#electric assault records

[cremationisirreversible]

𝕹𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖌𝖊𝖎𝖘𝖙 – ℭ𝔞𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔬𝔫𝔦𝔠 𝔖𝔱𝔲𝔭𝔬𝔯

Reinvigorated Terror / Electric Assault Records / 2021

[thenwothm]

CENTURY TO RELEASE "SIGN OF THE STORM"

The tempest looms on the horizon! Sign of the Storm, the electrifying sophomore metal album from Century, drops on Friday, January 24th. Pre-order your copy now through these exclusive options: Gold (Band Exclusive): Trust No One Recordings & Merchandise Crimson (North America Exclusive): Electric Assault Records Brown (European Exclusive): Dying Victims Productions Clear (Asian Exclusive):…

[societyfolklore]

Kuritsa

Title: Kuritsa

Pairing: Winter Solider! Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Female Reader

Summary:  You life has been stolen from you now held captive by HYDRA for breeding purposes, paired with the Winter Soldier. You dreamed of freedom.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: ::Explicit Content:: 18+, Minors DNI, Dub-con/Sexual contact initiated under coercion, programming, and captivity, Sexual Assault/Breeding Context (themes of being used as a vessel), Depictions of Violence and Blood, Brainwashing chair, memory erasure, Imprisonment/Captivity, Psychological Trauma, Mind Control/Programming, Sedation/Physical Helplessness, Dehumanization, Dark Sexual Content, blurring trauma and craving, Smut, Unprotected Sex (DONT DO THIS) ...angst..

A/N:  fic inspired by Bo Burnham's "The Chicken." – In honor of April fools day... well I had the idea I'd post it than.. BUT THIS ISN’T A JOKE FIC.. so to be safe its getting posted now (Yes, technically its April 1st where I am.. But yeah..just.. DONT JUDGE)

You always heard him first. It was the sound that woke you up. A jagged scream, animalistic and raw, that tore through the sterile silence of the compound.

The screams were muffled through the walls, but they still split through you like wire dragged over raw skin. Wet, strangled, inhuman. They had him in the chair again. You knew it by the rhythm- shouts cut off mid-breath, followed by silence. Then the electric hum. Then the screaming again. Over and over. Mechanical. Precise. Cruel.

You flinched every time. Not because it was him. Because you remembered.

The same chair. The same straps. The same cold leather biting into your spine. The sting of the restraints as they tightened around your wrists. The stench of melted wires. The taste of your own blood from where you bit your tongue just to keep from screaming like that.

The same blank faces leaning over you, muttering notes while they pulled you apart neuron by neuron. Probing. Recording. Smiling.

You used to fight it. Kick. Spit. Bite.

That was before.

Then, you began mumbling names into the dark; yours? Someone else’s? A place with sun? The owner of the voice that laughed? The notes of a song you couldn’t quite remember? They were shadows now. Fragments. Ash in your mouth.

Your cage was damp. The walls sweat in summer, froze in winter. Mold crept along the ceiling. You slept curled, knees to chest, like a bird with clipped wings. Sometimes, your shoulder blades ached like phantom wings were trying to burst free.

They called you that sometimes.

“Back in your cage, little bird.”

Sometimes, you thought if you stared long enough at the rusted metal grate in the ceiling, it might dissolve. That maybe you'd float right up through it like smoke, disappearing into some unreachable sky. You used to imagine what that would feel like weightless, free. As if your body would just melt away, and your soul could slip between the bars like vapor. But you never did.

There was no sky. No smoke. Just the walls. Just the dark. Just the screams.

And him.

You would’ve clawed their eyes out if you had the strength. Some days, you tried. Weak swipes, trembling fists. They laughed. Sometimes they hit back. Sometimes they didn’t need to. Just dragging you down the corridor was enough to remind you what you were.

Your life was hell: invasive tests, sterile rooms, long needles that never seemed to stop. You were monitored constantly. Recorded. Measured. Bled. Injected. Re-injected. Burned. Frozen. Made to run until your legs buckled. Made to scream until your throat bled. They treated your body like a blueprint and a battlefield all at once.

Then they’d toss you into his cell when it was time nothing was said. Just the click of the door. The shove between your shoulder blades. The sound of it locking behind you.

And him. Already there. Still. Watching. Waiting.

The Winter Soldier didn’t beat you. Didn’t growl or leer or curse. He didn’t speak unless instructed. He mounted you like they told him to, like it was a drill, like your body was just another mission to complete. Another task in the protocol. Like you were a sheath. A target. A breeding container.

And still you preferred him to them.

You had a warped affection for the Winter Soldier. Maybe it was the silence. Maybe it was that he didn’t make it worse. Maybe it was the way, just once, he touched your face after. Or the way he sometimes hesitated at the door.

You didn’t know what it was. You only knew it was the closest thing to gentleness left in your world.

You could still taste the metal in your mouth from the bit they used to hold your jaw still. It haunted you; cold and tangy, sharp as betrayal. The phantom pressure of it still made your teeth ache, your jaw clench in your sleep. You had bitten down on it so hard once, a molar cracked.

Your cell smelled of bleach and old blood, the kind of stench that lived in your skin even after they hosed you down. The floor was always damp, the kind of damp that seeped into your bones and never left. Mold crept in the corners like it knew no one would care to clean it. The walls whispered in the dark, a constant hum of pain soaked into the concrete, voices of other girls who didn’t last long enough to be named.

You dreamed of green places, warm hugs, kind smiles. Sometimes, a soft bed. A blanket that smelled like flowers. A kitchen table. Your fingers curled around a mug of tea. A dog barking in the distance. Sometimes, you thought those dreams were real, like they weren’t just fragments of a life someone else lived. Maybe a life you had once. Before.

HYDRA guards mocked you constantly. Their voices were oil-slick and cruel, rehearsed jokes to entertain themselves while you wilted behind bars.

“Back in your cage, little bird.” “Don’t break her- we’ll need her eggs soon.”

Sometimes they laughed when they said it. Sometimes they didn’t. Sometimes they said it softly, like they meant it as comfort. Like you were a thing, not a person. A vessel. A hen.

You were underfed. Frail. Your ribs showed when you breathed. But their mistake was thinking that made you weak. They saw hollow cheeks and shaky legs and thought you’d given up.

But inside you, something still burned.

Because one day, when they came for you, you fought.

~#~#~#~#~

When the moment came you didn’t think. You just moved.

The second the cell door creaked open, something ancient and wild ignited in your blood. You exploded forward, driven by instinct, by rage, by a raw, primal need to live. A scream- feral and guttural- ripped from your throat as you slammed your elbow into the nearest guard’s neck with a satisfying crack. He dropped like a stone, choking.

Another guard lunged, but you caught him mid-motion, grabbing a fistful of his uniform and smashing his face into the concrete wall so hard the sound echoed like a gunshot. A third grabbed your arm, but you twisted under it with a snarl, your fingernails gouging deep furrows into his cheek, hot blood spraying across your face.

There were shouts. Alarms. The buzz of static in radios. Boots thundered behind you, but you were already gone, barefoot, bloodied, sprinting down the corridor like a bullet let loose. The red emergency lights strobed across the walls as your shadow leapt and flickered with every step.

You Ran, You flew.

The thing they put in your veins, the one they’d whispered about while jabbing you full of needles and watching you writhe. It surged now. It made your muscles coil and spring, made you faster, harder to catch. Not like the others, maybe. But enough.

You hurled your body into a security door, shoulder-first, and it gave way with a scream of twisted hinges. It slammed against the far wall, denting metal. You stumbled, caught yourself, kept going.

Footsteps thundered behind you. Shouts growing louder.

You took the corner too fast and your bloodied feet slipped on the polished floor. You crashed into the wall, pain flaring down your spine. But you didn’t stop.

Another door. Locked. You threw yourself at it. Again. Again.

It buckled. You screamed, the sound inhuman, your throat raw.

You weren’t running anymore. You were escaping. You were breaking through.

And still, behind you, they came.

The world outside was warmer than you remembered- oppressively so, like it was pressing down on you, trying to smother the panic clawing through your ribs. Pine needles slashed at your legs, carving sharp little welts into your skin. Branches whipped across your face, drawing blood, blinding you in bursts of green.

The trees blurred past you, but your vision pulsed with black spots at the edges. The air seared down your throat, each breath like swallowing knives. Your lungs burned. Your knees screamed. Your bare, bloodied feet hit roots and rocks, tearing skin, but you didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

Somewhere behind you- closer than before- voices shouted. Dozens of them. Radio static barked out garbled commands. Dogs barked. Boots thundered. Gunfire cracked so close it popped your ears. Bark exploded from a tree to your left. The trunk shattered near your ribs. A bullet.

You pushed harder.

You were being hunted.

Your legs were shaking. You weren’t sure if it was pain or adrenaline keeping you upright. Something hot was dripping down your shin. Your vision swam.

But you didn’t stop.

Couldn’t stop.

And then

The trees broke.

A road.

Blacktop. Screeching tires. You stumbled forward, half-falling onto the guardrail. Horns blared. The scent of exhaust and heat and rubber filled your nose.

Across the road, you saw it.

A meadow. Vast and wild, stretching endlessly beneath a sky smeared with lavender and gold. The grass was green and thick, heavy with dew that sparkled like glass in the fading light. Wildflowers swayed- violets, daisies, yellow bursts of something unnamed. The breeze danced through them, carrying the soft hush of the earth breathing.

Above, birds wheeled through the sky, dipping and soaring, their wings catching the sun like flashes of silver. Everything here was alive. Unashamedly, impossibly alive.

You remembered green places, warm hugs, kind smiles. Fingers threaded through your hair while someone hummed a lullaby. The feel of warm earth between your toes. Laughter carried on the wind. Someone calling your name,  not the one they gave you here, but the one that belonged to you before.

For a moment, the world tilted. Something inside you ached so sharply it stole the air from your lungs.

This meadow wasn't a fantasy. It was a memory.

You moved, climbing over the low barrier, the rough tarmac biting into your feet, still wet and blood-slick from the forest floor. Each breath in your chest came sharp and ragged, like your lungs were tearing with every inhale. The roar of engines filled your ears, deafening, and the scent of rubber and oil churned your stomach.

“Kuritsa.”

You froze.

His voice. Low. Steady. From behind you. From the tree line.

“Come back.”

You turned.

The Winter Soldier stood there, framed by shadows and pine. Expression unreadable. Gun lowered but not discarded. His eyes locked on you like he was tethered- like if you moved too far, something in him would snap.

“Don’t fly, little bird,” he said, quieter this time. Almost… pleading. Even at this distance you could hear him. “They’ll clip you again.”

A choice..

You looked back.

