#overexposure [serial killer verse];

[dirtylimericka]

@bastardswxrd​ answered:

Eyes wide with fear, throat so tight it hurt, Klaus slammed his full weight against the door, desperate to get out.     

“Sean! Sean, damnit! Let me out!” Any anger that might have been in his tone was entirely overshadowed by fear. The walls seemed to press in around him and he shook from head to toe, fighting to open the door.

          “Klaus, Klaus...” Sean lifted his voice over his brother’s shouts. He could see him clearly through the door’s little six-by-nine window, the only window in the entire room. His hand fogged the glass as he touched it in a mock gesture of comfort. “Shhh, shhhh... Relax, okay? Just relax.”

          “I know how you feel about small spaces,” he said gently. “I’m sorry. But this is an important step in learning control, and y’can’t cut corners with these things. You just can’t. I promise, you’ll thank me when it’s all over. When you can finally reach your full potential.”

[shelfcompletionist-blog]

#008: Cesár Aira

Let me say flat out: Cesar Aira became one of my favorite authors currently writing (and I mean currently quite literally, dude’s probably gonna finish three novellas before I finish writing this piece). This is largely based on the strength of one book: The Musical Brain and Other Stories. New Direction’s curated sampling of stories in this volume is just so good, such a delightful update of Borges, with every single story bringing fresh surprises. I know that it’s probably a greatest hits collection of the miniature master’s most microscopic work, but hey, fiction doesn’t have to play by the same disqualifying rules as music does (just think if someone said that their favorite album is the greatest hits comp of David Bowie, or The Beatles, or Kanye West. C’mon man, that’s not allowed.) The Musical Brain is a bit of an outlier in format (but definitely not in quality) for Airan texts, though. He tends to write a very specific type of book, one that doesn’t get a lot of play in contemporary English-language literature: the novella. Specifically, a novella between 85 and 120 pages long. This length of narrative has allowed for Aira to shape his entire career. Not only are they short enough that Aira can write them at an extremely quick pace (he’s published about 90 works or so in his career) but it informs the content as well. While there are a couple varieties of Aira story as I see it, the novella allows Aira to do a couple different things in each story. Simply put, the Aira novella is longer than a short story and can juggle a few different concepts or ideas. Look at How I Became a Nun, and how it perverts the general concept of a coming-of-age/bildungsroman but still has space for individual foibles and sustained deliberation. Or one of his marquee works in the English reading world, The Literary Conference, which is ostensibly a send-up of the social politics of the Latin American literary set, and specifically Carlos Fuentes,  but ends up as a apocalyptic sci-fi cloning story involving ancient riddles. See, there are multitudes at work. Aira often functions on the level of a trickster-semiotician, taking some of our more complex societal conceits and putting them on their heads. The shortish length of the novella, however, allows Aira to present these ideas and concepts, explore them a bit, but leave them unexhausted. He isn’t interested in really taking them as far as they could go, to the point of overexposure or triteness. Although I could read Aira for the rest of my life, I wouldn’t really want to read a 400 page Aira novel over one of his 90 page novellas.

In fact, Aira’s longer works tend to be his least interesting, and for good reason. In my reading of Aira, I think I’ve figured out a way to classify his particular interests; Aira seems to have three fairly distinct modes: the metapersonal, the generic, and the historical. I’ve included a graph of these above. Of works that I’ve read, by far the most populous (and also *maybe* successful) of these is the metapersonal. These are the narratives that are recursive to the author-figure of Aira himself; sometimes this means that the main character is an explicit and/or twisted version of Aira, as in The Miracle Cures of Dr. Aira or The Literary Conference (in both of these instances there may be little to no relation to Aira in reality other than the name, but even that demands some metatextual consideration); sometimes they rely on autobiographical details, such as How I Became a Nun or The Seamstress and the Wind, which use stories, whether real or imagined, of Aira’s youth in Coronel Pringles (itself a name almost too much to be real).

Most of the novellas I would categorize as ‘generic’ aren’t in practice that different from those I would categorize as metapersonal; these two tend to operate as a spectrum. The main difference between them is that the generic novels take different pulp or pop genres as their referents moreso than the more conventionally postmodern trappings of the metapersonal stories. For example, Dinner starts out as a social satire on high-class dinner parties and quickly turns into a zombie-horror novel, and Shantytown works as a skewed version of the hard-boiled noir. Since these are a few more steps removed from Aira the author, I would think that they aren’t what people maybe consider the most representative of Airan specimens, but they may be a good entry point for introducing someone new to the author, as they have that pop-culture exoskeleton to latch on to.

