#one will stab you for meth

[kayt42]

Dammit buggy, Get the heck off my Dashboard! I click the x and he just plasters everything in old newspapers. xD Damn drunken-clown joke-of-a-pirate. Edit: oh wait, that x isn't from him.....well that's just even more annoying. Seriously, he's in the way, who was the idiot who thought this was okay?

[waynefamilyreactions]

Things said by the batfamily during a commercial flight.

“What do you mean you don’t have enough first class seats ma’am?”

“You’re flying Economy, brat, you’re the one with the shortest legs”

“No way, Todd, last time I checked the legally dead can’t fly”

“Extra cost for overweight luggage? Since when?”

“Bet you 20 bucks Jason gets stopped by security”

“No sir, I swear I don’t have any sharps or firearms within my person”

“No sir, that’s not meth it’s purple food colouring”

“I swear I am not related to any of them”

“4 dollars for a bottle of water? Fuck no, drink from the water faucet”

“Where’s Dick? Our zone just got called,”

“Where do you think? Getting skin care airport size products at Duty Free”

“Has anybody seen Duke?”

“He’s getting a massage”

“Listen here everyone, I am boarding that plane with or without you,”

“I call dibs on sitting next to Alfred,”

“Absolutely no. I am sitting next to Alfred, or else you’re all grounded”

“Why is Tim not waking up? We’re boarding soon”

“He knocked himself out with melatodine gummies”

“Master Jason, please don’t draw on your brother’s face while he’s unconscious”

“It’s our chance, let’s ditch Drake for real”

“Shit i can’t find my passport”

“I can lend you one of mine. I’ve got Ireland, UK, Spain, Singapore, Russian, and North Korea’s”

“How in the hell you got a North Korean passport?”

“Are you wearing red hair in your Irish passport?”

“Can you believe it? They have 100 ml Estée Lauder Advanced Night Repair!”

“This salad is disgusting, Father, i can’t eat this”

“Then don’t eat”

“I’ll stab you Drake i swear”

“How did you slipped a knife through security?”

“Only a knife? What an Amateur”

[shojizbae]

Yeehaw!

Spencer Reid x reader

Warnings: This is spicy! Use of alcohol, behind drunk/drunk sex, Oral fem! receiving, cowgirl position

Everyone could tell with just one look at you that you were Southern. That being said, anytime there was a case in the South, everyone knew to take a step back and let you lead. This time, there was a string of murders in Aiken, South Carolina, and the team knew that you were all over it.

"Weren't you from a Carolina?" Derek chuckles as we board the jet.

"Yeah, I spent most of my time on Camp Lejeune with my daddy, then I went south for college in Charleston."

"So that means Hotch has been demoted for this." Emily snickers

"No, I just know the South, and I'll get a little gun-happy when I'm back home. It wouldn't be no different had we gone to Chicago, Derek."

"Wow, mama's go home heat today." We settle on the jet, and Hotch and Rossi debrief us. I take a nap as we head south, and unfortunately, the power of the state takes me over. I march up to the sheriff and flash my credentials.

"So, how's it happen?" The sheriff speaks in an accent so thick it makes grits look like juice. I glance at the team, and they seem to sigh in relief when they realize I can understand him. Tirelessly, we worked the case for 73 hours. We met at a fresh crime scene every morning. The unsub seemed to be in a frenzy. He was dangerous and mixed with a high concentration of amphetamine addiction in this area. It was likely he had no clue he was killing.

But, due to the trace amounts of meth, we knew that he was unstable and would trip up eventually. We got some sleep after the fourth body, and there was a trip up in the morning. A fifth, but he had left some of his powdered sugar at the crime scene.

I put a glove on and lifted the little baggie, showing it off to Reid.

"Hey, Spencer, check this out."

"Hey, I've been clean for years," He mopes

"Aw, I'm sorry, sugar," A detective approaches me with an evidence bag. "Here, swab it and run this through CODIS." Spencer and I kept sweeping the crime scene for any molecule of evidence. Nothing all that exciting. The killer left the knife in her this time. Indicative of the fact that they were out of control. I squat next to the body and ghost my fingers over the entrance wound.

"Hey Spencer," He perks up like a gopher, "If you were going to kill someone and you were going to stab them to death, how'd you do it?"

"Are you sure that's an appropriate question?"

"I'm just curious."

"I'd probably use something with a curved blade. It would do the most damage and be the hardest to remove." His eyes go kind of dead, as he explains. An awkward air hangs between the two of us as we survey the wound.

"Damn, Spence, that's messed up."

"You asked." He sasses

Not later that evening, a woman called to suspect a strange man was in her house. We move in immediately and find a man pacing in circles in the bathroom. He's violent and angry, and his nose is bleeding. He tried to swing a knife at Morgan, but I grabbed him by the wrist and slammed his head into the wall. I use my hips to push him forward and cuff him while Emily helps the woman safely out of her house.

I march him to the car while he screams that I'm a bastard whore. Finally, I shoved him into the police car and muttered a good riddance. I even patted my hands like a baker getting flour off.

"I need a drink." I put my hands on my hips

"I could use something to cool off, too. This southern heat can be beat." Derek wipes his brow

"Hotch you think we have the leeway to spend the night here?" Emily asks

"That's all up to JJ, anything pressing enough that we need to get back to Quantico?"

"Well, nothing too scary that we couldn't cut loose after working for six days straight." She smiles at the team

Hours later, we showered, ate a full meal at a steakhouse, and put on the nicest clothes in our go-bags. The team was shocked to discover I had a cowboy hat in my bag. We moseyed our way to the bar, a small dive bar with a pool table. A mechanical bull is in the center of the room, and my eyes light up at the memories. Rossie buys us a pitcher of beer, and we all unwind from the stressful week.

As we knock 'em back slowly and let college stories fly, the team starts to forget what we had seen. Rossi tells us some funny stories about going to college during the summer of love, and Reid accidentally brags about going to Cal Tech.

"Well, what about you? Didn't you go to school nearby?" Emily says as she refills her glass.

"Uh yeah, in Charleston, South Carolina." I clarify

"So you must have spent most of your nights like this." Derek motions around the bar, playing honky-tonk music. Pool balls clack around us, and there's a thin layer of dirt around the edge of the bar.

"Well, most nights I spent in my dorm or the library. Every other Saturday, my roommate and neighbors would go to a dive named Fat Daddy's. We would make bets with the alcoholic dads about being able to ride the bull, and if we stayed on longer than they said so, they'd buy us all a drink. I didn't pay for my own liquor for three semesters." The team stood in shock. Hotch's jaw was agape and Rossi just nodded his chin in acknowledgement.

"Well, now, baby girl, I have to see you in action." Derek almost commands

"No, I ain't dressed right. And ain't nobody betted me."

"I bet you won't last seven seconds on the mechanical bull," Spencer interjects "If you do, I'll buy you that coconut margarita that you've been eyeing."

"Alrght, there's my bet." I march up to the bartender "I'm'onna ride that bull." I point at it and he looks me hat to boot.

"Alright," The bartender seems disinterested. He hits a button, and lights around the bull flash like a carnival. I draw the attention of the whole bar as a pre-recorded announcer calls me a brave challenger.

Big men with fat beer bellies gather around, and I readjust my top. If I play my cards right, I might get more than a coconut margarita out of this. I'm not wearing anything too special—just one of my combat scoop-neck tees and low-rise daisy dukes. The bartender offers his hand, and I use it to mount the big plastic bull.

"You ready, little girl?" He asks

"Yes sir." I grip onto the handle at the 'bull's nape and a bell rings. Slowly the bull starts lurching forward and back while exciting music bounces around the bar.

one Mississippi

The bull speeds up

'ride it, cowgirl!" Derek yells from the edge of the bull enclosure

two Mississippi

It starts going sideways

three Mississippi

I fake with my appearance that I'm struggling and readjust my grip

four Mississippi

I use my hips to grind with the rhythm of the bull as men whoop and cheer

five Mississippi, six Mississippi

My heart starts to thump against my ribs

Seven Mississippi, I win.

The team cheers for me. I keep going, getting bold enough to grind more dramatically. I hear more whoops and hollers as I lift my arms and squee. Someone yells, and another man whistles. I hold onto my hat as the bull speeds up, and I feel my shirt lift.

'Yeehaw!' I hear, and the bar just erupts. I feel so full of life, and I jump up on the bull, riding it like a surfboard. I drop down and sit backward on the bull. I twist around and ride the bull until the bartender slows it down.

"You done broke our record. 39 seconds on the highest speed." The bar screams in glee, and the team closes in on me, handing out high fives. Reid hangs behind the group, and I see him ask Derek a question

"Did you know that (Y/n) has a stomach tattoo?"

"Wow (Y/n), that was incredible." Emily looks starstruck

"I told you I didn't pay for a drink for 18 months." I give JJ a hug, and Reid emerges from the crowd

"I guess I owe you a drink." He smiles, and I fidget with the hem of my shirt

"One coconut margarita, please, sir." He leads me to the bar, where the bartender makes one for me. I hold the glass up to his face, and Reid takes the first sip.

"No, that's fine," He pushes the glass from his cheek

"C'mon, you paid for it."

"Listen, you know that coercion isn't a great thing to do. Most serial killers are more coercive than a skeezy lawyer."

"Aw, you're using my metaphors." I coo and step closer to his chest

"When did you become so flirty?" he braces me on the hip

"All that shaking around must have got the beer movin' in me." I giggle and sip on my glass. "I saw you askin' Derek 'bout my tattoo. y' wanna see it?" I start to roll up my shirt

"No, no, that's fine," He holds my wrist to stop me. "Why don't we get you some water."

"No, this is yummy." I smile and down the cup. He grimaces at the action and tries to walk me over to our table

"Hey, Spencer, you wanna know why I'm so good at riding that thing?" I halt to play with the button of his shirt, and he stops, too.

"Uh sure," He swallows

"Ever the curious doctor," I slur. I'm good with the bull because I love riding," I whisper drunkenly in his ear. He swallows hard and tries to shimmy us back to our table. His hands shake as he grips my tricep.

"Why're you so nervous?" I ask the side of his jaw. My voice swings up an octave, but I snort as I survey the team.

"The liquor got to her quick. I'm gonna get her back to the hotel."

"Oooh, why don't you take me someplace fancy," I tease

"Well, make sure you use protection." Derek snorts as he lifts a brown bottle to his lips

"Aw, you ain't gotta worry. I've got an IUD." Spencer soothes my sentence with a pat on my shoulder, and I slide a hand down his back

"That won't be a problem. I'm just going to ensure she has water, Advil, and comfortable clothes." He jumps away as I make an attempt to grab his butt.

"You sure you don't want either of us to take her?" JJ offers and points between Emily and herself. I rest my head on his chest. I can feel his heart pounding against my temple.

"You gonna take good care of me, Doctor?" I smile up at his concerned face

"I'm not that kind of doctor." He scolds. He helps seatbelt me into one of two FBI SUVs. Slowly and carefully, he drives me to the highway motel we were placed in, and he marches me into my room.

"Alright, are you sober enough to shower?" He sits me on the bed, and the mattress shrieks beneath me

"Yeah, so long as you help me get my shirt off."

"No, I won't be doing that," He finds a glass and fills it with water. He digs in my go-bag and finds the bottle of Advil. He drops two in his hand and gives them to me as well as the cup. "Drink this," he tucks some hair behind his ears.

"My feet hurt," I whine and put the pills in my mouth.

"Well, you're wearing those ridiculous boots," He stressfully tucks some hair behind his ears

"They ain't ridiculous." Stick out a foot and twist it to see the whole design, "Maybe a little flashy." I tuck my foot in and look up at him. "Will you calm down if you held me out of these sugar?"

"Yeah, sure." He kneels down and tugs each of my boots off, and lines them up with the rest of my shoes.

"Aww, you're so caring. C'mere sugar." Reluctantly, he finds me on the mattress, and I pat it next to me. He's hesitant, but he sits, and I lean against him. "Hey, Spencer?"

"Yes, (Y/n)?"

"You wanna ask about my tattoo?"

"No,"

"Really, because you keep glancing down at my stomach. I may be a drunk one, but I am a profiler. What about it? Gets you going so much?"

"What?" He scoffs in shock "It doesn't 'get me going'." I hold onto his arm

"Really? Because I'm pushin' my tits against you, and you're still lookin' at my stomach."

"I uh I'm not." He's distracted enough that I can swing my legs across his lap "(Y/n), this is really inappropriate conduct for coworkers."

"I ain't on the clock," I slowly drag my shirt up to reveal the design. Two big blossoms of overlapping lavender and olive flowers. Any protests he tries to make are halted as he studies the image.

"These ones, "I guide his apprehensive hand as hi pointer finger traces my stomach "Are olive blossoms, they stand for peace. and these are lavenders."

"They mean feminity and grace." He clears his throat

"I've got more," I whisper playfully

"C-can I see them?" He swallows. I cross my arms at the hem of my shirt and pull it off, lifting the hem of my bralette.

"There's some text under my boobs."

"te amo para siempre." He reads without an accent, so it sounds stilted. "Did you get that for a boyfriend?"

"No, it's something my grandpa used to tell me." he runs his thumb over the cursive, "And on my collarbones." I guide his wrist to my right clavicle.

"'An eye for an eye,' I guided him across my chest, and he traced like he was reading braille.' leaves the whole world blind.' He connected his eyes with mine. His pupils were real big.

"Aw gee, I just realized I'm a little underdressed."

"Of course," he shifts around to encourage me to get off

"Uh uh, it could be you're just overdressed," I hold onto the knot in his tie

"No (Y/n),"

"You know, darling, your mouth is saying no, but your body is saying yes." I slide my hips forward and feel him suppress a shudder. I direct his head to look at me with blown-wide puppy dog eyes. "Maybe we should tell your mouth to let your body take over." I sink my lips against him, and he melts into me. Our lips smack as he pulls away

"(y/n), no, this isn't professional," he tries to disable my arms as I slide his tie knot apart

"Well, that's good. If I were professional, you get a hotel in a local jail for soliciting a prostitute." I get the knot loose and free his neck, making headway on the buttons. He shiftsbutI kiss his complaints away. Soon, sounds of complaint turn to moans as he succumbs to his body.

"Hey, Spencer," I pull away briefly and chew on my lip at the view. His hair is fluffed, and the top half of his shirt is flipped open. "I've got one more tattoo, and I think you'd really like it."

"I would?" he pushes his hair back "Why." I give him a peck as I reach for the button on my shorts. He grabs my hand and undoes the button himself. I guide his hand to the zipper, and he tugs it down. Instead of shimmying out of the shorts, I hook his finger in the elastic of my underwear. He pulls it down just enough to read the black text that slowly faded to show green.

"C6H12O6?"

"Yeah, you remember what that means?"

"It's the chemical formula for sugar." He snaps the underwear back into place, and I jump at the sensation, "Why?"

"Because I'm so sweet." I dive back in and kiss him. Heated aggressively like he's got the last cup of water on his tongue. He reaches into my hair to steady me, and with his second hand, he grabs my hip. I continue to unbutton his shirt until he shores it off into the distance.

"Well, look how handsome you are," I watch him blush, but I run my hands up his chest and over his collarbones. He blushes but guides my hand to his belt buckle. I love the sound a belt buckle makes. Before I can get his pants off him, Spencer surprises me. He picks us up and twists us, so my back slaps against the squeaky mattress.

He slithers down my body, kissing down the various tattoos. Gently, he slides his fingers into the waistband of my jeans. He slides them down and separates each of my knees. Almost entranced he licks up the gray cotton panties I wore.

"Spencer!' I moan in shock

"Please, this is my favorite part." He pulls the underwear off and tosses it to the side. I don't protest any further. It's rare to find a guy willing to go down on me, much less one that initiates. He wraps his arms around my thighs and places my knees at his shoulders. He wastes no time diving in.

