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hollyhomburg · 4 years

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Reasons Wretched and Divine (Pt. 7)

(Hybrid au) (YoonMinJoon x Reader) (Mafia au)

Summary: After years of abuse, you’ve all finally found each other. But for one of you- the fear still lingers, hidden in the shadows. Yoongi doesn’t want much, just a few more weeks, but he only has until the end of the summer.

Parings: Snake hybrid! Yoongi x Dog hybrid! Jimin x Dog hybrid! Namjoon x Pregnant! Reader, Platonic Vmin, allusions to 2seok,

Genre: Hybrid au, Polyamory au, Hurt/Comfort, Recovery, Pregnancy, Mafia au

Tags: Domestic abuse, references to sexual abuse- and choosing to have sex even though you’ve been through sa, physical abuse, polyamory negotiations, Post-traumatic stress disorder, mute characters, brief gore at the end, pregnant m/c, frottage, marking kink, fingering, oral f. receiving, Voyeurism, exhibitionism, implied death but dont worry I do not write MCD!!!!

A/n: just for posterity's sake! i was drunk when i posted this! enjoy! full gangbang comes in (y/n) next chapter! (oh god im going to hell).

W/c: 10.5k

Song Rec: Like Real People do ~ Hozier

~ Series Masterlist ~

2 Years Earlier

- If Jeon Jungkook where so esoterically inclined, he would write a book on how he had become the most dangerous man in the underworld. It would be a short book though; because Jungkook had only 2 rules for himself. The first was to always get up after he’d been hit during a fight (even if it took him a second) and the second was to know when to mind his own business.

- Jungkook was always able to get up after being hit, Even when he’d been a street kid, with not a penny to his name and a whole lot of anger in his mouth. ready to spit vitriol at anyone who would pause and listen. He’d always been able to get up. The pain giving him a kind of sick clarity that he eventually sought out instead of tried to escape. Jungkook could never think as clearly as he did during a fight; or when he was in pain. And that was probably because of his father.

- But whatever. That man was 6 feet under, (his mother on the other hand- no- that bitch certainly had more than one dept to pay still). He didn’t have a lot of time or energy to put into dealing with that particular trauma (why he honestly felt like sometimes- he liked being hit). Most of his energy went into staying alive. Even now- when living and surviving teetered on the same edge. Jungkook had more pressing matters to tend to than dealing with his own fragile mind.

- The way he would get up and hop around for a second to soak in the clarity after being hit during a scuffle was one of the reasons why he’d been given his street name: The Playboy Bunny; further set in stone with his tattoo of the same moniker under his left eye. A cheekbone he’d tap and say “you want to hit me? why don’t you try your luck and see how well it turns out for you.”

- He was doing reconnaissance, Sneaking around the back alley with his hood up and his glasses on- disguising his black eye that was sure to get more than a few looks from passers-by. The ears of the playboy bunny tattoo peeking out over the top of his mask.

- He keeps his eyes on the crowd waiting for some sort of handoff- to see anything at all. But he’d lost his target through the crowd and has no drive to find them in the dizzying rush of people and umbrellas. Not yet. Not when the hum of addiction lurks in his veins.

- Jungkook pauses lighting a cigarette, when a commotion to the side hidden around a corner- blurs his concentration. The world snapping back into focus when he sinks his fingernails into his palm. Terse voices. A couple fighting in the alleyway perpendicular to his.

- Minding his own business was a particular skill of his- it took one kind of person to know when to step in, and another to know which problems weren't worth the headache. And unless it involved the acquisition money or some step therein, it wasn’t a problem worth getting into in Jungkook’s opinion.

- But Jungkook can’t stop his ears from hearing snippets of conversation, a low and angry male voice. The sound of a smack. “You just had to embarrass me like that, didn’t you? First, you come out dressed like a slob and then you act like a fucking whore- I swear if I see you give eyes to another man this week I'll beat you five ways to Sunday”

- The sound of a soft female voice, so quiet- almost indistinguishable from the pouring rain, “I wasn’t-” another smack.

- Jungkook has been hit so many times he knows the sound of it, the ragged gasp the woman lets out, also quite- like even the pain takes up too much space.

- His body starts to move before his mind thinks it through as he gives up position in favor of investigating the noise. There he sees it, ivy growing up the wall next to the back exit of some restaurant. A woman, small crouching in front of a grotesque man. A baggy coat buttoned tight around her small form. hair swept back in a tight bun. Red lipstick smudged. Though you check your hands and think its blood for a moment before you remember you’re wearing it.

- Jungkook waits for a moment before he watches you stand on shaky legs. you get up.

- The rest of the underworld might be old grudges and blood feuds but Jungkook was only here to be a businessman. He didn’t have time for ego and arrogance, let alone time for altruism...

- Usually.

- He looks on for a moment, too sluggish without nicotine, but Jungkook’s lingering stare almost seems to spur the man on. He’s wearing a jacket with a military patch, a badge; some sort of congratulation for service done no doubt. and Jungkook feels his distaste for the man deepen.

- “What you looking at punk?” he slurs. Stalking forward as if to shove Jungkook. He almost wants to tut- that would be an expensive action. Jungkook wonders if the man is maybe high or drunk or both. He’s has had his fair share of experience with junkies and he knows one when he sees one.

- “Nothing, just a pig beating his girlfriend.” The man settles for shoving Jungkook back. And Jungkook lets him. You don’t look up, don’t do anything but lean to the side, like the brick wall is the only thing keeping you up. Jungkook sees the back of your hand, black and blue, the other bruises on your neck. You only make eye contact with him once. Just slightly. Barely in passing.

- You look like Jungkook used to look. He remembers in the savage bite of an open-handed slap- the fear he sees in your eyes. He looks and looks. And it aches so viscerally as Jungkook watches you go, your hurt echoes through him. You look beaten down and broken like Jungkook used too; before he’d decided he was done taking punches from people who were supposed to love him- Were supposed to care.

- (Before he realized life wasn't supposed to hurt)

- He’s never been one to feel things for other people, the empathy sparing him through most of the suffering he’s seen. It’s not that he’s unfeeling; it’s just that Jungkook’s life has forced him to feel concerned only for himself and no one else. His own survival is his first priority; Not others.

- He watches you walk away, And you don’t look back at him. Rushing to keep up with your husband's steps. He waits until you disappear into the crowd before he lifts his phone to his ear and makes a call. “Hey, I need you to flag all of the cars that leave the parking lot, they’re just a couple, should be coming to you soon.”

- Jeon Jungkook had become the most powerful man in the underworld because of two reasons; by being able to take punches, and by knowing when to mind his own business.

- But For this, Jungkook thinks he can make an exception.

- (You won't remember meeting Jeon Jungkook, but Jungkook will always remember you).

~.~

Now

-It comes as no surprise that your little speech fades after a few days and the rest of the hybrids quick to return to treating Yoongi with a mix of disdain and fear. Though mostly- this seems to be caused by Minhyung's group and the other canine hybrids. Namjoon hears them whispering about ‘favoritism’ before they catch on that he’s listening in. And in the days following your impromptu departure from the farm, you find people quiet even further whenever Yoongi's brought up. Staring when Yoongi comes close, afraid to interact with him.

- Even Jimin is greeted mostly with silence from all but a few. The bunny hybrids don’t act so skittish anymore, and the cat hybrids could care less used to sticking to their own group. Taehyung seems to have encouraged the other bear hybrids to make an actual effort and they at least say hello now. It’s better than the derisive comments of the dog hybrids, or the snooty noses stuck high in the air of the dear hybrids and other exotic breeds.

- They know Jimin is close to Yoongi and Namjoon, and now he feels even more like an outsider that before (somehow it doesn't matter as much as before). The only ones who don’t act overtly different are the new hybrids; Hoseok and the small lion hybrid. but They were never around to learn how to hate Yoongi in the first place.

- it's a little cute- the way that Hoseok will always shout Yoongi's name in greeting (though you're unsure if that's just his personality now that he's started to grow into himself). Hoseok is unbothered by Yoongi's reaction; to shy away from anything that will draw more attention to himself. But Hoseok's smile is so bright and elastic that even he has a hard time ignoring the otter hybrid. You hope there will be a friendship there eventually, that yoongi will open up to more than just your group.

- The little lion kit is a new addition too, she's not the only young feline hybrid you have at the farm but she is the friendliest. She gets pretty close to the other cats that work in the kitchen almost instantly. Probably on account of her young age (she's barely 7) and the eldest cat hybrid seems to be particularly fond of the little one.

- She's curious and kind to Yoongi too- excitedly running up to him more than once to show him a little rock or some flower she found- and yoongi will marvel and nod, and if Jimin is near- he'll lean close and tell her how pretty it is.

- She doesn't seem at all deterred by Yoongi's lack of voice. one day she even sees Jimin, her ears perking up excitedly, tail swishing. "Hello Yoonies voice!" it's a little cute- even if it does make yoongi splutter a little. But she's not exactly wrong; Jimin does talk for yoongi more these days.

- She Always comes bounding up to you and giggling happily to be picked up. Her little legs stretching around your waist, small bottom sat atop your baby bump. Making you get the kind of look that makes Namjoon, Yoongi, and Jimin sigh and look impossibly fond. They can only imagine what you’re going to be like once your little one is born. Your due date is barely 2 months away.

- In truth- you’re starting to get a little bit big. You say it one morning with Namjoon. After he asks you why you’re looking into the mirror with such a displeased expression. The sound of your terse voices alerts Yoongi and he comes to the door to your bedroom to witness your spat. Making a flippant hand movement at Namjoon to back off. Namjoon could smell your distress on you when you looked in the mirror, his voice tense but breaking. “Baby just tell me, why you think you’re not beautiful like that? let me understand. Cuz to me- you look more irresistible every day.”

- It’s not that you exactly wanted him to agree with you that you were nearing the size of a whale- but this doesn’t help at all either. His unending insistence- doesn’t he see? when he looks in the mirror doesn’t he see what you do? His instance that everything is alright doesn't help when you’re feeling this self-conscious.

- Yoongi helps you, fiddling with Namjoon’s closet for a second before he pulls out an extra-large white shirt of his and helps you into it- tying it loosely over your baby bump so that it flatters your waist a little more. The attention that Yoongi shows you clearly making you flustered. Then he drags you to the mirror, tugging your hair out of its bun, the tension going out of your shoulders.

- Yoongi doesn’t know it, but Namjoon does. Your late husband used to always be so particular about your hair, yanking on it harshly if it was left down. and An easy way to avoid him yanking on it was to leave it up. And sometimes you still pull it up convinced it’s safer even though he’s dead and gone. It’s scary how simple it is- but the second your hair comes down your whole body relaxes.

- All the while Namjoon watches from your bed. And you take in yourself, the baby hairs free-floating against your forehead; Yoongi curls one gently around his finger and then lets it go. You take in the way that the fabric hangs now, making you look a little more proportional, Yoongi gives you a satisfied smile behind your back and you have to sigh and admit it. “Okay- okay- I’ll give you this- I’m not a whale”

- “And even if you where you’d be a pretty whale.” Yoongi has the good sense to hurl a pillow in Namjoon’s direction, but it makes you laugh all the same- the heaviness in your chest abated a little. Your sleeve brushing Yoongi’s as you head downstairs, Namjoon trailing behind.

- The beach trip was a nice distraction from chores but the real work comes crashing down on them the next few days. Your little group feels closer than ever, you rarely part from any of them for long and their intention, their little acts of care never fail to make you feel flustered and taken care of.

- Jimin always holds out a hand for you to take when you’re stepping over uneven ground, Yoongi makes a startled noise whenever you so much as get close to a hose that might trip you, always gesturing for you to pause and take a break whenever you’re working in the garden. Namjoon too, always running back and forth from whatever project he’s working on to check on you and make sure you have water or food.

- At night, Namjoon takes your stretch mark cream from you, rubbing down your baby bump and your hips, the little lines of lighter skin on your waist get little kisses from him.

- Even if you want just a snack, Namjoon and Yoongi will bring you a full meal- convinced that you need to be eating more than you are. At dinner Yoongi fills up your plate- piling it high with more food then you could fit in your already crowded tummy. And he always eyes you suspiciously when you can’t finish the full plate. Namjoon too will level you with a look- asking if you really are full.

- Since your pregnancy has progressed, you’ve become a little moodier, and a little hornier whenever way the wind blows. And Namjoon doesn’t help that much at all- and by that you mean, he makes it worse. When he comes out of the field with his shirt off and tucked into his shorts all of his thickness, his muscles that make you ravenous.

- During lunch one day he drags you away to a forgotten tool shed, though it would be easier just to go up the hill to your bedroom- you feel like teenagers sneaking around like this.

- Namjoon presses into you as he hits the latch on the door, muffling your giggles with kisses as you hide from the hybrids outside, voices that you can dimly hear, unable to pick out any one particular yet- but you know they're there.

- You and Namjoon might bicker like an old married couple. But you also act like teenagers gooey and giggly and so so so in love. “Do you think that they can hear you like this? Or smell you, my love?” Namjoon is always quick to tell you how delectable you smell when you’re horny. His more sensitive nose-picking it up the second you feel a slickening between your thighs.

- You’re shaky when you respond. “I don’t know, maybe?” Namjoon always has this passionate intense air about him. He’s slightly possessive- but you’d never fault him for that not when it’s all about protecting and providing for you. Not when he always puts your pleasure first (you feel like you may have turned into a slight pillow princess with him).

- Namjoon heaves you up onto the edge of a bench and then gets on his knees. Gently lifting your leg over his shoulder. He’s always mindful of how much you can move in your swollen state. He checks to make sure he’s not bending your hips in an uncomfortable way.

- You put your hands back on the dusty bench to stabilize yourself as you lie back, Namjoon wastes no time in pressing his face close to your cunt and inhaling, His nose prodding at the thin fabric of your underwear. One of his ears caught on the hem of your dress. His fingers digging into the plushness of your thighs- so full and healthy it makes him hard in his pants.

- He’s slow with the appreciation of your thighs and hips. Hands gripping and moving on to touch and feel like you have all the time in the world. But you hear voices outside the tool shed you’ve commandeered and you could just slip out and go back up to your house- but somehow you like this better. The thought of being discovered stirring an unsure heat in your stomach.