The third, and least related (*and* least interesting, at least to me) type of Aira narrative is the historical. These tend to be the least elevated, least postmodern of Aira’s works. An Episode In the Life of a Landscape Painter, for example, is exactly that: a story about the 19th century landscape painter Rugendas. There’s not as much play as one would maybe come to expect from something like Conversations or Dinner. It’s almost as if Aira feels compelled, when he writes about these times of pre-(literary)-modernity, he has to forgo the types of metatextual and semiotic examination that he is usually interested in, which may be a useful exercise but doesn’t quite make for as compelling a read. These also tend to be Aira’s longest works (both Ema, the Captive and The Hare take place pre-1900 and are over 200 pages long, as if dealing with this removed setting forces him to fill his books with a more complete narrative, which is, to me, a bit unnecessary.

Now, after going on about this effort at categorization that I’ve made to make sense at Aira’s oeuvre, I get to one of his books on my shelf, the most recent (at this point) translation that New Direction has put out, a combined binding of two of his shorter novellas, The Proof and The Little Buddhist Monk. Lo and behold, they don’t really fit in any of my groups that comfortably. They are both strange little ditties, to be sure. The Proof tells the story of a timid girl accosted by some lesbians (the first line is: “Wannafuck?”) and eventually enticed into their group of sapphic criminals. The story ends with (spoiler alert) that group causing a bloody mess robbing a supermarket. The Little Buddhist Monk, on the other side, is about an actual little buddhist monk who takes a French couple, touring Korea, under his wing to show them the real sights of the country. Neither of these really come from a metapersonal angle (Aira himself is not to be found) and neither operate at an obvious generic level (although one could imagine a lesbian gang of criminals like in The Proof popping up frequently in grindhouses across America sometime in the 70s). Perhaps this is good, though; these two odd ducks become exceptions that fuel the rule. By getting rid of the overarching structure of his more genre-focused or self-referencing works, these two stories are able to get at the deconstructionalist heart of Aira’s writing, free of distraction. Not that I wouldn’t want to see him pop up again in his own work.

Other Books Read in the Interim

Ill Will, by Dan Chaon - One of the few true thrillers I’ll probably read this year (even if it is a ‘literary’ thriller), Ill Will did a number on me. Maybe that’s just cuz I know someone who died in the exact way described in the book: a mysterious overnight drowning in a river. Just as in this novel, when that person died, the conspiracy theories swirled around them, about the possibility of a serial killer targeting college age boys in the midwest. Ill Will supposes that the theory might just be true, which just made for an overall uncanny reading experience. The ending gets a bit too extreme for its own good, though.

Box, by Robert Wrigley - It may have a reputation as being one of the cornier iterations of verse, but reading well-done nature poetry aloud on a walk can be such a heartwarming experience.

Do Not Become Alarmed, by Maile Meloy - A slice of thick-cut cheese. Maile Meloy builds a hermetically plotted first-world deconstruction thriller, with pleasing results. Sure, pull apart the novel any direction and you'll see how constructed any of the action is-- nothing seems to happen organically, but every string of happenings is a contrivance for the larger plot. That being said, I couldn't help but keep flipping pages to see if any kids bite it in the end.

No Is Not Enough: Resisting Trump’s Shock Politics and Winning the World We Need, by Naomi Klein

Typewriters, Bombs, Jellyfish: Essays, by Tom McCarthy

Walkabout, by James Vance Marshall - This is an interesting book that has a lot going on under the surface about white Americans' conception of race as it clashes with an Australian world, infused into what is basically a young adult survivalist adventure story. I liked the fantasia of Australian wildlife that Marshall presents here too, maybe because I always liked platypuses and such. It'll be interesting to compare this to the movie, which I hear goes in some, ahem, different directions.

The Teeth of the Comb & Other Stories, by Osama Alomar - I had a decent amount of fun reading these stories, basically short enough to be aphorisms, but they eventually become a little too wearing on me. I’m not sure if it’s the translation stripping some of the subtlety of the language, but Alomar’s stories came to feel like the kind of faux profundity mocked in an Andy Samberg sketch. You kinda expect that airhorn sound and someone bellowing “DEEP” at the end of them.

Stephen Florida, by Gabe Habash - Probably my favorite novel of the year. A masterclass in first-person narration.