With every man I've slept with, I've never felt someone go down on me with such fervor and skill. I'm taken down. He clings onto my clit with desperation. He drops my right leg so that he can trace gentle circles around my pussy.

"Spenc- Uh"

"Sh-sh -shh, just relax." He soothes me and rubs my inner thigh. I try to look down at him, but as he continues his ministrations, I lose my strength and flop my head back. Slowly, he sinks his pointer finger in, and I take a sharp inhale.

"Spe-EUUh!" His skill is shocking as he slowly moves his finger in and out. Once I was acclimated, he pulled out and put both his pointer and middle in. I do my best to suppress it for the comfort of the surrounding guests.

"Don't hide from me." He comes up and looks my face over

"There's other people around, Spencer."

"Then let them hear." He places a kiss on my forehead and sinks down to continue devouring me. I don't hold back as much as I'm embarrassed. He starts a 'come hither' motion and I roll my hips up into his face. He braces a hand on my hip.

"Sit still." He commands

Steadily, I felt a climax rising in me. I felt the muscles in my stomach clenching and tensing. I feel like yellow waves of pleasure ripple through my body.

"SPE—Spencerr, I'm gonna!" I desperately reached around and threaded my fingers into his hair. With my other hand, I felt around for the disheveled comforter. I balled my hands into a fist around what I held: his hair and the blanket. I climaxed faster than I had expected. Accidentally, I locked Spencer in with my legs. Desperate to keep the pleasure close to me.

It took me a moment to catch my breath. When I came to, I released my legs, and he resurfaced, wiping his mouth as he checked on me.

"How are you doing? Was that any good?"

"Good?" I gaped, and I saw him crumble a little in insecurity. Spencer, that was the best head I've ever had." He chuckled boyishly as I held his pants so he lay on top of me.

"Spencer?" I ask slowly

"Yeah," He kisses me on the side of the mouth

"I'm gonna fuck you now,"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," I sit him up and unzip his pants and pull them down. His legs are ridiculously long, and it feels like an eternity to get him naked. I geek at his boxers. His cock is jumping against the fabric, and there is a small precum stain. I rub over the fabric, and he keens into my touch.

"Aww, so you're all talk," I tease

"S-shut up, you were just writhing under me." He leans back on his arms. The veins in his forearms are bulging, and I can see his stomach shift as he shifts under my pawing.

"Yeah, and now you will be."

I slide my fingers under the elastic, and he lifts his hips to help me free him. Gently, I stroke him, and he gulps back and moans. I mount him, letting Spencer guide himself into me. I sigh as I feel him slide in, and his hands gravitate to my hips.

"Woah," he grunts. It's probably the strangest reaction I've gotten, but I appreciate being such a stunner.

"How are you doing, Reid?"

"I-I'm sublime. How are you?" I shift my hips in contemplation, feeling my eyes pool in the back of my head.

"Oh, I'm doing-g just-" My sentence cuts itself off as the head of his dick kisses a sweet spot inside me. "Can you just give me a little boost?" He holds each of my hips and drags me across my lap.

"Oh fuck," I sigh, and I pick my hips up. We fall into a sensual rhythm as the world disappears around us. "Spencer, that feels so..." My forehead collapses against his collarbone. There's something about his dick that itches a scratch I didn't know I was feeling. Similarly, he mews below me.

"(Y/n)," he groans out below me "Don't stop." and I don't. Instead, I pick up the pace. I brace myself on his shoulders and slam my hips back and forth until my thighs burn. And when the sensation becomes overwhelming I keep fighting.

"Oh my- uh," He groans beneath me "(Y/n), (Y/n), I'm gonna cum." He sounds desperate. "(Y/n) you have to get off." He whimpers

"No, I'm gonna cum too. I won't-" I keep my hips galloping against his thighs, "PLEase- fuck, I'm gonna." I feel his cock twitch inside me, and warmth spreads through my thighs.

"Uh, nice and deep." I halt myself for a second," Spencer I gotta keep going."

"M'kay." I ride with such speed that I'm scared the legs on the bed will snap. Finally, I feel the point of no return—like watching a slow vase fall over, knowing you're too far away to stop it. I came. My knees buckled, and I fell chest-first onto Reid.

"Are you okay?" He holds my back steady and gently rubs my spine, and I catch my breath.

"Yeah, I'm okay." I sit myself up, and Spencer tucks some frizzy hair behind my ear. "Probably some of the sex I've had in... ever." His face lights up. I use his shoulder to stand up, and I feel it slide down my thigh.

"I'm gonna need a shower, but there's always room for two." I smile and trot off to the ensuite. It's not long before Spencer is chasing me behind the vinyl curtain to wet his hair and press a kiss to the back of my shoulder.

[cowboycharmac]

iasip seasons by who i think should have won cunt of the year that season

season 1: mac <3 convincing the gang its their moral duty to serve alcohol to children. what are you like bulimic or something. what if jesus was aborted. season 1 mac my everything. he is like a morally reprehensible girlfriend to me

season 2: also mac. its more evenly tied but honestly i have to give it to him bc season 2 is a great season for mac, cunt-wise. making fun of the twins crack addiction, banging their mom, and then leaving dennis to get stabbed in that alleyway? he earned it. technically dennis starts most of these by betting against mac and making fun of mac for having a meth dealer for a dad but honestly hes more of an asshole then a cunt here i think. mac was serving us cunt on a silver platter and i for one am thankful

season 3: dee. the gang finds a dumpster baby. aluminum monster vs fatty mcgoo. dennis looks like a registered sex offender. her entire relationship with cricket. need i go on

season 4: its between dennis and frank here i cant decide ok... wait yes i can. frank wins. waterboarding your illegitimate daughter and taking away her health insurance. shitting the bed on purpose as a joke. giving your bastard son stigmata with a nailgun. tricking dee and charlie into thinking they ate human and giving them parasites. really good season for frank

season 5: dennis reynolds misogynist swag it was almost frank again but the dennis system really truly is awful i hate him so much <3 also he broke up with mac he made mac SAD!!!! >:( and he was annoying to dee which is also misogynistic because i say so. happy cunting dennis. also ummm he served some insane cunt in that gay ass thong.... im wearing these because i wanna turn you on bro. do you think s5 macden ever explored eachothers bodies.

season 6: maureen ponderosa. she lived she died she served CUNT the end !!!!!!!! shes only in two episodes but she really truly marries this loser bitch kicks him out of his OWN HOUSE and then dumps all her debt on him and hes STILL giving her alimony checks to fund her transition into a cat until she dies over half a decade later. and he deserves every bit of it!!!!!!! i love her sooo much and those kitty sweaters.... ok!!!!!! maureen i want you back i could treat you so right

season 7: dee and dennis tie for this one sorry.... chardee macdennis and highschool reunion and sweet dee gets audited.... what is wrong with them <3

SIGH ok im bored now maybe ill do a part two later anyways you guys discuss with the class i have to go think about maureen some more <3 catgirl of ever

[theharrowing]

Collateral 🗡️ POV: Jungkook

Jungkook has to take care of a few things, and he makes a mess.

Or, the one with Jungkook, a cocktail of drugs, a bandolier of kunai knives, and 15 dead men.

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

❗ THIS IS A CHARACTER POV CHAPTER!!!

if you do not wish to perceive any POV that is not the main character, please feel free to skip this one!

🗡️Jungkook x a male stranger, Jungkook x Taehyung

🗡️ word count: 8.5k

🗡️ mafia au, complicated relationships, graphic violence, major character injury, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit, 21+

🗡️ warnings: discussion of drug use and manufacturing (mdma/ecstasy, methamphetamines, amphetamines); mention of homeless people being thought of as disposable; actual drug use (weed, cocaine, ecstasy laced with meth, all while drinking whiskey); use of molotov cocktail as a weapon; hand-to-hand combat; graphic knife violence & broken glass used as a weapon; killing 15 men; getting stabbed but not too badly; plenty of my annoying sense of humor.

🗡️ note: hello! welcome to the character pov chapters! these used to be locked behind a paywall but tbh i don't feel good asking people for money, so i am setting them free (cue Jimin.) this chapter is possibly my favorite written chapter for all of Collateral, and it is gory as all hell. i hope you love it!!!

🗡️ early draft beta read by @blog-name-idk - but it has undergone some pretty big non-beta'd edits

🗡️ posted feb. 2024 - originally sept. 2022 | read on ao3

The sounds of Jeongguk grunting while his fists repeatedly hit his punching bag are all that can be heard in his spacious home. So when Jeongguk glances up to find this morning's hookup standing against the frame of the hallway entrance in light blue boxer shorts, he startles, and, in a flash, pulls his gun from the holster around his hips. 

The man jumps and throws his hands in the air while Jeongguk sighs and shakes his head, recalling who he is. He reaches back and slides the barrel of his weapon into place at the small of his back.

"Why are you still here?" Jeongguk asks, returning to punching the red sand-filled bag that hangs from the ceiling of his mostly empty living room.

Sweat runs down Jeongguk's face and neck, sticking his hair to his forehead. He wears his hip holster, a pair of black basketball shorts, and nothing else. With each strike of his bare skin against the bag, his knuckles sting.

"That's no way to speak to the guy who sucked your soul through your dick this morning," the man teases, and Jeongguk grimaces as he looks at the man, who grins.

With a scoff and a roll of his eyes, Jeongguk says, "I never even learned your name. It's not that serious."

The man opens his mouth as if to respond, but Jeongguk raises his hand and says, "I don't want to fucking know. Be on your way."

For a brief moment, the man just stands and stares owlishly with his mouth gaping open, and Jeongguk resists the urge to pull his gun on him once more. Then the man shifts around on his feet and mutters, "You drove us here," with a dejected frown.

Jeongguk sighs with vexation. He pulls his phone from his pocket, thumbs around through his contacts, and calls Hoseok, who answers after the second ring.

"Ggukie bun, to what do I owe the pleasure?" It sounds like Hoseok has his phone on speaker, which means he is most likely driving.

"Hyung, are you busy? I need someone driven home."

"I happen to be on my way back to the property now. Gimme ten? Gonna pick up Seokjin and then I'll swing by."

"Sounds good. Thank you, hyung."

Hoseok chuckles, says, "My pleasure, little bro," and hangs up.

Jeongguk shoves his phone back into his pocket and nods toward the front door, saying, "Your ride will be here in ten. You can wait outside."

With a huff, the man turns on his heels and walks back down the hallway to the guest room from which he came. Irritated, Jeongguk abandons his workout and walks to the kitchen for a glass of water. His house is a spacious and open concept with black countertops and silver appliances, all of which are pristine and practically empty.

Jeongguk pulls a tall, thin glass from the rack beside the sink, fills it halfway with water from the tap, and drinks most of it, only to dump out the rest. Then he rinses the glass off, sets it in the same spot it was before, and he returns to his punching bag, waiting for his guest to leave.

It only takes another moment for the man to appear in a black tee untucked over tight blue jeans. His hair is short, dark brown, and disheveled, and Jeongguk spares him a final passing glance before looking away. Some shuffling around is heard as the man puts on his shoes before the front door opens and closes.

Jeongguk grabs his gun from its holster and twirls it around his finger as he makes his way through the space and locks both deadbolts on the front door—not that the man would be able to bypass a retina scan and passcode to return inside. He heads up a flight of stairs beside the entrance toward his master bedroom and en suite to get ready to meet with Yoongi and Namjoon in thirty minutes, whistling some tune that is stuck in his head while the heavy, familiar weight of his glock grounds him.

Meetings make Jeongguk anxious. For as long as he has been part of Yoongi's family, nobody has given Jeongguk a reason for his anxiety; it is simply his natural state of being. He hates sitting and brainstorming, always finding himself spacing out and needing whoever was speaking to repeat themselves. He would rather be given an order and sent on his way. 

And with the new girl in the house, everyone has the habit of getting sidetracked and steering the conversation to her. Especially Namjoon and Hoseok.

It is not as if Jeongguk doesn't like having her in the house, but he is tired of having to pretend to give a shit about new people. And, after the debacle with Ryujin, he is not eager to watch his boss fall in love with an outsider.

If there is one thing this world has taught Jeongguk, it is that to love is to die.

In his standard-issued black button-up tucked into black slacks, Jeongguk checks his appearance, running a hand through his unstyled hair. The front is growing out, falling just below his eyebrows, and it is another thing on the long list of shit he does not want to deal with.

Jeongguk straightens out his rolex and heads out through his dimly lit bedroom, down the short hallway to the flight of stairs that leads right to his front entrance. He sits on the second to last step and puts on worn-out doc marten boots, taking care to double tie the laces, and he adjusts the gun holster on his ankle so that it sits comfortably above his right boot.

Not that he will need a gun to go to Yoongi's place, but he may need one for where he plans on going after.

Jeongguk's home is the second closest to Yoongi's mansion, so rather than drive, he gets on his trusty 7-speed mint green bicycle. Strapped to the handlebars is a light brown handwoven basket in which he tosses a small black duffle bag. Jeongguk straddles the bike, gripping onto the soft brown handlebars, and sets off down his driveway, waiting as his weight triggers the security gate to open and let him be on his way.

It only takes three or so minutes for him to pull up to Yoongi's front gate. There is a path that connects all of their homes and allows them access without leaving any security gates, but the road has a nice steep hill that Jeongguk can get some real speed on, and he prefers that to the private path that is much more level.

As the gate opens granting Jeongguk access, he spots Hoseok and Seokjin standing hand in hand on Yoongi's stoop. From the smell of it, they are smoking a joint, and as Jeongguk gets closer, the sound of his tires on the cement driveway calls their attention.

Jeongguk grins and flicks the small aluminum bell on the handlebars twice, ringing it playfully. Yoongi's head appears from behind Seokjin's broad shoulders, and he smiles his wide, gummy grin that always sets Jeongguk at ease. Hoseok lets go of Seokjin's hand, and he turns to greet him.

"Who was the boy?" Hoseok teases.

Jeongguk rolls his eyes and shrugs. "How did you get back here so fast?"

"He didn't live too far," Hoseok responds with his hands on his hips. 

Jeongguk knows the look in his eye—the squinted glare that suggests he isn't getting the information he desires and that he plans to pry more. 

Hoseok continues, "I'm impressed you let him stay the night."

With a sigh, Jeongguk says, "I didn't. Picked him up this morning."

"This morning?" Seokjin asks as he turns and mimics Hoseok's stance—whether intentionally or simply because they spend too much time together, it is hard to say.

This is the facet of being the youngest that Jeongguk hates; he is always subject to twenty questions about what and who he does despite him almost never sticking his nose into their business. They love to pick on him, and it drives him crazy.

"Yeah, this morning," Jeongguk grumbles as he gets off his bike, walks it to the garage, and leans it against the painted steel panel door. "I had pent-up energy and couldn't sleep, so I went to Paradise and found someone to fuck."

Yoongi scoffs. A crooked smirk tugs on his lips—nothing but trouble—and Jeongguk braces himself for what he is about to say.

"Pent-up energy from bashing a man's brains in?"

Jeongguk hums in agreement and pushes his hand through his hair. "As if I'm the only one," he grumbles, making his way to the stoop. Seokjin holds a joint up to his lips, and Jeongguk reaches out and snatches it, sticking his tongue out as his elder, who squawks in dissent.

"You're certainly not the only one," Hoseok responds with a waggle of his eyebrows, and Yoongi shakes his head as he chuckles.

Jeongguk takes a deep inhale of the joint, enjoying the faint crackle of tobacco that has been mixed in. Smoke fills his lungs, and he holds it in, then tilts his head upward and blows the small plume out.

"Shall we?" Seokjin asks as he wraps his arm around Hoseok's waist. They are both dressed in black suits with white undershirts, with their hair styled a little nicer than usual, and Jeongguk wonders what they may be up to, but he doesn't want to ask. Unlike them, he hates to pry.

Yoongi, however, can always be trusted to unveil people's plans. "You'll be back in an hour or so?" he asks, reaching to smooth the lapels on Seokjin's dress shirt.

