what do you think drives lady macbeth's cruelty and do you sympathise with her at all?
This post and this post might be of interest. But I think ‘cruelty’ is the wrong word. Cruelty implies violence for the sake of violence and enjoyment of violence. (See here.) Lady M doesn’t revel in the violence. She doesn’t delight in it the way some of the characters in, say, Titus Andronicus do, or even Margaret in Henry VI does after the murder of Rutland/during the murder of York. For Lady M violence is always a means to an end. “Infirm of purpose” is what she calls her husband when he starts to get faint-hearted. He’s too full of the milk of human kindness “to catch the nearest way.” For her, it’s all about the outcome. The ends justify the means. Like I said in one of those posts, I think her driving force is ambition. She wants more than what she has.
Interestingly, she never expresses any personal desire to be queen. She does, however, use the singular possessive pronoun ‘my’ when she says “The raven himself is hoarse / That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan / Under my battlements.” She claims the crime as her own, and even though the idea of murder occurs to her and her husband independently, she is the criminal mastermind. She says, “you shall put / This night’s great business into my dispatch; / Which shall to all our nights and days to come / Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom.” And at the end of the scene: “Leave all the rest to me.”This regicide is her baby–and I use that word very deliberately. There are a million possible explanations for why Lady Macbeth is so desperate to seize this power for her husband. My guess is it has something to do with that baby she mentions in 1.7 which doesn’t appear in the play. A woman’s function at this point in history was basically to be a baby-making machine and ensure the survival of her husband’s line. She hasn’t been able to do that (for whatever reason) and her husband, at least, is already middle-aged, so that procreation window is rapidly closing, if it’s not closed already. By early modern standards, that’s a huge dynastic failure. My guess is that her power-grabbing is about agency and compensation. Maybe she can’t continue Macbeth’s line, but she can make him king. And she does.
But here’s the other part of it which I think is really important and often gets overlooked, and it goes back to the fact that Lady M never expresses a personal desire to be queen. She wants her husband to be king, and she thinks he is fully deserving of that office. “Thou wouldst be great;” she says, “Art not without ambition, but without / The illness should attend it.” AND THIS IS SO KEY. Because Lady M is nothing if not full of ambition. What she’s saying here is “You don’t have enough darkness in your soul to do this, so I’m going to do it for you.” Now. Is that somewhat fucked up? Absolutely. However, that is an enormous sacrifice to make. I’m not going to get into this in depth, but there’s a lot of natural law theory floating around in this play. What’s important to know is this: In the protestant ethos of this play, if you commit regicide, you are 100% going to be damned for eternity. There’s no doubt about that. So, in an insane backwards way, this is actually an incredibly loving, selfless thing to do on Lady M’s part. She is willing to sacrifice her own salvation to make her husband king. Let that sink in. That is so much more hardcore than just saying, “I’d take a bullet for you, babe.” She is willing to burn for all time to put him on the throne, and not only is she willing, but it’s her idea, not just something she does with her back against the wall. That is a crazy kind of love. And that’s one of my favorite things about this play. This is not a unanimous opinion by any means, but I firmly believe that even though the Macbeths are terrible tyrannical people, they are desperately, devotedly in love with one another. Their language is incredibly intimate. In his first letter Macbeth addresses his wife as “My dearest partner of greatness,” and throughout the play they are constantly struggling to help and heal one another. Theirs is a relationship built on love and equality, whatever else they do (and however their relationship is also sometimes toxic and fractures through the play). Look at Macbeth’s conversation with the doctor in 5.3 when his wife’s health begins to fail: “
If thou couldst, doctor, cast / The water of my land, find her disease, / And purge it to a sound and pristine health, / I would applaud thee to the very echo, / That should applaud again.” That. Is. Love.
So. Why does Lady Macbeth do the terrible things she does? There’s no certain answer. Ambition has a lot to do with it. But I think that ambition is rooted in guilt about what she hasn’t been able to provide her husband with, and a passionate yearning to make up for that, somehow. Leo’s character says in Inception that positive emotion trumps negative emotion every time, and I think that’s true here. Lady M doesn’t orchestrate Duncan’s murder because she’s inherently cruel. She does it for love.