- You can hear Taehyung's voice, and then- like a shock through your core- you hear Jimin’s. Namjoon can feel your jolt. And you realize- his sensitive ears must have known who it was before your own human ones did. He chuckles- teasing his fingers along the hem of your underwear, almost daring to slip inside.

- You almost whine when you think about what you’re being denied- the harsh pull of his fingers that you’re so addicted too, how thick his fingers and knuckles feel (almost as nice as his cock) when they pull out and push in.

- Yoongi and Namjoon have always had the most lovely hands, it’s strange that when Namjoon touches you- you think about Yoongi’s hands. The way you clench around his fingers at that has Namjoon’s tail wagging. "you're thinking about them aren't you," The way you clench around his fingers at that has Namjoon’s tail wagging. Because yeah; Yoongi and Jimin are apart of Namjoon’s pack too, and bonding and group sex are kind of the same thing to hybrids. You’d found that out the hard way when you’d found a group of cat hybrids all tangled together in the grass the other day.

- Namjoon is always so gentle with you because of your condition, but you find your hips jerking with want. His fingers still when he feels the way your wetness has spilled out the sides. His thumb pressed over your clit teasingly. “smell so good when you're like this So wet my love, are you thinking about them finding you like this?”

- “Y-yes” you confess, and Namjoon growls, nipping at you through the fabric, the feel of his teeth brushing you, over the sensitive skin. The fabric cushioning the feeling, makes you almost gush, and you know you’ll be shakily legged by the time he lets you get down. And that he won’t let you get away from him until he’s taken care of you in this way, sated you in every sense of the word.

- But he can also tell how shy you are, the heat under your skin at the thought of being discovered. always unsure how much of your dirty talk is a real want and not just something you like in theory. Namjoon knows the idea of sharing you with the others might seem like the most natural and hottest thing; to love you alongside them. but to you- a human, hybrid sex and hybrid bedroom dynamics aren't as given.

- So he leans close, sliding your underwear down your legs slowly, letting you feel the heat of his palms on your skin. You're getting worked up a little too quickly, your heaving breaths needy. God damn pregnancy hormones you'd say if you could think beyond the plush feeling of his lips pressing a kiss to your clit. “Gotta clean you up for them, if they smelled you like this- then they’d know wouldn’t they?”

- You prove Namjoons initial assumption wrong. “What if I-” you whisper- gasping quietly as Namjoon drags the fabric to the side and glides a delicate lick over your folds. “What if I want them to know?” the pleasure thrumming through your body as Namjoon licks up your slit. Namjoon stills, ears perked, eyes flashing in the half-light. The snarl against your cunt loud and echoic.

- The voices outside fall silent and Namjoon doesn't stop his ravenous licking no matter if you have to bite your lip to keep your noises in. One of your hands scrambling to pull at his hair and find something to grip onto and anchor yourself against the onslaught of pleasure. Jimin is the first one to puncture the silence, “What was that?”

- Then comes Seokjin's voice “all of you- move along- whoever it is they probably don’t want the three of you listening in like a bunch of horn dogs” which is basically a confirmation that they were listening in, and that Yoongi was there too.

- When you finally exit the toolshed with weak legs, sure you’re going to have to at least got change your underwear. You find a bleary-eyed Seokjin a few dozen feet away, obviously upwind of the toolshed. he levels Namjoon with a tired expression. “You both have dirt on your knees” Namjoon has the good sense to look shy at that. You hastily brush off the spots on his, and he on yours.

- If Jimin and Yoongi smell anything on you later- they don’t say anything and the idea that they might make you feel hot all over whenever they lean in too close. You think you see a blush on Yoongi’s face more than once, and maybe see him adjust his pants out of the corner of your eye, but Jimin seems blissfully unaware.

- You have a check-up at the doctor’s office in the coming days. And although only Namjoon is allowed in the room with you (they have a two-person maximum because the ultrasound room is tiny), Yoongi and Jimin also accompany you. Namjoon comes bounding out after, waving the picture and smiling so so wide, both Yoongi and jimin leaning in close to get a better look- they’re so enamored with the little photo. And when you get home- Namjoon shows anyone that asks how the check-up went, eventually hanging it on one of the two fridges in the kitchen.

- Jimin is the only one who seems to notice the jealous looks- because you went out for ice-cream after and come home with them still partially melting (you’d had another craving- french-fries dunked in ice cream of all things). One of the other hybrids having heard Jimin talk to Tae about the beach trip too. They come to you at the end of the day, 2 bunnies, a cat, a fox and one of the bears- a mish moshed group of hybrids; petitioning you to start the beach trips for everyone.

- You can only fit so many people into the back of your truck so you pick a day and start a raffle for spots. Jimin throws his name into the hat just in case but to his surprise, Yoongi doesn’t. No matter how much Jimin bugs him too; He won’t agree to accompany Jimin to the beach again. Shaking his head with a roll of his eyes back tipped back against the grass, his sunhat crumpled. Offering up a few sweet tomatoes to soothe Jimin’s sour nerves.

- The peace lasts for a couple of days before they’re right back to treating Yoongi like shit and for some reason, it pisses Jimin off more. No matter how many times he’s heard Namjoon asks Yoongi to please tell him when anything happens. The snake hybrid seems unable to fight back.

- Jimin asks one of the hybrids why she won’t look at Yoongi (after the snake has already gone up the hill to retrieve another dish for dinner) and beyond a startled look, she just says “none of us can smell him” she throws a stack of paper towels down onto the table angrily. The deer hybrid across from them stumbling with their silver wear But she doesn’t need to re-iterate herself. Jimin understands- it’s hard to trust someone who can lie to your face- and in the world of hybrids where emotions can be decreed from a simple sniff, Jimin can’t say he doesn’t see where they’re coming from.

- Doesn’t excuse their behavior, however. After all- Jimin can smell Yoongi’s emotions through his scent and he didn't realize that was something strange until now. To Jimin, Yoongi’s scent is soft and sweet- something gummy and soft like a marshmallow. But that’s probably because he spends so much time with the hybrid. The others only spend so much time around him and are unused to his scent. And the fact that he never talks and never tries to socialize doesn’t help.

- Jimin can’t imagine not wanting to smell more of it- not leaning in whenever the other hybrid passes. Jimin wants to bury his face in Yoongi’s neck and rub his cheek all over it. The same way that Namjoon does to him in the morning if he shows up before he’s changed from his pajamas. And he knows he smells soft like sleep- an alluring smell to the older alpha when he comes down the stairs, ears straight up eyes wide as he takes in all of Jimin's vulnerability.

- and it might have to do with what Taehyung had said- that alphas eat up that sort of thing.

- Namjoon smells good too, his scent all soft mornings and sleepy walks, the older hybrid large and so pliant in his sleepiness, eyes swollen and face puffy as he hides in Jimin’s shoulder. Sending his pine scent all over so that it sticks to jimin no matter where he is. So that jimin will smell like Namjoon all day.

- One of the cat hybrids at the sink rolls her eyes. But when you come down the stairs smelling much the same. You touch his arm so softly in passing, like you can’t believe you’re allowed. And Jimin’s senses are a dizzying blur of cream, peaches, pine, and marshmallow.

- when he goes back to the barns, hazy at being scented by Namjoon so thoroughly. Taehyung levels him with a funny look and a chuckle. "you're more devious than anyone gives you credit for" thought Taehyung means it good-naturedly- it's good to have a friend to ask how to go about flirting with. the other hybrids gathered on the couch in front of the tv; some cartoon playing- pretend like they're not listening in.

- "How do you know so much when you don't have a pack of your own Tae?" he asks over breakfast, the two of them clutching breakfast burritos on their way to check Tae's bees. Tae doesn't meet Jimin's eyes "you're just lucky- most hybrids dont find a pack so easily Jimin" his words aren’t jealous- only a little patronizing. And Jimin accepts it because he knows he has a lot to learn.

- Taehyung is right- out of all of the hybrids at the farm, there are only a few who have paired up or even made stronger groups or multi-person packs. the bunnies and the cats don't form set generally- though there are a few pairs and more than a few throuples.

- Jimin as caught Yeonjun making out with a tabby more than once- has learned to avoid certain sections of the woods all together because everyone knows that's where the bunny hybrids like to go in the afternoons. The canine hybrids are the only ones who have packs, though there are more than half a dozen loners like jimin and namjoon.

- It's hard for Jimin to cohabitate with them even though there are other larger predators and more than a few prey hybrids living in Jimin's barn. he hadn’t really realized until taehyung pointed it out that each different pack occupied one corner of the punk room. More than once- the room in the barns has felt hostile if only for the packs that have claimed either corner of the bunkroom. it's usual to wake up and find more than one of the pups cuddling with another in one single bed.

- Having reciprocated love in his pack shouldn't feel like an impossibility to Jimin. But still, when Yoongi steps close- an inch too far away, his fingertips barely brushing- Jimin just- yearns. It’s a soft sort of yearning, the kind that has jimin jumping up whenever Yoongi needs something. Has him settling a think knit blanket over Yoongi’s nobly knees during movie nights, and sticking his own feet underneath the edge of the blanket. Feet Pressed to the clothed line of his calf. Maybe nothing will ever come of it, But Jimin yearns with everything he’s got regardless.

- In the late hours of the night, when Jimin lies awake thinking about the three of you. An instinct welling inside of him that says he should walk up the hill and fall asleep on your couch just to be closer to you three (the pack instinct- Taehyung calls it, looking a little bit sad himself when jimin asks him, the other hybrid moving away before jimin can ask exactly what that means) Jimin wonders if his feelings will ever be reciprocated.

- But love is a strange thing, it’s not just about saying it with kisses or touches- though Jimin wants them too. There is love in the small things, in building something together so that’s what Jimin tries to do. Every day- he takes to gardening with a new vigor. Shouting in joy when you harvest some of the tomatoes- filling up a whole gallon bucket with the amount that have ripened over the last week. Your peppers and cucumbers are beginning to produce more too.

- Jimin and Yoongi run to Namjoon just to give him a handful. The alpha gives each of them a sweet nuzzle in thanks, even if Yoongi chirps and moves back after a moment. A flush high on his cheek. Namjoon looking up at Yoongi from where he’s stopped- cheek on the elder's shoulder. The snake relaxing after a moment.

- You spend the rest of the day showing Jimin and Yoongi how to prepare the tomatoes to make a sauce, roasting them on low heat. Cutting garlic so so carefully, and whenever Jimin looks across the prep table- Yoongi’s gaze darts away. halfway through- yoongi stoops down, sticking his socked feet into jimin’s lap, and it feels so nice, to have their weight there.

- You go over to Yoongi at one point, and he tips his head back to look up at you. The back of his head is at the right height to lye up against your baby bump. And Jimin watches, as you slowly, so slowly, brush the hair out of his eyes and away from his forehead. Yoongi’s eyes flutter closed and he tips his face into your hand. Letting out a low happy grumble when you take his action as positive reinforcement, and drag your nails over his scalp. In Jimin’s lap, Yoongi’s toes curl.

- It feels strange- and Jimin can’t quite put his finger on it- but it almost feels like Yoongi is letting you all touch him more than ever. Suddenly okay with touches- as long as it’s in a more private setting. Jimin can’t say he’s unhappy about it. Maybe one-day yoongi will even let Jimin scent mark him.

- Jimin smiles at Yoongi’s happy little snake grumbles. And keeps chopping his garlic. Is happy to receive the same kind of scratch from you a few minutes later. Though he might abandon his chopping in favor of rubbing his face all over your stomach when the instinct strikes him. Jimin unintentionally lets out a growl when you start to move away. Slapping a hand over his mouth and apologizing, no matter how you and Yoongi laugh.

- Still, despite the happiness, you have in your kitchen, in your house, whenever you’re around each other. The rest of the world is not so kind.

- An adoption day comes at arguably the worst and best time. There is still a fair amount of friction between your group and the rest of the hybrids. And a few outsiders at the farm only make it worse. Though Yoongi, Jimin, and Namjoon aren’t the only hybrids who wear red stickers to indicate that they are not available for adoption.

- Hoseok surprisingly- grabs a yellow sticker. And the three of your hybrids watch- as Seokjin hovers around him- a red sticker on his own lapel- wary of all and anyone who interacts with the otter hybrid. His glares putting off all but the most attentive patrons. That's where it starts.

- Jimin is unfortunately caught in the middle when seokjin confronts hoseok. off to help the three of them bring down 3 trays of cut watermelon for the hybrids and the patrons. The dinner tables have been set out on the side of the field piled high with Hors d'oeuvre. You’re there with Namjoon greeting the humans. Games are set out too- for the hybrids and humans to play.

- it’s no secret that they’ve gotten close, and jimin had assumed they’d talked about it- but apparently not. Seokjin is so angry he’s nearly crying. “why- hoseok- why do you want to leave the farm?” Hoseok’s little otter ears are tight against his scalp. “I just- I didn’t want to assume?”

- “Oh- so you’d rather just- throw away everything that we’re trying- all of this- you don’t you dont want to stay do you-” Jimin has never seen seokjin looking so lost, and he knows enough to guess that Seokjin’s anger is at least in part to due to some trauma (later- Jimin will find out that Seokjin’s mother left him with his last owner- an abusive man- to save herself).

- Jimin knows enough to get in between them, telling them to calm down and spend a minute away from each other. Jimin ends up with Hoseok- “it’s hard Jimin- how do you, how do you have so much sureness with Y/n? with Namjoon and yoongi too? How do you look at them and trust that you should stay?” Hoseok's eyes remain on Jimin's red tag.

- Jimin sighs, thinking it through, “do you look at Seokjin and know he cares about you? like- do you know it in your bones?” Hoseok bites his lower lip, “yes- but-”

- “Then you should stay Hoseok,” Jimin walks Hoseok up to the main house where the stickers sit on the prep table. Changing out his yellow one for a red one. And when they head off back down the hill, Seokjin is waiting on the path with Yoongi, apologizing and dragging Hoseok away to the barns where Seokjin’s own private room is. Hoseok goes willingly, smiling up at the older hybrid. His narrow shoulders cuddled under one of Seokjin's wide ones.

- jimin has to admit, an otter and an alpaca are a weird combination for a hybrid pack (But no stranger than a pair of puppies and a snake). His thoughts drift towards Taehyung- and Jimin hopes that his friend won't end up alone. it must not be easy- to see all of you pair off like this.