Hoseok nods and gives Yoongi a soft smile. "Seokjin is meeting with a few brokers at House of Cards, so while he's busy wooing them, I'll return in time to meet with you and Taehyung."

"Perfect," Yoongi responds with a satisfied smile. He turns to Jeongguk and says, "Namjoon's inside. Shall we?"

Jeongguk hums and holds the joint out toward Seokjin, who holds up his hand and shakes his head. Seokjin and Hoseok wave their goodbyes and walk toward the black sedan parked a few feet away, and Jeongguk waves the two fingers that cradle the slowly diminishing joint and follows Yoongi through the front door.

As he kicks out of his shoes, Namjoon comes down the stairs wearing a stupid smile that makes Jeongguk's stomach turn. What he and Yoongi get up to is their own business, but after what happened in the past, he hates the thought that the cycle is repeating itself. He has always wondered why the two of them can't just be happy together without having to play house with a third. But it is none of his business.

Smoking weed is probably a mistake. As Jeongguk lifts his hand to pass the joint to Namjoon, he already feels a little spaced out and way too relaxed. He approaches the blue velvet couch, sits on the end furthest from Yoongi's chair, and leans into the corner of it with one arm up on the armrest and the other slung around the back. Namjoon sits in the other corner, as close to Yoongi as possible, and angles his body toward Yoongi like the obedient little puppy he is.

As expected, the meeting loses Jeongguk's attention almost immediately, and he spaces out, rubbing his fingertips along the velvet fabric of the couch to make it dark and rough, only to smooth it out again. 

Occasionally, Yoongi asks Jeongguk's opinion, catching his attention and reiterating whatever point it is he wants Jeongguk to weigh in on, and Jeongguk looks up, nods, and grunts.

The meetings always go this way. Everyone has a conversation around Jeongguk, and then they cater to Jeongguk's lack of attention in order to ask his opinion on trivial matters. He doesn't understand why this can't be done over text.

When they conclude the boring chunk of the meeting, and Jeongguk has grunted and nodded somewhere around eight to ten times, Yoongi sits forward in his chair—a movement that always catches Jeongguk's attention—then he angles his hips to reach into the pocket of his slacks and pulls out a small baggie full of pills.

There are about eight pills in the bag, and they are little pink semi-squares. Without having a closer look, Jeongguk knows that they are ecstasy pills pressed with methamphetamines that were shipped from California, but he picks up the baggie anyway, inspecting them for the Iron Man logo imprinted on the back.

"These are trash," Jeongguk says, tossing them back onto the table.

One of these pills will have the user grinding their teeth so hard they are likely to chip one. Jeongguk once woke up from a bender that included these and other substances, and the sides of his mouth were so chewed up and swollen, he could barely eat soup.

Since then, he keeps a mouthguard in his duffle bag along with his weapons. He will never understand why Americans so willingly settle for garbage drugs.

"That they are," Yoongi responds with a smirk. "But we have already begun to manufacture smoother MDMA that gives you the high minus the mouth grinding, and I would like your guys to try to emulate a pill that has those qualities, plus the amount of methamphetamines found in these."

Jeongguk rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "If you want an upper that doesn't have a negative effect on the user's mouth, meth isn't the way to go."

"What about drugs that are meant to treat attention deficit?" Namjoon butts in. 

Jeongguk tilts his head to show Namjoon he is listening and tenses his jaw to let him know that whatever it is, he better get to the point. Namjoon has a tendency to get long-winded, and Jeongguk finds it annoying. Namjoon seems unaffected and continues with a soft smile.

"Those pharmaceuticals don't often cause users to grind their teeth or get the other 'meth mouth' side effects. Perhaps we can find out how much meth is used in these pressed pills and test whether that same amount of Adderall or something similar would have a more pleasant effect. If your team doesn't still have Adderall or anything similar on hand, I'm sure we could get some smuggled in by the end of the week."

"Adderall isn't meth," Jeongguk mutters. "Amphetamines are a different class of stimulant, but...it might work. And I'm almost certain we have some on hand."

Jeongguk does not hate the idea. But he is not a scientist—none of them are. He has no clue if this idea will actually pan out. He does, however, have scientists under his employ, so he takes the baggie and shoves it into his pocket.

"Fine," Jeongguk says. "I'll talk to the team about it. Anything else?"

Namjoon shakes his head as if Jeongguk was directing the question to him, and Jeongguk ignores him to glance at Yoongi.

With a soft smile, Yoongi says, "Of course, we need to figure out who that Jae fellow is, who—"

"Already on it," Jeongguk interrupts, to which Yoongi sits up with a smile. "After some digging I found Jae and fourteen men who either knew about his plan or were helping him carry it out. I invited them all to a party at the private club. I'll pop by the warehouse on my way—kill two birds with one stone."

"Kill as many birds as needed," Yoongi responds with a dark, knowing gaze that sends an excited shiver through Jeongguk.

"You got it, boss."

* * * 

Jeongguk stops at a red light just outside the city, gathers saliva under his tongue as he takes the baggie of shitty pink pills out of his front pocket, and pops one into his mouth. He makes a mental note of where everyone will be in an hour or two, banking on Seokjin still being in town, knowing he will be in absolutely no shape to bike home. Then he runs a hand through his hair, gives the bell on his bicycle a celebratory ding as the light turns green, and takes off.

The air is warm, but the breeze that hits him as he rides at a slight incline feels nice and cool. It centers him—a calm before he kicks up a storm. 

So little of Jeongguk's life has ever been calm, and so he takes these moments whenever he can and holds them close to his heart. Driving would make everything go faster, and it would be much more convenient, and that is precisely why Jeongguk rides his bike instead.

Jeongguk's drug operations primarily take place in a warehouse district on the outskirts of the city in an abandoned area that has been left impoverished and ignored with intention. The syndicates like having dumping grounds—a place to make people disappear—and when Yoongi took over and extended his reign to this area, there were talks of cleaning it up to improve the quality of life, which he staunchly declined. 

In fact, the area seems to only have gotten worse. Ironic, perhaps, that some of Yoongi's most state-of-the-art equipment is housed in this very district.

There were homeless populations, but once the warehouses became more useful and Jeongguk employed a team of scientists to begin manufacturing some of their heavy-hitter drugs, everyone was pushed out or eradicated. Or, if they had their wits about them, they were brought onto some of the more disposable teams.

Jeongguk veers from the busy streets and begins an uphill journey that quickly turns to dirt and gravel terrain. The bike bounces as Jeongguk leans into each stride, and then he pulls up to a small concrete compound of four identical grey rectangles with steel panel doors and a few run-down cars outside. He thumbs over a key fob in his pocket to cause the steel door on the second building from the left to lift open, and skids to a halt in front of it.

Whether the drugs are slowly starting to take effect or Jeongguk is anxious about meeting with his team, he is unsure, but there is a tremor in his hands as he rides into the dark cement enclosure and taps the button over the fabric of his slacks once more to close the door behind him. 

Jeongguk parks his bike off to the side of the entrance, closes his eyes to take a deep exhale and shake out his limbs, then makes his way through the empty building to a set of steps in a far corner.

Two stories below is where the science team works, and Jeongguk takes the baggie of pink pills from his pocket, pulls one more pill out, seals the baggie shut, and rubs his thumb and finger over the plastic-covered pills as he makes his way downstairs.

* * * 

The phone rings thrice before Seokjin picks up, and Jeongguk rubs his hand over his nose, stifling a sniffle as cocaine drips down the back of his throat.

"Yeah, kid?"

"Jin-hyung," Jeongguk says in a tone that lilts on being ragged and unsure. "A-are you still in Seoul?"

Jeongguk hears Seokjin sigh. "Are you high?"

"Hmm...not yet. But I will be."

Jeongguk absolutely is high. It crept up as he was discussing Yoongi's idea with the science team, and he got so antsy that he needed to get out of there as soon as possible.

Luckily, there wasn't much to say to the team in the first place; they are used to these kinds of requests and know more about the processes than anyone else, so Jeongguk had nothing to explain—he simply plopped the baggie onto a metal table, muttered their idea, and was out rather fast.

"Do you need a ride?" Seokjin asks, voice stern in a way that always makes Jeongguk anxious—like he is being spoken to like a child.

"Yeah," Jeongguk mutters. His mouth shivers and moves a little too slowly. "Yoongi encouraged me to go b-bird watching, and I'll probably overdo it."

"Bird wat—what did he tell you, exactly?"

Jeongguk giggles, realizing his mistake. Bird watching—how silly. "I'll be in your district. Gotta knock skulls together and find out who lost my pills. Might get messy."

"And you need a ride?"

"Yes, hyung."

"Did you drive?"

"Yes, hyung."

Another sigh. "Send me the coordinates. I can be there in about an hour."

"Thanks, hyung," Jeongguk sing-songs in a dazed voice as he pulls the phone from his ear and hangs up.

His bike tires crunch on gravel as he sits back on the seat, grips his handlebars, and begins to ride. Inside the wicker basket sits an empty duffle bag, the contents of which have been strapped to Jeongguk's chest, scratching his skin ever so slightly beneath his shirt.

The ride from the warehouses to the river feels simultaneously too fast and incredibly slow. Jeongguk's heart pounds as he continues to come up on the pill and ease into two too many tiny spoonfuls of cocaine. He wants a drink—something stiff as hell to take the edge off.

Tonight, in a private club near House of Cards, fifteen of Jeongguk's men are enjoying an evening of drinking and taking it easy in celebration of a great month of getting product onto the streets and sold. This, of course, is a lie; their month tanked once one of them pulled a significant amount of pharmaceuticals and ecstasy, and Jeongguk has gathered them all for easy disposal.

Namjoon and the lamb met with Changkyun to rough up a couple of men who spilled the beans about someone named Jae fucking with their supply. Afterward, Jeongguk put his ear to the ground and immediately started to hear whispers of other men who may have been working to help him. He found out who had been working close to Jae and who had been hanging out with him while off duty, and he made sure to extend invitations to all fifteen of them for a party at the club tonight.

Everyone who is actually worth a damn is currently in one of the warehouses having a lowkey shindig of their own, far away from the others, and none the wiser. They will all find out eventually, and Jeongguk looks forward to their loyalty being tested when they do.

The sun has begun to set, and a pinkish-orange glow colors the sky. Jeongguk likes to imagine the pink as a runoff of blood, picturing the stars above spilling the crimson liquid onto the earth, getting soaked up by the clouds.

He stands, straddling his bike, and stumbles it into a rack, feeling the dizzying tendrils of his high begin to wrap him in a tight hug. A valet worker walks over with a bike lock and begins to anchor the vehicle into place, then sends Jeongguk off with a deep bow.

"Mister Jeon," the buff security officer working the front door mutters with a bow of his head. He pats Jeongguk down as he asks, "What's on the menu tonight?" fingers tracing over pointed steel between his pecs.

"Teaching a lesson in loyalty," Jeongguk responds with a wide, sadistic smile. "Boss will send a cleanup crew; you just need to worry about keeping the men inside once the bartender leaves through the back."

The guard rubs his palm over the gun on Jeongguk's ankle, then stands and says, "Understood."

When Jeongguk walks into the small club, the men are all crowded in a circle, shouting over the sounds of skin slapping against skin. Whenever these low-lives get thrown into a room together, all they want to do is fight. Jeongguk can barely see a tousle of bodies in the center of the group, but the sounds of grunting as hands and feet make contact with limbs and cheeks has adrenaline coursing through him.

The space is cast in a drug-induced fog, and Jeongguk's eyes slowly scan around and attempt to make sense of everything. There are no windows and only one exit, save for a secret door only staff have access to behind the bar. The building itself is solid brick with mahogany floors and deep red wallpaper. Lighting in the space is dim, appearing darker still since the scarce furnishings are rust red.

Jeongguk makes his way to the bar and orders a double whiskey neat—the shittiest they have on the rail. He likes to feel the burn as it travels from his lips to his chest—likes how every inch of his body responds in protest against something so wretched.

"You're off for the night," Jeongguk mutters, and the bartender nods, grabs a towel to wipe a wet spot from the bar top, and then walks into the back, abandoning his post.

Jeongguk pulls a vial of cocaine from around his neck, unscrews it, and begins to tap a small pile onto the sticky counter. He leans and sniffs as much as he can, first through one nostril and then the other, leaving the rest behind. 

Then, he pulls the second little pink pill from his pocket, takes a dizzy step back, and pops it into his mouth. He reasons that the only way to come out of the other end of a bloodbath without ruining his ability to sleep at night is to become relentlessly high.

With the remainder of his whiskey, Jeongguk washes back the pill and attempts to formulate a plan. One of the men approaches the bar, and Jeongguk turns to find him leaning against the edge and looking around.

"Where the fuck is the bartender?" the guy asks, glancing at Jeongguk.

Recognition hits the man, and his eyes widen, then he stands up straight, turning to Jeongguk with his head bowed forward. "S-sir," he mutters, "I didn't see you there."

Jeongguk's heart pounds as he undoes the top three buttons of his shirt, reaches past the fabric, and pulls out a sharp steel kunai knife with a hole on the end of the handle through which Jeongguk sticks his index finger. He twirls the small, heavy knife and takes a step toward the man.

"Are you having fun tonight?" Jeongguk asks with a voice that is far too steady for how he feels.

The man eyes Jeongguk's knife and gives him an ugly, toothy smile. His hair is greasy, his brown shirt is stained on the front, and he smells like piss. "So much fun, boss! Thank you for giving us the night off."

Jeongguk nods. "I wanted to give a special congratulations to Jae. Have you seen him?"

At the mention of Jae, the man's eyes open widely, and he nervously looks around the bar. Then he nods with his chin and says, "Red shirt. W-want me to get him for you, boss?"

Every inch of Jeongguk tingles. A hazy, thick euphoria embraces him tightly and makes him want to dance—dance and sing and slit all of these men's throats until the floor is sticky with blood.

Jeongguk opens his mouth, aware of how tense his jaw is becoming, and moves it around as if stretching it out. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a rounded plastic container in which he stores his mouthguard, and he shakes his head at the man before him.

"I'll take care of it," Jeongguk says as he pops the container open, pulls out the clear guard, and shoves it snugly into his mouth.

"Oh—okay," the man says, taking a step away from Jeongguk, who continues to stare him down with his lips spread over the clear plastic covering his teeth.

Jeongguk twirls the kunai on his finger and takes a step toward the man. The man jolts as if startled by a jump scare, and he takes a clumsy step back, tripping into a barstool and reaching back with his hand to steady it. Everything seems to move too fast and too slow, and Jeongguk finds he can only process that which is immediately in his line of sight—everything else is a hazy wash of light and color.

This is the sweet spot. Any higher, and Jeongguk might not be able to perform.

Jeongguk spins on the balls of his boots, places his palms onto the sticky bar, and hoists himself up, landing surprisingly steadily on the bar top. Then he hops down onto the other side and straightens himself as he allows his eyes and brain to catch up to one another, scanning the bottles on the shelves. There are a lot of clear bottles, but only one of them is the vodka he desires.

"W-what are you doing, boss?" the man asks.

"Making a cocktail," Jeongguk shouts over his shoulder.

"Gin...close..." Jeongguk mutters to himself, mouth full of plastic and twirling his kunai. Fidgeting helps him focus, especially with methamphetamines coursing through his blood.

"W-what kind of cocktail, boss?" the man asks, and Jeongguk huffs an impatient sigh. He hates being bothered; why is this man bothering him?

"Ah, here you are," Jeongguk mumbles as he finds a nearly full bottle of Smirnoff 100-proof vodka. He pulls the bottle spout out and drops it to the floor—metal clattering on brick—then turns and searches the rail for a rag.

"Molotov," Jeongguk shouts as he takes the corner of the stained rag and begins twisting it into a small enough tip to shove into the bottle.

"What?"