After hours of staring up into the darkness of your private sleeping quarters, you let out a frustrated sigh and climbed out of bed, deciding that perhaps it was for the best if you just gave up on sleep altogether. You pulled on a warm wool coat over your sleeping tunic and then slipped your feet into your worn, black leather boots before leaving your quarters and heading down to the cantina. Although it was always kept open late to serve those who worked the dreadful evening shift on base, a majority of the cantina’s customers at this hour were actually off duty officers, pilots, and mechanics who had come out in search of a good time after a stressful day on the clock. The louder, more rowdier patrons were sitting close to the main bar where the enormous, reptilian creature behind the counter could quickly and easily refill their empty glasses. Others gathered around large tables and played card and board games, gambling away their credits like they weren’t so difficult to earn.
“Hey! Sweetheart!” Someone drunkenly called out to you. “Come join the fun!”
Keeping your head down, you walked towards a table nestled in a less crowded corner of the cantina and sat down. Another reptilian creature, one quite smaller than the bartender and female, came over and took your order for a tall, frosted, glass of dark amber brew. As soon as she had brought it out to you, you quickly chugged it down and then ordered another one. You normally weren’t much of a drinker, but you currently had a lot on your mind and you hoped that the alcohol would help take some of the edge off. So far, it wasn’t working. You didn’t know how many of these drinks it was going to take for you to forget the fact that you were probably going to die tomorrow.
Summary: Peter gets badly hurt from a mission and it’s up to you to save him.
Word Count: 1658
Warnings: swearing (minimal), self doubt
Requested: by myself? lmao
Dear Reader: I altered this so that Peter lives with the Avengers. The time setting is right before Civil War. The reader has the ability to control objects by listening to their frequencies, therefore allowing her to control the object.
“Tony Stark you come back here right now!” You said. Tony walked back, “it’s nothing personal, (y/n). This mission’s just dangerous.” He shrugged. Yo glared at him, “Oh so the other missions I’ve been allowed to go on weren’t dangerous?!” You retorted. Bucky walked over to you, “Tony, just let her go, she’s been benched from the last mission already.” He defended. “No can do, metal arm. FRIDAY, make sure Miss (y/n) doesn’t leave the building until we come back.” Tony said. “Asshole!” You said. Your vision blurred with anger, and you didn’t notice the kitchen knives floating towards your friends until the last second. You let go of the vibrations, dropping the kitchen knives with your power. “I-I’m sorry.” You mumbled. Sam chuckled, “Why do we own so many kitchen knives?” He said jokingly. You gave him an awkward smile. Tony sighed and patted your shoulder, “We’ll be back before you know it.” You nodded silently to Tony and sighed to yourself, daring to take a look at Peter before he left. He walked over to you and took off his mask, “Hey, we’ll come back. We’re still on for movie night,right?” He said awkwardly. You gripped his hand playfully, “Yeah,yeah. Don’t die out there, Parker.” You said, smiling. You waved them goodbye, walked back into the living room, and plopped down next to Steve. You tried focusing on the TV, but your mind wandered elsewhere.
You thought of the first time you met Peter, when the Avengers were evaluating your powers. He was so astonished when you used your powers to feel the frequency of his body and the air around it that you made him float a foot into the air! “Woah I’m freaking flying!” He’d said. “O-ok you can put me down now,” He’d said a second later. You thought of how he’d bite his thumb when he was thinking, or his smile when you’d show up with ice cream and movies to binge watch. You thought of how you both wouldn’t be able to sleep at night, so he’d swing you both around the city, how your faces were inches apart, how he smelled like the night air and a faint smell of cookies when he pulled you towards him. You thought of how the nightmares of your parents death came back to haunt you, you’d wake up screaming and Peter would come rushing in your room in a second, forgetting how nervous he’d be around you and cradling you until you’d fall asleep. “You’re doing it again.” Steve interrupted. You blinked at him, “Doing what?” He said, “You’re thinking. About Peter I presume?” Jesus Christ, can he read minds too? “I…uh,how did you-how’d you know?” You stammered. “Lucky guess?” He shrugged. “Plus that crush isn’t so subtle.” He chuckled. You playfully punched his arm. “Oh my god, who knows?!” You whispered. “Everyone except for Peter himself.” He said. You thanked god for that. Steve turned to face you, “Look, I can’t read minds like Wanda, but I think he’d say yes to a date with you.” He smirked. “Steve, I don’t know. Maybe it’s not a good idea.” You mumbled. The thought of Peter Parker, the Spider-Man, going on a date with you, the girl who can’t get a single mission right, made your thoughts jumbled. “Look, (y/n), even Bruce thinks he likes you, and Bruce is holed up in that lab all day.” He said. “Doctor Banner would like to inform you, Mr. Rogers, that he is not the one stuck behind a shield and a flag.” FRIDAY interrupted. You laughed, and it felt good. Maybe you should listen to Steve and take the shot. You looked up at Steve, his baby blue eyes sparkling with hope. “Ok, maybe I wi-” you started.