The meadow. The other side. Golden, glowing. Wind stirring the wildflowers like hands reaching out to welcome you home.

Your head jerked back and forth, heart pounding so hard it hurt. Left. Right. Left. Right. The cars flew past like metal beasts, one after another, their horns screaming. Your ears rang. Your knees shook.

There- a gap. A breath. A beat of silence in the thunder.

You lunged.

Rubber screeched behind you. A side mirror clipped your arm and spun you halfway around, but you caught yourself, pushed forward, legs burning.

You ran.

You ran like you never had before.

Like your soul depended on it.

You barely heard the gunfire anymore.

You dodged between honking cars, the wind of a speeding van nearly toppling you sideways. Someone screamed from a vehicle, a horn blared, a voice cursed- but none of it registered. Your focus tunnelled to the other side.

You leapt the last guardrail and your feet hit the soft earth of the field- mud, grass, roots all giving beneath your weight. The ground didn’t hurt. It welcomed you. Your knees buckled, but you caught yourself, palms scraping the soil, fingers sinking into it like you'd been starved of its touch your whole life.

The sun hit your face.

Warm.

Golden.

It wrapped around you like a second skin. You stumbled forward, breathless, and the sharp roar of the road fell behind you like a door slamming shut. The farther you went, the quieter it all became. The birds circled overhead. The sky opened up above you. Wind moved through your hair.

The grass brushed your legs like fingers. Wildflowers bent toward you. Every step you took felt lighter, like gravity had loosened its grip. Your chest still burned, your legs still trembled- but it didn’t matter.

You were free.

For a moment, you were free.

~#~#~#~#~

You woke up.

Your body hurt. Aches radiated deep in your joints, muscles stiff and sluggish as the sedative wore off. Your skin prickled like it had been dipped in ice water, and there was a heavy, smothering pressure in your chest that made it hard to breathe. It was always like this- the return. The slow drag back into a body that felt more like a cage than a home. The familiar fog of waking, like surfacing from a nightmare only to realize the nightmare is where you live.

Your cell. Concrete. Cold. The old mattress on the floor, the spring dug into your spine like punishment, its stuffing long since thinned to nothing. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead like insects chewing through your skull.

The contrast made it worse.

You had just been in the sun. You had felt the warmth on your face, tasted freedom, heard birdsong. And now- this. Gray. Sterile. The walls loomed like tombstones. The air was sour with bleach and mold. Your blanket was gone. The cot felt harder than usual, like it was punishing you for dreaming.

You started to cry.

It hadn’t been real.

You bit your knuckles to keep from sobbing loud enough for the cameras. But it was no use. The pressure in your chest cracked open like a fault line, and the whimpers slipped free, shaking, hopeless. Your body curled tighter, trying to fold in on itself, to disappear into the cold concrete floor.

You pressed your forehead to the ground. Tears smeared across the filth. Your shoulders heaved.

You had felt it. The wind. The sun. The way the earth gave under your feet instead of fighting you. You’d tasted freedom- and now it was gone. Ripped from your ribs like something delicate torn apart by teeth.

You were breaking.

Just the soft scuff of a boot on concrete. A shift in the silence.

You froze.

Your breath hitched.

Slowly, you lifted your head.

He was already inside the cell, standing just feet away, still and silent. Watching.

The Winter Soldier. Motionless. Built like a monolith. Cold light caught on the metal of his arm.

His eyes found you- and they were blue. Flat. Empty. As emotionless as frost.

He said nothing.

He just looked.

He stepped forward slowly, like you were a wounded animal, like he was afraid you’d break. His boots barely made a sound against the floor, each one placed with deliberate care- as if you might vanish if he moved too quickly.

"You had to be good, Kuritsa," he murmured, his voice softer than you'd ever heard it. "They wouldn’t tell me to hurt you if you were good."

There was something in the way he said it- like he wanted it to be true. Like he needed to believe it more than you did.

He reached for you. Not like a soldier following orders, but like someone trying not to scare the ghost in front of him. His hand hesitated in the air between you. Waiting. Wanting.

And you let him.

Because no one else reached for you. Because even this broken, programmed shell of a man was gentler than the rest. Because his touch- hesitant, calloused, human- was the only thing anchoring you to the world in that moment.

He stripped you gently. Despite the cold, he was warm. You both were. His body radiated heat, and when your skin touched, it felt like something real- something grounding in a world where everything else had become unrecognizable. Your body, your mind, your freedom- all had been twisted, burned, broken. But this? This was contact. Connection. A fragile thread back to something human.

He murmured "umnitsa" when you trembled instead of fought. The word fell like a feather against your cheek- foreign, yet almost soft, almost kind. You hadn’t heard kindness in so long that it carved through you like a blade.

His hands were rough, but careful. The callouses rasped across your hips as he steadied you. He traced the bones of your ribs, your stomach, like he was trying to memorize something forbidden. Like you were fragile and holy. His touch made you shiver, not from fear, but from the aching ache of being touched at all.

He waited for your nod. And when you gave it, small and tear-soaked, something in him relaxed. Like permission mattered. Like you mattered.

You were still weeping. You didn’t know why you needed this so badly. Maybe to kill the aching weight in your chest. Maybe to drown in sensation, to burn out the cold that lived in your marrow. Maybe to feel like anything other than a thing in a cage.

You gripped him- not out of lust, but because you needed something. Something alive. Something solid. A warmth to hold onto while the world around you blurred and cracked. But the longer you held him, the more that need twisted, deepened, darkened into something else. Something desperate.

His body pressed closer, the weight of him grounding you, overwhelming you. And when he aligned himself against your entrance, his thick, hard cock nudging at your core, you gasped. The heat of him seared through the cold in your bones, and for a moment, all you could do was hold your breath.

Then he pushed in.

Slow, steady, unrelenting.

The stretch burned- sharp and aching- as he filled you inch by inch, your walls fluttering around the thick length of him, your breath shattering with every heartbeat. You whimpered as he bottomed out, hips flush against yours, buried to the hilt. The sting of the invasion was real, raw, but it wasn’t unwelcome.

It was the only invasion you ever craved.

He stayed there a beat, chest heaving against yours, his breath ragged. You felt the tension trembling in his muscles as he tried to hold back, as if even now he was waiting for you to break. But you didn’t. You pulled him closer.

Because the ache of being filled by him was the only thing that ever made you feel whole.

You both needed this, even if neither of you fully understood why. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was programming. Or maybe it was the only act left that made you feel like you had a body at all.

He moved inside you with no rush, no violence.

At first.

Just heat. Flesh. Friction. But you felt him grow bolder with every thrust, felt the rhythm change from tentative to possessive, like your body was something he was rediscovering and claiming in the same breath.  You whimpered as his hips snapped forward, rougher now, grinding against the deepest parts of you. You gasped- your head thrown back, legs trembling from the effort of taking him, from the pleasure spearing up your spine.

"Soldate..." you whispered, shocked at the sound of your own voice, he only grunted in reply.

The slap of skin against skin filled the room. Your nails dug into his back, clawing for purchase. He braced himself over you with his metal arm, the cold of it ghosting across your ribcage while his other hand gripped your thigh and hitched it higher. He fucked you like he was trying to bury himself inside you, deeper, deeper, until you didn’t know where he ended and you began.

You moaned for him and that seemed to break something open in him. His teeth grazed your neck, just a scrape, just a warning. You shuddered. His hand slipped between your legs, and when his thumb circled your clit, it was almost too much. You bucked against him, your orgasm cresting like a wave you couldn't stop.

"Cum." he growled, and you did. Your whole body arched, eyes squeezing shut, mouth open on a sob. You clenched around him, and he followed, rutting into you with a strangled groan before freezing, twitching inside you, his release hot and thick and undeniable.

For a moment, all you could do was pant beneath him, your body boneless and trembling. His forehead rested against yours, and his breath warmed your face. His fingers still moved against your thigh, slow now, almost reverent.

He didn’t speak. Just held you. Just stayed.

And for one terrible, perfect moment, you could pretend you weren’t in a cell at all.

He stayed inside you after. Heavy. Warm. You didn’t move, neither did he. Instead keeping himself pressed deep within you, like he could hold back the world by just staying there. Like if he stayed inside, the moment might stretch, safe and untouched.

You felt every twitch of him, the slow pulse of his cock still buried in your heat. He didn’t pull out, didn’t shift away. He just stayed. Ensuring nothing would spill. A painful reminder of your true purpose here.

The weight of him inside you was grounding and cruel all at once- comfort and control, tenderness and protocol.

His hand cupped your cheek. The same hand that had killed without pause.

“Good, little bird,” he whispered. “They won’t hurt you now.”

For a moment you believed him.

~#~#~#~#~

You were still sore. Still warm from him when they came after removing him from your cell.

You didn’t fight. He had made you promise. Whispered it against your skin while he was still inside you

“Be good Kuritsa. Be good for them like you were for me.”

So you didn’t fight. You just stared at the ceiling, empty and aching, when the guards returned.

“Not supposed to cross roads, little bird,” one of them sneered, voice dripping with smug cruelty. You barely blinked before the needle slid into your arm, sharp and fast. The sedative burned as it entered your vein, and within seconds, your limbs began to go heavy.

Still, you felt it all.

Their rough hands grabbed you by the arms and legs. One of them lifted you by the underarms while another gripped your thighs, dragging your limp body out of the cell like a broken doll. Your toes scraped along the concrete floor, leaving faint streaks as you tried- and failed- to move against them.

The corridor was a blur of fluorescent light and iron stench. You tried to twist away, but your limbs wouldn’t obey. Sluggish. Leaden. You whimpered, barely audible.

You recognized the hallway. The turns. The shape of the door at the end.

No. Not again.

When the door opened, you sobbed. That awful room. That awful chair. Waiting.

They hauled you inside like trash, flipping your body onto the leather seat. Cold restraints snapped over your wrists and ankles. Your head lolled to the side as you tried to resist, tried to pull your arms back, but they might as well have been made of stone.

You didn’t want this. You wanted the sun. The flowers. The breath of wind across your face.

But you weren’t in the meadow anymore.

You were back in the chair.

You wanted to plead. To beg. You were sorry, you wouldn’t do it again. You just wanted to hold on to something, to keep even a shred of that warmth inside you. But your lips were too heavy to form the words.

But he had said they wouldn’t do this. Not if you were good.

And you’d been good.

One tech hesitated, glancing down at you with something almost like pity. You tried to lock eyes with him, to will him to stop, to see you. But it was too late.

Another tech snapped, “Erase it. She’s dangerous now.”