Jeongguk has to use the kunai to slice part of the rag away, and he tosses the useless strip over his shoulder, then continues to shove the rag into the neck of the bottle, leaving a couple inches sticking out from the top. 

Satisfied with his work, he pulls a gold-plated zippo lighter from his pocket and flicks it open against his thigh in one swift motion, igniting the flame in the process. Then he holds the flame up to the rag and watches with delight as the end of the dirty fabric catches. He pops the lighter closed and drops it back into his pocket, then he sets the flaming cocktail aside.

With the kunai dangling from around his finger, Jeongguk pulls out his mouthguard, dribbling spit that has gathered around it down his chin as he says, "Molotov," more clearly with a grin.

The man looks on in horror, frozen in place, and Jeongguk shoves the guard back into his mouth, places his palms onto the sticky bar, and hops back up, onto his feet in a squatting position. Without warning, Jeongguk picks up the bottle, chucks it overhand toward the crowd, sending it high enough to hit the ceiling, and he smiles widely as the bottle explodes and rains liquid fire down onto the men.

Laughter rocks through Jeongguk, and he loses his balance, falling backward onto his palms against the bar. He sits flat on his butt and swings his legs over the edge of the counter, watching as men panic and scream.

Most of them will have minor burns. Several men run around flailing while their shirts and hair singe, and one man rolls on the floor, desperate to put out the flames. In the chaos, Jeongguk spots Jae off to the right, away from the fire, and he hops down from the bar to make his way over to him, pulling his mouthguard out.

"Yo, Jae!" Jeongguk shouts, and the man in red turns quickly and begins to run toward Jeongguk.

"Boss, you have to help us!" Jae shouts frantically, clearly drunk. "Someone threw fire at us!"

Jeongguk giggles and takes Jae roughly by the bicep as he mutters, "You, come with me."

Jae stumbles but compiles, and Jeongguk drags him several more feet away. Beside the bathrooms of this old building are thick pipes that stick out from the brick, and Jeongguk yanks the man close to one as he reaches into his pocket for some metal handcuffs, fumbles with opening one end of the cuffs, then locks it around Jae's wrist in a tight squeeze.

A shout rips through Jae's chest, and he attempts to get away but then throws a punch. Jeongguk takes the impact of his fist to the jaw and then slams his forehead into Jae’s face, knocking him backward into the wall. 

Jae's head hits brick, making him grunt, and Jeongguk manages to reach the man’s hand over his head and secure the open cuff to one of the pipes.

Adrenaline from absorbing the punch has Jeongguk's nerves singing to life, and he punches Jae in the stomach for good measure, then turns to find the man at the bar shaking while leaning against it with a look of horror on his face.

"Why so scared?" Jeongguk mock pouts.

The man shakes his head and whimpers, "Wh-what's going on, boss?"

"You know what's going on," Jeongguk mutters with a grin.

The man shakes his head again, this time more frantically.

Jeongguk cocks his head to the side, sending a dizzying wave through his body. "No? Because if you told me what happened, I would consider letting you live."

The flash of hope that widens the man's eyes tells Jeongguk everything he needs to know, and he advances quickly—crowds the man's space. A quick glance over his shoulder shows the rest of the group is still broken out into chaos with men attempting to help others put out the remaining fire and get to their feet. A few blurry bodies are on the outskirts of the crowd, but nobody appears to be approaching him.

"Tell me what happened," Jeongguk growls as he turns back to the man at the bar.

"J-J-Jae s-said if w-we cover for him, we'd get a cut."

"A cut of what?" Jeongguk asks.

The man screws up his face as if Jeongguk's question is ridiculous. "Money, s-sir."

"Money for what?"

The man shakes his head. He knows he is fucked—that he has already said too much—and he nibbles on his lip, which trembles. Jeongguk brings the kunai up to the man's throat and presses the tip against his jugular notch.

"Answer me."

"P-pills!" the man shouts. "Narcotics and party drugs. He t-took them off the last shipment while you were distracted."

"Distracted, hmm? Tell me, what was I distracted by?"

At this, the man begins to panic and twist as if hoping that he can get away somehow. So there is more to this story than them simply stealing from him to turn a profit. Interesting.

"Boss?" a voice comes from behind Jeongguk, and he grits his teeth hard and pushes the kunai into the man's jugular, turning his face away from the spray of blood. The man gargles and thrashes, and Jeongguk takes a step back and allows him to fall to the floor and bleed out.

One down, fourteen to go.

Jeongguk pops his guard back into his mouth, spins on the balls of his feet with a wide plastic smile, and finds two worried-looking men standing before him. He reaches into his shirt, pulls another kunai off the bandolier of blades strapped to his chest, and begins to twirl them both—one on each index finger.

The major downside of having to be this high to commit mass murder is that his aim is shit. The entire point of having so many knives strapped to him is to throw them at his targets without needing to immediately retrieve them. Instead, Jeongguk straps the belt around his chest as a means to ground himself—a tight, scratchy hug.

Jeongguk advances on the two men. One stumbles backward and begins to run back to the group while the other gets an angry glint in his eye and comes in swinging. Jeongguk guards his punch by driving the tip of a knife through the man's forearm, then punches his other knife into the man's neck. For good measure, Jeongguk kneels as the man falls and slices his throat open to quicken his bleeding.

Two down, thirteen to go.

When Jeongguk stands, stumbling as he finds his balance, he notices some men crowding around him while others attempt to escape. Jeongguk feels himself fly into a blind rage as he approaches the small group and begins punching and stabbing, absorbing hits that are nowhere near as damaging or lethal as the ones he doles out. He barely feels it when fists make impact with him, and he giggles wildly when one punch lands on the kunai under his shirt and slices the man's knuckles.

"You ruined my shirt, you fuck," he complains through his mouthguard as he punches a knife into the soft tissue and cartilage the man's face, still giggling like a madman.

A glance around the space shows Jae in his corner, three men at the door attempting to beat it down, and two men on the far-end wall huddled up. A couple men groan and crawl against the floor, and Jeongguk has no idea how many of them are dead or dying, so he advances on the three by the door.

Jeongguk takes a chance and flings one of the knives, and it whirs satisfactorily and hits one of the men in the shoulder. The man yelps and falls to his knees, clearly assuming something far worse has happened to him, and Jeongguk takes the opportunity to advance and take the other two out while he is down.

A knife to the throat here, a headbutt followed by a knife to the throat there, and Jeongguk is bending behind the last man, pulling the knife from his back and reaching around to the front of his neck to slice it open. Jeongguk gets to his feet, stretches his neck from side to side, and turns to survey the scene.

The two men who were by the far wall must have gained courage, and they come barreling toward Jeongguk. One slips on blood and falls back against the floor with a loud smack, but the other manages to get close enough to attempt to slash at Jeongguk with a piece of broken glass. Once again, Jeongguk blocks the punch with a knife to the forearm, then punches a knife into the throat, watching with a plastic grin as the man falls to the ground.

Groans and gargles fill the space, and Jeongguk catches his breath as the room sways and twists before him. His mouth is dry, and the smell of brassy blood is overwhelming, and Jeongguk wants to curl up in a ball and take a nice big nap. 

On the floor, the man who had slipped and fallen convulses, and Jeongguk wonders if his head has been pierced by broken glass. Nobody seems to be getting up, so Jeongguk surmises he must have fourteen down with only one left.

Jeongguk wipes the back of his wrist against his forehead, undoubtedly coating it in sweat and blood, and he turns back to Jae. Blood runs down Jae's wrist, and he shakes like a leaf on a tree—he has clearly been attempting to pull himself from the handcuff. Jeongguk pulls his mouthguard out, sucks in some of the saliva that has pooled, and shoves it into his pocket beside its case.

"Last man standing," he slurs as his high becomes unbearable. "You have three minutes to spill before I kill you."

The tangy scent of urine hits Jeongguk's nose, and he looks down to find a large wet spot on the front of Jae's jeans. He shakes his head and scoffs.

"It wasn't my idea," Jae whimpers. Jeongguk cocks his head and studies the man's face—is he crying? What a fucking wimp.

"Whose idea was it?"

"You know whose!" Jae shouts. "The same family that sent the man to fuck up your boxer! The same family who attacked your whore! They're sending people from all sides to throw you off your game and shake you up!"

"My whore?" Jeongguk growls as he grabs Jae tightly by the jaw. "Jimin isn't my whore, and speaking about one of my family men like that is a good way to get a knife shoved into your filthy little piss hole."

Fear visibly shakes through Jae, who thrashes in Jeongguk's hold. He even grabs onto Jeongguk's wrist with his free hand in a feeble attempt to yank Jeongguk's grip off of his jaw. Jeongguk headbutts him again and squeezes tighter as a dizzying quake rocks through him.

"Why did you accept her offer? Were you really stupid enough to think you wouldn't get caught?"

Jae scoffs and shakes his head, appearing to act tough with tears on his cheeks. "She has men on the inside."

Jeongguk squints, losing his ability to see clearly even as close to Jae as he is. "On the inside? On my team?"

"Well...she did. You killed most of them."

"Who are the others?" Jeongguk demands, and Jae laughs.

"You got everything from me that you could," Jae says. Jeongguk thinks he sees Jae's eyes flash to the side and back, but it takes him too long to process it before Jae mutters, "Kill me and be done with it."

Jeongguk takes a step back, ready to drive the knife into Jae's throat and move on, but an arm snakes around Jeongguk's torso and hot, piercing pain hits him on his side. Jeongguk drives a knife into the hand around his waist, piercing his own skin from the impact, and he yanks the knife away in time for another piercing pain to hit him between his shoulder blades.

Only as Jeongguk spins and finds one of the blood-soiled men holding a jagged, bloodied piece of glass does Jeongguk realize he has been stabbed. He grunts as he thrusts both of his knives into the man's guts and shoves the man back until he slips on blood and falls to the floor.

"Fuck!" Jeongguk shouts in frustration as he spins around and slices Jae's throat open in a broad, sloppy motion. He does not want to deal with stab wounds of all fucking things.

Jeongguk slowly steps back and looks around the room, swaying as he turns and attempts to survey the carnage left behind. Everything is a blur of reds and browns with hints of whites and blues, and Jeongguk stumbles toward the bar to sit down on a stool and catch his breath.

The pain in his side and back tingle-throb, and Jeongguk attempts to remember how to tend to a stab wound, but all he can do is grind his teeth and rest back against the bar top. When the door to the club flies open, Jeongguk doesn't register who approaches until he hears Seokjin's nagging shouts and feels him prodding at Jeongguk's torso.

"Yah, are you injured?" Seokjin shouts, fussing about at Jeongguk's side where his hand is weakly pressing against a wound.

Jeongguk hisses and nods, and then he giggles at the thought of any of these men thinking they could kill him. How stupid of them.

"Where did you park?" Seokjin asks as he gets Jeongguk onto his feet with his arm draped over Seokjin's broad shoulders.

"Front," Jeongguk mutters.

All the world is a blur of lights and colors, streaked and sloppy before Jeongguk's eyes. He steps into the cool night air, and the security guard says something he does not comprehend, and then he fumbles down the short set of steps, onto the sidewalk.

"Jeongguk, I don't see any of your cars," Seokjin says as he shakes him roughly.

Pulled to alertness for a split moment, Jeongguk hums and says, "Ol' minty," while flinging his hand in the direction of his bike.

"Wh—Jeonggukah!" Seokjin shouts. "You said you drove here! I asked you if y—oh, this is unbelievable."

"I dr—I drove my bike," Jeongguk slurs.

Jeongguk is led to his bike where the blurry valet attendant is bowed before him, and Seokjin gets him to straddle the small metal cargo rack above the back tire.

"Feet on the pegs!" Seokjin barks as he lifts Jeongguk's feet one at a time and places them onto small metal pegs that are screwed onto his back tire.

Jeongguk somewhat obeys—he has done this many times before—but his feet slip a few times until he is steady. Then Seokjin moves the bicycle away from the bike rack, tells Jeongguk to hold on tight, and once Jeongguk wraps his arms around Seokjin's ribs and leans his head on his back, they are off.

Seokjin smells nice. Like cigars and the expensive cologne that Hoseok insists he wears. He takes in a nice deep breath and groans happily before letting it out. The night air feels cool on his skin, and he smiles as Seokjin drives them home.

From time to time, Jeongguk hears an unintelligible grunt or groan, but he ignores it; he will undoubtedly hear it again once he has sobered up, so there is no use trying to strain the few remaining brain cells that are still working to try to make sense of it now.

The ride from the city to the property is usually around thirty minutes when it is just Jeongguk. He has no concept of how much time has passed as he attempts to watch a tree line blur by, and although the scenery is familiar and Jeongguk thinks he has some idea of how close they could be, he does not dwell on it. Instead, he closes his eyes.

When the bicycle finally skids to a stop, Jeongguk nearly topples over. Seokjin swears and mutters, and Jeongguk attempts to place his feet on the concrete driveway, but his legs melt like hot wax, and he sinks downward as the weight of his collapsing bicycle drags him to the ground.

Seokjin manages to get Jeongguk untangled from his vehicle and picks him up over his shoulder, carrying Jeongguk potato-sack-style toward a light that shines out into the night through some windows. He hears the mechanical beeping of the locking mechanism and then the door crashes open. The sounds of three particular voices gasping tells Jeongguk that he has been brought to Yoongi's house.

"Taehyung," Seokjin mutters. "I think he's been stabbed. There doesn't seem to be a lot of blood loss; I think he's delirious from being high."

There is some shuffling around, and Jeongguk hangs over Seokjin's shoulder, feeling sleepy and, frankly, completely unbothered by anything. 

So he may have gotten stabbed once or twice, so what? He found out more information, and he got to let go of some of his pent-up rage. His jaw aches, however, and he wishes he had not taken his mouthguard out.

Jeongguk is transferred to a different strong person, and Jeongguk wraps his arms around the different neck and hugs closely. After a split moment, he realizes by the clean smell of lotion and eucalyptus shampoo that it is Taehyung, and Jeongguk smiles as he carries him back outside.

"Stabbed?" Taehyung mutters curiously as the night air hits Jeongguk's cheeks and makes him shiver.

The walk to Taehyung's house from Yoongi's is short, and Jeongguk buries his face into Taehyung's neck as he mutters, "Mmhmm."

Silence falls, save for the crunch of dirt under Taehyung's shoe. Jeongguk thinks he begins to fall asleep, roused by the sound of Taehyung's deep, soft voice.

"Are the wounds deep?"

Jeongguk shakes his head, although, truth be told, he has no idea. There is a wet spot on his back, but it does not feel very big, and the one on his side is pressed against Taehyung.

"How many bodies?" Taehyung asks softly.

The sounds of Taehyung's feet crunching over gravel feels oddly calming to Jeongguk, and for some inexplicable reason, he feels the urge to cry.

"Fifteen," Jeongguk mutters with a tremble. He is cold, and he grips onto Taehyung tighter in search of warmth.

Taehyung tsks and chuckles. "So reckless. You don't have to do these jobs alone, you know? You can take one of us."

"Sorry," Jeongguk mutters, feeling defeated and miserable.

Another chuckle comes from Taehyung, instantly lifting Jeongguk's spirits and making him feel okay. "Don't apologize, baby. We just worry about you."

Jeongguk nods against Taehyung's neck and mutters, "Okay."

"I can't believe how mean you are to me," Taehyung whines in a mocking tone as he leans the two of them forward to punch in the password to his front door. 

Taehyung opens the door and switches on a foyer light, then makes his way down a short ramp into his basement, where his exam rooms and surgical equipment are. The fluorescent lighting makes Jeongguk groan and squeeze his eyes closed.

"First, Hoseok tells me you brought home some nobody to fuck," Taehyung continues to mock-pout, "and then you show up all cut and bruised. Starting to make me think you don't need me anymore, baby."

Jeongguk knows Taehyung is being playful, but he cannot stop himself from taking it very personally, and the sloshing of heightened emotions has him feeling incredibly sad. 