- in some ways, that adoption day is full of just as much bullshit as they usually are. there are always people who dont understand the effort it takes to take care of a hybrid- they aren't just like any ordinary pet. it's easy to spot the ones that view them as pets- and less like people. You get a few rich people looking to adopt a companion as always.

- A substantial group of families also look to adopt similarly aged companions for their single children. And you agree to more than one possible test weekend. You’re always so particular about letting the children go, so wary and so careful in the way you let them interact with the families.

- Though they don’t have parents here- there are more than a few good role models and parental figures. More than one child chooses a red tag for themselves. And they always know have a right to it- no matter how young they are. You make it clear to the group of them; If they don’t want to be adopted they don’t have to be.

- You even get one couple- the woman withdrawn and sad, and a slightly jealous look at your own pregnant stomach says more than any words could. It’s pretty common for women who can’t have children to adopt hybrid children. and though some of it doesn't sit right with you, You aren’t one to judge.

- Jimin spends most of the adoption day helping you balance the need for food and for games. running back and forth to the house to help. Though there is a little work that needs to be done here and there just to keep the farm running as usual. grey storm clouds roll in halfway through the day, puncturing the blue sky- foretelling scattered showers and storms. and jimin hopes it will cut the adoption day short so that you can return to your routines.

- Jimin is just helping Yoongi putting away a broken badminton net When it happens- Jimin isn’t certain why it does. Only that he hears the words outside the shed after Yoongi's just excited to grab the broken rackets (Namjoon isn't the only clumsy hybrid you have at the farm).

- “oh sorry- ew gross,” a shrill female voice says, and then he rounds the corner and sees yoongi picking himself up from the dirt- a rich lady and her peacock hybrid looking down at him like he’s the dirt beneath his shoes. The peacock hybrid has Yoongi’s sun hat in his hands and there is another hybrid- a wolf hybrid from the farm with a green sticker on his shirt, who growls down at yoongi.

- His shoulders shake too the way they do when he’s been touched and he doesn’t want to be. Jimin has seen you brush your fingers over the back of Yoongi’s hand, has even felt the coolness of the snake hybrid through the fabric when the elder grabbed his sleeve. Has touched him even more intimately as of late. But he knows that Yoongi can’t tolerate being touched by people he doesn’t trust- doesn’t want to touch him. basically, anyone, that's, not you, Namjoon, or Jimin himself.

- “Hey- what the fuck!” Jimin spits, grabbing the sunhat out of the hybrid's hand with a growl, his ears flat against his head. If Jimin had elongated canines like Namjoon they would be barred in anger as he shoves the larger hybrid back. Yoongi shrinks impossibly smaller behind him.

- Jimin is hot and itchy from the heat and the humidity, and he really just wants to shower and cool off. He doesn’t have the energy to deal with entitled people today. And more importantly- no one touches Yoongi on Jimin’s watch.

- The hybrid looks surprised to be talked to in that way, he’s nearly a head taller than Jimin let alone the slightly taller feathers that poke out of the top of his head that give him the appearance of several more inches- but Jimin’s intimidating enough with his set expression to send the hybrid huffing away. Feathers fluffed.

- The peacock's iridescent feathers stand up on end as he grabs the hand of his human owner, her diamond tennis bracelet glittering in the sunlight. “This was getting boring anyway. Sorry” he tosses over his shoulder at the canine hybrid, who looks so disappointed his ears pinned back against his head. They only give him that- barely a look, before they’re heading off down the hill in the direction of the line of cars parked on the grass.

- The wolf hybrid deflates audibly- watching the woman and the other hybrid disappear down the hill. promises of home and family disappearing in a moment, but Jimin has to think- if they’d be discouraged so easily- were they really worth it? The wolf hybrid doesn't seem to think so- Turning his angry tear-filled eyes on Jimin.

- But Jimin can see the hate in his eyes and knows not to mistake the tears for only sadness. “You both ruin everything” he growls out- before they too run back towards the barns- no doubt to tell the others how Yoongi had sabotaged their adoption. Even though that was far from the truth. in all honestly- yoongi just bumped into the lady- or more probably- the lady bumped into him when he was on his way out of the shed.

- Jimin holds out his sunhat to Yoongi, who takes it from Jimin carefully, Jimin doesn’t linger on the fact that his hand still shakes. Jimin’s hand lingers somewhere close enough where Yoongi could touch it could reach out if he wants too. If he wants to get that kind of comfort from Jimin's touch- then Jimin will willingly give it.

- a faint flush coats the elder's cheeks. Oh no- he must be overheating then, Jimin feels a rush of concern. He knows what you would do, hover your hand close enough to Yoongi’s forehead, usher him upstairs for a break in the air conditioning, and a glass of icy lemonade.

- All they can hear is the shouts of laughter at the games the others play in the fields, “I understand why you don’t want to stay in the barns, why you don’t want to socialize with some of them, they’re so unkind to you it makes me crazy.” Jimin shakes his head, sour anger filling him like a rotten peach.

- Yoongi, looks more than pacified, looking up at Jimin with an indecipherable look. Most of the time, Jimin can get a good guess on how he’s feeling but not now- not that indecipherable heaviness he finds there. or the strangely heavy marshmallow scent that’s fluffed around them. Jimin lets go of Yoongi’s hat.

- After a moment Yoongi nods, and Jimin takes it as a thank you. They’re done for the day and dinner won’t be for another few hours or so. Jimin is ready to avoid some of the strangers and hopefully take advantage of the empty showers. The sky is grey with incumbent storm clouds when Jimin makes his way to the shower buildings which he finds blissfully empty; except for the bear hybrid Jackson that tosses a greeting at Jimin before exiting.

- Jimin doesn’t even bother to flick the lights on, instead of settling for the calm light that comes through the skylights, grey and hazy. the storm clouds have started to roll in properly. He hums as he disrobes, goes to grab his favorite strawberry body wash, and picks the last shower at the end, disrobing in relative comfort, glad for a moment of privacy.

- The blissfully Coldwater does wonders for his overheating muscles, relaxing his body deliciously from a day spent walking up and down the hill. he digests the chaos of the day- seokjin and hoseok fighting, yoongi getting shoved. you'd looked frazzled the last time he'd seen you, smile strained as you made small talk with most of the humans, Namjoon always close incase you needed someone to lean on.

- Jimin had been able to tell that your feet were sore just by looking at you. Namjoon will probably make you sit down before long, maybe he already has. You’ll probably cut off the adoption day because of the rain. Taking down names and information before you send them on their way. You rarely let a hybrid leave the farm after one adoption day, needing to have more private meetings and house calls to willingly part with one of them. You just want to make sure you dont release them back into another abusive household.

- He hums as he washes, lingering in the water and taking a longer shower than he usually would. He hums, testing the way his vocal cords wrap around the acoustics of the empty high ceilinged room.

Then he hears the scuffling of someone in the bathroom too and cuts off. A little abashed at being caught. The rustling getting closer and its a moment before he realizes that the rustling is coming from his own section of the bath. he smells him the second before he pulls the shower curtain gets pulled back.

- “Yoongi!” Jimin shouts, furiously grabbing at something to cover his nakedness. Jimin furiously tries to cover his crotch, grabbing one of the large bargain bottles of shampoo and hold it there even as cold water runs over his face. Getting into his wide eyes. “Yoongi what the fuck! You’re naked!”

- Jimin is glad that the rumors about snake hybrids having double the appendages as a normal hybrid are false but he can’t stop his blush or his wandering eyes as he sees the snake hybrid in full. Or the hot lick of arousal that shocks him through his core- especially when he recognizes the heaviness to Yoongi's scent as being arousal.

- there is a single moment, jimin can smell yoongi- can see the want in his eyes, can feel his own scent fluff out to meet his, yoongi sags under the weight of Jimin's scent as the surprise dissipates. "do you-" Jimin's face must be brighter than a tomato. He reaches out a tentative hand, "do you want to-"

- Before Jimin can do much more than that Yoongi’s lips are on his, tentative but firm and passionate, the fire leaking into him from Yoongi as jimin stumbles in surprise. The kiss tastes like thank you and Ive wanted to do this for longer than i care to admit and everything yoongi can't say, can't let slip past his lips. jimin drops the shampoo bottle which narrowly misses his foot as Yoongi’s hands come up to encircle his jaw so softly like Yoongi is holding the most important thing in his world. Jimin is so shocked that for a moment- he doesn’t kiss back and Yoongi retracts- not before Jimin chases his lips and the snake hybrid returns to him.

- It’s the first time Yoongi’s ever touched Jimin so bare, and the snake’s hands on the back of his neck feel cold and shivery but good. As Jimin’s back hit’s the wall and their fronts press together for a moment, just brushing. Then colliding with more force as they both realize how good it feels to be so close to someone you trust. It’s dizzying- intoxicating, and Jimin knows his mouth is moving sloppily even if he wants to kiss Yoongi with just as much intent.

- The snake hybrid bites- actually bites- down on Jimin’s tongue. And a strangled whine comes to live and die in his throat. A snarl in his ears from Yoongi's mouth as the snake hybrid keeps his biting, moves to Jimin's throat- bites hard Enough that Jimin knows he'll leave a bruise. "leave more- yoongi please mark me" jimin feels hot with the thought of it- the thought of all the other hybrids being able to smell yoongi on his scent gland.

- Jimin doesn’t know where to put his hands, he knows enough to know that Yoongi doesn’t like to be touched and unsure if it extends to right now. but it seems okay if he’s doing the touching. His hands sliding down Jimin's back to his waist. He’s a good kisser, the best that Jimin’s ever kissed (not that there have been many) and he tips his head forward to put as much scalding force as he can into it when yoongi leaves his neck in favor of his mouth, trying to match Yoongi’s intensity even if he can’t match his skill.

- Yoongi takes a step forward, and Jimin’s cock brushes his hipbone, and he can’t stop the way his hips jump at the contact, brushing into Yoongi further. Jimin’s blood boils with arousal. Yoongi is equally as hard compared to Jimin. And Jimin doesn't know if its water or precum that he feels on his skin. Can't look down to check.

- By the time Yoongi leans back and finishes running his fingers through Jimin’s hair and over his shoulders. Jimin’s so wound up he feels like he’s about the pass out. The cool water cascading over his back doing nothing to settle him. Yoongi moves his hips- testing the waters, as he grinds, works jimin’s hips into an unsteady rhythm. and jimin moans.

- Yoongi pulls back, looking at jimin, their noses brushing, like he can’t bear to have jimin farther away from him than this, want heavy in his eyes, and Jimin tastes the words on Yoongi’s lips as good as if he’d said them. “Yoongi” jimin breathes. Palms pressed carefully to the shower wall so that he won’t reach out and yank Yoongi closer. But he’s Weak against the wake of this of all this feeling.

- “fuck- kiss me again- can we- ” Jimin feels strung out, his body heavy with something like heat- maybe Jimin is actually having a heat and it’s not just in his imagination (he wouldn't really know what it felt like- never having had one before because of his malnutrition). But This kind of kissing is certainly enough to trigger one.

- Yoongi opens his mouth for a second, almost like he’s about to speak- or to try to, Jimin’s never been sure if he can- if it’s muteness or just Yoongi being selective. And then in the next moment, Yoongi’s gone, almost tripping on his way out of the showers with how fast he’s leaving jimin. A whine dies in his throat and jimin starts after him, But then Yoongi turns back. Gesturing with a hand for jimin to stay put. Yoongi looks angry, and it takes a moment for Jimin to realize that the anger wasn’t directed at jimin- only at Himself.

- Jimin stays in the shower, water thundering down around him as the sky overhead thunders too. Jimin listens to the faint sound of Yoongi dressing and then leaving the showers. Jimin lets him go. So sure that he has absolutely no idea what just happen- or even if he didn’t imagine the whole thing.

- jimin’s hand on himself doesn't feel nearly good as Yoongi’s did.

- Yoongi’s hands shake all the way back up the hill, and he hopes his wet hair won’t be too suspicious especially when a mixed group of hybrids crosses his path. Returning to the barns as most of the adoption day festivities have ended.

- Yoongi’s careful to keep his eyes averted. And like usual- the conversation comes to a halt when Yoongi passes them by. It no longer bugs him the way it might have once. They have a good reason not to want to associate with him. Yoongi’s body shakes with the weight of the things he’s done and the things he’s going to do.

- you gather with 3 families on your porch as you take down their names and contact information. You send yoongi a concerned look as he quickly heads inside the house. Pausing only for a moment before he decides to go to Namjoon first. Later- later he’ll ask you too.

- Stupid- he’s been so stupid recently. Touching you- indulging in these short sweet touches because he wants more so badly. Knows he can never have it doesn’t stop the wanting. If his owner ever found out what he’s done- if she ever found out what he’d almost done with jimin- she’d surely have Jimin’s hands for it.

- And as much as Yoongi wishes it were any other way- Jimin almost touching him does remind him of far worse times. Though he’d been the one to initiate it this time- the memories still linger.

- Times when foreign hands touched his skin as he’d thrashed and screamed trying to protest against the taunting words of his owner. “I’ve never been interested in snake dick but if you want him for tonight you can have him- just be careful- he bites” and he shakes with those memories. Though its been many years. like most kinds of torture- eventually, his owner had grown bored with using yoongi's body as a bargaining chip. Yoongi wonders if he’s ever going to be able to be touched that way without feeling the revulsion at his own body.

- Jimin had come close, but he'd known- known that yoongi didn't want him to touch him. Had seemed more than willing to be touched himself. the revulsion hadn't hit him until the end.

- The places he’s been touched without his consent feel black and decaying- or like ink, every time someone touches him- Yoongi’s surprised that ink doesn’t come away on your hands soft and delicate. But it didn’t change the fact that Yoongi wanted it- and wants it still.

- he wants to see you soft and sated the way you look sometimes in the morning when he can smell Namjoon on you- wants to cause it- maybe, someday in the future if you'll let him. He knows you’d be gentle with him. Wouldn’t put your hands anywhere he didn’t want. Would check in with him- going as slowly or as quickly as he wanted too. Namjoon would be able to be gentle too- Yoongi’s sure of it.

- He wants it, even though he knows that want only put you all in danger. He’s an incredibly selfish person. He hopes he never gets to have that intimacy with you, for your sake.

- yoongi should only let himself dream of something good before he goes- sinks back into that life. But the temptation for more is too strong sometimes, his want filling him up like sticky sweet syrup that pollutes every moment.