Wolverine: Old Man Logan, by Mark Millar - Reading this comic really shows how accomplished the movie Logan, which takes loose inspiration from Old Man Logan, is at creating a mood, characters, and cohesive world without relying on worldbuilding. Mark Millar never seems to have gotten beyond his concept treatment for a superhero dystopia here, because he spends more time having characters deliver clunky exposition about how one character died or how another now rules the entire eastern seaboard than having them actually develop as characters we should care about. This really isn't about Logan; it's about being destruction porn, a kind that Marvel has been increasingly reliant on (basically since its conception, but gaining popularity from the 80s through the 2000s.) You have a thoroughly (if haphazardly) created universe of thousands of characters, and instead of dutifully adding to that universe, it becomes 'cooler' (read: edgier) to tear it all down. Yeah, you wanna see a giant Pym skeleton incorporated into the landscape, and a lonely Venom symbiote stalking the badlands, and President Red Skull. Millar uses Hawkeye basically as a snarky guide to this world of death and puts more effort into that than anything else, like an actually interesting arc for Logan. Yes, there is a certain base glee that you can glean from seeing these epochal heroes torn asunder (both figuratively and, well, you know) but the mood of the text is a little too convivial in that gleefulness, to the point that it becomes less of peek into another's vision of apocalypse and more a shared jerk-off session with someone you wouldn't want to be in a room with in any normal circumstances. But I do have to commend Millar for giving Mysterio the respect he deserves.

Made for Love, by Alissa Nutting - My other favorite novel of the year. A masterclass in subtlety of worldbuilding and thematics.

Mr. Mercedes, by Stephen King - I haven't read a King book in a good long while even though I just started a podcast on him (the movies, though, not the book) and while this has all of the weaknesses you might find in your average Stephen King horror novel, it still managed to scratch that itch. The detective thriller, while maybe not his best suit, still looks good on him.

Mae, Vol. 1, by Gene Ha - Wow, this was actually an awful reading experience for me. I don't really want to be brutal, but the characterization is nonsensical and weak (are they going for deadpan when Mae seems utterly nonplussed when her sister reappears after twenty or so years?), the plot makes weird jumps that keeps me uninterested in the story (it seems like the creative team behind this is just coasting between plot points, letting page breaks serve as inconsistent temporal jumps), the art is flat and uninteresting, and the deconstruction of tropes seemed pretty rote. That's a no from me.

Dear Cyborgs, by Eugene Lim

Circle M, by CA Conrad - CA Conrad's style continues to shine in these brief snippets. This is a minor work almost by designation, but a fun little look into creative restriction all the much for it.

Hard Child, by Natalie Shapero

Crazy for Vincent, by Hervé Guibert - A fragmented look back at the desperate feeling of gay lust in the 1980s, that keeps going further and further back. Parts of this story feel familiar, but as the years slip away, Hervé's longing becomes an unignorable force of emotion.

The One Inside, by Sam Shepard - What a magnificent, sorrowful, elegiac, and pained way to go out. Thanks, Sam.

Vengeance is Mine, All Others Pay Cash, by Eka Kurniawan - I found this to be very enjoyable, even if there are some misogynistic issues very close to the surface. The way Kurniawan is able to portray time here is masterful. Can't say I would need to recommend a book all about a dude's malfunctioning dick to anyone in particular tho

Before, by Carmen Boullosa

Terms and Conditions, by Robert Sikoryak - An interesting art/culture object that maybe doesn't say as much about the source material as it could have. Instead of Sikoryak aping and pastiching some of the most iconic comic moments of the past century, I would have actually preferred an original visual narrative that uses the Apple Terms and Conditions as an emotive pattern to follow. It's fun though.

Bodies of Summer, by Martín Felipe Castagnet - God, do I love Argentinean literature. This, a story about how souls move to the internet when people die, is probably the most Airean book I’ve read not written by the man himself, but it lives up to its influences.

Square Inch Hours: Poems, by Sherod Santos - My first read from the National Book Awards Poetry longlist. Sherod Santos's Square Inch Hours comes in a style of meditative prose poetry that I usually really like, but this collection didn't work that well for me. Maybe it is because each individual section is a bit too short for its own good, so it was hard to grasp on to something, whether it be a single line or an overarching concept, before Santos moved on. That being said, Square Inch Hours does capture that feeling of being inside one's own head, yet still processing what is going on in the perceptive world outside the self. Mark it neutral, I suppose.