Taehyung means more to him than anyone in the world, which is precisely why Jeongguk tends to keep him at arms-length sometimes. Tears spill from Jeongguk's eyes.

"S-sorry, hyung."

"Awe, my poor crybaby," Taehyung sing-songs as he sets Jeongguk onto a leather exam table covered in a white paper sheet.

Jeongguk continues to hold onto Taehyung tightly until two strong hands wrap around his wrists and pull his arms down. He does not want Taehyung to see him cry, even though it would not be the first time—nor the last.

"Are you bored of me, Ggukie? Is that why you don't call me anymore?"

"D-don't want to bother you," Jeongguk whimpers pathetically, swiftly crashing from his high and feeling the full array of his emotions.

Jeongguk opens his eyes a crack to find Taehyung hovering over him and unbuttoning his soiled shirt. Taehyung chuckles at the sight of the blades and reaches around Jeongguk’s back to undo the belt and pull it free. Then he pulls Jeongguk's shirt away, making Jeongguk shiver, and he surveys the first wound.

"Not too deep," Taehyung says as he meets Jeongguk's gaze and smiles. For the first time in a while, Jeongguk can clearly see in front of him, and he thinks Taehyung is more beautiful than ever. Taehyung quietly studies his face. "You seem to be coming back to me. How do you feel?"

Terrible, Jeongguk thinks. He can't tell if he is fully coming down or if the second pill still has more high to give him, but he trembles and his bones feel restless in his skin, and he cannot keep his emotions from teetering from one extreme to the other, especially with Taehyung looking down at him the way he does.

"Shitty," is all Jeongguk says.

"Let's get you into a nice warm bath," Taehyung suggests with a grin that makes Jeongguk melt. "We'll clean your wounds, and then you'll show me what you did to that pretty boy who you picked up this morning. Sound good?"

Jeongguk will need a lot of cocaine to keep up with Taehyung, especially in this state, and he nods and attempts a smile, feeling his teeth clatter in his mouth.

"That's my good baby," Taehyung groans in a tone so deep, it makes a chill rock through Jeongguk.

There is only one person who Jeongguk lets his guard down for—lets do anything he pleases. And although Taehyung is absolutely terrifying and will undoubtedly be the death of him, Jeongguk cannot tell him no.

thank you so much for reading!!! i hope you enjoy these extras. i lament only writing from one point of view, so these have been a lot of fun for me. hopefully it's not too confusing plopping them into the story as early as chapter 10.

REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE THE LIFEBLOOD OF THIS SITE, BUT LIKES ARE ALSO SUPER APPRECIATED!!! THANK YOU FOR READING, I LOVE YOU!!!

tag lists will be on separate reblogs! they’ve gotten too big to contain as one! if you would like to be tagged in this fic, please let me know!!! 💜💜💜

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

Collateral is copyright 2022 - 2024 theharrowing, all rights reserved. no translations or reposts allowed!

[margotoo0]

◇ Huge Sukuna headcanon AU ◇ (cuz I'm crazy)

English is not my native language. It was originally written in Russian, so it is very difficult to translate it correctly, since there are a lot of slangs. And I’m also talking damn nonsense, that’s why.

DO NOT TAKE EVERYTHING WRITTEN SERIOUSLY!!! THIS ALL WAS WRITTEN WHEN THE AUTHOR WAS UNDER METH!!!♡♡♡♡♡

I hope you stay alive and read this to the end.

AU! Our time

Well, what... About the base?

◇About 40-45 years old, mentally - all 70.. (he just tired) No wife, no family, everything is according to the canon.

◇It’s worth paying a little attention to his appearance (Kukukhuhuh):

1) I’ve seen a lot of art on AU Sukuna (I’ve seen a lot, a lot...), I really liked the theme with the patch on the right eye, so let’s take note. Most likely, either he has some problems since birth (Ehehe.. Let’s leave the topic of an unwanted child due to a congenital pathology?))), or he successfully lost it in one of the stabbings (that’s how he met Uraume..)

2) Huge bruises under the eyes. With age, wrinkles also appeared there. The eyes are sleepy, sometimes capillaries burst.

3) His skin is rough and rough. A common problem is peeling; in winter it’s completely out of whack.

4) AQUILINE NOSE (big noses, I like big noses..)

5) He is tall. Very. 190+ exactly. But this is not just a cruise ship, it’s a whole tank. The same guy who is the envy of all natural jocks. Something between a mesomorph, and maybe even an endomorph. The fact itself: there is a lot of muscle, but not dry. In all the right places, as they say...Ahhhhh. I won’t write you the muscle mass ratio and fat percentage, sorry. Where did it come from? Well, look at his true uniform. (Moreover, there were jokes on the Internet that he was on a mass gain after the illustration for the exhibition came out. Eh...They just didn’t deserve him, they were jealous) A strong, good man, I give it a like, without a ticket to my bed. You can consider yourself to have won the genetic lottery. Little nasty bug.

6) It’s obvious that in some places there are scars (a scar on the stomach, where his mouth is, according to the canon), burns... There’s all sorts of things there, in fact.

7) Tattoo? YES!

8) I also saw a couple of heads on Sukuna the boxer, he was included in the heavyweight category. I COMPLETELY AGREE, THIS IS A FACT.

9) In general, he is a typical cat-person. Like..he is so tiger 🐅

10) He also squints often. His gaze is empty, but in his head there is a whole construction site.

====

Okay, I didn’t come up with anything else about appearance, you can figure it out for yourself. Let's go big already.

◇Philosophy of life? Sukuna adheres to that same “hedonism”, EGOISM, that everyone somehow misses when they talk about Sukuna’s philosophy. He doesn’t believe in your metaphysics; sometimes nihilistic tendencies slip through.

◇Remember his hobby? FOOD. And this thing has been preserved. He doesn’t deny himself anything, an ever-meat diet. Proper nutrition? Diets? Wtf, what? He don't know what. But he’s also an eater, he won’t eat everything, he’s very selective. High quality, three Michelin stars. (In general, the topic here is this... In the Heian era, he ate people, right? So, he mainly gave preference to the meat of women and children, since their meat is more tender due to a higher percentage of fat than that of men. Juicy, to be honest)

◇Eh...Would he be Hannibal Lector? Would you eat human flesh? Answer this question yourself. But it's interesting.

◇He has a very specific taste in food

◇What does he do in life? OHHOHO, SO. This is where the juice begins.

Please just keep in mind that this is all a fat joke.

◇We all know very well that Sukuna loves battles, fights, fighting, wars... He loves physical contact very much. Because of this, there is a head that Sukuna could have been involved in wrestling, in particular, boxing or jujitsu, but I have an opinion that Sukuna simply would not have lasted long, or would not have started a career at all. Well, how...

1) If we assume that he was actually involved in wrestling at one time, then his “career” ended after the first major championship at the age of about 20-25 years. In short, everything is simple: during the first round he almost killed his opponent (HAHAHAA), it came to resuscitation. Of course, Sukuna is a tough fighter, but no one expected such meanness. How was he even allowed in? Well, we thought about making money, but Sukuna’s adrenaline was stronger. He never returned to the ring. By some miracle he was not convicted (or rather... They wanted to, but Sukuna was faster). By the way, it must be said that this is not the first time Sukuna has smeared someone on the floor. But for some reason he always got away with it. It didn’t work out here... He wasn’t very upset, to be honest.

Did you think that he would receive penalties cards? No. There are 100% problems with the law. I just decided not to do hardcore.

2) From here I could already talk about the second half of his cheerful life, but I must say that Sukuna, I think, would not go into big sports at all, since it requires a lot of organization, and besides, a lot restrictions. Even MMA is NOT fighting without rules. Elementary. Sukuna has very good stamina, as well as willpower, it’s just... He couldn’t get enough of it. He doesn’t chase fame and success, he’d like to get a thrill from a fight. You can’t just leave training, you can’t do this, you can’t do that. He is simply an excellent virtuoso and improviser who adapts perfectly to the situation, BUT! Only if he WANTS it.

There is a very simple formula: "I can, but I don’t want to. I'm lazy, I'm not interested." Sukuna is not an organized person at all, and if he behaves like this, it is clearly not in good deeds.

3) You can skip this part, but I liked this idea. First I came up with it myself, then I also found headcanons with JJK teachers, everything coincided.

◇It seems to me that Sukuna could become an excellent historian, I don’t know why.. The topic is this: as a cover, he could randomly choose a profession (purely because his history was going well, but he had already improved his dorm life, when he was detained in the police stations for several days)

◇He doesn’t believe in God, but God believes in him, so Sukuna passed the exams well. As I say, he very smart and capable, if only I had the desire.

◇ I’ll quickly go over it:

1) I didn’t want to teach at a university, but at a college - why not. He doesn't like teenagers, but he likes to mock them.

2) He is constantly late for lectures. He swore at his directors when they put the history first. As a result, on Thursday the history is only 50 minutes long.

3) We must give him credit, he talks SO INTERESTINGLY, it’s just crazy. Here you will either listen with your mouth open, or fall asleep to his voice (sorry, I couldn’t resist, phew. In this case, he will come up and knock on the head, like “Who’s there?”) 😭😭😭 (AZAHAZPH)

4) He talks like he went to Moscow with Napoleon, then he judged the Decembrists, then he was in Petrograd at the revolution, then he and Stalin thought about how to defeat the browns, and he also sat together with Goering at Nuremberg... I think there’s no need to even mention the process of battles in the Second World War. He wrote everything down in a notebook while he was in the trench. In general, it's tough.

5) Despite all the charm of the above, he has a terrible memory for dates, so even his students don’t bother with it.

6) Do you want a test? Buy him an expensive bottle of red wine, then he MAYBE will consider your offer (yes, of course he will, he’s just showing off, he’s not interested in that at all)

7) After the first month, the students began to suspect something. You know, mysterious, like a perfume set (russian proverb). Like that same physical education teacher who always hangs out in the back room (local joke...). The smart ones guess, but the smartest ones have already made inquiries, they just remain silent, since Sukuna, in fact, is respected and feared by teenagers (in a good way). It’s a pity that the love is not particularly mutual...Uh.

In general, you understand. But what does he do anyway? He became a teacher in order to divert attention from himself. Decent citizen, but is just some kind of grouch <3

It's time for us to go into his natural environment. Crime)

Here everything is based on:

1. Pleasure, risk

2. Money. Just to live large.

It all started with Uraume (here also Uraume is “they”, so you can consider it either a man or a woman. Whatever you want). According to the canon, Uraume is a cook. It’s the same here, but with a surprise.. In general, Uraume “cooks”, and in Russian, he makes interesting preparations...)))(EMHAJAJAJJAAHPA0, WHAT IS THE PLOT OF “BREAKING BAD”, AZAHAHAHCH I’M DEAD Okay, just give me a chance)

◇Sukuna knew his comrades so well that he learned about Ura’s affairs only after 8-9 years of acquaintance (Forgive him).

◇In short, Uraume cooks well, and also studied at the chemistry department. Uraume had a purely monetary question; they didn’t use their own product (and I don’t advise you to, otherwise you’ll later invent such garbage like I did)

◇ – What is this? - What do you think? Sukuna narrowed his eyes. - And you decided not to tell me about it? - And I didn’t hide it. Just why extra attention to yourself? There was silence in the room. - Listen... - Sukuna, don't- - LET ME FINISH. ◇ Uraume had no options.

◇Every drug dealer needs his own "sportik" (This is what we call those who punish or kill people who hide drugs). Well, you understand, right...?

◇Well, that’s how it started to spin and spin. Moreover, it was Sukuna who opened the doors to the darkest places. Accordingly, he himself stood up very quickly, and even the dog would not dare to growl. Hello, black market. The only problem is hiding all this from the police + there is not enough imagination on how to launder the money, but the business itself is going well and wonderful. Sukuna also managed to be a hired killer in the dark spaces. He lives a very happy life, he likes it. Finally able to use fighting skills. Hooray.

◇ Sukuna once even showed interest in “cooking” while watching Uraume. You will be shocked, but he does a great job. Wow.

◇Well, not really. It seems to me that Sukuna is either a pure humanist, or with an admixture of biology and chemistry (everything was reinforced there along the way). But algebra, geometry, physics - well, no. I was ready to fight to the death with one guy from the faculty of Physics and Mathematics, because they stood and proved what is generally more important in life. I think his name was Gojo...I don't know.

◇ The only thing he can do from this is count money and interest.

◇The same person who will walk into the room, be silent for 5 minutes, and then sigh and “I, you know, what I think...”. He will tell you the whole course of philosophy, and then he will also express his opinion. I advise you to remain silent, not breathe loudly and listen carefully.

◇Law of the universe: if Sukuna is nearby, then with a 99% probability something will fall, break... Or maybe someone...

◇ Law of the universe: if Sukuna is nearby, then with a 99% probability something will fall, break, or break. Or maybe someone..

◇MAKE IT TO THE HIGH FASHION! He really knows how to dress with taste. You can’t tell from him, since Sukuna, like Tyler Durden, destroys everything, but he still understands art, aesthetics and style. And you will find out this in a completely unexpected way.

◇“Combining green and yellow in the interior? What squalor...”

“Mmm... Like Baroque”

◇Prefers dark and deep colors: black, burgundy, red, emerald, purple, ocher, etc.

◇ He loves Japanese painting on clothes, although most often he wears plain ones. But he has one or two kimonos. How is this painting technique... Yuzen?

◇Despite the fact that he has large hands and fingers, he has well-developed fine motor skills (a useful skill))

◇Doesn’t go to the GYM and makes fun of those who go there. Real men should knock out brains and teeth! (He just somehow saw that Gojo and Yuji’s change were going to the gym. That’s where it came from)

◇He, of course, could become some kind of powerlifter, since his physical capabilities allows it, but he doesn’t want to. Does he even want anything other than to kill and ruin the lives of others? (NO)

◇He met Kenjaku through Uraume

◇Sukuna calls Kenjaku a freak and a pervert (f*cked, to be more precise) because of his strange humor (Believe me, Sukuna is not far off, like...Kenjaku jokes about necr0philia, and Sukuna about cannibalism)

◇ I sleep and see: two grandfathers are sitting and trying to tell jokes. Only Uraume is unfunny...

◇Sukuna has some problems with sleep, and it doesn’t matter whether he sleeps a lot or a little, 3 hours or 12. He often dozes. (Sleepy kitty)

◇ Head from school: Sukuna had no friends at all before college, and there’s no point in talking about friends. One against all, all against one. In the last year of study, he changed place of study because he almost threw a classmate out of the window, and he also received a concussion.

◇He hated team games. Do you get upset when you are accused of playing poorly and causing your team to lose? Pf. In the first few games, Sukuna deliberately threw the ball anywhere, and he himself took it away from his team, passing it to another. And it makes no difference which team.

◇ He was not respected, he was feared. And rightly so, they were afraid. He could really kill

◇In fact, his social skills are poorly developed, he simply does not consider it necessary. In college, he got involved with Uraume, and that was enough for him. Cosy.

◇By the way, according to the canon there is no wife or children, it’s the same story. We must pay tribute - he did not touch women, unless he killed them when it was necessary for “work”. Sukuna himself is a very attractive man, but 85% of women were afraid of him, the remaining 15% tried to somehow flirt with him, start communicating, but Sukuna 🤨❓️ then showed such contempt that these women developed complexes for the rest of their lives.

◇ He never took call women (prost|tute), he is above that. He generally has the vibe “woman, keep your hands to yourself”, “don’t embarrass yourself” ◇ He can respect you if:

A) You are very smart

B) You are very strong

C) A and B together

He will definitely praise you if he finds you something interesting about you and your business (unless you are Yuji)

◇You can challenge him, just don’t be too stubborn, keep silent again, otherwise your new accessory will become a crutch.

◇I remembered the phrase of one man: “It doesn’t matter whether you are a woman or a man, I will beat you the same way.” This is he.