Rough hands held you down tighter as you struggled weakly. A guard’s fingers pinched your jaw open. You whimpered. The bit forced into your mouth was hard and rubbery, pressing down against your tongue and teeth. The pressure made your cracked molar throb.

Then the seat began to tilt.

Slow. Mechanical. Inevitable.

You felt the world shift with it, the room pitching as gravity settled you deeper into the chair. The jaws of the machine descended- cold metal bracing your skull, clamping over your head like a vice. Your heart thundered. One side of your vision darkened as the rig covered your left eye.

Your panic rose, sharp and feral, tearing through the fog of sedation. You tried to twist, tried to scream around the bit, but your limbs barely moved. You could only writhe in slow, pathetic motions as the restraints cut into your skin.

You weren’t in a meadow. You weren’t running. You were here.

This time, it was your memory they erased.

Your escape.

They couldn’t let you know you could fly.

You screamed the words in your head, over and over, desperate and wild:

Birds fly. Meadow. Other side.

And then it came.

The pain.

White hot. Blinding.

Your back arched.

All you could hear was your own screams now, louder than the hum of the machine, louder than your racing heart. There was no world outside of that sound. Just your pain, ripped from your throat and thrown into the void.

[themochiverse]

Lost | JJK

➳ Pairing: yandere!kidnapper!jk x kidnapped!fem!reader

➳ Genre: Yandere, Angst

➳ Warnings: Swearing, kidnapped reader, jungkook is a bit violent to the reader, implied stalking, implied past assaults, Dub-con/Non-Con kissing and touching, Jungkook degrades the reader, drugging (sleeping pills), implied overdose to kill, suicidal thoughts, hair pulling, and scratches...

➳ Synopsis: When you try to escape from your captor's home one more time, there's always this feeling of lostness, and you don't know why but always feel lost. Lost in thoughts, lost in false hope, and lost in the woods with him.

➳ Word Count: 3k+

➳ Disclaimer: This fanfic is purely from my imagination, I do not intend to harm any Idol or person in any way. Nor sexualising them. Please do not steal any ideas from here, this is all of my work and original work. I DO NOT CONDONE THIS BEHAVIOUR.

Lost ©Copyright -2024- themochiverse - All Rights Reserved

No part of the story can be copied, reproduced, redistributed or transformed into any other form. Meaning no photocopying, recording whether written or electrically. No methods are allowed that use anything from this fic. This follows in the permitted Copyright Law. All images and/or gifs go to their rightful owners.

A/N: Finally wrote something in a while, hope you guys like it :)) Also please don't read if you feel uncomfortable, warnings have been listed above.

Taglist; @minshookie29 @6tslovr @proflyndo @pinkcherrybombs @papijiminfeed @justanotherstarlightmonger @kittykatfey @princess-sunshyn @jinniesjoon94

The dim light in the room emitted a warm, orangish-yellow glow, enveloping the space as your fingers were scratching the corner of a table. The gentle hue seemed to intensify the temperature, wrapping you in a sultry embrace, and causing beads of sweat to form on your skin. As the light flickered softly, your heart thudded in your chest, the rhythm echoing in the stillness of the room.

You gulped, and your foot impatiently tapped the wooden floorboards and it immediately stopped once you heard his footsteps. Your gaze was fixated on the corner of the table— you didn't want to look up.

You wanted to ignore him, wanted to ignore that bile feeling in your stomach that made you nauseous. His boots stomped across the room, getting closer to you and your fingers intensified the scratching.

Jungkook dipped his head towards your neck, his warm breath gently brushing over your skin, as it sent a shiver down your spine. His hands were tangled in the locks of your hair, and he pulled it gently. He kissed the side of your neck and rested his chin on your head.

"Food's cold."

Your eyes darted to the plate of food he had given you not long ago, and you hadn't touched it since he left for some errands. Normally you would eat the meals he made for you but your mind was eating you up, the constant thought of him possibly knowing you tried to escape last night.

But how would he know? Even if you had slipped a pill into his meal, which knocked him out for about thirty minutes, how would you escape? When you opened the front door the chilly air that hit you caused you to blink several times.

You were free. You finally get to leave.

But as you took the first step outside, your eyes scanned the tall trees that decorated the entire area. Your heart sank. You couldn't get out of this place because you don't know how to.

Where would you go even if you had run deep into the woods? Would you even find a road? A path that could lead you to a sane person? You tried to reason with yourself as you looked back inside. This was your chance to get away from a monster like him, you could report him to the police and go back to your family and friends...

But what if he found you? What if you were lost, and by the time he woke up and figured out you were gone, what would he do? He'd go berserk, and he will find you. You don't know why but you're certain of it. You don't know the woods very well unlike him.

Jungkook knows his way around this deserted place, he's lived in this small cabin for years now, and he held you captive for months now. Of course, he would know, he prepared it just for you. What if you died while trying to escape? What if—

You closed the door as your back rested against it. You were so pathetic, so hopeless.

You stood up and walked up the creaky stairs, entering the bedroom where Jungkook was sleeping on. The effect of the pill even had such good timing that it hit him when he was getting ready for bed with you anyway.

Yet, you wasted it.

A scream was lodged in your throat, and your lips trembled. You hated to cry, but you couldn't help it. The warm tears trailed down your face as you crawled onto the bed.

Kill him.

Your own mind spoke to you, and your breaths shook as you heard your next words.

Go on. Wrap your hands around his neck, and kill him.

Decorate him like a bow on a present, and kiss his lips until you can't breathe anymore.

Your eyes widened when your hands were on his neck. They squeezed the fragile base, and you could feel his pulse. Slow and rhythmic, and it matched the quiet breaths he let out.

You inspected his face, and his hair fell on the top of his eyebrows, his eyelids were shut and his lips were parted open.

He was demented, a cruel person. You won't ever forget the things he did to you, how you felt so humiliated because of him. He took you away from your loved ones just so he could selfishly keep you and show his immense love curated just for you.

But you still couldn't do it.

You pulled your hands away quickly and Jungkook's fingers twitched. There wasn't much time left till he woke up. If you killed him, you would have won and lost at the same time.

You had no idea where you were, and there was no cell reception for you to call anyone. How would you prepare food, and fend for yourself? You don't even know a pathway that could help you to leave this damn forest. What would you do without him? But at least he would be gone.

You sighed and wiped your tears away, and you curled up next to him. You don't know why but your hands automatically reached out to play with his hair until you fell asleep. You don't know why but there was a part of you that didn't want to leave him.

You snapped back into reality once you felt Jungkook slither his arms down your shoulders as he murmured softly.

"Come to the bedroom with me, baby."

You didn't hesitate to follow behind him, and even if you didn't want to come he'd force you to anyway. Jungkook shut the door once you stepped inside the bedroom, and he took off his leather jacket before he put it back on again.

He sat on the edge of the bed and checked out the dress you wore for him. A white mini dress adorned with white laced straps, and the soft, flimsy part stopped on your thighs midway. The embodiment of the outfit hugged your structure beautifully like a doll, and Jungkook couldn't control his growing desire for you.

He patted his lap, and his words came out in a command.

"Sit."

You took a step forward, and Jungkook grabbed your waist, making you sit down on his lap. One arm was wrapped around your waist tightly, and his other hand gripped your chin. Your faces were inches away from each other as Jungkook stared at you intently.

"You wanna tell me something, beautiful?"

Dear god no..

You shook your head at him, watching his lips form into a frown.

"Don't lie to me sweetheart, you know I don't like lying."

His tone had turned serious, and your stomach churned uncomfortably. Jungkook shuffled his arm to get something from his pocket, and he retrieved the item, showing it to you.

"What were these doing under the bed, baby?"

He shook the container filled with sleeping pills, (blue and white) and your fingers dug into his shoulders firmly. Your eyes were filled with terror, and panic flooded in your veins.

Jungkook chuckled at your reaction, and he brought your chin closer to his face. You were forced to stare at him, to look into the eyes that frightened you almost every day, no matter how loving he tried to be.

They were crazed...a look you never wanted to see. His tongue peeked out from his lips, and it traced the silver piercing that was on the flesh of his lips.

"You really think you knocked me out last night?"

Your heart banged against your ribcage, and your breathing increased. He can't know, he can't, he can't, he can't-

"Did you think I wouldn't notice the little act of you wanting to cook for me all of a sudden? Huh?"

Jungkook squeezed your cheeks harshly, and his lips moved against your cheek.

"I wanted to play along. Give you that feeling of being triumphant over something ridiculous. You really are a fool, aren't you?"

Your eyes darted away from his, and your hands were off his shoulders. You yelped softly when you felt him push you even further into him, your chests touching each other as he made sure he held you more securely.

His hand flew to your neck, and he grabbed it roughly, and his nails dug into your skin.

"Eyes on me when I'm fucking talking to you. And don't even think about fighting back." Jungkook's eyes narrowed and darkened as he spoke right against your quivering lips.

Your heart was beating rapidly, and you felt suffocated as if the smoke from a wildfire was in the room. He found out...Jungkook found out.

"When you tried to choke me- honestly...I was surprised. But I knew you didn't have it in you. You wanna know why? It's because you're a fucking pussy, baby. You don't have the guts to kill someone."

A laugh vibrated wholeheartedly from his chest and you felt his cold hand drawing circles on your thigh. He put his lips towards your neck, taking a long inhale before he spoke again.

"You were such a good girl a couple of days ago, what happened to that good little girl who listened to me? Hm?"

You wanted to get out of his grip so bad. Your palms, slick with fear adhered to his shirt like trembling moths ensnared in the silky strands of a spider's web. Your delicate touch betrayed the intensity of your uneasiness with each shuddering breath you took.

Jungkook pulled away from you, a sudden thought coming to his mind. He stops drawing circles on your thighs, and he tilts his head slightly.

"I'm going to give you a chance to run away, okay?"

No.

"Gonna count till...thirty, and you're going to run into those woods as fast as you can."

Stop.

"If I find you..." his hands slide up on the side of your body, arms encircling around your back, "I'm gonna shove these down your pretty little throat, got it?"

Jungkook motioned to the sleeping pill container, sending a wave of goosebumps flying over you, and the hairs on your neck stood as you took a solid gulp. He leaned in, pressing his lips against yours before he pulled away. His arms loosened around your back, brushing your hair away from your face. He lowered his forehead against yours, murmuring softly.

"One."

"Two."

"Three."

For a moment, you were in a daze, lost in his eyes, captured in them. You didn't want to leave since he was probably messing around with you. You couldn't help but continue to stare at his doe eyes as your reflection glowed inside those dark eyes.

How were you so lost in them? Lost in the eyes of a man who kidnapped you, claiming he loved you. You were lost in your life, alone with no proper companion. Your life was already ruined, and you ached to be loved by someone. That's why he took you because he had a reason, and you didn't have a reason to deny it. You needed someone, and Jungkook claimed that he was the one.