Who is Rich?, by Matthew Klam - An ugly, misanthropic, and maybe also misogynist (what makes you think that?) howl of a novel, raging against the waves of capitalism ennui that the upper-middle-but-actually-financially-unstable-creative class lives in daily, Who Is Rich? is a campus novel in concentrate, containing all of the preoccupations of the genre in one potent dosage. I am mainly surprised that something so angry and Rothian could exist like this in 2017, but it seems that Matthew Klam, 16-odd years out from his debut collection, is a man out of time. Who Is Rich? is well-written enough, with an effective melding of protagonist and narration (something tells me it wasn't too hard for Klam to tap into that) but the emotional undercurrent of the novel leaves a rather sickening feeling.

Broken River, by J. Robert Lennon - A decent literary thriller -- literary here as distinguished by having an interest in the interiority of the characters and painting them with more than what's required of the plot, which Broken River does well enough. That being said, kinda bare bones as far as intrigue-- not quite conventionally thrilling enough, and not quite weird enough either. I don't think that Lennon uses the concept of The Observer in the best way, which would have set Broken River up to be a pretty good twist on the thriller but instead reads as narratively overbearing and thematically scant.

The Reconstruction, by Rein Raud - Should be made into a movie by some meditative Eastern European director. Bela Tarr, u up?

The Grip of It, by Jac Jemc - It feels like a breath of fresh air to read The Grip of It, a literary horror novel about a haunted house that doesn't get too bogged down in questioning the overt ambiguity of the narrative. By this, I'm calling out all those other literary horror novels (and films too, sure) that are way too preoccupied with that idea of "is it an actual haunting or are the characters just going crazy?" This may seem weird, considering The Grip of It is about that very question-- the central couple might just be losing their minds, or their house might be genuinely haunted. What Jac Jemc does, though, is avoid questioning the question, so to speak. The Grip of It blows through that central question and gets at the catastrophic decay going on in the middle of these structures: the house, the relationship, the individual brains. If there was even the slightest amount of remove in this narrative, it would fall apart under that regular horror story criticism that the characters are too thickheaded or stupid to make the obviously correct, obviously preserving decision. It doesn't matter so much if it's real or not. Jemc doesn't hold these characters at a remove; you feel like you are living through this nightmare with them as they get trapped in crawlspaces and finger rotting walls.

The Amputee’s Guide to Sex, by Jillian Weise - Bold, persistent poems that mainly focus on the lived experience of disability and the way the world tilts and pushes towards ableism, Jillian Weise's The Amputee's Guide to Sex is clear in its assertions and clear in its poetics. I think it's a very good starting point for people who are not natural poetry readers (yet) to see what contemporary poetry can do, who and what issues it can speak to, and how many emotions it can speak to.

The Book of Endings, by Leslie Harrison - Man, do I love poetry that cascades trippingly from line to line.

The Answers, by Catherine Lacey -  The Answers, by Catherine Lacey, is interested in the tough philosophical questions at the intersection of our modern conceptions of love and technology. The novel seeks to interrogate these questions from a boldly female viewpoint, featuring an obstinately disengaged female protagonist at the helm of the narrative. This alone makes it a nice pairing with another novel from this year, Alissa Nutting's Made for Love. Made for Love may have the slight edge up here, though, because The Answers' Mary Parsons is not only disengaged, but disengaging. There were a few times that her actions or behavior just didn't jibe (and even if that was intentional, it did hamper the environment of the novel). That being said, those character-based false notes didn't hinder the rich development of ideas at the heart of The Answers, making it a worthwhile read.

Killers of the Flower Moon: The Osage Murders and the Birth of the FBI, by David Grann

Caca Dolce: Essays from a Lowbrow Life, by Chelsea Martin - Really good stuff! I think the last couple essays maybe jump a little far from the tempo established in the first 2/3 of the collection, which focuses on childhood and adolescence. I would have actually loved if there were two books here, the first focusing on childhood and the second expanding on the young adulthood stuff after moving away from her family.

[dirtylimericka]

open starter for sean’s serial killer au

          “What I’m tryin’ to achieve is beyond your understanding,” Sean said in the gentle, soft-spoken way a priest might discuss the mysteries of God. A smile, soft and serene, turned up the corners of his lips. He was almost delicate in the way he held himself; a far visual cry from the violent murders he’d committed over the past two years. 

          “The world is an ugly, unfair place,” he went on. “Some people can’t be corrected. But I can bring them freedom... I can turn them into something so beautiful.”