◇HE DOESN'T CARE ABOUT ANYONE. This is a constant. Will never take responsibility for another person. The only thing he will do is solve Uraume's problems, or just see how people cope. Independence is the key to a good relationship with Sukuna.

◇Content is content, but let's be honest, according to the canon, Sukuna is a very selective frame. This one is boring and not interesting, but this one is weak, and this one is annoying. In general, you won't please. I don't believe that Sukuna could fall in love with someone at all. It's amazing how most of the people here portray him in fanfiction. Well, he wouldn’t start this “subdue and rule” thing, he would immediately take your head off your shoulders. You should be on an equal footing with him, if not superior. Of course, he will fight for dominance, but he definitely values both physical and mental strength. In this regard, absolutely adequate and objective. The most important thing is to have something to praise for. And when someone crawl on their knees in front of him...Why the hell do you doing, you rag? We figured it out.

◇ At one time he used headphones very often, almost 24/7. Moreover, he turned it on purely for the background, without any purpose.

◇In general, he has no goals, only a path. And he does the right thing.

◇Frequent periods of “I don’t want anything, I won’t do anything.”

◇He has 2 states: either he does nothing AT ALL, sits on his ass, or he is a nightmare to everything and everyone.

◇He knows how to speak civilly, but only during some important negotiations. He himself is taciturn, sometimes he makes some obscene remarks. But once every few months he can give out some beautiful poetic remark. You hit the jackpot (“Moonlight helps me to see better how pathetic you are.” Oh, what a romantic)

◇He doesn’t like sweets, but it seems to me that he would like oriental sweets..Turkish delight)

◇A fan of Japanese and Kazakh food

◇He smells of "oldspice", heavy cologne, tobacco and sweat.

◇If he were an animal, he would definitely be a tiger. One big cat. Predatory, but with grace. Just like that.

◇He rarely responds to messages, but if he does, he gives out such a bunch of text, just so that you get tired of reading it all. He writes very quickly. But then again, in real life he's just quiet and grumpy.

◇A bunch of bad habits. It’s just one bad habit (but we’re not going to give it up, right?)

◇Gege Akutami once mentioned that he liked the performance of K-POP group MAMAMOO, in particular, Hwasa was the main shock. In short, if Yuji likes Jennifer Lawrence, then Sukune’s fatal luxury is Hwasa (I just really love this woman myself). He doesn’t listen to K-pop, he just likes her (hips don’t lie, friends..)

◇He would listen to either rock/heavy metal. I can also bet on darkwave, experimental, or maybe something with traditional Japanese motifs. Or maybe even a classic. Who knows..

◇He constantly carries all sorts of chewing gum with him.

◇It seems to me that he is one of those very people to whom you will say: “I went *somewhere*”, will not glance at you, and will remain sitting on the sofa. But after 30 minutes of your journey you will feel that something is wrong..(he is trailing behind you). Cause? He's bored.

◇ His main mission in life is to scare people until their hearts stop. No, just imagine: you’re standing in the kitchen, not bothering anyone, and suddenly a 2-meter big guy squints and slowly picks up a knife. And then he begins to walk towards you with a medium step. Your actions? (Spoiler: subway surf begins) And for realism, it will even leave a cut on your back. <33333 I luv this man sm

◇He clearly has some kind of jokes with physical contact. Pinches, pokes. Bruises are guaranteed.

◇110% organized all sorts of underground fight clubs.

That's all. The fantasy is over. I caught the cringe and laughed. It was fun and enjoyable.

Thanks

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

tagged by : @aceghosts (thank you so much!!)

tagging: @wrathfulrook @anonymousmalkavian @fourlittleseedlings @harmonyowl @mccarthycormac @mxanigel @madparadoxum @jillvalentinesday @confidentandgood @trench-rot @nightbloodbix @roofgeese @inafieldofdaisies @voidika @kyber-infinitygems @clicheantagonist @adelaidedrubman @strafethesesinners @statichvm @neverthesameneveranother @sukoshimikan @josephslittledeputy @marivenah @simplegenius042 @theelderhazelnut @josephseedismyfather @v0idbuggy @direwombat @florbelles @poetikat @fangsandroses @shallow-gravy @cassietrn @strangefable @stacispratt

writing tag list here to be added/removed

Back to working on American Beasts, and I am in the thick of Kit meeting Carter and Quinn for the first time. (warnings for mentions of death/ animal death, and Kit's general mental health):

The sprawling wilderness of evergreen trees carried on around Kit in all directions with no sign of stopping. Clinging to the trunks of the trees, she moved forward at a careful crawl, trying to keep her energy from depleting further. Plodding forward, her boots melted into the mossy carpet below her feet, comforting like a mattress she could topple onto. She could close her weary eyes and rest. Just a short rest… 

Pain stabbed through her and her knees began to buckle. She was a crushed soda can, the contents of her pouring out of the wound in her chest. Barking out dry, ragged coughs into the frigid air, clawing at her chest, desperate to rip the bullet from herself like an animal with stitches, chewing despite the harm it would do. Blood caught under her nails. She remembered hearing about other vets taking to meth when they came home as a way to deal with the pain and the nightmares, only to be burdened with imaginary bugs crawling under their skin, picking and scratching away at themselves to get the insects out. She understood that feeling now. Understood that fear. She was burning alive. God, it felt like her skin was on fire as the bullet lodged itself deeper inside, searching out the warm, dark places of her – if she wasn’t slowly dying from it, she might have laughed – her heart was certainly a fitting place as the lead seeped throughout her flesh, poisoning her. 

Her thoughts began to drift, survival still very much on the tip of her tongue as she started to replay Jacob’s speeches in her head. Humans were born with an innate sense of survival. Fight or flight. Her whole life she had lived with these apparent laws in her head, the same laws her father had instilled in her. Survival was something she knew intimately about. It defined her, a characteristic of who she was, something brought to the surface when most others became soft and learned to ignore what had been programmed into them over millions of years of evolution. The fear of snakes, spiders and sharks bred into the DNA. She was an anomaly. Most people didn’t go running into fire, they didn’t search out the danger the way she did. She faced it headlong, determined to make it bow to her, it was like she couldn’t feel it. Her brain muted the fear, quieting the sense that would have made her stop if she were a reasonable person. 

Yet more things left broken inside her. 

Crumpling to her knees, the blood rushing from her head, Kit could feel the world spinning around her, all one thousand miles per hour of it. Her breaths leaked out in gasps, hitching in her throat before her lungs would deflate again. Vision tunneling…seeing in black and white…pinpricks of light scattered before her eyes, a universe coming into being as everything went dark. Her whole chest cavity about to implode. All she had left to run on was instinct, her senses failing as they shut down around her. 

This was the end. 

But like a zombie, her body carried on, searching out the path back home. It had no compass, no map, it wandered aimlessly. Survival hinged on her giving in, succumbing, relying on the hands of her maker to guide her. Like Moses through the desert she wandered, her weary mind unable to detect even East from West using what little of the sun was left. Her feet would carry her, one step in front of the other. Marching. Forever marching. As if it were fated for her to never settle. 

The spongy layer of top soil and black earth she was sure she would fall into and be buried by, left to rot for all time, gave way to gravel. The distinct crunch pulled her to reality like a tether, tying her to the here and the now. She stared down at her boot, the toe scuffed and worn, caked with mud and beaded with rain water. Kit had walked for miles on end, into the silence that consumed the mountains and created its own plane of existence. One where she had been free to become a beast, to bleed out the sins of others, punishing them before the new world came crashing down upon the county. She looked up and the gravel hadn’t appeared without sense, it had purpose. Dotted with wilted flowers, frozen and thawed so many times they had become brown and rotten, the petals blackened with mold, a pathway led forward. There was a break in the trees…

…there was a house.

–

A shadow passed the window. A creeping thing, it’s visage unseen, but the shiver still crept down Carter’s spine. He’d been warned by his parents about the people that lived on that little island and about that old hospital at the top of the mountain. He’d read Jack and the Beanstalk and he knew about the evil giant at the top of it. He had read about the big, bad wolf and how he ate little children who went off the path. Fairy tales had become reality these last few months, especially once their father, the hunter, never came back home. He was the one meant to cut open the wolf’s stomach and pull the children out in the end. Not end up eaten as well. A cautionary tale gone wrong. 

The howling of the wolves and the cries of cougars rang out as the night began to fall and the temperature dropped even further. He and Quinn were wrapped in quilts trying to stay warm together on their parents’ bed, their fingers chilled to the point of being pink and sore, their breath escaping them in a fog inside their little wooden home. He wasn’t sure how much longer they could last. Carter knew about death, he’d grown up with it from the family farm they once had, to hunting with his father. He’d even had a pet hamster, Mr. Chippy, who didn’t last more than a year. He knew that sometimes things had to die so others could live, he knew that sometimes the heart just gave out. He wondered if it hurt when it happened the way everything seemed to now. His stomach, his body, the cramps and the cold. He wondered whether they’d ever even be found. The cat they had when he was barely older than Quinn wasn’t until they smelled it weeks later, having crawled under the house to die. Is that what they would smell like too, or would it be so cold they’d be covered in frost like the elk steaks in the freezer?

He pulled Quinn a little closer to him and listened to the wind whisper through the house. There were times it would wake him in the night, after he’d dream of his mother, imagining it was her voice. Believing for half an instant that his wishes had come true and she’d come back to them. To save them. But ever since that birthday where he’d wished for a bike and ended up alone in the woods with his sister, he’d learned not to put much faith into wishes. 

There was a knock outside, someone had crossed the trip wire his father had set up so long ago now. It wasn’t a shadow, it was a nightmare. A prowler. The monster in the dark had come to get them. Finally. 

“Quinn, you gotta listen to me, okay?” She looked up at him, her lower lip trembling as she pulled the covers tighter around herself, shaking uncontrollably. “You gotta get under the bed, and you have to be real quiet. Can you do that?”

“Whatsamatter?”

“Just listen to me.” He slipped off the bed and pulled back the ruffle sheet that draped over the frame, hiding the floor underneath it. “Come on Quinny, you gotta do as I say.”

“No.”

They didn’t have time for this. He looked at her with narrowed eyes, determined to keep her safe. His jaw went stiff and he leaned down towards her, lowering his voice. “The boogeyman is coming.”

“What?” Her eyes widened, her irises bleeding into the inky depths of her pupils. 

“He’s gonna get ya. Do it!”

She crawled off the bed, dragging the blanket with her. Sliding under the bed frame, clutching Cookie Monster as she pulled the quilt over her head to hide. 

“Whatever you hear, whatever happens, don’t come out. Promise me.”

“Promise,” she whimpered, holding back tears through choked breaths. 

“Good.” He dropped the ruffle sheet and pulled open his father’s sock drawer, grabbing the old revolver shoved at the back. It was heavy, heavier than he had expected. He’d spent many an afternoon just staring at it. He knew well enough not to touch it, even when the urge to reared its head. His dad had told him never to play with guns, they weren’t toys, they were weapons. Holding one meant you aimed to kill. 

Pulling the sheet back once more, Carter crawled in under the bed beside Quinn. Laying there, he clasped his hand over her mouth to help keep her quiet. There could be no mistakes, no do overs. If this was the men with crosses, if they were found, it would be the end.

[raindrop-on-a-spiderweb]

A Message To My Readers

I don't tend to use this tumblr as a personal blog, but I feel obliged to be honest to my readers this time.

On August 11, I shot myself in the head with a .22 caliber revolver.

The bullet entered through my right cheek, fracturing my orbital and mandibular, and exited through the side of my nostril, embedding shrapnel inside my face. Surprisingly, it didn't hurt very much. All I felt was a burning pressure tunneling through my face, and warm blood fountaining onto the collar of my dress. The rest of that night I do not remember–save that in the ambulance, blood clots the size of caterpillars were dropping out of my nose.

I spent the next few days in the hospital, the side of my face swelling up so much I couldn't see out of my right eye. I was in the hospital under observation for three days. Nurse aids--new hires I was supposing– kept looking at me with that faint gaze of horror and slight fascination, at the bloody mess on my face swelling up into a bloodier mess, like rubbernecking at a car accident. Otherwise my stay was uneventful–I watched the Discovery Channel and reread The Master and Margarita several times while we waited for the swelling to go down and for my flesh to knit itself together enough so I could be discharged.. My left nostril leaked so much blood it covered the pillow. Scabs formed to close the bullet wounds on both sides of my face.

I was then transferred to a psychiatric ward. The experiences I had there and the people I met I will remember for a lifetime. It was a fascinating cross-section of humanity. There was an 18-year-old redneck father-of-two (!) who, during a group therapy session where we were asked to find coping methods to deal with depression, yelled out "GO TO A SHOOTIN' RANGE!". The head nurse on the ward constantly quoted One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest. There was a woman who believed she was "powerful reincarnation of an ancient druidess". Another man had been a highly successful local restauranteur before meth addiction and mental illness took away his life. A slight, blonde former nurse who after a failed relationship, stabbed herself in the liver and trachea.

The library was meager, but I read John Muir's First Summer in the Sierra and lost myself in snowy mountain peaks and the spray of waterfalls. I made myself popular by giving out palm readings in the day room and was correct approximately 80% of the time. I described one man's temperament as "fiery", which he correctly understood to mean he was an asshole. The ancient druidess asked for a reading but spent most of the time telling me about her myriad other reincarnations (respectively, killed in the Holocaust, killed in the Victorian era, killed in the medieval era). An old former nurse–not the blonde lady– came for a reading and it was so accurate she got teary-eyed; we soon became fast friends. She was elderly but sharp as a tack and had worked her whole life in the profession; through the 70s and 80s. She had never married, although she wished she'd had children. She had been a sci-fi writer as well and had a wealth of advice for me, one being that you should never become a nurse. Nursing had ruined her body and left her wheelchair bound.

My roommate was a quiet woman who barely said two words to me the first day and spent most of her time staring at the wall and sleeping. The therapists could not crack her in the least. By the second day we fell into a card game with each other, and little by little she lit up and started smiling. When she laughed it was infectious. She, I and the elderly nurse spent long hours in the day room, playing cards and watching television and laughing with each other. The night before we were discharged, we were up late, and she confessed her terrible circumstances, her life in foster care, her husband who had molested her children, her trafficking, and her upcoming court hearing so she could claw back custody of her children. A flash of contemplation passed her face, and she said to us, "I have talked more with you than I ever have with any of my therapists." I still have her and the nurse's numbers.

The therapy I was given and the connections I made were overall wonderful and affecting experiences. I left the ward looking forward to meeting the world headon, but when I got out, things grew worse. My mother withheld my medications and electronics and blamed me for everything; wanted me to go to a halfway house (thankfully my father let me stay with him permanently). I was on the verge of filing a police report before she gave them back. And then I realized I was being kicked out of the house. To walk into your room and realize it is not your own anymore, to see your belongings packed up and ready to be stored away or sent back with you, is a jarring experience; to have your eyes go to a familiar place and have it be so alien.

Then she said those words that made my heart drop to my stomach: That I was writing awful, dark things for an audience and that she was completely ashamed of me, and that she thought that it contributed to my decision to end my life. (and also that I was "posting sarcastic comments online for ego strokes"--wtf?) She had gone through everything private of mine, everything I strived to keep separate from my real life identity for this very reason, and told God knows how many people. All for nothing now.

Few things can compare to the horror of having a loved one finding out the deepest, rawest, most honest parts of yourself and reacting with disgust. To have them point a finger at your most delicate personal works and say, "This is responsible for your attempted suicide," when writing had brought me nothing but delight, happiness and friends at some of the darkest times of my life. Part of the reason I love writing was the lack of restraint and escapism, and the idea of being someone else. How could I possibly return to writing knowing that someone was constantly judging me and looking over my shoulder? How could I write honestly, without constantly second-guessing myself?