- Namjoon is on the second floor of your house and Yoongi takes the stairs two at a time. Folding laundry in what will one day be the nursery for your child. He’s taken the ultrasound up here now- hung it up so he can look at it. and Yoongi is reminded of A few days ago when he gushed about the development of your child to Yoongi in the kitchen comparing them to the size of a fruit. “a cute little cantaloupe- the cutest little cantaloupe”

- You and Namjoon have made the decision not to find out the gender, but the walls of the nursery are still pained blue, puffy clouds above and little flowers below, dandelions and daisies, a stalwart sunflower that curls over the arch of the door half-finished. Yoongi knows you work on the mural it whenever you can. But Namjoon gets a little paranoid about the fumes- you compromise and keep the windows open along with the door to your balcony to allow as much air circulation as possible.

- The crib, a fluffy white thing is already piled into the corner. And Yoongi remembers the first few weeks here when you and Namjoon had overzealously ordered it. He’d come downstairs after dinner one night and found both of you puzzling over the directions. And he’d shooed Namjoon away as he’d helped you put it together. The three of you ending up giggly and punch drunk tired by the time it was fully put together. And then had to carry it all the way up the stairs.

-A mobile of little felted flowers that Seokjin made you as a thank you present a hangs above the empty Crib- colorful and cute. And Namjoon has set the laundry on the unused changing table in neat stacks. All of the other furniture is piled into the center of the room so that you can paint the walls. He turns when he hears Yoongi, his tail swishing.

- “Hey Yoon- what you get caught in a rainstorm or something?” the rain splatters against the windows with a soft patter and Yoongi drips onto the floor. He never bothered to dry off after the unintentional shower with jimin. Yoongi makes a shrug that means ‘something like that’ and if the younger hybrid hovers on the way that Yoongi’s lips look a little kiss bitten and swollen he doesn’t say a thing. Namjoon knows better than anyone- what they talk about and what they don’t.

- He hands over the slip of paper; “jimin should move into the main house, you and I could clean out one of the storage rooms and move the stuff into the attic.”

- Yoongi watches Namjoon’s eyes rove over the words a few times. The hybrid purses his lips, “I’ve talked to Y/n about this- and she agrees- but I don’t know if he wants too? He seems pretty comfortable in the barns, he likes Taehyung and they’re friends. and we kind of want to leave it up to him if we can.”

- Yoongi snatches the paperback from him, annoyance flickering in his chest as he rolls his eye. Didn’t Namjoon see that nothing would change if they didn’t push him a little? Jimin is the type to take that kind of abuse again and again if it means not making a fuss. And Yoongi knows it’s only a matter of time before something happens again. He turns it over onto the other side and using the wall as a place to write.

- “He’s already being treated differently because of me” 'me' being double underlined- so that Namjoon really understands what he’s trying to say. Yoongi just wants to make sure Jimin is safe before he goes. Before he needs to leave and before it gets too dangerous and too near a time when his owner will physically retrieve him. Not that Namjoon knows that Yoongi’s presence has an expiration date. Namjoon searches Yoongi’s face for a source to his desperation and finds none.

- Yoongi has never felt worse for keeping secrets. Maybe in another world- Yoongi would have confessed and asked Namjoon, with all of his connections to the police, for help. Yoongi knows enough to put the whole crime system out of whack and yet. Years of negative reinforcement and beatings have taught him to keep his mouth shut and that isn’t going to change now; not when Yoongi’s life isn’t the only one at risk and he knows you’ll all live if he plays by the rules. He doesn't care about his own safety anymore.

- The second he sees Yoongi’s distraught expression Namjoon steps closer Taking off his flannel and tugging it around his shoulders. Namjoon might not make moves to scent mark Yoongi but dressing him in his clothes is as good as he gets. Namjoon’s comforting alpha scent fluffs around him.

- Yoongi wonders if jimin feels the pull the same way he does. Dynamics are more mobile in snake hybrids and downright non-existent in humans. but they’re more set in canines. Namjoon puts his hand on Yoongi’s clothed arm and Yoongi shuffles close after a second. His nose centimeters from Namjoon’s neck taking in deep breathes to try and steady himself. He didn’t realize he was shaking.

- “It will be alright Yoongi, I promise. He’s gonna be safe.” Namjoon adds quieter. And below them both- in the first floor of the house, he can hear your voice, echoing louder and laughing at some sort of joke, Namjoon’s tail starts wagging at the suggestion of you. “I want them to feel safe too.”

- Yoongi wants to write “he should take my room- I won’t be staying in it soon anyway.” but Yoongi needs to make sure- before he leaves. Jimin has to be included in your little pack. He doesn’t want to think- about what the three of you will go through when he eventually has to leave. The days are counting down to the end of the summer.

- He’s fucking selfish, so selfish, to kiss Jimin like that when he knows he won't be able to stay in the hybrids life. He’s selfish every time he begs affection off you, every day he keeps Namjoon Company when he’s cleaning up the other barns. Yoongi writing out words in the dust when Namjoon asks him questions. Eyes only searching when Namjoon turns his back. Looking for any sort of hidden compartment. Completing his task even if it’s the last thing he wants to do. Betraying you like this.

- Jimin spends the rest of the day wondering if the kiss with Yoongi was just a dream. But later at dinner, Yoongi won’t meet his eyes, and jimin knows he didn’t imagine the kiss. Guilt sticks to Yoongi, more distracting than honey stuck between your fingertips.

- Both of them go to sleep still thinking about the kiss. Jimin wondering if it will happen again and Yoongi thinking that he’d like it too. His fingers running over his lower and upper lips, mind awash with the memory of jimin’s mouth on his. And night falls heavy like a weighted blanket on the farm. The sky a big sheet with holes poked through for stars. A heavenly breeze tempting away the summer heat.

- All of the hybrids safe and snoring in their beds. Some even paired- if they’ve got it. Two furry bodies packed close on a single bed. Some even dream of homes they mind one day live in or of the people that one day they’ll get to love. The idea of being kept and treasured lulling them into a drowsy haze of anticipation and security.

- That night, Namjoon knocks on Yoongi’s door. the hybrid leaning up against the doorframe as he watches the snake get ready for bed. “you know... you could sleep in our room if you want, we have an air conditioner in there too.” yoongi has a notepad ready, he knows that Namjoon likes to open all the windows and even the door to your balcony to let the fresh air in so that it feels like you're sleeping outside. He steels himself to think of someone other than himself before he writes- “I’m okay- thanks though” Yoongi writes out.

- Namjoon lifts one of Yoongi’s blankets to his neck before he leaves, thoroughly scents marking it before he leaves it with Yoongi. And Yoongi sleeps easy that night with his nose pressed to the blanket. Safe and secure in his room. Nothing bad happens to yoongi that night even though he cuddles close to the blanket, and when he wakes in the morning. his heart beats a steady thumping rhythm- his whole body humming with anticipation.

- It’s different to feel excited about being in love, excited for a day spent close to the people he cares about. And he knows he won't take a single day for granted.

- The crickets and cicadas chirping in the field. And in a low tone on the tree outside, a morning dove gentle and unassuming. The sun rising over the hills. Tastes of idyllic and smells of Eden. Like lavender and honey.

- A hand outstretched, scrambling in the dirt before it goes still, fingers just a few inches from safety. Blood mixing in with the sand. The morning is not perfect for everyone.

- But even you would say the morning was peaceful, if not for the dead body dumped at the end of your driveway.

Kofi

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fairycosmos · 3 years

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i hate grief bc i've wanted to die my whole life and thinking about the person i lost never wanted to make me stay but now that they are the ones who died i'm angry as fuck every day and feel trapped but i know that if it had been me the one to die it would have been ok and i wouldnt even have worried about it/hurting ppl with my death. like every day i do H and get drunk and i dont care about dying you know? but i lost someone and it makes me angry that THEY didnt care. do you get what i mean?

i am really really sorry for your loss. yeah. i know what you mean, at least to an extent. everyone’s grief and suffering is unique to them and the relationship they had with the one who passed, but i can relate so much to being trapped and mad and out of my mind. i think a lot of people can. it seems like so many of us are walking around half disillusioned by this existence and half completely done with it because of the shit we’ve been through. every day i feel a form of anger (most of the time it is cold and numbing) when i think about how my sister died. i have gone round and round in my head about why she did the things she did. because even if it wasn’t fully preventable, it wasn’t cancer or a car crash or anything like that. when i found out what she had in her system. god. i can not explain to you what that moment was like. it fucking choked me. all i remember is i felt my heart beating somewhere in my head, and i was PISSED. i thought i was going to pass out. because it’s like you said - she didn’t care, and that was almost like proof. she went to sleep thinking nothing of anything. mindless. after weeks of lecturing her, after her constant presence in my life, all that time. after years of her fucking around w other drugs and finally finding stability only to slip for less than a month bc of some fucking man, only to lose her entire life to a mistake - it’s inexplicable. i can sit here and write to you about it but i still cant’t fathom it. how she didn’t give a fuck, or she couldn’t see the situation clearly enough to. and now i’m living this forever without her. now i have to take care of my mother alone. now i’ve lost my best friend. and she lost everything. she was a whole person, she would’ve had years left and she deserved to. and the only reason she didn’t is because she couldn’t fuckin accept how much she was worth, how much life was worth so she gambled w death. what i’m saying is i understand that in a way, maybe a selfish way, i don’t know - it almost feels mocking. because we’ll never know if they realize what they’ve done. after she died that’s all i could repeat out loud in the shower. i kept saying: you don’t know what you’ve done. idiot, stupid girl. shit like that. every time i tried to talk to her, it was a lecture. so yeah. it is very very normal to be pissed off and bitter dude. it is not easy or fair to be left behind. it’s all a normal part of grief. losing it entirely is the whole thing because honestly what else can you do.

i could be wrong but. unfortunately i think all of these emotions, in the context of you, stem from the fact that it is easier to care for others than it is to care about yourself. you’re not bothered about yourself dying because you don’t have the same love for yourself that you had for the one who passed. you don’t see yourself as important in that way. i don’t know what happened to make you feel like that. maybe whatever it was lead you to use drugs n alcohol to escape in the first place. maybe you think you not mattering is some sort of universal truth, but it’s not. it’s a belief you constructed either out of pain or as a trauma response that you’ve clung onto so much that you’ve convinced yourself it’s reality. it’s clear you’re going through an insurmountably difficult time, and i know words on a screen aren’t going to change that. i wont pretend to get it first hand. i just want you to know that the same way you wish your friend had realized the worth in their life before it was too late, that same anger born from frustration and sadness - that’s how a lot of people likely feel about you. and i know you don’t care about hurting them w your death because you don’t care about anything. your friend didn’t care, why should you, right? but that’s how the cycle perpetuates. and you’re the one who has to live with this all now, stuck here or not. try to periodically and consciously recognize how fucked up and permanent grief is. you don’t want to be the one to cause it. not really. not when you can see it for what it is and you have the option to prevent it. you are here no matter how much you wish not to be. you do deserve to find substantial peace, stability and good health while you still can. that’s non negotiable. even if it takes a fucking life time getting there.

i completely understand that it is all far easier said than done. that you have to be the one who is willing to reach out for help and to really stick w a plan but. i guess i just hope you know that the option will always be waiting for you when you are willing to seek it out. whether it’s through a hotline, rehab, your doctor, your friends and family, 2 hours without using or drinking. any step in the right direction is commendable. you are absolutely more resilient than you realize. more in general than you realize. you’ve had to deal with so much, just the most unimaginable things, and you’re still here. i know that’s because you feel you have no real choice in the matter, back to being trapped here. but nonetheless you’re making it. you can learn to treat yourself w the same regard that you treated your friend. you can learn to care about what happens to you. you can slowly make a home out of what you currently see as a jail. through talking, through implementing healthier coping mechanisms into your daily life, through building a support system, through confronting and processing how much it hurts, through finding the clarity that comes with progress. all the things your brain wants you to write off. addiction and mental illness are genuine health concerns that require long lasting therapy and treatment just like any other ailment. and maybe the point is to learn to live with them, rather than to cure them entirely. but they are not a death sentence (and that is a good thing), and they are not the entirety of you. you are just currently very overwhelmed by them, understandably so. excuse me if this is all sounds like naïve bullshit, but maybe some day you will be able to take some of it on board if you can’t right now. anyway, it sounds cliche as fuck, but every day that you’re alive you’re keeping your friend’s influence on this world alive too. you were shaped by them, in more ways than you realize. and they’re here in more ways than we realize too. not necessarily ghosts, at least imo. but just around. and in your head, in the universe. i am rooting for you so much and i hope you can accept that even if it all feels like lies, it’s ok to treat yourself w kindness. any attempt is good enough. sending a lot of love your way. please take care of yourself as much as possible. please consider your needs and your well being while you still have the choice to. sorry to go all 90s drug prevention ad on you btw, but u know me. i’m incapable of shutting up and minding my business abt this sort of thing lol

#tw drugs #tw addiction #tw death #tw overdose #tw suicide #anon

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cozycryptidcorner · 4 years

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Here is a match for a remarkable anonymous user!

“Can I get a monster match? Im studying to be a masseuse & a physiologist. I dont live out in the country but Id love to one day. Im an INFP & spend too much time reading & sleeping. I also read Tarot & use Runes (o^^o)”

You’ve been matched with an Ondonti! The Ondontis are a subrace of orcs, a peaceful, magic-using people made up of several different tribes. Using their magic to kill or otherwise harm another living being is considered a horrible offense, so unless the creature was incurably insane or already dead, there would be no use of magic against it. There is an unfortunate element to always remaining pacifists, however, because that makes them rather easy targets to those who don’t share the same peaceful perspective on life. The Zhents are the ones who took advantage of the Ondontis’ softer nature, and thus began an unfortunate period of trading them as slaves.

Your Ondonti was old enough to remember what being free was like when he was captured, but still young enough to internalize much of the Zhents brainwashing and beatings. Even though his people were held against their will, they still refuse to use their magic to avenge themselves and harm others, and your Ondonti is no different. Considering the fact that his people are less likely to plan and execute a full-scale rebellion, they don’t get as much supervision during work. Sure, it might be a good deal from the outside, but they’re all still slaves, so it’s not all that great.