He's observed you before, and you caught his eyes like a hawk once you bumped into him on your way to work. That's why he was able to snatch you on a cold Winter night, and he caught you, his prey, so easily. Why? You were lost, just lost in reality, lost in your depressive thoughts, and lost in love. You were just a poor girl lost in her delusions and wondering if your life would have been different if you had chosen the right decisions. You didn't notice him walking behind you, advancing on you before you could even utter a single scream.

It was an impulse and before you knew it your lips attached to Jungkook's moving ones. You grabbed onto his shirt, kissing him with soft movements.

Kissing him till you couldn't breathe anymore.

His hand was tangled in your hair and he pulled you closer, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. It was like Jungkook got the message, you wanted some hope, false hope to be exact. His tongue prodded at your lips before it slipped inside, and your body was growing hot as you both made out.

You almost let out a whine when he sucked and nipped on your bottom lip before he pulled away. You watched the way his chest rose and fell before a breathy laugh escaped his lips. His eyes scanned your face, and Jungkook grinned. He brought his hand to your face, wiping fresh tears off your face.

You were crying? Of course, just lost again but lost with him in an intimate moment.

He cupped your face, and his head beckoned to the door.

"Still haven't finished yet, baby, I'm close to twenty, you sure you don't wanna run now?"

You let out a quiet sniffle, getting off of him and once you left the room you sprinted down the stairs. You didn't bother to put your shoes on as you ran into the woods, your white socks already muddied. You ran and ran, and this time you noticed yourself crying. Why has your life turned into this? Why did you kiss him?

Your body shook with each step you took and each shuddering breath made you want to give up. It was completely dark, and the tall trees engulfed the entire area. There was barely any light, how were you even going to get away from him? The wind blew harshly over your face as you slowed down, stopping at a trail that seemed endless.

You wanted to laugh, but why did you even attempt to escape yesterday? Why did you even think about escaping in the first place? You know what happens, Jungkook has taught you several times but you just don't stop. Your life was shitty, your family disowned you because you were a disappointment to them. Your friends were toxic and fake, and you were alone. And you hated that.

Is that why you kissed him?

You kissed him because he was the only person who knew what your life was like, you kissed him because you were scared or maybe you kissed him because you were lost in the emotions you felt about him, and about yourself. There were moments when you were sad, and the next when you felt angry, rebellious, hopeless, irritated and lost.

Just run.

Just fucking run and stop thinking.

You're getting lost in your thoughts again, and he was going to catch you if you didn't stop now.

So you ran, and your heart was throbbing in your ears. Twigs snapped, birds cawed and for a second you thought you heard Jungkook.

You could hear another set of footsteps behind you, and the realisation dawned upon you. He's right behind you. You forced yourself to run even faster, ignoring the cuts that were plastered on your skin. You were running out of breath and your legs wobbled, they began to ache. You can't give up when you've come this far.

You can hear him getting closer to you. When you looked up straight ahead, there was a faint light that glowed uphill. A light! It could be a car, a home, or somebody. You bit your lip as you tried to go uphill, the pain in your feet grew as you stepped on sharp twigs and debris, desperately trying to climb up. You squinted your eyes to see a road, and your hope grew instantly.

You could leave, you could find someone and call for help, you could finally get away from him—

Jungkook's arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. A scream erupted from your throat, and you thrashed in his hold.

No— you were right there, you were about to escape.

A sob broke from your lips as you kicked your legs, doing anything to get out of his hold. His lips brushed over the shell of your ear, his hold on you tightening.

"Shh," his voice didn't soothe whatever you felt right now, "if you fight me back, I swear I'll make it worse for you."

The threat hung in the air, and it immediately made you stop your movements. Jungkook pushed you down to the forest floor, the wet soil coated your white dress, and this time the scratches stung even more.

"I was going to take you back, but look how far you made it. Almost made it out of here." A smirk formed on his lips as he took out the sleeping pill container.

"How does three sound?"

His words were a blur to your ears as you stared into the far distance. The light was still glowing brightly and soon a car drove by. You sobbed and your nails dug into the ground. Just a bit more time and you would've been free.

You felt the back of your head yanked up, and Jungkook's hand tugged your hair as you glared at him with furious eyes.

Jungkook whistled, smiling as he popped open the container.

"Don't look at me like that, you should have left the moment I started to count."

Your eyes fell to the water bottle next to him and that's when it hit you. Jungkook giggled at your reaction as he unscrewed the lid on the bottle.

"Came prepared because I knew my girl would get lost in these woods pretty fast, and far."

One hand gripped your jaw, and Jungkook pushed the pills inside your mouth. And he gave the bottle to you.

He wanted you to do it because he knew that you knew you lost. Your hands squeezed the bottle, and you brought it to your lips before chugging a good amount to swallow the pills.

"Did you say three?"

You asked him with a hopeless look.

"I lied," he said, watching you with a gleam on his face, "and gave you two instead because I don't want to kill you."

You wanted to laugh at that, maybe you should have just taken three. The effects soon hit you, and your eyes became sluggish, and your eyes blurred with tears. You lost your grip on the floor, and Jungkook swooped you into his arms effortlessly. His face was blurred as he was taking you back to the cabin. Just before your body shut down, right before your tears escaped and your eyes closed, Jungkook murmured to himself quietly, and a mixed feeling of hope and happiness washed over him.

"You're lost again, baby."

[pequins]

hear me out hear me out a schlatt fic where hes up late editing and reader is in bed waiting for him so they go check on him, telling him to come to bed and stuff, but when he doesnt, they climb on the chair, sitting on his lap so they block the view, and schlatt obv is now turned on and then they get freakyy 😈 perchance afab!reader, f!reader ‼️

nonnie you’re so smart come kiss me

cont: sleep deprived perfectionist schlatt, afab!reader, unprotected sex & creampie

an: any typos were the work of my opps and i am not liable for them (i wrote this after staying awake for 27 hours)

word count: too many

Jay leaned back in his chair, letting out a low groan as his muscles ached from the prolonged sitting. He had spent the whole day recording and editing a vlog for his channel, unintentionally neglecting you and his need for rest in the process. He was exhausted, his eyes strained from staring at the screen for so long.

he glanced up the time on his screen, wincing as he saw how late it was, 3:46 am? He could’ve swore it was just 9, “jesus..” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. despite his eyes burning from lack of sleep and extensive time staring at a screen, he was determined to finish this video before going to sleep.

meanwhile, you were watching him from the door frame, leaning against it with a disapproving look. Although you understood his dedication to his work, you worried about the toll it was taking on him. “Jay, it’s late, you gotta sleep sometime or you’ll go crazy.” you said, he sighed, glancing at you with a mixture of fatigue and stubbornness. “I know, I know. I’m almost done, just let me finish something real quick.”

you sighed, sounding similar to that of a disappointed mother, knowing that ‘real quick’ is just his way of excusing hours more of work. you approached him, standing behind his chair and gently resting your hands on his tense shoulders. “yknow, the video will still be there tomorrow.” you remarked, silently pleading for your giant boyfriends comforting presence while you slept.

he groaned quietly as you began to massage his shoulders, feeling a few knots that had formed after hours of hunching over the desk. your touch was soothing, and for a moment, he was tempted to drop everything and curl up with you in bed. unfortunately, his perfectionist tendencies were too strong, the thought of leaving a project unfinished being simply unbearable. “I promise I’ll come to bed in just a minute,” he said, eyes remaining fixed on the screen.

you grew increasingly frustrated with his relentless dedication to his work, your touch transitioning from a therapeutic massage to something more intimate, your fingers tracing along his collarbone. your breath tickling his ear as you lowered your voice to a sultry whisper. "come on, you work too much.”

he let out a shaky exhale, his eyes closing for a moment. “baby..” he muttered quietly, his breaths becoming more uneven. your hands slowly slid down his chest, sending a shiver down his spine. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks as his resolve to finish the video slowly crumbled.

“what do I have to do to get you off this damn chair?” you asked, your touch was like electricity to his senses. he felt his resolve weakening, the allure of your words almost too much to resist.

“toots, i’m—“ he stopped himself, clearing his throat. “i’m almost done, you’re distractin’ me.” he huffed, his voice strained and breathless. you smiled as you continued your assault on his senses, “cmon,” you whispered.

“take a break.”

schlatt's eyes widened as you abruptly climbed onto the chair, straddling his lap in a way that certainly had his attention. he felt the heat radiating from your core as you settled the weight of your body against him.

his hands instinctively found their way to your hips, “you're playing dirty, y'know." he muttered. you could feel his resistance faltering as your presence made it hard for him to focus on anything else. he tried to keep his eyes fixed on the screen, determined to finish his video, but you both knew you had him right where you wanted him.

your body pressed against his chest as you left a trail of kisses along his exposed collarbone. "i think you've worked enough for tonight, don't you?" you purred, your fingers tracing along his jawline. a low groan escaped his throat as the growing pressure in his boxers made him painfully aware of your closeness.

he knew he should resist, but the allure of your body against his was overtaking his logic. "cmon, come to bed," you whispered, your hands snaking underneath his large sweater. "you need to rest."

he could feel the heat of your breath against his skin, your teasing ignited a fire within him. his heart was racing, the room suddenly felt unbearably hot as he tried to resist the pull of your kisses.

"dammit toots..." he exhaled, his voice strained and low. your close proximity was making it difficult for him to think clearly, his usually sharp mind becoming foggy with want. you gently pushed yourself off of the chair with a coy smile, an obvious gesture for him to follow.

he grumbled, reluctantly pushing himself off of the chair and standing up, his body protesting the movement after being stuck in the same position for so long. he followed you silently, his mind still fighting to hold onto his work as you led him into the bedroom.

you stopped as you hit edge of the bed, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. the air was heavy with tension, the desire between you both palpable.

his hands roughly grabbed your hips, pulling you flush against him. his grip possessive yet filled with a tenderness that betrayed his usual rugged exterior. you shivered as his hands began to roam your body, exploring every inch of you with a hungry desperation.

his touch was electric, igniting a that spread throughout your body. his lips now pressed against your neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down to your collarbone. his voice was low rough as he muttered, “fuck, i need you"

the weight of his body pinned you to the soft sheets as his hands continued their exploration, pushing your shirt up and discarding it on the floor. he took in the view of your body, his eyes dark and dilated with need. "you're so fuckin’ beautiful." he said, his voice a low growl, his hands now digging into the soft flesh of your thighs. he positioned himself between your legs, pressing himself against your heat. you reached up, his words sending a thrill through your body, your fingers tangling in his dark hair.

he let out a guttural moan as your fingers gripped his hair, the sensation heightening his already sensitive state. his hands gripped your hips, lifting them up, positioning himself closer to you as he trembled with restraint. "i need you, right now." there was a possessive edge to his words, a hint of vulnerability that betrayed his usually guarded nature.

his hands ran over your body, tracing patterns on your skin, desperate to feel you, to claim you. he abruptly pulled your soaked panties down to your ankles, almost drooling at the sight of your bare pussy. he slatternly slid his gym shorts and boxers down to his ankles, briskly freeing his thick cock, tip already shiny and leaking precum.

he braced himself on your hips as he roughly slid into you, gripping at your hips so tightly they’d probably bruise, pulling out just to the tip before thrusting back in. "fuck" he groaned, eyes glassy and desperate as he soaked in the needy moans erupting from you. he threw his head back, letting out deep, gutteral groans as your cunt tightened around him.

the sound of his breathing grew heavier as he continued his movements, reaching deep inside of you, brushing against all the right spots. each movement forced a strangled moan to escape your mouth, mouth agape as your breath was knocked out of you with every thrust. His thrusts became less rhythmic and more sloppy, the sensations almost too much.