Anyway, my mother wanted nothing to do with me and threw me out with my father once I got my belongings. The last thing I said to her was "Next time, I won't miss." C'est la vie and that's the end. I'm officially disowned now and cutting off contact. No clue where I stand will-wise, but I don't care anymore.

We got in the car and went home. As my mood sank, I was tempted to do the unthinkable and I gave some serious thought to deleting my account and works. The thought of my mother (and potentially other family members too) reading these stories of mine in all their graphicness was a crippling prospect. It also occurred to me that she had started packing my room up when I was still in the hospital, and that finally made me cry. I wondered whether she was the same person who loved me and hugged me and protected me as a child, or she was the same person all along and I just never noticed.

When we got home to my dad's farm I was shaky and unfocused and my mind was in a dark fugue. But it was a bright and sunny August day. As soon as I got out of the car my cats poured out of the fields and out of the barn to surround me, meowing and excited after a week of not seeing me, Spot and Zorro and Aldous and Erik and Gidget. We're glad you're back. We're glad you're here. Beings that didn't judge me, that I didn't have to explain anything to or justify myself to, that just were happy that I existed.

As I felt the sunlight on my shoulders I started to cry again, but they were tears of relief. How could I have tried to kill myself when a moment so beautiful existed? Things will look up. They always do.

I love writing and I will never, and can never, stop.

[theflnalb0y]

Hospital Lighting

You get stabbed and can only think of one person to call.

There was a pipe leaking in the alley, causing a steady, annoying drip to echo off the walls as you stood there, hands shoved deep in your jacket pockets. You were supposed to be meeting a guy here for a deal, but he seemed to be a no show, causing you to huff. You had better things to do than wait here all night. After another minute of waiting you decided to call it a night, pushing off the wall you had been leaning against and turning to leave the alley. 

It happened fast, one minute you were walking out towards the street, and the next you were being shoved against the wall, your head snapping back and cracking against the bricks. Your head spun, and you were only briefly aware of the man in front of you. He was demanding something, probably the bag of meth in your pocket, but you couldn’t really hear him over the ringing in your ears. He stepped towards you, something flashing in his hand, and you bolted, trying to run around him. He tackled you to the ground, and you screamed despite knowing no one in this part of town would help you. You thrashed in his grasp, vaguely hearing a brief “Shit!”, before he reached into your pocket, grabbing the bag and taking off. 

You laid there for a moment, head still spinning, before you felt a burning pain in your stomach. The pain only worsened as you slowly sat up, lifting your shirt to reveal a bloody mess. That asshole had stabbed you during the struggle. You fumbled around in your pockets, eventually finding your phone. Your hands trembled as you flipped it open, smearing blood over the buttons. You sat there, trying to keep pressure on your wound as you tried to think about what to do. Calling 911 wasn’t an option. Your eyes darted around for a moment before landing on something on the ground next to you. A bright yellow matchbook. You shifted slightly, using the wall as support as you made your call.

Saul’s presence was announced a few minutes later by the sound of a car door slamming and a stream of curses. You blinked and suddenly you were in the passenger seat of his car, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. 

“Where are we going?” You asked, shutting your eyes.

“Hey hey, keep your eyes open. Don’t fall asleep.” He reached over, gently shaking you until you opened your eyes and glared at him. “I’m taking you to a hospital.”

You sat up straight, ignoring the pain in your gut. “No no no no hospitals Saul, I was dealing!”

He glanced over at you, clearly panicked. “Look, I’ll take care of that, but jesus christ kid I don’t want you to bleed out in my car while I try to find someone to take care of you. Just trust me on this.”

You groaned, bringing your free hand up to cover your face. “If I end up in jail…. I’m gonna stab you.”

You could just barely hear his strained chuckle before you passed out. 

***

It was way too bright. And loud. You shifted, only for a sharp pain in your side to cause you to jolt fully awake. Your eyes flew open, the lights temporarily blinding you until they adjusted. You were in a hospital bed, the machines hooked up to you beeping away. Your eyes landed on Saul, who was pacing circles around your room, his hands shaking slightly. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so worried.

“Hey,” You called out to him, voice hoarse. “You’re still here?”

He looked over at you, relief flooding his features before he rushed to your side. “You’re awake.” He cleared his throat, sitting in the chair beside your bed. “You scared the hell out of me kid.”

“Sorry…” You mumbled, reaching up to rub the sleep out of your eyes. “What’d you tell the doctor?”

“I told them that you got mugged. Guy was jumpy, panicked and attacked you, grabbed whatever cash you had on you and took off.” He explained, reaching over to knock your hand away when you started fiddling with your IV. “Said you were scared and out of it and called me.”

You nodded, looking over at him with a small smile. “Do I have to pay you for this?” you joked.

He laughed, shaking his head at you. “Not this time. But if you ever scare me like that again I’m charging you full price.”

He stood, patting your shoulder before turning to walk away. “I’m gonna get a nurse.”

“Saul wait-” You reached out, grabbing his hand before he got too far. He turned to look at you, and your breath caught in your throat. Had he always looked like that, or was the hospital lighting somehow working in his favor? You fell silent for a moment, before giving his hand a squeeze. “...Thanks for being there… and for staying with me…”

“Hey, any time kid. Don’t ever hesitate to call me.” He smiled down at you, gently squeezing your hand back. 

The two of you stayed like that for a moment before seeming to remember where you were, letting go of each other’s hands. He left to find a nurse as you settled back into your bed, sighing. You must have hit your head harder than you thought.

[takuyas-boyfie]

give me All of your takuya hcs. spare no detail. spare no expense. don't be afraid of anything.

hi fred, here they are

also warning ig because nsfw and suicide references are here so...

●every time hina and takemichi does something love related he rolls his eyes very dramatically and starts to say shit like "yada yada we get it can we continue?"

●deep inside hes jealous takemichi got taken first but shush he won't admit it

●(nah im good without a boyfriend)

●canonically gay

●like he's seen akkun with other eyes at least once

●and dreamt about being in a locker together more than once-

●the reason he hates rice is because he thinks it will be on his way on becoming a macho man

●whenever the mizo mid 5 disturbs some random teens (as seen in episode 1) he just stands there looking into their soul because his ass can't intimate no one

●but the moment hes out of that he wishes everyones death

●also he hates people

●like HATES hates

●one of the many reasons he hated the kiyomasa rings are because he felt anyone would jump him and beat him

●on the timeline when akkun stabbed kiyomasa, he was the one who made the idea (and the knife owner)

●after that happened he tried to find takemichi with no avail

●soon after he killed himself

●the first person he fucked was yamagishi

●Takuya thought he looked twinky enough to top, he hated it but yamagishi loved it (he literally turned him gay)

●all of the mizo mid five had a mini orgy as a "reward" for takuya graduating uni

●akkun fucking takemichi who was sucking takuya's dick, who he was riding makoto and handjobbing yamagishi

●had an emo phase kazutora style in highschool

●had beat many people up

●actually got stronger in that phase

●but also landed him in jail for like a month

●his music taste is like hard rock and metal, goth emo rock and shit

●but deep down in his ipod is only girl in the world and you belong with me

●hes a rep boy

●went to the eras tour with takemichi and hina

●also had a songwriter phase

●the greatest hit of akkun's band was actually cowritten by takuya

●knows all kinds of instruments

●he studied nursering in college because he thought he would be good at it because he patched takemichi all the time

●hated it but liked the pharmacy side of it

●accidentally made meth in class once

[kanethegoofster]

The Start Of A Series Of Posts Of Me Rambling About The Plot Of The Fragile Since This Album Is So Good Holy Fuck Oh My God Trent Reznor Please Marry Me.

TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR MENTIONS OF: SUICIDE, DRUG USE, SELF-HARM AND OTHER DARK TOPICS.

The Fragile Is Nine Inch Nails' fourth main studio release, being also reffered to as Halo 14, it was released in September 21, 1999. It features the sounds of Industrial Beats, Heavy Rock and even some Ambiental, The Album is a spirital successor to their last studio release "The Downward Spiral" from 1994, one of the things it shares with The Downward Spiral is the fact it's a concept album with a story.

So time for me to make a post on here and ramble about my interpretation of TF's Story and also why I like this album so fucking much...

So yeah uhh... For Context this doesn't consider TF as a sequel to TDS, not a literal one, but rather a spiritual sequel, they share themes and stuff but they have seperate antagonists and stuff, also the NIN wiki is gonna be a main source for this thing. Oh also I reccomend that you listen to both The Downward Spiral and The Fragile, oh also maybe watch an explanation thing for the TDS songs, as I will reference the events of TDS from time to time.

Somewhat Damaged

SD is a song that uses a single motif throughout it's entire duration, a simple four note guitar riff, with the first half of the song written in a 9/4 (or a repeating 3/4) time signature. The Motif starts as a acoustic guitar, and as the song goes on the motif is played by distorted guitars. The song's lyrics are from the perspective of our first character, our protagonist, who shall go unnamed, much like everyone in this story, the title is an understatement, this guy's not somewhat damaged, he's way more.

The first stanza of the song, gives us an idea of how he is doing "So impressed with all you do... Tried so hard to be like you... Flew too high and burnt the wing... Lost my faith in everything" he seems to be talking to someone he wanted to be like, I interpret this song is about drug use, more especifically Heroin, it made our protagonist turn into a more self-destructive version of himself (similar to Mr. Self Destruct from TDS) before the events of the album our protagonist went through a downward spiral, though it isn't THE Downward Spiral the protagonist from TDS goes through, as our protagonist is still alive. (The TDS protagonist shoots himself in the end) Our protagonist is at rock bottom, that's evident as the song goes on. Also the lines "Tried so hard to be like you" and "Flew too high and burnt the wing" will be referenced in later songs.

The second Stanza starts "Lick around divine debris, Taste the wealth of hate in me, Shedding skin, succumb defeat... This machine is obsolete" our protagonist is angry at everything, he feels defeated, I presume the "machine" mentioned in these lyrics are a representation of our protagonist.

Pre-Chorus time: "Made the choice to go away! Drink the fountain of decay, Tear a hole, exquisite red! Fuck the rest and stab it dead!" the protagonist wants to step away from using drugs, he wants to improve himself. "Drank the fountain of decay" referencing the protag using drugs for the first time. "Tear a whole, exquisite red! Fuck the rest and stab it dead!" references shooting up, which is injecting a substance, often drugs such as meth or heroin, with a hypodermic needle, the needle tears a whole into the skin.

SD's Chorus starts with "BROKEN, BRUISED, FORGOTTEN, SORE! TOO FUCKED UP TO CARE ANYMORE!!" pretty obvious, our protagonist doesn't care about the fact he's using drugs, he doesn't care about how he's killing himself by using drugs. "POISONED TO MY ROTTEN CORE!! TOO FUCKED UP TO CARE ANYMORE!!!" he compares himself to a rotten apple, since he's been corrupted by drug use. these lines are repeated a second time.

"In the back, Off the side, And far away... Is a place where I hide, where I stay" keep in mind this "place" this place is mentioned again a few times throughout the songs of the album.

outro starts "Tried to say, tried to ask, I needed to all alone by myself, where were you?" drugs at first kinda made him feel better at first but it slowly worsened his life in the long run. "How could I ever think, it's funny how everything that swore it wouldn't change is different now, Just like you would always say, we'll make it through... THEN MY HEAD, FELL APART AND WHERE WERE YOU?!?" to me this is him trying to blame the drugs for his self destructive behavior, maybe he tried to give up earlier but he couldn't do it.

"HOW COULD I EVER THINK IT'S FUNNY HOW? EVERYTHING YOU SWORE WOULD NEVER CHANGE IS DIFFERENT NOW?!?! LIKE YOU SAID 'YOU AND ME, WE'LL MAKE IT THROUGH' DIDN'T QUITE, FELL APART, WHERE THE FUCK WHERE YOU!?!?!?!" The protagonist is calling himself a fool for using drugs, and becoming addicted to them, he feels betrayed, this might imply he nearly overdosed and died due to drug use. The songs ends with a cresendoing synth based on Trent Reznor's voice, as it slowly fades into the next song with a slow, menacing drone... but uhh since this post took at least half an hour to write I'll think I'll make every song into separate posts, so I'll have to make 25 different posts for each song, I hope I can get the next rambling by tomorrow.

[strongermonster]

some old grinch binch flipping out on staff at the library and starts her tirade by storming in going "MY CHILD GOT DRUGS HERE AT THE LIBRARY!!!" so everyone is like "oh shit, maybe someone dropped something? used in the bathroom?"

...but it was literally just the free to access pamphlet about drugs (we have a comprehensive child and adult version that covers everything from legal drugs/alcohol and experimentation, to illegal drugs and dangers, all factual, no scaremongering) and a few books on like, chemistry and the medical history behind vaccines and over the counter drugs like tylenol.

she's screeching, everyone is looking, no one knows WHAT the fuck is going on bc she won't let anyone get a word in edgewise, her child (who looks maybe 14-ish?) is standing silently trying so so hard not to cry and disappear into the floor, the head librarian (picture a gorgeous tiny elderly woman with the sheer Presence of a starving tiger looking at a fresh piece of meat wander by) is trying to get this witch to SHUT (🐦👌) for a goddamn second like "seems like we have a future pharmacologist on our hands here!" but this lady is having NONE of it, insisting we're basically teaching her child step-by-step how to make crack and meth or something, she has become a startling shade of tomato-sauce-red,

children in the playtime corner are hearing all this screaming and start crying, other mothers now step in and are like "bitch you need to shut the fuck up, you're making keireistien and shaniegheia upset", absolutely everyone is white-woman-pvp-ing now, world's shrillest voices all coming together to form hell's own choir, a bunch of ppl nope tf outta here, one of them sets off the little door alarm theft thingy, no one is available to go turn that off bc we're all trying to find out if this woman is about to stab someone or yell herself into heart failure, she just starts turning her volume up to compensate, her horrid little face has blown right past tomato red and right into a lovely shade of cardiac-arrest-purple,

a bunch of other people are grabbing popcorn and cellphones to watch this unfold, people from the upstairs floors are hearing this woman's nuclear meltdown and come to stand on the stairs to gawk, i'm like "damn, i ain't getting paid enough for this," remember that i'm literally not getting paid at all bc i'm a volunteer, consider pulling the fire alarm on my way out the door, settle instead for turning off the ground floor lights and propping open the enormous doors in the -6 super windy day and turning reception into Ice Hell so maybe she'll fuckin' CHILL OUT AND LEAVE,,,,,,,,,,

[cyarskj1899]

25 Essential Black-Metal Albums

From Venom and Bathory to Behemoth and Deafheaven

From its origins in England, Sweden, and Switzerland to its murderous Norwegian prime and its U.S. resurgence, black-metal has proven harder to extinguish than a fire consuming a church. And while sensational violence and a flirtation with the occult have often threatened to eclipse the genre's artistic merits, it is ultimately the music that has given this dark practice its longevity. Here, Revolver picks 25 albums that define the malefic movement. 

(Black Mark, 1984) This cult Swedish studio band took the lo-fi shittiness of Venom and added icy Norse paganism to the garbled mix. Written and coproduced by vocalist-guitarist Quorthon (who died in 2004), Bathory's homonymous debut also features drummer Jonas Åkerlund, who went on to direct videos for both Madonna and U2 (plus the 2002 crystal meth flick Spun), not to mention the forthcoming controversial Lords of Chaos movie.   

(Noise, 1984) Before vocalist-guitarist Tom G. Warrior formed Celtic Frost with bassist Martin Ain, he was the leader of another Swiss metal trio called Hellhammer. Though the band existed for less than two years, the harsh cacophony of the Apocalyptic Raids demo perfectly expressed black metal's caustic furor.

(Peaceville, 1991) This Norwegian duo's second album marks drummer-lyricist Fenriz and vocalist-guitarist Nocturno Culto's defection from the traditional death-metal territory of Soulside Journey to the chilling realm of "unholy black metal."