Before you could process what happened, FRIDAY’s voice boomed over the building. “Miss (y/n), please report to the med-bay, Mr. Stark would like to inform you that Mr. Parker’s vitals are dropping rapidly.” She said. You jumped up and ran, Steve close behind. The sight of Peter’s limp body almost sent you into shock, but you had to remember your priority: Get him alive. You shrugged on a pair of scrubs and rushed to Peter. “P-Peter, you’re okay, you’re okay,” You said, more for yourself than for him. He smiled, then winced at the action. “I can’t wait to see that movie, (y/n).” He said. A tear dropped from your eye as he said your name. You checked the screen above him, the one monitoring his vitals. His heart was beating dangerously slow, and he wasn’t getting enough oxygen. You turned to Tony and Nat, “What the hell happened?!” You whisper-screamed. “We were attacked by a-what did agent daisy call it?” Tony said. “An inhuman.” Nat finished. This time Clint spoke up, “This inhuman had the ability to show the death of a person you lo-loved.” He said, giving a blank stare. “I-it affected Peter more than us. He started yelling at the inhuman and we,” he motioned, “We were incapacitated, like held in place by some invisible force.” Clint said. “Anyways, Peter got hit by a piece of shrapnel, it lodged near his diaphragm .” Tony said, staring at Peter. You pinned up your hair, “I-I can’t do this.” You whispered, backing away from the table where Peter was laying. Steve gripped your arms, making sure you didn’t fall over. Tony grabbed your hand, “Hey,hey. You can do this. We didn’t recruit you just because you had powers,” He said, making eye contact. You took a deep breath and moved over to Peter. “You’re the only one with experience for this.” He finished. It was true, your mother was a head surgeon back in your home town and she brought you along whenever she could, guiding you on test dummies and easing you into the medical field. “O-okay,” you said, slipping on a pair of gloves. “Bruce, I need 15 milligrams of Librium. And not a a gram more, it could swell up his arteries and the shrapnel could puncture it.” You said. Everyone backed away as you did your thing. “FRIDAY, I need a live x-ray scan of Peter’s chest. We need to locate that shrapnel.” You said. “Right away, Miss (y/n).” She said, pulling up what you asked for. The shrapnel near Peter’s chest was dangerously close to a major artery, one wrong move and it could puncture it and kill Peter. You steadied your hands, you’ve done this before, there was no reason to worry. Except that this was your best friend’s life in your hands. Yeah, no pressure. Bruce handed you the sedative, “Okay, lodge it on your 7.” He said. You nodded and looked back at Peter. “Peter, focus on my voice. This will sedate you, you won’t feel anything but you will be awake. I need you to hold on for me, okay?” You said, cupping his cheek in your hand. He nodded, his skin growing paler by the minute. You placed the sedative in him.
The surgery took three hours. It felt like an eternity. You carefully placed the damned piece of shrapnel on a metal tray. You smiled, “Peter, it worked! You’re okay, you’re o-okay.” You said placing your forehead on his. “I-I knew you could do it.” He said, swallowing. You smiled at him. Then you heard what you had dreaded the most, the flatline. It rang in your ears, seeming to echo into your brain. “No, no no no no.” You squeaked. You grabbed a set of defibrillators. Dr. Banner charged it up, “Charging, 200 volts.” He said. Peter’s body jerked up violently. “Peter!” You screamed and Bucky pulled you back. “Charging, 500 volts.” Bruce said. All you heard was Peter’s voice in your head, telling you he believed in you. Bucky kept his metal arm against you, and you knew it was pointless to struggle. “Charging 700 volts.” Bruce said a final time. You could only feel the hot tears trailing paths down your face. You had to feel him one last time. You concentrated on the frequency of the metal in Bucky’s arm. You bent it away from your chest. You ran to Peter’s side. You cried on his chest. “Peter,” You whispered, grasping his hand. You cupped your hands on his face, and kissed him. His lips tasted of caramel, yet he couldn’t kiss back. You rested your forehead on his. Everyone laid a hand on you, urging you to step back. “I can’t lose you, damn it. Peter, please wake up, love.” You whispered. What happened next left you shocked. You stopped leaning over Peter and gripped Tony’s arm for support. Peter’s face was so close, yet lifeless. You closed your eyes as the tears came.