Due to the physical strength of the Ondontis, they’re able to manage the demanding requirements for construction with relative ease. That’s where your Ondonti spent most of his life, working with stone and wood to create temples and places of worship for the Zhent priests. Since his people’s skills are easy to recognize, even by those who believe they are lesser beings, they often get shuttled from place to place within the reaches of the Zhents. While he might not plan the overarching building, as that is an architect’s job, he does manage to create miracles within the smaller details, though gets no credit. He supposes that it’s just as well, though, because at least if the building fails, then none of the blame gets put on a lowly slave.

Your Ondonti, like the rest of his kind, has dusty green skin, his arms, back, and legs all covered in various scars, most of them from beatings he won’t ever forget. His thick, black hair is long, as his captures don’t much care in what he does with his appearance so long as it has nothing to do with rebellion, and it’s usually done with several small braids trailing past either side of his neck. Though he would say that his eyes aren’t anything special, most would beg to differ on that subject, as their soft, smelted golden tinge almost makes it look like the coal of his pupils are glowing. You wouldn’t lie, getting lost in them is something else. Oh, and he’s tall, which isn’t all that unusual for an orc, but still, there’s just something about him that demands to be looked at.

He spends most of his time in the city, entirely overwhelmed by the amount of work that is expected of him in such a short amount of time. As much as he works hard, there is only so much a person is capable of finishing, given the tight deadlines, so he is often subject to harsh punishments. Despite his talent, he receives no special privileges apart from the other slaves, as he is still considered a ‘lower species,’ and therefore is not worth respecting. He would never let on how much that burns, especially not to the masters, and not even to the other slaves. While a part of him dies with every thankless piece he makes, he still tries to find the good in his life; otherwise, he might drown in depression.

You met him while you were out selling basic magic wares, potions for simple things like sparkling eyes, a touch of luck, or adding dazzle to any smile, as well as tarot readings for anyone who would want it. Even though you knew he was a slave, you still offered him your wares; after all, he might mention them to whatever wealthy sack of useless garbage who owns him, and then you might pull in a decent profit. His eyes were sad, though, and full of melancholy, and that was enough for you to offer him a free reading to get on his good side.

The first time you offered, he refused on the basis that he didn’t need one, that he understood what his future held. But you didn’t give up, after all, you’ve seen him out on the streets before, you knew that you would see him again. And lo and behold, barely a few days later, you did, his large frame lumbering over to a merchant’s guild that specializes in building material, accompanied by what must have been his master. You didn’t know what you were doing at the time, after all, leaving your things unattended with your street urchin assistant wouldn’t exactly be considered wise, but you duck underneath the doorframe and slowly follow them. Close enough that someone might think you were a part of the group, but far enough to not arouse suspicion from the people in question.

Your Ondonti seemed to realize that you were on his tail, despite your not so graceful attempts at being stealthy, but didn’t let anyone else become aware of that little secret. Only when you managed to catch him alone in the hallway did he let out any hasty protests at your spying. You were staunch in your stance, though, making yourself stand tall (though that didn’t really make a difference given his height), and, offering him a sweet smile, you asked him to humor you in doing his reading. Perhaps you were also so relentless due to selfish reasons, as you were sensing something coming off of him in waves. Magic-y stuff, something you can’t really explain to anyone else.

You did the reading rather quickly, eye on the door where his master was negotiating with the merchants, coming up with three fascinating cards. Briefly, because the meeting seemed to be wrapping up, you tried to give him the overview as quickly as possible. Reverse emperor, justice, and the lovers, but as he was unfamiliar with your craft, and you didn’t have too much time to explain since that was the moment you heard footsteps.

Hastily, because you knew he would be punished and whatever might happen to you wouldn’t be awesome, either, you dodged, half tiptoeing, half running out of the building before you even realized that you never got your cards back. Which, ok, that was seriously disappointing, and while you might be able to continue giving readings, there would be a feeling of something missing throughout. But, another part of you is positively stoked to see him again, because if you perceived him right, he’s the type to run through sleet, snow, and hail just to make sure someone gets their belongings back.

And you were absolutely right, because just a few days later, there he was, lumbering over to where your shabby little blanket was with its little glass vials of potions laid out for anyone to look over. He offered some mumbling apologies, though you were quick to cut him off, because really, what did he have to apologize for? It’s not really his fault you decided to go covert to try to get to know him better. He seemed taken aback, mainly, because you are one of the first people outside his own species that appeared to take into account for your actions, and how they might negatively affect him, a slave. But he couldn’t claim to dislike it, not at all

He returned your cards, and you managed to give him a bit more information than where you left off. While he did seem a bit interested, you can see that he wasn’t planning on pursuing it any further. But he also came back a couple of days later, seemingly just because he wanted to exchange a few words with you. You didn’t think much of it at first, but then it became a habit. He would come, offer up a few, solitary words of greeting and small talk, and then leave, without going to any other stall in the marketplace. It’s cute, you decided, finding yourself looking at the sea of heads in the hopes you might pick him out of the crowd.

#exophilia #monster match #orc #this is very d&d lore heavy so it took awhile to research

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purge-that-urge-rhackathon · 5 years

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Prompt 53 from the list; if you dont want to you dont but I'd love Vasquez saying it to Rhys just b4 Jack comes in and saves the day Afterwards sexytime Rhack is always great too ;D

This was like, the best goddamn prompt anon, both in terms of substance and ooey-gooey tropes BLESS YOU. Also, Vasquez doesn’t survive this one folks LOLOL Nothing too horrible happens to Rhys here; ya’ll know my content and I’m not ready to get into total non-con area juuuust yet xD You can check the tags on ao3 if worried tho ^___^

From this prompt list :) 53 was “Do you think you can keep quiet for me?” This labeled as The Executive Treatment. My masterlist archive of bullshit i write can be found linked at the top of the blog or here. Also found on my ao3 here.

–

“I know how much you’ve wanted this, Rhys.”

He didn’t want it, though. Maybe that was the whole point. And maybe Vasquez knew that, too.

The blackmail he had over Rhys could destroy him. And it’s what currently had him bound by the wrists over the bigger man’s wide desk in Hyperion-made tech with his pants around his ankles. He couldn’t back out even if he wanted to; both from the manacles and fear of a fate far worse than letting Vasquez do whatever he wanted to him.

“Y’know, men like us shouldn’t have to put up a front for what they want,” he continued on, not at all perturbed by Rhys’ silence or red-faced glares, and why should he be? He was fully clothed after all and not bent over a desk, after all. “You gotta just reach out and take it without shame. That’s what power really is, Rhys. I can appreciate the theater of it, of course; all bark and no bite,” Vasquez said as he stroked down Rhys’ lower back to caress the bare cheeks of his ass. “Never took you for the dramatic type. Though, I’ve gotta say, you’ve got bigger balls than I thought.”

Figuratively, of course, though it was courage bought from fear that had him bent over against his will. Rhys would never be here and never offering up his ass to his hated rival if not for the very real threat of a live-flaying. This was hardly about sex and everything about power. And Vasquez knew that, of course; peppering in reminders of why Rhys was here in case he thought to give Vasquez trouble.

“…Or is it just the circumstances that made you brave? Either way, I win.”

Rhys didn’t answer, and he was pretty sure the other man didn’t expect a response, either.

It didn’t stop him from bringing his hand down on Rhys’ ass, though, wrenching out a surprised yelp that echoed in the large office and brought further shame-red to Rhys’ face. Vasquez did it again, harder this time, that damn golden pinky cutting through the sting of the smack to almost make Rhys jump at the firmer pain as he bit his lip to stay quiet.

His legs he could’ve closed but for the foot Vasquez kicked them apart with, but he couldn’t move much more than that, prone over the desk with Vasquez’ other hand lazily pushing him down. The restraints were well-made by the company after all, and the hard steel didn’t even protest against Rhys’ cybernetic arm as he tried to curl in on himself even the smallest bit. He wondered if this would actually be worth his life, and if just the once would do it. Vasquez had implied that this was his price, after all, but there were no explicitly-stated terms between them; just the threat that the bearded man’s silence came at a high-price, and right now, that price would be paid or else.

“You’re being rude,” Vasquez’ deep voice almost sounded pouty, the hand coming to rest gently above one of Rhys’ asscheeks not lulling the bound man in the slightest. “It’s almost like you don’t want to be here…”

Rhys snorted and turned his head what little he could manage. It was enough to catch the smirk on Vasquez’s face, and the glint in his eye that said he thought he was far better than Rhys even now. Though Rhys was full of shame at the corporate secrets he’d passed along, he still had personal pride, and he was ready with a sarcastic response. “Shouldn’t you be used to this? I’m pretty sure this is the only way you ever get laid.”

Vasquez huffed, the pout on his face turning into a thinking frown. He glared down at the other man, but that confident gleam to his eye remained. “Well, if you don’t like it, Rhys, I can let Handsome Jack know he’s got a spy in his midst…” He chuckled at the genuinely-terrified gasp that Rhys let loose, and the easy smirk on Vasquez’ face came back. “How do you think Handsome Jack would feel to know his personal assistant has been feeding Maliwan information, hmmmm? I’m pretty sure that would be professional suicide. Or at least, that’s how they make it look. Or so I’ve heard.”

Rhys’ whole body went tense at the reminder of how much Vasquez actually knew. The files he’d accidentally sent to an incorrect echo frequency were enough by themselves for him to be airlocked. That the files had been intercepted by Maliwan, however, was a guaranteed painful death if Jack ever found out.

Yeah, Jack liked him as far as bosses liked their personal assistants, but the information had ultimately resulted in a lost negotiation for Hyperion– a direct correlation, Rhys knew, as Maliwan had contacted him to mockingly thank him for the heads’ up on what was to come, and expected continued insights if he didn’t want their CEO getting wind of it.

Jack was still irked by it, enough to mention it even months later, whenever the rival company came up in conversation. Maliwan’s price hadn’t been too steep, actually. Rhys was good with numbers and chose his losses carefully, and so far his paltry offerings of tidbits of information here and there had kept a sort of stalemate going for a miniscule advantage. He hadn’t wanted to get drawn in deeper, but by now he’d handed over multiple pieces of information and had no idea how to get himself out of this mess.

That it had to be Vasquez of all people who picked up on the fact only added insult to injury. Small mining deals he knew he could reassign Jack’s soldiers to enforce for him shouldn’t have taken much notice. And sending a few ‘bonus’ products in trade deals with weapons not yet released to the public gave Malian a heads-up, perhaps, but truly didn’t impact Hyperion’s bottom line. It was little, potentially-harmless things like that that he’d hoped no one would notice, but somehow, Vasquez had.

Rhys had been controlling the situation the best he could, and was managing a happy stalemate while he still tried to figure out his exit-strategy and hide what he’d been doing from Jack.

Vasquez though… As much as he didn’t want to admit it to himself, Vasquez was not someone he could control. Not since he’d beaten the other man out of the very position he now held as Jack’s right hand man; something Vasquez had taken as a mortal offense and personal theft. After all, Jack was the most powerful man in the universe. It was a power that extended to those who worked directly under Jack, making them normally untouchable out of a fearful respect for the CEO.

And it was a power that Rhys was terrified of being turned against him. Maybe he hadn’t been thinking straight when he agreed to this little ‘meeting’, but the bluntly-stated proposition that Vasquez wanted Rhys crying on the end of his cock– or he could cry from the torture Jack would subject him to- had Rhys indignantly dropping his pants and leaning over the desk with as much furious poise as he could muster.

Vasquez demanded he submit to being bound for this exercise in humility; he knew what Hyperion cybernetics were capable of, and he wasn’t going to allow Rhys to fight him on this matter when he was balls-deep inside of him. Rhys would take exactly what Vasquez would give him until he was totally satisfied that Handsome Jack wouldn’t be needing any anonymous info packets the following morning.

“You know, Rhys, I’ve always been fond of your voice, but this office isn’t entirely sound-proof, I’m sure. Do you think you can keep quiet for me? Wouldn’t want anyone walking around at this hour to know why you’re here, would you?”

Rhys refused to dignify that with a response, his whole body tensed while he kept telling himself– begging himself- to relax. For his own good.

Vasquez ironically huffed at being ignored, and his hand came down across Rhys’ ass again, hard, and Rhys’ legs kicked out on reflex. He caught Vasquez across a shin as the bigger man cursed and stepped back, rubbing the area and muttering in pain.

The quick steps towards him told Rhys that Vasquez wouldn’t take that for the accident it was, and he backhanded him across the face. It made Rhys bite his own lip, his tongue immediately searching out the sting to soothe it. He tasted copper and tried to focus on that; remind himself that the alternative to this was being tortured before his body eventually gave out. This was nothing to being experimented on by R&D. Being a traitor was almost worse than embezzling from Handsome Jack himself; he could endure this to save himself from that.

“I was gonna go easy on you at first,” the bigger man said as he grabbed a handful of Rhys’ hair to look at him properly. They glared at one another with open hate. “Regardless of what you might think, I’m actually a considerate lover. But I Get the feeling you wouldn’t much appreciate that, would you?”

“Fuck you,” Rhys muttered pathetically, embarrassed at the strength of his own voice; the helplessness he was definitely feeling in both situation and action.

“That’s the whole point, but still, rude.” Vasquez dropped his hold on Rhys’ hair unexpectedly and Rhys dropped a bit faster than he’d have liked back to the cold of the desk. Vasquez’ hand found its way back to his lower back, and he kicked Rhys’ legs aside again so they were spread enough that he wouldn’t get inadvertently kicked.

Though he was still fully clothed, Vasquez grabbed the smaller man by his naked hips and ground himself against his ass, and Rhys valiantly stayed absolutely silent, not making a nose to the cloth erection being ground against him. Vasquez groaned appreciatively and cocked his head to try and look at Rhys’ face during this particular humiliation. “You know, I’m less inclined to share your secrets if you act a little more enthusiastic, Rhys.”

Rhys felt a lump form in his throat at the combination of fear and the indignity of what Vasquez wanted. As if being fucked by him wasn’t already bad enough, he wanted Rhys to show appreciation for being dry-humped? Rhys wasn’t sure he could pretend that, and he realized as his cybernetic arm tugged in vain on the metal holding his wrists to the desk, that it must’ve been a reinforced alloy of some kind and not steel. He was truly and utterly at Vasquez’ mercy, and furthermore, he had no guarantee that Vasquez wouldn’t just leave him here to go and report him even after he was done.