(Misanthropy, 1992) The debut by Burzum, the one-man studio project of J.R.R. Tolkien aficionado Varg Vikernes (a.k.a. Count Grishnackh), was originally released on Mayhem guitarist Euronymous' Deathlike Silence Productions. Remarkable for its militaristic severity and creepy synth ambience, Burzum remains one of black metal's earliest masterpieces.

(Century Black, 1993) Also originally released on Deathlike Silence, De Mysteriis was Mayhem's scorching full-length follow-up to the seminal Deathcrush mini-LP. The album features longtime drummer Hellhammer, current vocalist Attila Csihar (ex-Tormentor, ex-Aborym), and Burzum's Varg Vikernes (on session bass), who would stab guitarist Euronymous to death shortly after the album's release.

(Cacophonous, 1994) Back when vocalist Dani Filth was still known as Daniel Davey, British goth ghouls Cradle of Filth unveiled their full-length debut — complete with elaborate keyboard intros, female backing vocals, and naked vampire chicks. Taking said formula to its baroque breaking point over following releases, CoF rose to be possibly the most well-known band in black metal (if you considered them "black metal" at all), not to mention a onetime personal favorite of Bam Margera.

(Candlelight, 1995) Emperor's full-length debut — and final recording with drummer/convicted murderer Bård "Faust" Eithun, In the Nightside Eclipsemarked the beginning of symphonic black metal, a style later spit-polished and propelled into the mainstream by Cradle of Filth and Dimmu Borgir.

(Nuclear Blast, 1995) Led by guitarist-vocalist Jon Nödtveidt, Gothenburg's Dissection blurred the line between black metal and the melodic death metal their Swedish city made famous. The band's second album was their last (and finest) riff blizzard before Nödtveidt was imprisoned for murder.

(Nuclear Blast, 1996) Long before they dragged their chain-mail-encased tits onto Ozzfest's main stage, Dimmu Borgir announced made their symphonic bid to dominate Norwegian underground with Stormblåst. The native-tongued LP was rerecorded in 2005, only increasing its original frostbitten grimness. 

(Osmose, 1996) Although they have suffered chronic touring setbacks due to vocalist-guitarist Morgan Håkansson's felonious history (which allegedly includes assaulting a police officer and grave robbery), black-metal berserkers Marduk know how to throw down in the studio. On Heaven Shall Burn, the Swedes unleash a blast of unapologetic blasphemy captured devilishly by producer (and Hypocrisy main man) Peter Tägtgren.

(Century Media, 1997) Although the band would take a severe turn into proggy histrionics (see 2005's Blood Inside), Ulver's third full-length — a savagely shrill concept album about werewolves (subtitle: Eight Hymns to the Wolf in Man) that was supposedly recorded outdoors in an ancient Norwegian forest — could turn any mere man into a murderous beast

(Nuclear Blast, 1998) Four years in the making, Gorgoroth's fourth effort borrows the title of Kiss' 1976 album, boasts four different vocalists (sensing a pattern here?) — including their particularly notorious former frontman, Gaahl — and features guest drumming from Satyricon's Frost. Unrelenting from front to back, Destroyer closes with a cover of Darkthrone's "Slottet I Det Fjerne."

(Nuclear Blast, 1999) Widely discounted by apparently deaf journalists as some sort of goth/industrial crossover release, Rebel Extravaganza sounds more like a black-metal version of Voivod than anything else. Satyricon's fourth album is not just another underappreciated sonic blitzkrieg, it's actually Phil Anselmo-approved: Pantera tapped the band to open their 2000 European tour.

(tUMULt, 2000) In 2000, Weakling created a world all their own with Dead as Dreams, following in the footsteps of early Emperor, Ulver and Burzum to create moving, beautiful black metal that crossed over into ambient and post-rock. Hands down one of the most important USBM (U.S. black metal) LPs of all time, highly influential to the likes of Wolves in the Throne Room and Deafheaven, the group's lone full-length is also a crucial release for black metal at large.

(Century Media, 2001) On their fifth album, this Japanese trio (now a quartet) shed their corpse paint but not their insatiable appetite for increasingly progressive black-metal. Imaginary Sonicscape revels in the pleasures of magic mushrooms, evil moog keyboards, and dizzying arrangements; plus, the lyrics to "Nietzschean Conspiracy" were written by then-imprisoned Emperor drummer Faust.

(Nuclear Blast, 2002) Since reissued with a bonus live DVD, the seventh album from Norwegian power triad Immortal is practically unstoppable. Produced by Peter Tägtgren, Sons of Northern Darkness combines fierce riffery with a Maiden-esque sense of epic dynamism. (Fun fact: One of the band's promotional photos for this release mistakenly caught guitarist-vocalist Abbath with his fly down.)

(Moribund, 2004) The one-man plague of professional tattoo artist Jef Whitehead (a.k.a. Wrest), Leviathan are the vanguard of the American isolationist black-metal phenomenon. Whitehead's second full-length under the Leviathan moniker, Tentacles is a vicious display of lo-fi pyrokinesis that takes its cues from the Burzum back catalog.

(Moribund, 2004) Another one-man outfit, L.A.'s Xasthur is the brainchild of Scott Conner, a.k.a. Malefic, also known for his live guest "vo-kills" with sub-harmonic drone overlords Sunn O))). The bleak psychedelic hellscapes that bleed black through each of his many LPs, EPs, and splits are at their most unsettling on this, Xasthur's fourth full-length.

(Ajna Offensive, 2005) Little is known about this reclusive French posse; the band refuses almost all interview requests. But Kénôse is one of the most powerful, ideologically intriguing black-metal releases in the history of forever. Ominous and brooding, the hypnotic fury of the album's three epic tracks is matched only by its enigmatic artwork.

(Candlelight, 2005) Along with Darkthrone, the reunited Emperor, Varg Vikernes and the surviving members of Mayhem, Enslaved are the last of Norway's living black-metal O.G.s. Their Grammy-winning eighth album is a rousing Viking feast that makes you wanna burn and pillage all the way to Valhalla — and proof that these originators are still well ahead of most of the pack.

(Total Holocaust, 2005) Much like Varg Vikernes did through Burzum's experimentation with keyboards, Leviathan's Jef Whitehead (re)established black metal as not just a sound, but a feeling and approach, with his project Lurker of Chalice and its sole, self-titled offering. Wildly inventive, employing everything from electronic samples to wind chimes and chorus vocals, the album proves that all the chilling darkness of the subgenre can be conjured without a lo-fi tremolo riff.

(Season of Mist, 2007) Despite their infamous penchant for literal mid-set bloodbaths, the Swedish pyromaniacs Watain have always been a band defined by sharp songcraft, not just provocative showmanship. Case in point: Sworn to the Dark, which saw the Satanic firebrands culling from thrash, hard rock, prog and dark ambient to deliver one of the most stylistically diverse black-metal albums of the 2000s.

(Metal Blade, 2013) While their music arguably leans more death metal, these Polish blasphemers' explicitly Satanic philosophical stance and corpse-paint-and-hellfire onstage presentation clearly place them within the black-metal movement. Behemoth's comeback album after frontman Nergal's near-fatal battle with Leukemia, The Satanist stands as a majestic and vital (re)statement of intent.

(Deathwish, 2013) Deafheaven's sophomore LP Sunbatherrepresented a true paradigm shift in black metal both in its aesthetics and attitudes, from its pink album cover to its sunny riffage. Indeed, the first notes of "Dream House" evoke something not often heard in the genre: a feeling of optimism. Sunbather leaned on the creativity of bands past, but took it next level, embracing elements of shoegaze, post-rock and screamo in the way that hadn't been done before. But its greatest innovation may be the way the album rides on the belief that black metal doesn't have to be antisocial in spirit; indeed, it can come with open arms.

Sent from my iPhone

[loudlooks]

Day 13 - Handing out candy

A/N: season 3, reminder to read the A/N of day 1 because ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Tag for blocking/following: 30 days of fall

Prompt: Handing out candy

Word count: 562

When he twisted the door knob and pushed nothing happened. Tony briefly inspected the locked door, then rang the doorbell as if personally offended.

The footsteps he heard approaching sounded familiar, but decidedly un-Gibbs like. When the door swung open he was surprised at the sight of Ziva, in full witch costume.

She looked just as surprised to see him, and sheepishly pulled the very prominent fake nose down, letting it dangle under her chin by its strap. "Tony, what are you doing here?"

He held up an NCIS folder. "What are you doing here, witch David?"

"Abby invited me."

"Abby invited you to Gibbs'?"

"Yes, she wanted me to get the full Halloween experience, said that would not happen at my apartment."

"Because of all the muggings and shootings that happen there," he said flatly, as he pushed past her into the hallway. He pointed at the front door with the folder. "Why was the door locked?"

Ziva frowned. "You have been telling me all week that all the crazies come out at Halloween."

"That's the thing you decided to listen to? Not 'the lieutenant is high on meth and stabbed three people already, stay away from him'?"

Ziva looked at him defiantly. "He did not stab me."

"Then why did Ducky have to patch you up?"

"It was a scratch."

He glanced at her injured left arm, fully covered by the black velvet robe sleeve. "You needed eight stitches."

Abby emerged from the kitchen holding a bag of small candy bars. "Tony," she said cheerfully, "I thought I heard bickering."

She held up the bag to Ziva. "These are the good ones".

Ziva smiled and held out the plastic cauldron to be filled.

"Doesn't Ziva look great? It's the costume I wore three years ago at the office party."

Tony nodded, then looked Abby up and down. "When are you going to put on your costume?"

Abby smacked him on the arm, eliciting a yelp. "I am a catgirl." She pointed at the top of her head, where she had fashioned two cat-like ears with her hair.

"Ha, obviously," he said, convinced she had looked like this all day.

"Anyway," Abby said linking her arm in his, "Ziva's on candy duty."

"Don't mind if I do," Tony said, reaching for one of the candy bars.

Ziva slapped his hand away at lightning speed. "You are not a child, Tony."

He held his hand away from her like a wounded animal. "You called me a child yesterday."

"You were shooting spitballs at me."

He raised his eyebrows. "Exactly."

Ziva stared at him blankly, then held out her cauldron reluctantly.

Looking very smug he grabbed a candy bar.

"Do you always get your way, DiNozzo?" Ziva asked as she watched him tear away the wrapper and practically inhale the chocolatey goodness.

"No," he replied, taking a moment to run his tongue over his teeth to remove the stickiness, while looking her up and down. "If I did you'd be dressed as a sexy-"

The unexpected head slap made him wince and wonder why he had come here in the first place.

He met Gibbs' steely blue gaze, and handed over the work file wordlessly.

Gibbs looked at him, one corner of his mouth creeping up. "Gonna need a costume."

Tony's eyes went wide with fear as Abby squealed in his ear, and dragged him down the hallway.

---

tagging @hopeless-nostalgiac, @mrsmungus, @indestinatus

[astrronomemes]

MISFITS: EPISODE ONE STARTERS

a collection of quotes, phrases, and sayings from the premiere episode of Misfits. change & alter as needed.

“There are people out there who think you’re scum. You have an opportunity to show them they’re wrong.”

“Are you looking to get stabbed?”

“I’ll rip out your throat, and shit down your neck!”

“Don’t act like you know me, ’cause you don’t.”

“This is a chance to network with other young offenders. We should be swapping tips! Brainstorming!”

“I tried to burn someone’s house down.”

“Okay, so I’m a little bit freaked out.”

“We should be dead.”

“You’d know all about being mental.”

“Hey, [name], how’s tricks? How’s the herpes?”

“What if she thinks I’m shit in bed? She’s been with loads more people than I have!”

“Why would anybody want to kill us?”

“Something’s happening to me.”

“What, you don’t want to hear about my anus?”

“Oh, and who’s gonna believe you, eh? You’re nothing.”

“It’s a shame more women don’t commit crime.”

“Face it, man, it’s gonna happen. It always does. It’s biology! ...Or physics. One of those.”

“That stuff will shrivel your dick.”

“Don’t puke in my car. Do not puke in my car.”

“Have you been sniffing glue?”

“Of course I think it’s bullshit! You don’t need to be a mind reader to know that!”

“This just gets better by the second.”

“Maybe he’s on crystal meth. I mean, that stuff makes you crazy. My friend [name] did it, she nearly shagged her own brother—and he’s really ugly.”

“Well... I’m no doctor, but... you see the way the back of his head is caved in like that?”

“It doesn’t matter what we tell them! They’ll say we’re lying!”

“If there’s no body, there’s no crime.”

“I’m pretty sure this breaches the terms of my ASBO.”

“I don’t want anyone to know. I cannot be a freak.”

“Probably best to keep that kind of thing between you and your internet service provider.”

“Do you actually believe that, or are you just really dumb?”

“What if we’re meant to be, like, superheroes?”

“In what kind of fucked-up world would that be allowed to happen?”

[misspetsyourcats]

Things men have offered me in exchange for ownership, a nonexhaustive list:

- goats

- heroin

- “as much alcohol as I want”

- “the good weed”

- a farm full of goats

- a house

- a cruise every year

- shoes

- an apartment

- legal guardianship over said man

- more goats

- dabs

- “you’ll feel better trust me”

- enlightenment and the knowledge of gods

- weed and a massage

- $5

- a boat

- canadian citizenship

- the truth behind the CIA

- goats but only 3 this time

- a nice fish

- a truck

- also a truck but it was a toy and he was 6

- 16 alpacas and 2 goats

- plumbing work

- a space on his private bunker homestead

- sex with his wife

- a nice rifle

- the blessings of the old gods on my womb

- the “joys of birthing the next aryan generation”

- an enchanted knife and spoon

- a gold thumb ring with some sort of spirit in it

- not making me pay for condoms

- a whiskey tonic

- carrying my bag

- a tick

- “my heart”

- his virginity

- 150 goats

- tricare

- a house in Canada

- the position of holy whore in his totally-not-cult

- a joint that was 90% sage

- “the privilege of being owned by a true alpha”

- a collection of automatic rifles

- position as head of the harem he did not have

- “it’s a secret drug formula from the russian mafia, just lick the powder off my hand”

- goats AND the pen they live in

- he will make me toast

- airfare to his apartment

- “if you never have to be sober you’ll be happy by my side regardless, just pick your poison”

- free tattoos

- a coffee

- a coffee and a trip to france

- just the trip to france

- a cell phone that he would pay

- a single goat

- pretty rocks

- “I won’t hit you”

- a whole group of goats and a nice dress and wellies to tend the goats

- 40 acres of logging and gravel pits

- his dad’s house

- a few goats and some sheep

- to never give me a traffic ticket

- a nice pocketknife

- his ex’s lingerie

- as much vodka as I want but no jäger

- a four course homecooked meal

- everything in my etsy favorites

- his sister

- his FAVORITE goat

- a beach house

- position as his first wife

- position as his second wife

- a firearm he made in his garage delivered to me every few weeks

- protection from his militia

- the blessings of a god from dungeons and dragons

- to never need to see him again (as long as we had sex)

- only 8 goats (the ninth was his mother’s)

- health insurance

- use of his home gym

- literal godhood, as in he would bestow the power upon me

- meth.

- him stabbing me 37 times (not 81, that was for more important people)

- I could meet his ghost

- he would keep the ghosts away

- psychic powers

- keys to a nissan altima currently located in a ravine 20+ miles offroad

- his plug’s phone number

- cheese

- a pen

- a goat pen *but not the goats in it*

- his dad’s house (don’t worry the dad will die soon)

- an illegally imported russian sniper rifle

- a dog

- flowers once a week forever

- “if you don’t marry me my mom will be sad”

- a horse

- country club membership

- shrooms

- his left kidney

- a few acres of forest and pasturelands

- a new iphone

- good grades in x class

- a baby goat

- a tractor WITH the gas in it

- cocaine

- a free tattoo (but only one)

- a plant (iirc a lily)

- a gangbang every month

- a cashew farm

- a room in his house to be mine forever

- goat cheese