“Did you just call me love?” Someone said. Your eyes widened as you realized who’s voice it was. You sighed, “Peter.” You screamed, as if that one word meant everything. He smiled and you kissed his forehead. “I-i didn’t mean t-to call you,” You stammered. Forgetting the tubes strapped to him, Peter sat up. You gasped. He healed fast. He winced, “And you kissed me, didn’t you.” He said. You laughed, your faces inches away, the way they used to be. “I didn’t mean to d-do that,” You mumbled. You stared at the ground, the rest of the Avengers trying to process what happened. You closed your eyes, and felt the familiar taste of caramel? You opened your eyes, and stared at Peter’s hands gripping yours and melted into the kiss. He pulled away after a few more seconds. “H-how? You died!” You said. “I told you I knew you could do it.” He said, laughing. “Sorry to interrupt you two lovebirds, but I’m glad your not dead, spider boy.” Tony said, chuckling. Sam popped a bottle of champagne from the kitchen, “Cheers! Except for you two, you’re still underage.” He said. You laughed, then grasped Peter’s suit and kissed him roughly before pulling away. His eyes were wide with delight, “You are never allowed to die on me again, Parker.” You said, looking him in the eye. “Y-yes ma'am.” He mumbled. You hugged him. “(Y/n), can’t breathe!” He said. You let go quickly and smiled. “So, we still on for that movie night?” He asked. Your smile widened, “I think it counts as a date now, right?” You said, sitting down next to him. He wrapped an arm around your waist, “Fine by me.” He said leaning his head on yours.
My first Peter Parker/Marvel imagine omggg. Comment or ask me if u wanna be tagged in future Peter Parker/Marvel imagines and stuff. Hope y’all liked it
Summary: To make a deal with the devil is like selling your soul. In fact, that’s exactly what it is. Little did you know that the demon who held the deal, had bigger and better plans in store for you.
A/N: This is a short part, but it’s establishing some of the story and I feel like the ending fit well. So yes, there will be a part 2!! I plan on having the other parts be longer. Also low-key considering this as a teaser as well so enjoy!! :))
Sign with the devil, they say. Make a deal with the devil and you’ll come out the loser. You can cheat death, but cheat the devil and your soul be damned. To Hell with you, forever and for all eternity.
Palms sweaty, hands shaking in the pockets of your jacket, fingers gripped tightly around the tiny wooden box in the right one. You’d never done something like this before. This wasn’t you. You’d never considered the thought of actually making a deal with a demon. Hell, you weren’t certain it would work anyway. But anything would be sacrifice enough if it meant your love would live. You had to try.
The gravel crunched under the lightweight of your boots, crumbling and shifting and cracking, almost a similar sound to crushing bone as you approached the abandoned dirt crossroads of Mackay Ln. and Blade Dr. The full moon engulfed the event in a silver hue, one that would’ve been pitch black without its assistance.
Approaching the center of the crossroads, your breath caught in your throat, a throbbing ache in your chest as you withdrew the wooden box from your pocket and knelt down. First brushing aside the surface dirt, you began to dig, a small hole about 8 inches deep and about 10 inches wide, so the box would fit. You lowered the box into the dirt, hesitating whether or not to cover it up and seal your fate, or to turn and run without ever looking back.
You thought about your love lying in the hospital bed, the heart monitor next to him beeping slower and duller as the seconds passed before flat lining. You squeezed your eyes shut to prevent the tears from falling before you began to shove the excess dirt back into the hole, the box disappearing in a matter of seconds before it was completely buried.
You stood up, taking a step back from the burial before waiting a minute. Nothing felt different, and you were still alone. You sighed, running a hand through your hair and muttering how much of an idiot you were for believing in such a thing as demons and black magic. You shook your head, disappointment evident in your eyes as you turned to leave before you suddenly ran into what felt like a brick wall.