There were some muted sounds from outside the office doors as Vasquez was really working himself up against dry-humping Rhys’ ass, followed by a kick that was loud enough not to just be passing janitors. Vasquez was mid-stride to see what the hell that was when the locking mechanism was shot out, electric-sizzling and the smell of ozone in the air before the security system was totally disabled, and in strode Rhys’ savior and terror all wrapped up into one gun-toting CEO.

Rhys laid prone where he was, not moving and knowing any attempt at hiding himself was entirely in vain. Vasquez stood where he was halfway between the office doors and the desk, hard-on still protruding from the front of the pants he wore. Jack took one quick sweep of the situation he’d just walked into, lingering on Rhys’ terrified face a moment, and twirled his gun in his hand playfully.

“I have been calling and calling my hot little PA’s number for over an hour now and I just had to track down his comm and see what was so goddamn important he’d ignore me over. And I really gotta say– what’s happening here?- Not super impressed right now.”

“S-sir I can explain… Rhys-” Vasquez started expectantly, looking down at the half-clothed man forcibly bound to his desk with slapped-red asscheeks and his chin stained with a fine line of crimson from his bitten lip.

Rhys knew an opportunity when he saw it, and didn’t speak or come to Vasquez’ defense. Instead, he locked eyes with Jack– very aware of his own defeated body language- and the look in the CEO’s eyes made his heart speed up all the more. He looked away quickly, biting his lip and wincing as the movement made the cut there bleed anew.

Whatever Jack saw in Rhys’ own eyes had worked, because as Vasquez’ stuttered denials turned into pleading and bare accusations, there was a second shot of Jack’s gun, and a shocked inhalation followed by a muted thud some steps away from the desk where the bearded man had tried to quickly flee.

Jack whistled lowly, moving towards Vasquez as the man was in the throes of death, and quickly searched his pockets until he found what he was looking for. He left the still body as he approached the desk once more, and Rhys was still laying there, silent, barely registering the fact that Jack was uncharacteristically silent as well, and he was still strapped down.

Did Jack already know? Was this a coincidence? …were the dirty fantasies on the echonet fanboards actually true?

No, this wasn’t some fantasy. Jack had just killed Rhys’ longtime rival, and he himself had committed base corporate treason and was strapped down half naked at the mercy of the most powerful man in the universe. Any arousal he had at the idea was suddenly drowned in anxious fear.

Rhys felt his heart pounding in multiple areas; the side of his neck that Jack could break so easily; against the desk from within his chest that a bullet could easily pierce.

The rush of blood in his ears, and his vision going in and out, completely distracted from the older man’s approach, and only the smell of the gun discharge in his nostrils finally drew Rhys back enough to his senses to realize that Vasquez was most certainly dead on the floor, and he could very well be next.

Rhys turned his head dumbly towards Jack, dazed and confused and frozen with fear. The frown on Jack’s face wasn’t indicative of anything good. Rhys feared for his life.

“Y’know,” Jack said as he reached into his pocket and leaned against the desk, shooting Rhys’ ass a pointed look the younger man could see, “I’ve had an awful lot of fantasies that have started this way…”

Rhys found his voice, licking his split lip with a wince. “Jack I–” He was struck mute as the restraints binding him clicked with a mechanical whirr, and everything recessed back into the desk without a trace. Jack tossed the unlock mechanism back towards Vasquez’ body but otherwise stayed leaning on the desk right next to Rhys.

Rhys rose up just a little– slowly, as if to test how free he really was- and exhaled shakily as he curled his palms into fists, fighting his renewed fear of the man at his side. Talk about out of the frying pan and into the fire. Just because he’d been freed from Vasquez did not mean he was safe. He was scared to lift himself further, but slowly, slowly stood.

“Buttercup… Not that I don’t think it’s kinky as fuck, but just what the hell do you mean by bending over for that asshole? Ever? I mean, I’m all about hate-sex, but Wallethead himself?”

Rhys could feel his heartbeat pick right back up into a terrified tatoo against his ribs. Could it be possible Jack didn’t know the things he’d done? Was there a way out of this? Jack didn’t suffer traitors easily. He’d seen people dropped down the hatch in Jack’s office for way less.

“Hey…” Jack’s voice turned serious. “Rhysie… Talk to me here, baby.”

If he could just play it cool long enough to get his ass off this space station, maybe he could disappear somewhere… Somewhere beyond the reach of the companies. Though that idea was hardly realistic, unless–

“Fuck. Hey, you freakin’ out in there or what?”

–he could fake his own death? He was good at programming… if he survived this encounter here, then maybe hacking security footage and using an O2 mask–

“Rhys.” Jack’s hands found their way to his shoulders, and Rhys’ eyes finally snapped to his own, widening a bit as if he just remembered where he was, who he was with, and that his pants were still around his ankles. Jack cupped the younger man’s cheek in his hand, stroking with his thumb as he studied the pallor on his face. He gave Rhys’ shoulder a reassuring squeeze with his other hand. “It’s okay, pumpkin. I was just teasing. What the hell did he do to you? I thought I got here in time but maybe I killed him too quickly now,” Jack said with a disappointed look at the still-warm body.

“I-I’m alright,” Rhys stuttered, lifting a shaking hand to Jack’s wrist and holding it there. He couldn’t help it; even terrified of what might be his last few moments, he still wanted Jack; craved the comfort he was offering. Rhys genuinely liked Jack, and they usually got along so well, too. Jack often complained after meetings that Rhys was the only one on this space station he could stand. It was only going to cut that much deeper when Jack found out.

It’s not like it was his choice to betray Hyperion, but he knew the CEO well enough by now to know it didn’t matter. But he wanted what few moments of comfort were given before the final shoe dropped, and relished in the warmth of Jack’s thumb stroking his cheek. “I’m okay.”

Jack huffed a little, lips twitching into an uncertain smile. “How’d he ever get you here, kiddo?” the older man asked with real concern, his question obviously referring to being trapped against a desk. “Why didn’t you call me on your echoeye? …that wasn’t consensual right, Rhysie?”

“He was blackmailing me,” Rhys stated simply, an answer to all Jack’s questions.

“Yeah, yeah I gathered that when he was calling you a traitor moments before I blew his brains out.” Rhys wouldn’t meet his eyes, and Jack correctly guessed the source of his distress. “This about that Maliwan shit, ain’t it, princess? Unless your sordid little life is more interesting than I ever thought.”

Rhys’ jaw dropped and all the blood fled his face. “How did you–”

“First of all, I’m all-knowing,” Jack bragged with a haughty smirk. “And second– you sent those messages from my desk that day, remember? When I took a nap on the couch?”

Rhys would remember that day for the rest of his life as it had ultimately gotten him in the exact situation he was in right now. It had been a Friday, and Jack had taken apart Rhys’ monitor as it kept having compatibility issues with his echoeye and the personal patches Jack had done to help him be more efficient.

Jack had had Rhys do his work from his desk while he customized the younger man’s workspace to better suit him, and Rhys had handled multiple communications that day. It had been in a moment of distraction at a lame ‘data-size’ joke Jack had made that Rhys had sent the detailed plans to the incorrect address, and had only noticed it the next day because that address had contacted him and told him exactly what he’d done and what he’d continue doing to buy their silence.

“We got lunch that day, remember? I sent you home early and I didn’t go back to the office until Monday morning. You left your mail open at my desk, buttercup. I’ve known what’s going on the whole time. You’ve been handling it like a pro, so I’ve only been keeping an eye on things from a distance.”

Rhys was close to hyperventilating, but Jack still stood there as nonchalant as he had, as Rhys tried to meet his eyes. “A-Are you going to kill me?”

“Hey, I saved you, if you don’t recall,” Jack grumbled with a dismissive look at the still-warm body. “Why would I kill you? For fucking that asshole? I mean, I won’t lie, I am jealous as hell, but talk about unne–”

“I never slept with Vasquez….” Rhys trailed off weakly, realizing how stupid he felt saying so as he was still standing there with his whole dick and balls out for anyone to see; though he didn’t want to draw further attention to that fact by pulling his pants back up. It wasn’t like Jack was looking anyways, though that might’ve been because the CEO was preoccupied with the obviously-spooked expression on the younger man’s face, and giving his shoulders reassuring squeezes.

Rhys looked up a moment from his pondering as his brain suddenly processed the fact that Jack said he was jealous over the idea of Vasquez fucking him…. Even with the idea Rhys thought he’d been selling Hyperion out.

The look Jack was giving him was somewhere between the pout the older man liked to pull when asking Rhys to cancel meetings for him, and the playful smirk he usually reserved for poking fun. He clearly wasn’t teasing right now with the way he occupied Rhys’ space. Rhys dumbly repeated his denial of involvement with Vasquez, any other words currently escaping him.

“Then what’s the problem?” Jack’s hands were gentle on him, but Rhys knew what the older man was capable of. Jack’s eyes kept jumping all about him, as if he could see what was making Rhys so cagey if he only looked hard enough.

“I don’t understand… Not that– Don’t take that to mean I want to die,” Rhys quickly got out, afraid to accept that he was possibly going to get out of this alive. “But why aren’t you, like, shooting me? You bring up that deal we lost all the time…”

“Seriously, kiddo? One, I’m brilliant, and that would be a huge waste. And yeah, I like to win so I’m still annoyed at those assholes thinking they won that time, but you’ve given me an opportunity I haven’t gotten anyone to pull in a long time.”

Rhys looked at him blankly, and Jack just smirked and gave him a gentle pat. “You’ve got those idiots to trust you. They think they’ve got you by the balls. Don’t think I haven’t seen the way you cherry-pick what intel to give them.” Jack grinned as if all the information and access Rhys had been giving to business rivals was somehow a good thing. The CEO rolled his eyes as Rhys clearly wasn’t getting it; as if anything about this conversation was normal. “What I’m saying here, princess, is that they know your information’s been good, and they know you haven’t compromised them by telling me. Otherwise ‘Big Bad Handsome Jack’ would have blown you out an airlock already.”

Rhys was still confused how any of this was good news, but Jack still didn’t seem upset with him. If anything, he seemed pleased. Rhys really wanted to pull his pants back up right now, but he didn’t want to break the spell of whatever this benevolent mood was.

He also didn’t want to have Jack let go of him to make such a movement, drawing strength from the hands on his shoulders.

“What I’m sayin’ is, you’ve opened up the perfect opportunity to sabotage them from the inside. Once I’m ready to give the word, we’re going to feed them bad intel and really take ‘em apart. Hoooo that almost gives me a stiffy, I can’t wait for those dickbags to realize what we did.” Jack chuckled to himself with a grin for the younger man.

“You’re… really okay with all of that?” Rhys asked seriously, watching Jack with a hanging hope as the older man smiled at him.

“Not only okay with it, but I want you to keep it up. If you have trouble deciding what info you wanna give those losers, we’ll make something up, okay? I’ve got enough money lying around to throw those idiots a bone if they still think you’re working for them. It’s an investment I’ll collect on when the iron is hot, or however that shit goes.”

It was strike when the iron is hot, Rhys knew, but didn’t want to give Jack any ideas about striking anything while he was still pantsless. “I seriously cannot believe you’re okay with this,” Rhys muttered with something of relieved shock. “The last person who sold company secrets got sent down to R&D, and they still haven’t come back.”

“Yeah, put ‘em in the hybrid breeding program or something, I don’t know. Anyways, pumpkin, even if that wasn’t the case, I still wouldn’t kill you. You are way too damn cute and that would put a huge damper in my chances of someday getting laid,” Jack said with a half-joking tone, though the look in his eyes smoldered a bit as he smiled in implication.

Rhys couldn’t believe things were going completely his way. Jack wanted to… to fuck him? Even after all of this? Jack found him attractive? Like, yeah, he wanted Jack, but who on Helios didn’t? That Jack was genuinely interested… Well.

“I’m just… I am so relieved you found out, actually,” Rhys laughed a little, unhinged at just how perfect everything had gone. His rival was dead, his attractive boss didn’t want to kill him, and apparently, all his jerk-off fantasies were going to come true if Jack was to be believed.

“What, kitten? You think I don’t keep regular tabs on anyone close to me?” Jack purred dangerously into his ear. “What’s that saying? ‘Keep your friends close but hop into bed with your enemies’?”

That made Rhys’ heart give a little fearful lurch, but he couldn’t help the snort it got out of him, either, as he decided he believed the older man. “I don’t think that’s the phrase, Jack,” he said softly with a little smile growing on his face as Jack grinned shamelessly. “And I’m hardly your enemy.”

“Hardly, huh?” the older man teased as he somewhat crowded against him in correctly reading the signals. “Heh, get it Rhysie? ‘Cuz your pants are down, and it’s making me hard.”

It had to be one of the stupidest things to have ever gotten a laugh out of Rhys, but he could blame that on the adrenaline still running through him, and the sheer relief that he wasn’t about to be murdered.

“There’s my little princess,” Jack said with a grin, boxing him in with hands on either side of the desk. Rhys was still chuckling, cheeks red, as Jack wasn’t through. “Or maybe I shouldn’t say little anymore, hm? …Grower, not a show-er, sweetheart? This guy finally getting in the game? What did it? The talk of screwing over Maliwan, or the part where Jack got to play the big hero?” he teased.

“It’s adrenaline,” Rhys discounted quickly with a smile, though he supposed Jack about had it right; who in their right mind would get a boner for their boss when moments before he thought said man would murder him? Let alone get aroused with a body in the room? He wasn’t even ashamed of it to be honest. Chalk it up to the thrill of still being alive. “And my dick size is– Why are we talking about that right now?” Rhys genuinely laughed, about ready to reach down and pull his pants over the semi he had going anyways, but loathe to break the proximity of Jack’s nearness.

Warm puffs of breath went over Rhys as Jack lightly chuckled and moved in just a tad closer; either teasing or testing, Rhys wasn’t sure, but the hand the younger man wrapped about the outside of Jack’s shoulder gave an encouraging squeeze, and Jack’s smile widened.

“You’ve got two choices here, buttercup,” the older man said with a smirk that did nothing to quell the plumping of Rhys’ cock, “And I’ll respect whatever you choose. We can cover that up,” he said with a quick glance down between them so Rhys knew his meaning, “cover that up,” he said with another look in the direction of Vasquez’ useless shell, “and you can go back to being the best damn PA I’ve had in a long, long line of unprofessional idiots, and I won’t press it any further, or,” Jack said with an edge of uncertainty Rhys wouldn’t have caught if he didn’t know the older man so well, “you can let me show you just how irreplaceable you are on a less than professional level, and how very much I don’t wanna kill ya. Whaddya say?”