"oh god—“ he moaned, his voice cracking as he pounded into you, just hearing you was enough to send him over the edge. It didn't take long for you to become cockdrunk, gripping at the sheets to stay grounded as you mewled and trembled.

his pace faltered, groans getting louder and more gravelly as he chased his high. you whimpered as you felt him abruptly release inside of you, his chest heaving as he buried his head into the crook of your neck, pressing soft, breathy kisses on your collarbone. you both huffed, giggling with what little breath you had left after the intense high.

[professorscrooge]

Sleeping Soldiers AU Draft - circa August '23

Feel amidst continuing to necro-post on this AU, I should probably actually post the draft of my attempt at turning this into a fic, bit more than a year ago. Ran out of steam, as I tend to, and it's a bit rough (also don't know if tumblr has a character limit, but fair warning, this is ~3k). Diverged from where ideas on this ended up going.

References to the original inspiration(s) can be found on posts here and here, and I will emphasise credit @phoenixyfriend, @epicmusic42 and @graylinesspam whose work I have been butting in on (and I think this may rip off some of their wordings). Leans largely into bits and pieces of the Legends timeline, but only through vague references as that's a whole monolith of a thing to try and understand. --

 Coruscant is a city of metal and glass; the planet that once was is buried beneath eons of sharp edges growing out ever further. As the centre of the Galactic Republic, it is demanded to be continuously modern (at least on the surface), with a slick and shining outer coating. Its noises are of technology; the heavy thrum of electricity is the heartbeat of the city, speeders and aircraft fill the air with their droning, and there are an abundance of holoscreens to display the inauguration of the new Chancellor of the Galactic Republic. 

 The Jedi Temple is perhaps the one exception: its tranquillity is unmatched on Coruscant, and its construction is old and solid. All the same, when the silence within the Temple was broken by noise, its nature was unnerving in its irregularity; not the shattering of glass or creaking of metal, not the whine of engines, not an explosion or a turbolaser or any such thing, it is a noise unheard on Coruscant for Millenia.

 It is a grinding, of stone upon stone, echoing up from its very deepest recesses.

–

Circa 500 BBY

 The Jedi Temple is an ancient relic of bygone times; old enough, that the only records that might say how old are held within its own walls (or rather, were, given the unfortunate number of sackings and assaults in its history had frequently damaged the famous archives). Its grand size is a symbol of strength against the dark, but also something of an impracticality in certain times. Its lower reaches are vast, stretching all the way down to the forgotten mountains of Coruscant; a surface where sunlight hasn’t shined in millennia. Construction kept reaching upwards for the longest time, keeping up with the rising levels of the city-planet as its foundations became buried under smog and filth, forgotten.

 In the wake of wars’ end, many lower levels were sealed away; who needed such vast halls, impromptu barracks and storage, when the Jedi no longer served as military leaders? There was no need to house so many people as to require them, and it was more effort to clean and maintain them than necessary for a monk order of a few thousand. After all, this was a Golden Age, with the Sith defeated, and a time of the High Republic.

 Age lent itself to secrets, and with time, many of those secrets were lost with their keepers.

--

 The newly minted Chancellor paused only briefly in taking his oath of office. Most present simply chalked it up to the weight of the vows involved being taken seriously. In truth, the hidden Darth Sidious that lurked under the unassuming garb of Sheev Palpatine had shivered at a tremor in the Force; local and distinctly, searingly Light in its origin, piercing the veil of darkness he and his master had woven over the planet for but a moment. Quickly, he steeled himself and resumed his words; it would not do to falter or drop his mask at this stage. And after all, what could stop The Great Plan now? Sidious had a thousand years of his Order’s planning behind his back. It wasn’t like the Jedi could think on such a grand scale.

–

Circa 1000 BBY

 The history of the Jedi Temple site may as well be a timeline of the Republic itself. With the ever-recurrent war that was fought over its location, and how often Coruscant changed hands, it wasn’t just built upon, but rebuilt, several times. The Grand Ziggurat of the High Republic era was built over the ashes and ruins of the Temple before it, reaching to the sky not far from where the newly built Senate District would form the seat of the Galaxy. A symbol of strength to a unified Galaxy that had defeated the evil of the Sith, once and for all.

--

 The Jedi Council scrambled to action, of course (in as dignified manner as they could). Even with their senses long-blinded by the veil that consistently hampered their sight, there was no missing the stirring beneath their feet. 

 “Awoken, something has,” Master Yoda was heard to declare.

–

Circa 3653 BBY

 The Soldiers’ Hall, as it came to be known, was a real anomaly. It was unearthed in the wake of the Treaty of Coruscant, and the Great Sacking of the Jedi Temple. The respite granted by the armistice with Sith Forces withdrawing from the world was a balm to the Coruscanti people, yes, but the Jedi had returned to a Temple filled with death and desecration. Their holiest relics had been plundered, and the numbers of dead were horrific; a toll only growing as they uncovered the deadly traps spiteful Sith had left behind to further ruin them. It was a painful experience for the survivors, not helped by the lack of justice and repercussions the treaty afforded them.

 With their returned forces in peacetime, however, it was decided to fully survey the Temple to account for all possible traps. The survey unearthed many lower chambers forgotten for centuries, which would soon be repurposed as bunkers for military assets. Naturally, the opportunity was also taken to strengthen ancient foundations with modern materials, which came with looking over the foundations of the ancient Temple grounds atop a mountain of Coruscant, and the Dark Shrine hidden there. It was known to the High Council alone that the old Temple had been built atop a Dark Vergence in the Force in an attempt to cleanse it, and a handful of masters yet survived to share that information to a select few. What surprised them more was the discovery of older ruins beneath the Shrine, built into the mountain itself, and seemingly dating to before the Alsakan conflicts, perhaps even the Jedi Order itself (though few dare voice this thought). The shift from precision, machine-poured duracrete that has been in use for millennia, to the more rough, hand-hewn stone is a sight that excites the archaeologically inclined allowed to see it. 

 Most of the tunnels are collapsed, but slowly, over several years of uneasy peace, a path is unearthed to a large atrium, central beneath the Dark Side Nexus. The discovery is shocking to those who uncover it; they’d gone from archiving very faded murals (amidst admonishment that such pre-Jedi religious teachings are not worth great regard), to cracking the door open to a great chamber filled with an army of statues. A thousand men – clearly soldiers – each expertly carved with incredible detail, each set of armour uniquely battle scarred and hand painted, each posed differently, and every single one perfectly preserved in defiance of their ancient surroundings. The warriors sat, or lay, or kneeled, in great concentric circles, facing inwards to a central figure, the only one not wearing armour; a Togruta woman, dressed simply, and with lightsabers resting at her hips. Where the soldiers were wrought from a pale white stone, she was crafted in warm terracotta in a relaxed pose, face bowed in conference with the Force. It was almost as if she were made of flesh.

 Despite the gathering of Masters who quickly investigated the room, none could quite manage to lay a hand upon her. The sense of foreboding was just too strong. Every gaze in the room was pointed towards her; an even thousand visors of solid stone, focused on this one woman, every one so lifelike as to be uncanny. In-fact, sometimes, in the corner of the Jedi’s eyes, it was almost like they moved; a chest rising and falling with breath, tiny fluctuations in the Force that evaded the senses, or flickers of dreams. Almost as if they were waiting for something.

 The Council ordered the chamber sealed; what markings upon the soldiers that could be identified were Mandalorian in origin, so clearly this was some work of those great adversaries and their common allies, the Sith. That those forces combined had so recently sacked their home likely aided this decision. Knowledge and warnings were recorded within the Council’s private library only, and would be lost some centuries hence by the passing of those who saw the sight and another sacking of the upper Temple.

 Beneath them all, the feared warriors continued to sleep.

--

 The sounds of shattering stone echoed within the long-forgotten chamber, even as dust filled the air from the broken remains. This noise was swiftly drowned out by a thousand throats all drawing breath at once.

–

Circa 5000 BBY

 Recapturing Coruscant was not the final victory of what came to be called the Great Hyperspace Wars, but it was perhaps the most important, given that all that followed became much easier with forces scattering. However, there was an interesting discovery made upon their landing; an empty Shrine, where once the Sacred Spire peak of Mount Satorl had stood.

 The destruction of the Sacred Spire had been one of the opening gambits of the conflict, so this was expected. The Jedi amongst the Republic Forces were most dismayed that the legendary Vergence in the Force that had rested there had been twisted into a Dark nexus, but this too had been rumoured by spies and propaganda. No, what was surprising was the lack of occupants, particularly Sith acolytes. This was a powerful nexus in the Dark Side, and a clear site of investment to build the new Shrine, but there was nobody present; just the signs of conflict that predated Republic arrival to the planet.

 Eventual interrogation of Sith Forces revealed rumours of a ‘curse’ upon the site; no force had managed to occupy the site for long, somehow always turning up dead. Construction of the Shrine had taken several years, and a great many slow attempts, always stymied by poor fortune.

 The Jedi took this as a sign that the Force itself resisted the corruptive attempts for as long as possible, and when granted a boon for their aid in the war, chose to claim the land for themselves. There, they built a new Temple, in the hope that the presence of many Jedi may once again cleanse this place that had long been sacred to a great many religious and Force-sensitive sects throughout the Galaxy. The Jedi Order would build their new headquarters at the heart of the Republic and therefore claim the site instead of any other religion having access.

