safe to eat? Do I want to try? ... W-why a-are you buying them?”

Jeon Jungkook

What originally was him accompanying you changed to you actually accompanying Jungkook. With his mixed bloodline, the streets have always been a pleasure break for him, especially with how hectic and annoying the palace can become.

As a result, Jungkook really enjoyed spending his time out here during his childhood.

However, as he gets older, he found himself getting more involved with the harem, hence not having the time to enjoy these simple things.

As a result, the moment he heard about your little outing, he’ll be sprinting out the door and prepare for the departure.

Dressing in commoner’s clothing reminds him of the peaceful days as a child where he could wander to wherever without getting pestered at.

With the familiar earthy smell of the ground and the loud crowds, Jungkook practically dragged you to every stall positioned on both sides, pushing his way through the crowd while still maintaining that goofy grin.

“ Your maj—, n-no I mean Y/n, do you perhaps enjoy this?... It’s so pretty and delicate!... Let’s go and see why they’re crowding over there!”

Kim Seokjin

Convincing Seokjin to step out of his luxurious carriage is already difficult, but getting him to put away the roll of red fabric is practically impossible.

However, after pulling him out of the carriage, it was already too late to go back. So as a result, have fun with all of his nagging.

Being the rich merchant he is, Seokjin would pull you around pointing at every product while saying a sarcastic comment about their quality, as well as exaggerate his products to you.

With how loud he is, it is expected that every merchant would overhear your guys’ conversation and get offended by him degrading their product.

As a result of his obnoxious behaviour, the entire crew got chased by countless people, barely being able to get back to the palace in one piece. Looks like you will never do this with Seokjin again.

“ The quality of this candle is the worse I’ve ever seen. Mine is way better! Why are they looking at us like that?”

Park Jimin

Despite his not so pleasant view on the outside world, it is the only place where Jimin’s secret low esteem gets replenish whenever he shows off his flirtatious side. Having people falling head over heels for his appearance makes him so giddy that he would do anything to make the most of it.

However, that doesn’t mean that he will completely ignore your presence because you’re his main target! Constant little flirts would be sent your way as you both venture in the streets until you both entered the beauty section.

Completely forgetting his previous intentions, Jimin’s eyes sparkled at the countless jewelry and accessories that were displayed. Practically hopping to every store, Jimin excitedly showed you all the items that had caught his eyes.

Paying for whatever he had picked out, you happily watched his interaction with the seller, glad to see the little innocence he had buried deep inside him.

“ Your— Y/n! Look at what I found! Doesn’t this match my eyes? Quick, come! I just saw this really pretty necklace!”

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