“Fuck-!” you exclaimed, stumbling back a little before you looked up and your entire body ran cold.
Before you stood a man dressed entirely in black. His hands were in his pockets, and he had this subtle smirk on his lips as his dark eyes watched you, a brow raised in amusement. You gulped, your hand curled into a fist over your rapidly beating heart. There was an aura about him, one that you immediately knew was dangerous and you knew you’d regretted ever coming here. The two of you stood in silence as each of you watched the other, expecting the other to speak or make a move first. The silence was deafening and suffocating. You couldn’t take anymore.
“W-Who are you?” Your voice nearly gave out on you, initializing the fear in your body, and he smiled devilishly.
“You summoned me without knowing who I am? How stupid are you, girl?” he belittled, another wicked grin spreading across his face. You frowned, both offended and hurt. The man chuckled darkly before he continued. “You can call me Jimin, sweetheart.” Your frown hardened in anger.
“Don’t call me ‘sweetheart,’” you spat, internally surprised by your sudden sense of bravery, even the demon before you rose a brow in amused surprise.
“Hm fiery! I’m intrigued,” Jimin cooed with a chuckle. You grimaced in disgust.
“Can we just get this over with?” you pressed, jaw tightened with impatience. Jimin tried his best to hide his growing amusement from your attitude. You were an interesting specimen, something he hadn’t witnessed before. There was a sense of blind determination behind your aura, an intense aura, one that he couldn’t ignore, despite how idiotic it just might be.
“Well, you’ve pulled me from the fire, it’s time you tell me your deepest desire,” he mused. It took all you could not to scoff at how corny and bizarre his words were but you shook them off anyway.
“My fiancè is dying,” you began, however you felt awkward telling this to a random stranger, one that just so happened to be a demon. Although, before you could continue, a deep chuckle cut you off.
“The hell are you laughing for?” you growled but the demon continued to find amusement over your predicament.
“This is the most classic tale any crossroads demon has ever heard,” he hooted, wiping a nonexistent tear for effect. You frowned.
“Let me guess,” he began, stepping aside as he began to encircle you, speaking slowly and clearly as he did so. “Your fiancè is dying, currently in a hospital bed, the heart monitor slowing, pulse barely readable, and yet you’re here, making a deal with a demon? And you expect it to go according to plan, right? Or are you really just that stupid?” He chuckled again; a low, rumbling chuckle that resembled that of a growling beast before coming to a halt behind you, forcing you to turn around in order to face him. He glanced downward as he laughed before his eyes met yours again, their once dark irises glimmering like the embers of a burning flame.
“You’re taking a leap of faith, sweetheart. And with a demon of all things. Faith really isn’t my fortè. I suggest you go back to your fiancè and spend what little time you have left with him.” He turned away as his words hit you like a 10 ton truck. All you were capable of doing was stare at him, wide-eyed and mouth agape as he started to walk off, fading into the shadows.
“W-wait please! I’m begging you!” You had lost total control over your own body as your voice betrayed you, calling out to him as you fell to your knees. He froze, his form only a misty figure among the shadows before he turned, eyebrow raised at your position.
“Please Jimin, I’m begging you…” Your words shook over your tongue, your throat becoming dry from the thought of losing your soul mate. “This is the only chance I have..”
Jimin had started to make his way back to you as you spoke, but you didn’t really pay him any mind.
“Please…I will do anything,” you promised, eyes squeezed shut to block out the tears that threatened to fall from your eyes, bottom lip pinched between your teeth to stop the cries that threatened to spill over your lips. “Please…”
You were met with silence for what felt like an eternity before your head was lifted by Jimin’s fingers under your chin, forcing you to look into his smoldering eyes.
“Anything, you say.” It wasn’t exactly a question, nor a demand. You weren’t exactly sure what it could’ve been, but the low chuckle that followed those words seemingly latched onto your heart and you could feel the pressure as though someone was squeezing the life out of you. You looked into his eyes as a gentle, but equally sinful smirk spread across his plump lips. Yours quivered as you responded, your voice barely above a whisper.
Jimin’s smirk turned into a devious grin before he pulled you closer by your chin as he suddenly brushed his lips over yours.