 Of course, throughout construction, there was plenty of investigation of the ruins being built over (padawans got bored hanging around and waiting, naturally, and the Galaxy’s archaeologists were most invested in seeing how this location had suffered under Sith rule). Of particular note is a surviving chamber of the old Sacred Spire that is unearthed; a grand chamber filled with statues. Sadly, no records from prior to the Sith occupation persist, but a great many experts descend on the room to catalogue what they can of the astoundingly beautiful find that is far more interesting than dusty old clay vessels. The General’s Legion, they are quickly dubbed, given the militaristic bent.

 They bring in first art experts, then body language experts, even a scholar on Mandalorian culture once some symbols are defined. Most of the markings they find mean nothing, however; while Mandalorian symbols are identified a few dozen times, including Jaig Eyes on one of the more prominent soldiers directly facing The General, there’s no real commonality with any clan, or any real consistency. Many more besides are marked with nonsense; a loose word or number in some language, even some unrecognised languages that cause head scratching. The holstered blasters cause them to bring in antique weapons dealers to unsuccessfully identify them, causing yet more headaches at the clear mass-manufacturing on display, since most the soldiers bear the same weapons, but they are entirely unfamiliar. Artists are baffled at how perfectly detailed and well-preserved the figures are; the level of work on display would have taken hundreds of artists thousands of hours, but the style implies a singular sculptor. The historians flail wildly at whether these soldiers throw all the old theories about the Taung originating Mandalorian culture into doubt.

 The only experts who could agree upon something were those who attempted to psychoanalyse the figures; the way the men were arranged was with deference for the General, and those closest to her were the officers with the most decoration and adornment (and battle scars), while those nearest the edge were the lowest ranks. Originally, they thought the much smaller central figure was being threatened by the soldiers, but she sat in such a relaxed pose of confidence it seemed more clearly a commander’s position.

 Still, as time goes on, their observations are recorded and stored in the new Jedi library, and a towering new Temple is built over the ruins. Gradually, this fills with masters, knights and younglings looking forward to a new era of peace and prosperity. The past is not forgotten, but it is not the focus of an Order trying to rebuild after centuries of conflict. And so, the statues sit in their atrium, still and silent. Masters study them for decades, photos and essays are included in the new archives; they are a fascination, a mysterious piece of history.

 But, time passes, and slowly the fascination fades. The wider galaxy captures attention, the Regions are expanding in a new era of colonisation and there is great need for Jedi aid. Only those particularly intrigued by art and archaeology look through the old archives. The statues become more of a ghost story.

 Padawans sometimes gossip about them over latemeal. They dare each other to sneak down to the lower levels, and walk between the rows upon rows of sleeping soldiers. The truly brave (or reckless) of the classes make the journey, past the point where the air lifts reach, down long staircases and through the dusty thick air. Lightsabers raised high over their heads, they tiptoe between the first few rows, twisting wildly at jumping shadows cast over the room. Some stare petrified into the visors of the men, convinced that if you peer close enough, you can see eyes peering back at you. 

 Very, very few brave padawans make it all the way to The General – one or two per generation – but those that do, swear they hear her breathing.

 Over the years, those children grow into knights, into masters and grandmasters, and then they pass into the Force. Still, the tradition survives, for a time, until one day, when the new Temple has become old and known many Councils, the chamber passes from memory, and is lost for many centuries to come.

 But still, the soldiers look to their General for orders.

--

 The first breath is the hardest.

 Going out, the air feels abrasive and dust-filled, and her throat is drier than a desert. Then, she must try and breath in, and it’s an effort to fill lungs that have sat still for so very, very long. She coughs once, and then struggles through it, going through the motions a few times as she slowly registers her montrals ringing from the similar sounds about her.

 Finally, she looks up, eyes open and awake.

 “Orders, sir?” Rex asks.

 “Form up.”

–

Circa ??? BBY

 The Mountains were a safe place. A sacred place, to many. So when war came to Coruscant, it was to the mountains people fled.

The One-Thousand-And-One, a group of warriors who spoke no language anyone understood, but under whose strength, Coruscant stood against Alsakan [– Tion instead?]. They could never leave the Mountain, though.

—

And that’s all I managed to write out, couldn’t quite figure a) what I wanted their arrival period to be like/what they did there, and b) how I wanted the present-time to work out (likely marching on the Senate building and demanding Sidious’ surrender). Ended up with some Jedi-negative things in there that I'm not entirely sure where they came from (probably something emerging from my frustrations with Christianisation on mythology). May have been a bit uncharitable.

Much as I kinda like the framing of current day swapping back and forth with older and older eras, I don't think I'm coming back to this version - I think I prefer the more recent ideas related to the chamber's unveiling in more modern eras, and drama resulting therefrom.

[jinkiezzsstuff]

Zip Zap

Charlie x male!reader

Summary: Targeting the princess was an ambitious thing to do- also stupid especially when you had a heart for the princess and the power to protect her

Warnings: Short ;-; so sorry, attempted sexual assault, restraint with cuffs not consensual or kinky, gross guys intending to do gross things to charlie but never do, MALE READER, reader has lightening powers, could be read platonically or romantically i left it ambiguous, also not proofread! lemme know if i missed anything!

Word count: 1.5k

requested by: @wfig123 i truly hope this is what you wanted, i didn’t want to write anything too graphic! i’ll probably need to brush up a little more on writing action scenes because i was having trouble with it :0 womp womp

You had spent a good amount of time in hell, and a decent amount of sinners knew you, namely because of Vox. You tickled yourself occasionally by using the electrical power you had to fuck with the Vees, especially Vox.

You’d ruin the internet for Velvette by overcharging the nearest towers, you’d often fuck with Val too, purposefully frying his cameras, mic’s and laptops so he couldn’t record. Needless to say you had a bad but close relationship with the Vees.

Half way through the year exterminations close and tensions high, you’d befriended the hazbin hotel creator herself, Charlie. Honestly you adored her, she was bubbly, kind but also had bite, she was quick to apologize and tried her best to genuinely help sinners.

You lingered in the shadows the day she confronted Val with Angel, she of course wasn’t aware of this, neither was Angel to be fair. You knew how Val could be though, he was vindictive and he didn’t like when women made a mockery of him. So you kept your eyes on Val, especially after his run in with Charlie.

For a few weeks you’d be getting a strange feeling, something bad was going to happen and you knew it, you just didn’t know what. Pacing in the lobby of the hotel, lightening would spit out from various parts of your body as you stressed, the lights flickering at the electrical magnet surge you would cause.

As you paced rethinking plans and accounting for everyone in the hotel, Charlie happily skipped up to you, eyeing your tense form and the sizzling lights that spat out and all around you. “Hey are you okay? You’re looking a little uhm…” Charlie trialed off looking to the side as she did, you looked at her and it was evident she didn’t want to be rude, so she was trying to find the right words.

Smiling softly the lightening calmed just slightly fizzling out. “It’s okay Charlie, your allowed to say i look like shit.” You said humorously watching as Charlie’s face twisted into worry shaking her hands rapidly in front of her. “No no no, i didn’t mean that at all! Just, y’know, never seen you so, worked up?”

You hummed at her nodding, you didn’t exactly know what to tell her after all, you had nothing to really worry about, just anxious thoughts and paranoia. “Just some stupid lightening bullshit that comes with being me, that’s all hun. So, what’s up with you anything planned today?” You ask lamely attempting to avoid the silly truth of your stress. Charlie didn’t dwell on your excuse though as she perked up readying to explain the day.

“Yes! Oh M G, i am so excited im going to Rosie’s today and she is willing to endorse the hotel!” Charlie squealed spinning around excitedly. You chuckled warmly at her antics completely relaxed in her presence.

“Need someone to come with?” You asked her hopefully but she unfortunately was quick to reject claiming alastor was accompanying her. Shrugging it off you watched as she said goodbye to Husk and fled through the door at a rapid speed clearly excited to go.

Of course within twenty minutes of her being gone your worries got the best of you. You zapped around from place to place trying to figure out which way Charlie would take, or possibly Alastor. A few blocks away from cannible town you heard the unmistakable shout of a certain princess. With new motivation you practically flew towards the noise heart beating in your ears as you did.

In a tucked away alleyway six men had Charlie restraint with cuffs and wire. You recognized a few of the guys through Val, and you also picked up on the fact the handcuffs happened to be Val’s. Rage flooded your viens as you stalked toward the men, they had Charlie’s coat and polo unbuttoned, her poor mouth gagged.

She had been crying and you could only hope she’d only been here like this a few minutes before you showed up. You walked quiet ominously behind the men, they were too busy poking at Charlie too notice you creep up, lightening cascading around the ally like a force field. As the lightening got brighter and thicker, the men turned finally, but didn’t do anything.

“Hey man, come join this, we got the princess for whatever we want..” One of the demons chuckled beckoning you forward with idiotic trust in you. Then with your wordless command one strobe of lightning strung out violently, attaching itself to the demon like a parasite. The demon shook, screamed and begged for you to stop.

The other me speedily readied themselves to attempt to fight you, so with a smile and the quick flick of your hand, you spread the lightening out like an infection. The violent electric shock stung all of the demons bringing them to the floor paralyzed to the lightening that encased them.

You walked cautiously around their body’s, lightening never ceasing as you did so, and made your way to Charlie who silently wept. Pulling the rag from her mouth, you then moved onto undoing the cuffs around her ankles and wrists. “I’m so sorry i’m so sorry, i’m so scared,” Charlie cried to you, but you hushed her, picking up her body bridal style.

“Hey, it’s okay Charlie, it’s alright. I felt like something was wrong, I knew it. Let’s take a time out some where safe yeah?” Charlie nodded against your chest, burying herself further in your warmth.

On top a tall roof was where you sat Charlie down, inspecting her wounds and gently messaging the marks the cuffs left. “I’m sorry i wasn’t there fast enough.” You say looking into her sad eyes, she smiled weakly at you shaking her head ever so slightly. “No it’s okay, most guys down here wouldn’t have helped. Thank you.” You scoffed lightly, doing up her blouse that the demons undid.

“That’s disgusting no thank yous are required these filthy pigs should know better.” You spat angrily, softly Charlie grabbed your hands tears returning. “They said Valentino sent them, did you- do you think i did the right thing?” Your mouth opened then shut, of course you had the idea it was Val but the confirmation just sets you ablaze.

The lightening around you unwilling returned as you pulled Charlie into an embrace. “You did do the right thing. Don’t ever don’t what a great person you are for standing up to him and standing up for all these sinners. I’m not even gonna ask where horned head was to protect you because Alastor is aloof, but i promise i will always be here to make sure you’re safe.” You promised looking into her eyes to convey your certainty.

Her heavy heart lifted at that, after all it was nice to feel as though she had someone other than Vaggie caring to protect her. “Thank you, also Alastor got distracted by Vox, told me to go on without him. Guess that was part of the plan, huh?”