[dirtylimericka]

Sean and Cale 😈

send 2 names for the ult. ship meme! || x || no longer accepting

...Well. I did say crackships were fair game, didn’t I? ALRIGHT. skglsg I’ll do my best, Nonnie, but this is going to be hard. I’m tagging @obsessionsarenotforheroes ‘coz... IDK if this is you or not, but since you’re my Cale, I’m obligated to notify you of every Cale-related ask I get. 😂 Andddd this’ll be set in my Pyramid and/or Overexposure verses because that’s the only way I can see this happening.

General:

Rate the Ship -   Awful | Ew | No pics pls | I’m not comfortable | Alright | I like it! | Got Pics? | Let’s do it! | Why is this not getting more attention?! | The OTP to rule all other OTPs | (I could potentially be convinced because you have uncovered my weakness for the hero/villain trope. Granted, I have no idea how this could work, but... I could be convinced. Maybe. Bribed with angst and all the delicious ups and downs and psychological digs of toxic hero/villain ships.)

How long will they last? - I guess if they’re getting romantic, Sean’s pretty far gone psychologically and emotionally. So. As... long as Cale wants him around...?

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - I’m not sure I can call it love. I don’t know if Stockholm Syndrome is still considered a valid condition, but it’d certainly have to be something like that for Sean to even consider it “love”. He’d be starved for affection and validation and the better he behaves, the more rewards he gets from Cale, the more I think that Sean could mistake that hunger for any kind of affection as love. So. It took a long time for Sean, at least. Years and years of being worked down and stuck in relative isolation with no one but Cale as company.

How was their first kiss? - Hm. Cold. Not good. Manipulative, probably.

Wedding:

Who proposed? - Neeeither? Even in a scenario where they somehow had a romantic relationship, I can’t see them getting married. Cale just doesn’t seem like the marrying type. They can be murder husbands symbolically. 

Who is the best man/men? - N/A.

Who is the braid’s maid(s)? - N/A.

Who did the most planning? - N/A.

Who stressed the most? - Sean. He’s always stressed. But. N/A.

How fancy was the ceremony? - Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big.

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? - N/A.

Sex:

Who is on top? - Cale. 

Who is the one to instigate things? - Probably Sean? If only because I think Cale’s drive is much lower than Sean’s.

How healthy is their sex life? - (NOTHING ABOUT THIS RELATIONSHIP IS HEALTHY but) Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 (3-4, maybe. Really can’t see it much, and usually only because Sean needs physical affection much more than Cale.) | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now

How kinky are they? - Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head (I choked. You know PRECISELY why I had to bold this one...)

How long do they normally last? - I dunno about Cale, but Sean usually goes 11-15 minutes on average. In most relationships he really enjoys a lot of foreplay, and I don’t think this would be any different if he has romantic feelings for Cale, but... I don’t know if Cale would let him drag out foreplay for any longer than necessary? I don’t know. Cale just doesn’t seem very sexual to me, and even if he was the one being pleasured, I don’t think he’d want it to last very long.

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - ...Probably not. I don’t think Cale would be too concerned about whether or not Sean orgasms, but that’s probably okay with Sean most of the time. He’s a giver more than a receiver and as long as he gets physical affection in some shape or form, he can live with taking care of his sexual needs himself.

How rough are they in bed? - Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 (???) | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it.

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? - No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory.

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? - None. I can’t see Cale wanting children, but especially a surrogate.

How many children will they adopt? - None. They should not have children and Sean wouldn’t want them anyway. I think even broken as far as Overexposure!Sean would be, he would understand that children have no place with Cale, and that they wouldn’t foster a good environment for one. However, just to entertain this AU, I’ll answer the other questions...

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? - Sean. 

Who is the stricter parent? - Cale. Control, order, manners... that poor child would have to be near perfect by age six.

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - Sean. But I can see Cale scolding them, too.

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - Cale probably has a maid make their child’s lunches, but... Sean would enjoy packing their lunch himself.

Who is the more loved parent? - Uhh... probably Sean. Even in his Overexposed verse, Sean still retains a lot of his charming, soft personality. He just has a really twisted view of the world and only has empathy for a few select people (his child would be one of those people).

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings? - Cale does it to keep appearances, Sean goes more often because Cale is frequently busy.

Who cried the most at graduation? - Neither.

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? - LOL this one’s ironic. Probably Cale. He’d bribe his kid to freedom. The child could literally murder all of their classmates and they’d get off scot-free.

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? - Cale, mostly because he has a specific diet and routine that he likes to stick to and Sean must adhere to it. But they also sometimes have a hired chef.