“Well then, L/N Y/N, it looks like we have a deal,” he whispered, chuckling darkly. Your terror-stricken heartbeat picked up from your realization; but before you could ask him how he knew your name, considering you hadn’t told him, his lips locked with yours, sealing your deal with the devil, and the future Fate had in store for you.
A/N: Let me know if you like it so far and I’ll get working on part 2!! (I’ll be working on it anyway, but still) Anyway, thanks babes!! I’ll see you in the next update!!
What’s in a name? that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet;
– William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet.
Do you not know that a man is not dead while his name is still spoken?
– Terry Pratchett, Going Postal.
Kylo Ren has no soul. I don’t say this because I hate his character, or because I think he’s a monster, I say this because he’s so clearly tried to destroy one key part of his soul - his name.
According to the Ancient Egyptians, the human soul came in five parts. The Ib, the Sheut, the Ba, the Ka and the Ren.
Your Ib was your heart and, like the other parts of your soul, was essential to you surviving in the afterlife. To enter the afterlife your heart was weighed against the Feather of Truth - if you failed your heart was devoured by Ammit and you were damned and destroyed for all eternity. This was why the heart was not placed into Canopic Jars but left in the body: so Anubis could weigh it against the feather and judge if you were worthy or not. Your heart, according to the Ancient Egyptians, was the very seat of your emotions, thought, will and intentions. If you sinned, it weighed on you here.
The Sheut was your shadow, the thing which proved you real and tangible in the world. Always present so long as there was light, always following the person, to the Ancient Egyptians it was obvious that it carried some part of the person it was attached to - indeed, following this same logic statues were sometimes referred to as shadows. The shadow was also not exempt from the afterlife - some people were given “shadow boxes” in which part of the Sheut was stored.
The Ba was the personality of a person, what made them them. Probably the part of the Ancient Egyptian soul easiest to equate to the modern Western perception of the soul, it was your defining character, your very self - where the Ib was intention and emotion, the Ba was the personality behind that. Indeed, the Ba was said to re-join the Ka in the afterlife -
The Ka being your vital spark, that which makes you alive. It is this which distinguishes the living from the dead - when the body, the Ha lost it’s Ka, it was dead. The Ka is your living energy and so, to live, it requires, like any living thing, food and drink. It is because of the Ka that food and drink were left by graves or buried with a Mummy - so that, even in the afterlife, the Ka could eat and drink it’s fill and not die.
All these things about the first four parts of the soul. But what about the fifth?
The Ren is the name given to you at birth. Egyptians could and would change their names - Pharaohs most notably, with Akhenaten, called Amenhotep before his name-change and Tutankhamun, born Tutankhnaten - but the name was still a sacred thing. It was even, when written or carved, protected by a Cartouche, and many Ancient Egyptians made numerous attempts to protect and preserve their names. Conversely, should someone be considered to have committed so great a crime there was no other punishment suitable, their name would be hacked off monuments and inscriptions, in a form of what the Romans would later perform, and called damnatio memoriae.
As Pratchett says - “a man is not dead while his name is still spoken”. So too did the Ancient Egyptians believe - if your name still existed somewhere, if it could still be read and understood and spoken… you would live. Provided the other efforts to preserve your soul, your Ba and Ka, your Ib and Sheut and, in the realm of the living, your Ren you could survive in the afterlife for ages upon ages.
Kylo Ren has shed his name. His name is not even entirely a name - he is a Knight of Ren, a Knight of the Name, and what passes for his name now reflects that. He may have his Ba and Ka, he is certainly a creature of his own Sheut, but his Ib… has been shaped and moulded into something else and is weighed down by sins.
And his Ren, his name… is gone. He is just another name bound into Snoke’s service, made to shed a part of himself, a part of his soul.
Kylo Ren has no soul. Not because he’s a monster, but because he has sacrificed his name in Snoke’s service. He is a Knight of Ren, a Knight of Name.
Perhaps, a Knight in name only. Will he take on his old name? Will he take on a new name entirely? I don’t know.
I can't stop think about how birds don't remember there was a time before roads. Like birds have no written history or oral tradition. As far as any bird is concerned, this is how the world has always been and they're just tryna make it like the rest of us. They just keep on keepi-
Stop your cute ass right there, I'm not dating you for your brains, I'm dating you for your looks. Why are you like this?