The lightening snapped and crackled at Charlie’s explanation but you only smiled petting her hair gently. “I’m going to fuck the three of them up those electronic dependant dick holes.” You cursed frutratingly enjoy the bubbles of laughter that escaped Charlie as you did.

After bringing Charlie back to the hotel safely, helping her with setting up a relaxing bath to rub off the filth of the demons, you went out to shut down the entire power grid on the Vee turf, hopefully sending enough of a message to stay away from your favourite princess.

[odinsblog]

Israel’s campaign to displace Gazans—and potentially expel them altogether into Egypt—is yet another chapter in the Nakba, in which an estimated 750,000 Palestinians were driven from their homes during the 1948 war that led to the creation of the State of Israel. But the assault on Gaza can also be understood in other terms: as a textbook case of genocide unfolding in front of our eyes. I say this as a scholar of genocide, who has spent many years writing about Israeli mass violence against Palestinians. I have written about settler colonialism and Jewish supremacy in Israel, the distortion of the Holocaust to boost the Israeli arms industry, the weaponization of antisemitism accusations to justify Israeli violence against Palestinians, and the racist regime of Israeli apartheid. Now, following Hamas’s attack on Saturday and the mass murder of more than 1,000 Israeli civilians, the worst of the worst is happening.

Under international law, the crime of genocide is defined by “the intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnical, racial or religious group, as such,” as noted in the December 1948 UN Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide. In its murderous attack on Gaza, Israel has loudly proclaimed this intent. Israeli Minister of Defense Yoav Gallant declared it in no uncertain terms on October 9th: “We are imposing a complete siege on Gaza. No electricity, no food, no water, no fuel. Everything is closed. We are fighting human animals, and we will act accordingly.” Leaders in the West reinforced this racist rhetoric by describing Hamas’s mass murder of Israeli civilians—a war crime under international law that rightly provoked horror and shock in Israel and around the world—as “an act of sheer evil,” in the words of US President Joe Biden, or as a move that reflected an “ancient evil,” in the terminology of President of the European Commission Ursula von der Leyen. This dehumanizing language is clearly calculated to justify the wide scale destruction of Palestinian lives; the assertion of “evil,” in its absolutism, elides distinctions between Hamas militants and Gazan civilians, and occludes the broader context of colonization and occupation.

The UN Genocide Convention lists five acts that fall under its definition. Israel is currently perpetrating three of these in Gaza: “1. Killing members of the group. 2. Causing serious bodily or mental harm to members of the group. 3. Deliberately inflicting on the group conditions of life calculated to bring about its physical destruction in whole or in part.” The Israeli Air Force, by its own account, has so far dropped more than 6,000 bombs on Gaza, which is one of the most densely populated areas in the world—almost as many bombs as the US dropped on all of Afghanistan during record-breaking years of its war there. Human Rights Watch has confirmed that the weapons used included phosphorous bombs, which set fire to bodies and buildings, creating flames that aren’t extinguished on contact with water. This demonstrates clearly what Gallant means by “act accordingly”: not targeting individual Hamas militants, as Israel claims, but unleashing deadly violence against Palestinians in Gaza “as such,” in the language of the UN Genocide Convention. Israel has also intensified its 16-year siege of Gaza—the longest in modern history, in clear violation of international humanitarian law—to a “complete siege,” in Gallant’s words. This turn of phrase that explicitly indexes a plan to bring the siege to its final destination of systematic destruction of Palestinians and Palestinian society in Gaza, by killing them, starving them, cutting off their water supplies, and bombing their hospitals.

It’s not only Israel’s leaders who are using such language. An interviewee on the pro-Netanyahu Channel 14 called for Israel to “turn Gaza to Dresden.” Channel 12, Israel’s most-watched news station, published a report about left-leaning Israelis calling to “dance on what used to be Gaza.” Meanwhile, genocidal verbs—calls to “erase” and “flatten” Gaza—have become omnipresent on Israeli social media. In Tel Aviv, a banner reading “Zero Gazans” was seen hanging from a bridge.

—RAZ SEGAL, associate professor of Holocaust and genocide studies at Stockton University and the endowed professor in the study of modern genocide.

[thenwothm]

CENTURY LAUNCHES NEW VIDEO!

Century’s first ever official promo video for “Breakthrough” off their debut album, ‘The Conquest Of Time,’ is out now on YouTube below! Footage was shot during the band’s US tour and album release shows in Sweden this past spring, all on super 8mm film. The next Century show will take place in Kolbotn, Norway on 25 August at Hellbotn Metalfest 2023! Electric Assault Records Order LP:…

[kulturegroupie]

Video footage of Led Zeppelin performing at the Atlanta Pop Festival, Hampton, GA. July 5, 1969.

Some of it is still going on inside heads. It was simply The Atlanta Pop Festival, but what an event it was. An estimated one hundred thousand people – most between the ages of sixteen and twenty-two, with some from as far away as the west coast – had amassed for two days and nights at the Atlanta raceway.

Yet with all the excitement of both Janis Joplin and Johnny Winter, there was a moment when it became very hard to imagine how anyone could follow Led Zeppelin. The four Englishmen who comprise the group made their largest impression recently at Bill Graham’s Fillmore East. They exhibited some of the finest original blues material ever to come out of Britain. From there, they proceeded mostly underground with none of their records on the top 40.

At Atlanta though, Zeppelin performed such fierce music that many people were sure that either they or their equipment would blow.

Zeppelin emanates a high voltage electric fever. Several times in each number, the crowds were demolished and rebuilt by sheer sound. The stage show was exhausting just to watch. If any of their sound is an indication of how they live, by all rights they should be long dead. Their efforts are super-human. Some groups are good enough to command an audience. Zeppelin, however, is in the category of those which can assault one.

— By G. Butte for Sun, 13-7-69

[thecartoon1st]

Passenger Details:

[Civilian Class]

Luggage and Equipment:

Passenger Boarded with a 2018 P-Series generic spacesuit rated for civilian travel and major vacuum resistance, along with Mk. 4 Lightspeed Boots, which were fitted with electrical auto-nullifiers until landing. Passenger was notified of the damage upon their visor, promptly began hyperventilating and was swiftly allowed onboard. Passenger also boarded with a model 1974 shotgun, and five “TOP-N” model drones. When questioned, the passenger stated they were for “emotional support.” Passenger was permitted to keep all five upon presenting medical records. Shotgun’s ammo was removed and the shotgun was placed in a secure holding area.

[SECURITY RECALL]

[Event PM1] Passenger went into a panic attack upon hearing the blast and alarms in loading bay 4A (see Event G1) and assaulted a Commando unit in this state, throwing them into a wall. Passenger was banned from nearing the loading bays until landing.

[Event PM2] Passenger seen unconsciously wandering through the ship, their hands positioned as if to hold a rifle. Passenger was awoken and escorted back to their cabin by one of the passenger’s drones.

The Pizza-man

Paranoid Unexpectancy

[extraordinaryhistories]

#15 – 'Kill' (A Sun Came, 1998)

In 2016, a man named Marc Rebillet (yes, that Marc Rebillet) decided to search through a dumpster outside Sufjan’s studio in DUMBO, Brooklyn, which is a very mature and adult thing to do and reflects fantastically on Marc as a person, and certainly should have no consequences on his thriving music career. In that dumpster, he found an odd-looking CD – an unreleased album with a black-and-white cover titled Stalker, claiming to be performed by Sufjan Stevens. It had been recorded some time in the 1990s, and on a quick listen (the album was swiftly leaked online), it certainly sounded like early Sufjan, back when he did wild electric guitar freak-outs; his hushed but nasally vocal tone from that era is unmistakeable.

Everything seemed normal, except for the fact that the album was about tracking, sexually assaulting and then murdering people. It contained songs with titles like ‘I Know Where Your Kids Go to School’, ‘Baby Give Me a Feel’ and ‘U Kan Wrun But U Kan’t Hyde’. None of it was metaphorical. Sufjan recorded a noise rock album in the 90s that was quite literally about fucking stalking people. And then, not five years later, recorded ‘For the Widows in Paradise, for the Fatherless in Ypsilanti’. It boggles the mind.

At the time that Stalker was released, a significant portion of the Sufjan fan community cast doubt on the veracity of the leak. One of the major concerns was that the subject matter was far too direct, far too gruesome, for a Sufjan song. He would never be so brutally direct. He would never. Right?

‘Kill’ is a song by Sufjan Stevens that features the following as its chorus: ‘I want to kill him / I want to cut his brain / And when it's over / I know I'll feel okay’. Ah. Case closed.

The third-last track on A Sun Came, ‘Kill’ is a knotty piece of songwriting that may be the most multi-layered lyrical construction in his early work. Even purely on inspection one can see this to be true – it is a song with a clear narrative, some clear themes, a roiling balance of light and dark within it, which is far more than can be said for much of this era. But then you get to the allusions this song pays to other literary and musical sources, and things only begin to complicate further. I, personally, have not quite made my mind up about ‘Kill’. It is a song loaded with possibility.

An initial reading of ‘Kill’ gives the strong suggestion of a relationship narrative, and I do think that this is what lies at the song’s core. The relationship in this song need not be romantic, but given the sheer depth and fury of the passion here, it seems highly probable. There is a narrator who exists in what is very much a lopsided power dynamic with another (male) figure; very rarely is the narrator an active subject in this song, instead being subject to the figure’s curation and exploitation. The figure ‘took the stable / Bred me to be a mare / Made the brethren able / Gave me a room’, all of which are ostensible acts of kindness that nevertheless confirm a ruler/ruled dynamic. 

We receive that same confirmation in the next verse. ‘I never asked him / I never meant to stay’, says the narrator, and very quickly the song sours. The narrator finds themselves being used and abused, ‘never [leaving] the stall’ while their partner readily leaves their side. Any sense of a romantic relationship in an ideal sense – two partners, ‘riding side by side / Into the frontier’, tackling the world’s challenges as a single, symbiotic unit – is long defunct. Only misery remains for the narrator, with hope long-dashed by a pattern of careless exploitation.

With this as our narrative foundation, we reach the song’s climax, one of the most striking and instantly memorable moments in his catalogue on account of how utterly depraved it is. We are left with no doubt that Sufjan’s narrator is in a state of abject misery up to this point. But misery in Sufjan songs is so often detached, poetic, dejected, somehow fundamentally stoic. Not in ‘Kill’. The narrator has no remaining emotional bandwidth for stoicism. All that’s left is a carnal desire to exact onto the narrator’s partner some fraction of the pain that the partner exacted onto the narrator, and the only way to do this is through murder. 