Who is the most picky in their food choice? - Cale. Portions must be so large, arranged just so, and cut precisely to his liking. I don’t know if Miss T. will agree, but I do sort of enjoy the idea that Cale is vegetarian, possibly vegan? 

Who does the grocery shopping? - Mmm... Sean. But delivery is preferred.

How often do they bake desserts? - Rarely. Mostly for special occasions.

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - Salad.

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - Cale.

Who is more likely to suggest going out? - Cale. Even once they’re on a far more even playing field and Sean has begun to carry out his own kills independently of Cale, he’s still somewhat subservient to him out of habit and is less likely to make suggestions.

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidently while cooking? - Neither, but... Sean, if I had to pick.

Chores:

Who cleans the room? - Both, but Cale will always be the most meticulous.

Who is really against chores? - Neither.

Who cleans up after the pets? - Both. They care for the horses equally.

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - Neither. Sean would never. Cale would be displeased if he ever found out.

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - Sean. It’s strange, but after being alone for so long, despite wishing to interact with other people, at that point in his life, they would make him more anxious than anything.

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - Sean. He always checks for spare change around the house.

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - Sean.

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - Both? But I don’t think they’d have a dog unless Sean convinced Cale. They’re much more horse people, and they’d exercise their horses equally.

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - Maybe a little around Christmas, purely for appearance, but if no one will be around to see, I doubt Cale decorates. Sean would like to, but he’s convinced himself that it’s unnecessary clutter.

What are their goals for the relationship? - Jeez. I don’t even know. What goals do you have when you’re a serial killer couple? I don’t think I can answer this one.

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - Neither. Cale and Sean stick to a strict regimen and their days always begin early.

Who plays the most pranks? - Neither. 

[dirtylimericka]

          “There’s something dangerous inside of me.” Sean’s voice was whisper-soft and cold, as deep and heavy as the snow that crunched under his boots. “I can feel it. Clawing at-- clawing at the back of my mind. Sometimes I think it scares me. But sometimes...” He swallowed. Icy puffs of air stream from his mouth. “...I think it comforts me.”

[dirtylimericka]

headcanon: scar placement (predominantly exclusive to the pyramid and overexposure verses)

In almost any verse except for his main verse which is pre-Cale, Sean has noticeable scars somewhere on his body. Below is a rough depiction of Sean’s scars in his captive verse (”pyramid”) and serial killer verse (”overexposure”) as planned with @obsessionsarenotforheroes​’ Cale Erendreich.

Most of these scars are more faded and white-pink in color than shown in the meme and can be somewhat concealed with makeup. The deeper ones, however, such as the ones on the soles of his feet, side, and a few of the bigger ones on his back are darker and more severe in appearance.

*In Sean’s canonical post-film verse (”aftermath”), he still has the small facial scars depicted above as well as a couple small scars on his left shoulder from being beaten with a shovel.

Credit for the scar meme base goes to petrifiedbear on deviantART.

[dirtylimericka]

         “What I’m tryin’ to achieve is beyond your understanding,” Sean said in the gentle, soft-spoken way a priest might discuss the mysteries of God. A smile, soft and serene, turned up the corners of his lips. He was almost delicate in the way he held himself; a far visual cry from the violent murders he’d committed over the past two years.

         “The world is an ugly, unfair place,” he went on. “Some people can’t be corrected. But I can bring them freedom… I can turn them into something so beautiful.”

@bastardswxrd​:

Tears stung at Bezi’s eyes as he stared at what had become of the kind soul he had known. It scared him, what Cale had managed to turn the Irishman into, and it tore a hole right through his big soft heart.     “Sean,” he begged, “They are beautiful just the way they come. Not- not everyone, but most people… Please, you don’t have to do this-”

          “I  knew you wouldn’t understand.” Sean’s sigh came weighted in disappointment. “You’re just like I was -- naive, foolishly hopeful... Not to sound like a pretentious arse, but it’s true that art is a journey, Bezi.”

          “All artists have to polish their skills. You have to learn about your craft, refine your taste, learn from the masters. Eventually, y’see art with new eyes. Believing that everyone is beautiful is like saying all art is beautiful, but that’s not true. A child’s finger-painting is fine, but it-- it’s hardly a Da Vinci, d’you know what I mean...? Seeing your errors is the only way to improve.”

          He leaned forward casually, elbows on knees. His green gaze was almost pleading. 

          “Valkenberg showed me my errors. He showed me what true beauty can be. He brought order to my chaos.”