Rhys’ heart rate picked right back up from where it had been finally calming, but this time he wasn’t afraid. The exact opposite, actually. “You mean–”

“I guess I did cockblock you, right?” Jack joked with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “Technically, I mean,” he mocked a little, then smirked, emboldened by the squeeze Rhys’ hand gave his arm. “And here you are all… pantless with no dick-being-sucked. It’s a travesty is what I’m saying, kitten; dicks being out, left un-sucked. It’s un-Hyperion. Goes against everything my brand stands for.”

Rhys couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped him, and it was a small movement to lean the top of his head on Jack’s shoulder, shaking with laughter and relief and holding tight to the older man to try to reign it in. Jack himself couldn’t have been more delighted by that, and Rhys could feel the smile against his skin as Jack turned and spoke, lips just barely kissing his jaw.

“Whaddya say, pumpkin? How would you like a little executive treatment, hmm?”

Jack’s lips pressed chastely against Rhys’ jaw as the younger man pressed into the gesture, and Rhys stood back up to smile, allowing Jack to take his chin in his hand and press their lips together. The action stung where he’d bit himself, and Jack licked his own lips as he pulled away, wrapping both large hands around Rhys’ hips and smirking expectantly.

“…Please?” Rhys asked, wanting the comfort, the ironic safety the older man represented, and everything else he had to offer.

Though he’d alluded to it already, Jack still surprised him by dropping to his knees in front of Rhys, hands on the younger man’s thighs as he came face to face with his cock, and wasted no time getting himself quite acquainted.

Rhys was learning a lot about himself today. Namely, that he probably wasn’t as good a person as he thought he was if he was able to get fully hard and enjoy one hell of a blowjob with a body in the room, but also that he’d been willing to go a great distance to protect his own interests– which he was a little proud of- and that his little crush on Jack, along with his hero-worship of the man, was definitely not going to change any time soon… even when potentially fearing for his life.

None of that mattered right now though, because as great and as varied the skills that Jack was rumored to have were, it didn’t prepare Rhys for the reality of the CEO on his knees completely taking him apart with his mouth alone.

That was okay though. He had a feeling that Jack was going to be there to put him back together again, too.

–

kofi | ao3

#rhack #borderlands fanfic #handsome jack #rhys the company man #tftbl #there's rhysquez if ya squint i guess? not NICE rhysquez tho LOLOL but goddamn i really love vasquez xD #i almost wish this was a rhysquez prompt because i was having a lot of fun xD Vasquez going to town on rhys' ass aaag THE THIRST #LOLOL i might continue this in the future when i have more time. I had a LOT of fun writing it anon :D #literally started it right after opening your ask yesterday morning hehehhe GOOD SHIT thank you!! :D

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alukaforyou · 4 years

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and ALSO sry to post bs on main im mostly just talking to myself in my personal tag half the time so yolo, no need to respond to this or reassure me or whatever but these days i licherally question how much of my - sry to sound like a broken record - bs is dépression or just my shité mentality, like i rly was not designed to last, huh? physically or mentally? lol. like who gets motion sickness on swings lmao anyways. i think i give up too easily. theres a bunch of reasons y but i dont feel like saying. its a different thing to kind of kno something, and to admit / speak it (confront it). i could psychoanalyze myself all day and tell u exactly why some things are the way they are but its too unpleasant to neatly state stuff like that u kno?? like... *i kno* but im not gonna say i kno. anywho, i digress. so i give up easily and kind of have a defeatist mentality too, its so exhausting lool. actually its weird cuz duality of man, i'll be rly determined / stubborn abt doing some stuff and not care abt fear of failure with certain things but when it comes to My Life / My Future i just think i cant rly do anything? i mean that literally like i got no skillz *laugh crying emoji* not particularly good at anything, and art - the only thing im maybe arguably ok at - i dont wanna do as a career, that is art therapy for me i dont feel like commercializing it. not interested in working in my major, maybe things wouldve been different if i went to culinary or cosmetology school?? that sounds fun. or if i majored in bio cuz i was so good at that, or even if i majored in japanese language or literature or idk. but no regrets tho cuz i learned a lot abt drawing in art school which i can use for myself. and hmm i like staying home and not rly going out of my way to meet new ppl so connections what? i h8 hearing how most opportunities come through the ppl u kno cuz its true and ik like 10 ppl tops so hm very sexi of me :^) i just feel like im p much f*cked and it rly doesnt help that i have no functional dreams, goals, or aspirations nor the confidence and drive to work towards anything so ah ok cool. u kno suga's songs "the last" and "so far away" ? that p much sums up my feels minus the part abt having to deal w fame obviously LOL. its so easy being a student (for me at least) but being a good student isnt really worth a whole lot in the """""real world""""" and the current education system doesnt even rly prepare u for reality or w.e like Deep Sigh also the political climate rly lookin like shité out there like hmmmmm do i even wanna try so hard to be here anymore tho??? also going back to the self confidence thing, ya idk her LOOOOL like it doesnt very much bother me tho? i really, honest to god have no idea what my redeeming qualities even are. being nice? and my mindset re - tolerance and compassion for others, etc, ya im rly proud of that actually but besides that i mean like what can i Do tho like hm im not particularly good at anything also im hideous like uglee but thats ok too like none of this Bothers me, thats just literally how i Am so ok fine, but i feel like it makes it hard for me to exist in the world i happen to be in??? and i realize im speaking with a huge bias here cuz my brain is totally out of whack im p sure if some1 saw me / read this they would lit be like um u literally do not have it hard girl, which is fair ur kinda right actually from an objective pov, probably? its amazing how um. hard? of a time my brain is having given my relatively ok circumstances but thats just how it is ig. and if i may quote shakespeare - o full of scorpions is my mind. and its weird cuz duality of man - i actually have a lot of good times w friends and whatever i have a lot of fun, im not even very Sad or in Agony its all very a mild? sensation? but that might be because my plan b is to simply *** so nothing rly fazes me anymore lool.

its usually a v confusing emotion, im either feeling happy, or if not that, very ???? im literally that duwang quote get a feeling so complicated its just "ajdjsjsja" idk its not overly repulsive and upsetting im like :s LOL u kno wat at this point idek what im even saying anymore but its good that im writing whatever cuz im gonna need to look back on this later and organize my thoughts for presentation cuz remember i have a s.o now???? i wanna let them kno so we r on the same page, and i dont feel like im tricking them, i thought it over more and there are like 4? major cards i wanna lay out on the table early on and they are 1. im not that close w my family emotionally so do not seek their approval or expect to deal with them much. 2. personal ideology / political views like im bi lmao and pro lgbt if that wasnt obvious also i dont rly wanna be around racists / terfs etc and if ur right wing or not on that respect women juice uhhh bye.. 3. my weak ass mentality how i might Maybe *** in the future like no promise but errrr theres one more but its a little more negotiable and also too early to discuss so i wont mention it but i already got the first two outta the way so ya. theres the most troublesome of all, #3. the last thing i wanna do is traumatize someone that loves me (and i love back) with that kinda thing, its too late for my dear friends whom i love, sorry i didnt kno i was gonna be like this LOL yall already got attached but its a little different with my s.o cuz i feel like its not too late to uh.... stop getting as attached LMAO like dam i've known my girls for almost 10 years whereas i've only known my s.o for like a month.

and this is totally not gonna come across right but if my s.o very understandably desides to dump me id be SO RELIEVED LIKE WOOOO ok cool cuz like essentially what i'd be saying is you are getting attached to someone who's future is not as stable as other people, including u. *huge exhale* from the bottom of my heart, my bad lol. and then i probs wont ever get involved w. a s.o again, sorry to reference snk in 2020 but remember how e*win smith is single cuz he doesnt kno when he will ***? big mood. i have never acted out on my interests before but i was like ok for once lets go off the shits and do smth ooc, i uh... didnt expect for it to actually go anywhere tho so now im like ???? i shouldve thought it through more tho, like i felt low key irresponsible af and selfish and dumb for getting involved w. someone even tho i Know how I Am like...... Also i just lov being single and staying home and chilling alone lmao like i seriously...... never get loney....

ok so what was i talking abt? how the passage of time makes me nervous cuz idk how i can manage to keep up w it??? how i feel like i cant do jack shit???? that life is hard???? and maybe a bih just wants to rest? permanently?????? i think the most irritating part of all for me, like what i am most mad about at myself is that i have no dream. yikes. naruto, do u think thats sad? well yoongi said its okay, and what counts is just being happy, so i will console myself and forgive her and idk just try my best for the time being??

#.txt

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thisnerdsadventures · 4 years

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i graduated.

i graduated yesterday from MIT!! with a BS in computer science and engineering :) a few of my friends and i celebrated over zoom with my mom in the background as they played video after video on the commencement live stream while only taking 10 minutes to scroll through our names lmao. the ceremony was done and done after 12pm PST, and i spent the rest of the days watching suits.

cw: protests, police brutality

I wanted to spend a good amount of this post talking about how it feels to graduate and what I’ve learned over the past 4 years. I’m still going to do that, but I want to start with how I felt this morning, as I watched protest videos on Twitter and tapped through an endless stream of call to action posts on Instagram. In the hours around commencement, I didn’t feel as happy as I should’ve, probably because the world we are graduating into is an actual Hot mess. We should’ve graduated onto Killian Court, with the sun out and hope and optimism with the world smiling upon us, but instead we graduated at home, separated by a global pandemic that our country refuses to take seriously and surrounded by protests and anger and racism, sent out into a world where people refuse to take a virus that has killed over 100,000 people in the US seriously and where a white police officer can literally kill an unarmed black man on the streets in broad daylight and nothing will happen without an actual public uproar.

Frustrated, helpless, sad, angry are a few of the things I’m feeling. I feel frustrated because I know the community I grew up in and currently am in is a part of the problem. (For those of you who don’t know, I grew up in Orange County, California, which is surprisingly conservative for California, and has a lot of middle to upper class Asian and white people who are the types to denounce things like affirmative action, black lives matter, taxing the wealthy. Obviously not everyone here is like this, but actions like this make me remember why i wanted to leave :/ -- https://www.reddit.com/r/orangecounty/comments/gt7ift/oc_sheriff_department_raises_blue_lives_matters/) And I feel helpless because I don’t know how to help - if we were back on campus, we’d take the T out to Park St or even just walk there to Boston Common protesting, marching to City Hall, but we’re dispersed now, and not as many of us can drive out to the nearest big city protest, esp with COVID. So it begs the question of what we can do from our laptops, our homes?

Here’s some links that I’ve seen recently and have found really great:

Where you can donate, and where you can learn, a summary.

The Minnesota Freedom Fund is an organization that helps pay for immigration bonds and bails, but I think they’ve recently posted that they’ve gotten a lot of donations, and are now encouraging people to donate to other local organizations [x] and George Floyd’s family [x].

As an Asian-American, I recognize the privileges in society that we benefit from, and it’s our responsibility to stand up in solidarity now and actively fight anti-Blackness today. Here is an awesome Medium post I read yesterday, listing out some of the ways we can help -- https://medium.com/awaken-blog/20-allyship-actions-for-asians-to-show-up-for-the-black-community-right-now-464e5689cf3e

One thing that I’ve been thinking about lately is how much anti-blackness actually appears in our own families and communities - I know I’ve heard many many racist comments from the people around me, so now more than ever, it’s important to have these conversations and educate one another on how we can do better. Another thing I found really interesting was reading about where the model minority myth came from, why it exists, and the damage it does. NPR article. tl;dr educate one another, educate oneself

I also just stumbled upon this google doc that is so in depth, so if you want to read more about more actions you can take, look here -> [x]

welp. that’s all i can really say on that, or at least I think the links do a better job.

1) So going off of that, the first thing i guess i can say MIT did for me was instill a drive to action. I remember before college, I was mostly in this socal bubble, shit in the world definitely happened (ok maybe not global pandemic level) but we didn’t see its effects as much. When I moved to Boston and started meeting people from different backgrounds, that changed. These people here are so inspiring in the way that they don’t sit around or mope or ignore the problem, they choose to do something about it, whether its a pset, the next MIT admin shitshow, or COVID. They go up and beyond what’s expected for them to make the world the better place, and I think that’s something i learned to do a bit of.

2) Another thing I learned was to forgive myself - we all have to forgive ourselves for being less perfect and for whatever dumb stuff we’ve done in the past. Like you might not even realize it’s happening to you, but taking stuff out on yourself way harder than you should might be a product of you just being angry at yourself for mistakes in the past. Everyone wants to be perfect, that’s just a product of who we are as people, a product of the environment we’re in. But the sooner we forgive ourselves for not being perfect, the faster we can move to growing and being better.

3) We are all pretty valuable people. It angers me to no end when people settle for less than they should, whether it's out of fear that something else might not come along, or they just don’t know their own self-worth. A big example of that is how often people will accept lowball offers and fail to negotiate salaries at all. And it drives me up the wall that it happens to people I know and love because it makes me wonder if they can see how much they really are worth. So much of our time at MIT is spent just wondering if we’re enough. But once you leave the MIT bubble, you realize how open you options are, and that maybe we should spend more of our time advocating for ourselves and believing in our own worth than letting people define that for us.

4 and 5) i learned that moving too quick to label people as completely good or completely bad never ends well. Same goes for companies, organizations, issues, everything. This was a hard lesson to learn, I had to learn it, relearn it, unlearn it, learn it again, and I made mistakes after mistakes after mistakes. When confronted with a bit of bad, I closed my doors, thinking I had all the good in the world I needed. But what I really needed was perspective. That maybe there was some x, y, and z, and those were bad, but there was also a, b, c, d, f, g and those were all so, so good. I can get pretty angry in the moment - I did this again just the other day, when I was projecting my anger towards someone to the whole two year relationship. But this time, I had another friend watching my situation on a balcony three floors up who heard and listened to all the good they had done for me and reminded me about it. This is why its points 4 and 5, that its also so important to have friends around that will listen to you, not just during the bad, but also the good, so they can tell you when you’re being irrational and to really be there for you when you dont even know you need someone to be there.