You will not find a gnarlier image in the Sufjan catalogue than ‘I want to kill him / I want to cut his brain’, and the reason it has so much guttural power is because it does not quite read as psychopathic or unstable. The narrator only wants to do this. They never will, and likely never even could – the verses of this song are in the past tense, and by the time we reach the present tense of the pre-chorus, the partner has left the narrator forever. ‘Kill’ is a logical conclusion, an exhausted final attempt to lash out in a situation where the narrator knows they have no power to do so. When the chorus finally breaks down at the end into a futile repeated ‘I want’, the song’s message is complete. It is violent, but the violence is less a horror tale, more a tragedy.

This is the interpretation that a direct reading of ‘Kill’ provides us, but there are all sorts of semantic curios in this one that complicate interpretation. I am, of course, referring to the extended horse metaphor that this song seems to be pushing. Both narrator and villain are referred to as mares in this song; there is talk of stalls, of stables, of riding into battle in a literal sense. It is rather late for me to mention that ‘Kill’ has a source text, but it seemingly does – Sufjan cites an obscure Sherwood Anderson short story named ‘The Man Who Became a Woman’ as the basis for this song, but has refused to elaborate further. The surface-level parallels are very clear given that ‘The Man Who Became a Woman’ is a story about a horse trainer, but from there the complications begin, because Anderson’s story is a) incredibly obtuse and b) seems to reckon far more with gender, and to a lesser extent race, than it does dysfunctional romance as a theme. The narrative in ‘Kill’ certainly does not retell that of its source material, at least not in a manner discernible to the listener. But the connections are there nonetheless.

A Sun Came is an album that brims with loving, albeit surface-level, tributes to Sufjan’s musical and literary influences, and ‘Kill’ is one such example. But Anderson isn’t the only reference point for ‘Kill’. It is highly probable that Sufjan is intentionally referencing Elliott Smith’s ‘Roman Candle’ in the chorus of this one. Sufjan sings ‘I want to kill him / I want to cut his brain’; years earlier, Smith sang ‘I want to hurt him / I want to give him pain’. And this is almost certainly intentional given Sufjan’s professed admiration for Smith and the various comparisons that have been made between the two songwriters over Sufjan’s career. (What makes things even more interesting is that ‘Roman Candle’ is a song about Smith’s violent step-father. The same systematic patterns of abuse are present in the lyrics of both songs, albeit expressed with more eloquence in Smith’s. Even if not Sufjan’s own stepfather – Lowell Brahms is by all accounts a beautiful, caring soul – one wonders if the subject of ‘Kill’ might have a real-life referent.)

One could spend days attempting to decode ‘Kill’, and this is fortuitous, because musically it does not offer much. The bulk of the song consists of a repeating guitar figure that has a sort of leaden weight to it, dragging it down into the muck. It is vaguely reminiscent of – and inferior to – the ‘Abraham’ ostinato that Sufjan would pen a few years later, but this one is played almost entirely on the lower strings and as a result lacks the same ethereal pop and spring that many Sufjan songs capitalise on. There is some double tracking, especially in the chorus and pre-chorus, but it doesn’t add anything substantial to the arrangement. Neither does Sufjan’s strained, upper-register vocal melody, but there is certainly a sort of confessional quality to it that suits the subject matter. 

All of this comes together to create a song that is resolutely, undeniably un-fun to listen to. It is most likely for this reason that Sufjan chose never to play this one live, unlike some of the other stripped-back folk ballads on A Sun Came. When Sufjan dips his toes in depravity – ‘John Wayne Gacy Jr.’! ‘Saturn’! – incredibly compelling, listenable, rich things tend to emerge, but at this early stage of his career, it seems that the pieces are just not quite in place yet. But there’s no denying that ‘Kill’ is a fascinating and in many ways remarkably compelling song, just one that does not feel as listenable as it could be. It’s fine. Early days yet. All of these songs helped create our modern concept of Sufjan Stevens.

[bestfrozentreats2]

The Elastik Band - Spazz

"Spazz" - The Elastik Band (Infamous Australian radio aircheck, 1968)

'Australia, 1968. DJ John Thompson is playing the latest rock releases over Sydney station 2UW. After spinning some Electric Prunes, John goes into his next platter, and suddenly the innocent Australian airwaves are assaulted by the legendary garage-punk masterpiece "Spazz". The brazen attack on Down Under's music lovers lasts a little over two minutes, when DJ John indignantly stops the record in mid-play, and comes back on the air to let everyone know how offensive he finds it. Rockandrollus Interruptus...'

[dustedmagazine]

Chimers — Through Today (12XU/Poison City)

Chimers erupt with a furious roar, guitar and drums flailing wildly in full-speed, full-body motion. The single “3AM” from the second full-length, clangs, pummels, and dreams, the vocals going dim and droney above the tumult. A guitar-and-drum duo, the Australian band, churns up a wake of turbulence soothed over by psychedelic bliss. It’s like the Japandroids crossed with Salad Boys, like Kinski towed at 70 m.p.h. on waterskis, like FACS, but faster, thumpier and less artfully complicated.

The band came together during pandemic isolation in 2020, the general loneliness amplified by the band’s remote Wollongong location. Padraic Skehan and his partner Binx were both drummers—perhaps a hint at how Chimers’ driving, propulsive sound evolved—but Skehan switched to guitar and voice. A self-titled album emerged in 2021, and as the COVID receded, Chimers took its body-pulping assault to the public, earning something like cult status. Henry Rollins is a fan. Junkee.com called their debut "One of the strongest Australian rock records of the year.”

Now, the follow-up comes on 12XU in America (and Poison City in Australia), a bold, rapturously noisy onslaught of head-battering percussion, razor-sharp strumming and singing like a smoke mirage disappearing in your hands. Ten songs in half an hour, no breaks, no divergences, no filler.

“Generator” blares a sort of sweetness, its massive guitar sounds lurching in tuneful directions while drum fills go off like firecrackers on a string. It’s this one, with its yearning, dissolving lyrics embedded in blistering guitar tone, which makes the Hüsker Dü comparisons seem right. “Gossip” ramps up a lyrical spray of electric guitar into serrated, stop-start menace, while “Glossary” flirts with post-rock introspection before putting the hammer down.

“An Echo” seems, at first, like a restful interlude. All lucid guitar clarity and a pulse like drum, it takes on the oceanic pull of the Dirty 3. A violin (Jordan Ireland) moves in and about Binx’s airy croon. And yet, even at slower speeds with less frenetic drumming, Chimers play with intensity. A wild caterwaul scrawls across limpid surfaces, quiet but still unruly.

Jennifer Kelly

[sscarletvenus]

i never thought i would see the word "hospital" in the same sentence as "bombarded" or "massacre."

and yet, injured and displaced civilians were massacred once again in the bombardment of al-Shifa Hospital. idf warplanes once again targeted three hospitals in the gaza strip : al-Shifa, al-Quds, and Indonesian Hospital.

what kind of self-defense requires you to airstrike ambulances full of the wounded? were infants blown to pieces "hamas"? in what kind of world do you have to document your grief and horror just for individuals across the world to believe and legitimize what you're going through and still have vile scum in the comments questioning it. but israel only has to claim people died and they receive aid and folks yawping for justice.

you'll hear zionists cry that they didn't MAKE Palestinians leave. meanwhile, israel cut electricity, contaminated the land's water resources, splashed boiling water or acid on Palestinian children, and threatened catastrophe after catastrophe if they didn't leave. the idf, who tie number tags on their hostages and assault them and humilate them further by recording their torment, also uses civilians as target practice if they stay or protest.

it's also worth repeating : israel controls the census and civil registration system in gaza. so every journalist and their families' murder is a deliberate act committed with the intent to further violate IHL and IHRL under which all war correspondents are protected. the geneva conventions are useless amidst all this.

the idf cut food and water and bombed bakeries.

they cut fuel and are now bombing solar panels.

the healthcare system in gaza has completely collapsed. doctors are performing surgeries on the floor.

israel has no purpose with the exception of inflicting unspeakable pain on a completely besieged population.

there are no words left. there is no apt vocabulary for this in the english language. i doubt there is in any vernacular.

how do you describe such barbaric cruelty in a language that humans speak?

[doomxdriven]

( @treeofcrucifixion continued from x)

What a strange, and intriguing sight, Jin thought. It was odd enough to think that this was the famed, or infamous Frankenstein, the supposed and quintessential 'monster' of many a tale, and they were in fact nothing of the sort, nothing close to monstrous, not as far as Jin could see (at least 'monstrous' in the way he knew Humans typically thought).

What was stranger, however, was this creature in and of herself, this self-proclaimed monster who somehow seemed both delicate wilting flower (so fragile and thin, holding onto themselves the best they can) and dangerous bastion of might all at once-- he saw the way they positioned themselves with mighty-sceptered hammer in hand, and knew it was not for show, he could feel it, he could smell it, the strength, the spark, the power that coursed through their every limb.

Jin had discerned that power the moment they crossed paths of course, but to see it at the ready before him, juxtaposed with the image of a ruinous bride beaten down by the world and tried by it for her nonexistent sins, why it made this 'Frankenstein' almost seem like a contradiction to Jin, an enigma.

There was clearly a STORY behind this creature Jin looked upon, too, one that was far from anything ever recorded about them in any book written by Human hands, and with that story, he also saw an INDIVIDUAL who had been misunderstood time and time again by the world, misunderstanding they were made to suffer for. Because of that, Jin saw a few potential parallels between this 'Frankenstein' and himself, and he saw a mystery, and Jin loved to unravel a good mystery.

"Human's don't care for monsters," Jin replies, smooth though with a wide grin that (purposefully) did not hide his razor sharp fangs, "I know that well from personal experience, let alone from the allegories within those tales spun about you and other such creatures of fantasy."

Jin steps forward, bringing himself closer to Fran after she had shuffled back, and raises one hand with a single finger outstretched.

From where Jin stood, he was only just able to touch his finger to the bulbous top of Fran's scepter, but that was all he needed.

Around the preternatural flesh of Jin's fingertip, a minuscule though pressurized concentration of wind gathered, sparking into a brief flare of lightning that did not assault Fran, but rather danced around her mace.

The lightning was PURPOSEFUL, it called to the electricity that animated Fran, it sought to impose a feeling of familiarity, of kindred spirit between she and Jin... and then it was gone, almost as soon as it had sparked to life.

"But that doesn't mean it's right, or that we monsters shouldn't try to understand each other."

Jin now walks past Fran, though he does so slowly, anticipating her to follow him when he asks, "I've rented out the nearby lodge, there's no reason for us to carry on out here in the woods; come and speak more with me."