Muses: Jeon Jungkook ft. Kim Taehyung & Park Jimin x Reader. Genre: Fluff. Words: 2.1k Type: Hybrid AU / Watashi no Ookami-kun AU.
Description: In hopes of an invigorating change of scenery, you set out for a three hour drive to the small town outside of the city where your grandmother lives, thinking this is your escape from the ever evolving globalization and capitalism but little do you know what awaits within these forest bounds.
The universe must really hate
First, the inconsistent reception
in the area that hangs on a thin thread since you stepped out the yellow cab.
Second is the arduous journey that is almost humanly impossible to accomplish
in heels. Third is said reception dying out from one bar to a big obese no
service staring back at you in a face-rubbing mockery, you’re
on your own, loser! as you ascend further away from civilization and
into the ominous green and matted brown that lies ahead. And last, the scorching
hot summer heat should be far cooler than away from the hustle and bustle of
the city life and towering skyscraper, but no, it’s still
34567887654 degree out here. You’re basically melting.
Summary: Tension has been building between you and Dean lately. Finally you lose it and blow up. SMUTTY SMUT ensues.
“Just fuck me already, Dean! Anything to break this damn tension,” you screamed at him. The heat between the two of you had been building for months, and you couldn’t ignore it anymore.
You stood there shocked not able to believe the words that had just slipped out of your mouth. You ran your hands through your hair nervously as you gaged Dean’s reaction.
He had a look of disbelief on his face as a sly grin creeped up to replace his shock. He was slowly closing the gap between the two of you. You could see the words he was struggling to get out forming on his full lips.
You just wanted to take that bottom lip between your teeth and tug, drawing out a groan you knew would come from him if you only had the chance. God, Y/N stop thinking about it, you told yourself as you attempted to calm your breathing.
Before you realized it, Dean’s chest was pressed up against yours. You wondered if he could feel your heart tying to beat out of your damn chest. He placed his hands behind your head, gently lifting your face to his. He was closing the gap between the two of you when he stopped just as he grazed your lips. Your breath hitched as he breathed into your mouth, hot, heavy, shaking breaths.
“Are you sure this is what you want Y/N? Because God knows it’s all I’ve been able to think about for months,” he said his green eyes sparkling.
Request: So I saw that your requests were
open and I couldn’t resist. Could you do an imagine where the reader is like
dying but she doesn’t cause she asks Benny to change her and he does and he
helps her adjust and live a ‘normal’ life like he does?? Thanks
Pairing: Benny x Reader
Word Count: 2,500
Warnings: Blood, near-death experience, basically dying to become a vampire, being a vampire? Is that a warning?
@weirdnewbie sorry it took so long, hun! I loved this idea so much and wanted to really get it right.
Their father is a successful business man who owns a chain of funeral homes
He forces them to work at the main location to “build character”
Nico works with cleaning up the bodies mostly and he constantly gets harassed by the ghosts because he’s making the corpses too ugly, or using the wrong color or CHRIST KID LEARN HOW TO USE A DAMN KNIFE MESS MY FACE UP AND I’LL HAUNT YOU FOR ALL OF ETERNITY
Bianca works the front end and the coffin show room. Talking with families, listening to the dead loved one shit talk them: “I never liked my son-in-law.” “Tell them I want the one with hydraulics” “IF YOU LET THEM PICK THAT ONE OUT–” “My grandson is your age and single, dear.” “I TOLD MY DAUGHTER NOT TO MARRY HIM. “ “Girl, if you put them on that mailing list I will make SURE you never hear the end of me.”
Hazel working with the tombstones/other various decorated objects. Putting in the letters and numbers with her hands or a laser machine. Having to put up with snickering ghosts like,”Put YOLO on it!” or “my brother’s already moved on so draw a penis in the corner of his tombstone AND HE WONT BE ABLE TO DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT. I WON’T GO TOWARDS THE LIGHT UNTIL YOU DO.” and “Is that anime?”
Diving to Mc Donalds in a hearse
Finding tons of necromancy books just “suddenly” appearing without any explanation
Dealing with their father’s constant poetic waxing of the family business and other morbid shit
Flirting with cute ghosts
Crying when cute ghosts pass on
Protecting each other when negative spirits pass through
Working together to honor the family tradition and help souls move on along the way