6) one of the things i learned the hard way was how to know when someone is your friend, and how to know when friends truly have your back. something that my experiences have shown me (and 11.011, ngl) is that when it seems like someone has your back, they might not, and when they have to choose sides, they may very well not choose yours. But here’s the thing I have learned: when faced with that, good close friends do not leave. They show up. Do friends fight? hell yeah. and they apologize and grow from it. They confide in you and answer your call at 1am. They know you better than you know yourself, so when you start losing sight of your true self, they remind you. There is no condition to your friendship, no prereq. When a crisis happens like COVID, they show up, they help you pack, they calm you down when you’re panicking, and if they’re not there in person, they reach out, they ask how you’re doing, and they offer support. When you graduate, they send you surprise gifts or join your zoom party or at the very least, remember the date and text you congratulations. Turns out, good, real friends are hard to find in this world, but it’s important to remember to not give up on finding them. it might take a couple years longer than you had thought it would for finding friends in college, but that’s ok. someone once told me that although the journey was hard, it led me to this point, and that that’s what made it worth the struggle.

So yeah, graduating was a lot to deal with. I’ll be back in the fall for my masters and im starting my internship in 2 weeks, so there will still definitely be updates on this nerd’s adventure!

#MIT #college #reflection #appblr #m

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ventylatte · 5 years

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15/06/19 - 3:08am

i wanna try replicate my mind yesterday when i was doing the dishes at 10pm because it was really racing lmao

as mentioned prior, dan’s video on his sexuality really made thoughts that already swarm my mind way louder than usual, paired with the empty shelf that’s been left empty in my mindscape that had once been FILLED with a-level knowledge and stress. it’s now home to a bunch of loud questions about my identity, ranging from my nationality, religion, where i belong (maybe i’ll rant about that some other day, but i’ve made it vocal to people before) to my sexuality. i’m not sure if this was a ‘realisation’ of sorts but a couple months ago on a walk home from school, i remember declaring ‘if i was white, i would have probably come out as bisexual a long time ago’

and yeah i still believe that, 100%!

because despite my coconut-exterior that i seem to project (i hate it, i hate it, i hate it, i feel devalued), i am brown: i do still have asian-indian parents that wouldn’t be thrilled about their son or daughter claiming they’re gay (i say ‘claiming’ because that’s what it would be to them. i know it. ‘such a typical claim in this weird society. bound to happen, it’s a trend these days’, etc.)

i remember asking my mum what she thought about the lgbt, and if i remember correctly, she didn’t mind it, but didn’t want it in her family or ‘circle’.

now i ain’t criticising my parents. many would, but i really can’t. because they were born in a different generation, in a different time where the lgbt community wasn’t exactly as prominent as it is today.

but good god. one day an advert for that reality tv show, ‘the bi life’ i think its called, popped onto the tv, and my dad was all ‘what the hell is this? … freakshow’ (he muttered)

AND I FELT? HURT? no, ‘hurt’ is a strong word. just a bit… prodded at?

and i still can’t decide the reason. was it because i was wondering where i should draw the line with my dad’s remarks towards the lgbt community? i’ve always had this internal debate with myself about whether i’m sort of ‘silencing’ my dad by taking a stand in issues he doesn’t really believe in (primarily the lgbt community, he’s cool with feminism… to an extent lol). he always has a shout about how people can only say what they’re really thinking behind closed doors. would i be taking this away from him? where can i really draw the line in this whole counter-argument of my parents simply being born in another generation? i mean, sure, they aren’t hurting anyone outside (i really hope), but his comments do affect me.

that’s reason 1 i felt a bit disorientated. society’s a bit mad with labels, and i couldn’t find it in me to label my parents a pair of homophobes. BUT AT THE SAME TIME THERE ARE ADULTS THEIR AGE THAT ARE WAY MORE ACCEPTI- i need to stop before i get trapped in this circular argument that i’ve had 19218839 times with myself before - this is already so much longer than i thought it’d be lmfao.

reason 2? and here’s where i feel fake and dumb. something in me resonates with bisexuality.

JESUS, my hands TINGLED and my FACE tingled and it’s starting to heat up right now because i never, ever, ever got that in words, let alone WRITING. because that would make it a real, concrete argument. and maybe no i dont think so elina, stop right theeree duedddeee

i dont know.

sigh.

i dont.

know.

referring back to ‘if i was white, i would have probably come out as bisexual a long time ago’, i know that i would have come out as bisexual if i was white because i feel they have way less to consider when doing so. that’s not to assume that all white people have caring, understanding and liberal parents (but let’s face it dude, white parents are more likely to come around to the idea and other ideas in today’s society that rigid, asian parents would not. might just research into that, lol). a white girl can and will marry a girl if they feel like it, and that’s amazing, that’s so good, that’s so cool that they don’t have maybe other questions that halt this process like: - okay but HOW willing am i to marry a woman? - how plausible is a relationship with a girl? cause, ladies and gents and everything in between, these questions are always pinned under ‘what percentage of me would be with a man rather than a woman’ because fucking damn it, weddings are MAN an d WOMAN AND BITCH IF I AM WHAT IM SCARED TO BE WHAT IF MY HEART LEADS ME TO A WOMAN AND NOT A MAN. think of all the disappointment. white families aren’t as extended as asian families - the news would spread like a vicious wildfire. the prospect of bisexuality for an asian person or a person of colour generally is always pinned with this disgusting, self-denying statement that they really don’t want to think:

‘even if i am, there’s like a bigger chance i’ll marry a man so it doesn’t really matter, right?’

that bigger chance will forever stem from these expectations set by their families, i think.

and it’s always that question that makes them think ‘WELL shit i guess i aint then considering i practically negotiated my sexuality: u cant do that rookie, sexuality is SET IN STONE, so there’s no way you’re that sexuality. you’re only saying it because it’s a thing in society to be.’

it’s just why i dont believe in labels in general, and i love dan’s video so much for dedicated a section towards the matter. sexuality to me is fluid. the only thing that kind of makes it concrete are those labels. labels are great for some people: it gives them a name, a sense of normality in such a heteronormative society. but there’s a negative in that no one can simply just. be.

i wanna.

i dont wanna really.

sigh, am i just trying to align myself with society today? this label-filled society where your worth comes from how many labels you have slapped onto your blazer? it’s like those little patches those sporty, intelligent girls got in assemblies for being leader of the netball team or for excelling in ‘resilience’ or whatever that heck that means. those patches, except they have ones for ‘brown’ +1 point! ‘female’ +1 point! ‘sexually-confused’ +1 point! unless u think ur str***ht, in which case -2 points! where was i going with this AGH my brain isn’t being cohesive it’s just spitting shit everywhere.

another thing that makes me deny it all is my friend. let’s call her peach: she’s brown, muslim, pakistani, has very strict parents, but is still happy to identify as ‘gay’ to the world, and that’s amazing. but it sort of makes me wonder why i haven’t done that yet = thus suggesting ‘yeah im not REALLY, i would’ve felt it like she did in year 8, felt more passion for it - and i dont even have parents as strict as hers, so i can’t be!’ but her sexuality has also been generally fluid: she’s dating a guy at the moment, and has practically abandoned labels for the time being. goals lol.

what the fuk am i saying oh my goddddddd i can’t even make sense of it because i feel like im being super insensitive towards white people sigh forget it im going to bed, maybe i’ll string together something that makes bloody SENSE. its 3am egghj.

EDIT: I POSTED THIS ON RREI-CHAN AFHIAFAHIFA it wasn’t up for long, could’ve been so much worse, could’ve been on ryuga-zuki

#15/06/19

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codezeta-liveblog-blog · 5 years

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Damages 2.2 - Voting, walking, reading and planning

Diving right back in after the last chapter. Going to see precisely how people react to Blake's announcement.

> I could see the looks on their faces. The adults had damn good poker masks, but even they were showing that my words had had an effect. A woman in the Behaim circle reached for her husband’s hand, without taking her eyes off me, as though she thought she were the only one reaching for a measure of security. Except almost everyone had a little clue like that. The kids most of all. > > I’d give three groups safe passage. Somehow, with the how of it to be negotiated when I’d done more research. > > It was interesting, to see how they all reacted to that tidbit. I tried to take it in, taking note of who’d reacted the most. Who was most insecure? Who was more secure? The responses they offered and the scale of those responses told me a lot. > > The Duchamps were good at hiding their emotions. Even down to the eight or ten year old girls sitting beside their mothers, they showed less of a reaction than many of the Behaim adults did on the other side of the aisle. > > Johannes was still smiling, and the girl Maggie was leaning forward now, clearly interested. > > The girl Laird had referred to as a terrorist and the guy I wasn’t supposed to interact with under any circumstances. > > “Hey, that sort of sounds like a threat,” a girl said. > > I turned my head to see the witch hunter. She held a gun. > > “No, Eva,” the boy said. “It wasn’t.” > > She pointed the gun at me. I was so focused on the forces arrayed on the benches and around the edges of the room that it took me a moment to process what that meant. A slight pull on the trigger, and I was gone. > > Fuck, she had her finger on the trigger. > > “Someone say the word,” Eva said. “Threatening people, could be out of control. Say the word, tell me he’s too dangerous to leave alive.”

A bit of a trigger-happy person isnt her? I dont see much of a future partnership coming from the witch hunters. They seem almost eager to just end everyone if they could get away with it.

> “No,” Laird cut in. “Not with the things Rose might have put in place. If there are special measures at work, we can’t act.” > > Eva dropped the gun to point it at the floor. She smiled at me when I looked up at her face. > > “Are you assuming he’s telling us the truth,” the Duchamp family’s leader said. The blonde woman I’d seen talking to Laird. She looked like the sort of person who would be the queen bitch at PTA meetings. > > “I can’t lie,” I said. > > “That doesn’t mean you’re telling us the truth,” she said. > > “I’m pretty sure that’s what it means,” I said. > > “What you’re saying and what you’re telling us are very different things,” she said. “Why are you focused on your seat? You left something behind.” > > Right. Enchantress. She could see the connections between things. > > “I have help,” I said. “Help my grandmother left me.” > > I could see her eyes studying me. Roving over my body, my clothes, and very pointed locations around me. > > “Yes. A companion.” > > “A vestige,” Laird said. > > Vestige? > > “Of Rose?” the North End Sorcerer asked, his eyebrows raised. > > “Yes,” Padraic spoke out loud, at the same Laird said, “I don’t think so.” > > I could see a few glances being exchanged at that discrepancy. > > “There is something else out there,” she said. “Back in the house. It’s not cooperating with him at this point in time.” > > Damn.

Good that she cant see exactly what. Its just open enough that it doesnt exactly muck with the entire plan.

> “That’s not reassuring,” Johannes said. “Just the opposite. A mad dog running rampant is often scarier than a dog on a leash being set on targets.” > > “It depends on who’s holding the leash, doesn’t it?” I asked. > > The Sorcerer dipped his head in a single nod, “It does. Which is why I said often. At this point, from the sense I have of you, I would be more concerned about an unleashed dog than an attack dog at your control.” > > I was very, very aware of all the eyes on me. Many of which were inhuman. One small disparaging remark, but there were a lot of ears to hear it. > > “I’ve said most of what I needed to say…” I told them, trailing off as I tried to collect my thoughts. I thought of what I’d seen in the visions. The way Laird had talked about sitting back, there being no need to act. In the end, it had been someone else that had set those bird-skull things on me. > > They were cooperating. Taking turns, negotiating with each other. > > I needed to put a stop to that. Or throw a wrench into it. And I had to think of Molly. > > “…I’m making one more offer. An altered version of the deal I just gave you. I’m willing to do what I can to protect you against any of my grandmother’s demons that happen to run rampant, and I’d still give you free reign to come after me. I’ll protect an enemy, if my condition is met. Identify the person responsible for my cousin’s death. This deal, obviously, is off the table if you did it.” > > Cops in cop shows liked to do the whole thing where they’d put two perps in different rooms and let them sweat over whether the other guy would turn them in.

Difference is, this time you can be the cop that takes and offers bribes with no repercussion.

> Maybe I was disarming myself, on a level, but I still didn’t want to use the devils. If I could ratchet up the paranoia or turn them against one another, it was worth it. > > I took in the crowd. Now that the alarm was fading, my chance to see any more tells was gone. I could only lose out by standing up there any longer. > > I walked down the aisle, and I took my seat on the pew. > > Laird took his position at the front. He was still wearing the longer coat, hands in his pocket as he half-sat on the stage or chancel or altar or whatever it was supposed to be called.

I'm hoping to see some outside interactions. If this doesnt throw a wrench into the plans, something has to. And I would very much like to know how eveyone stands with one another as of right now since Laird's views were proba ly majorly biased.

> “Well,” he said. “Let’s get this out of the way. Who’s interested in taking the deal?” > > Wait. What? > > “Not seeing any raised hands,” Laird said. “It’ll be good if we get this out of the way, before it gets messy.” > > Negotiating here? Now? I’d hoped for more backstabbing, a little more chaos. > > “Maggie, was it? You perked up when he made the offer.” > > “I sort of am,” she called out, from beside me. She glanced at me, but she looked a little concerned. “I’ve seen how things go bad, if you let them. And that was only goblins, I think. So how bad are these things?” > > “They’re very bad,” Laird said. “There have been cases where small towns disappeared after one got loose. Outsiders were called in, the offending Others were dealt with, and the areas were written off. One big symbol was drawn out in each area, to drive away the surviving locals and any visitors. They made some efforts to erase the areas from the books, and they became the towns you pass by on road trips, but never visit. Presentable when seen from a distance. When this happens in bigger cities, well, you can erase a great deal of evidence with a large enough fire or a natural disaster.” > > That was a little more serious than anything I’d read about.

Natural disasters confirmed as possible spells. No wonder, with the exposition of spirtis we got earlier.

> “I’ve seen something like that happen before,” Maggie said. “But it wasn’t… whatever you’re talking about. Small spot, bit of a disaster, everything cleared out. Now there’s an entire area of town people avoid.” > > “I believe many of us know what you’re referring to.” > > “Well, why is this so much worse? That’s a rhetorical question. I get that it’s a big deal, from the way you’re acting, and because I can sense that much. But I’m curious about the why and how.” > > “Let me help you understand. Many of us here have discussed options, with the Thorburn family in mind. We’ve grown up with this danger in mind. I’ve talked about it with my wife,” Laird said. He paused for a second, glancing at his wife. I could see her move, her arm going around her children or relatives. Two boys, two girls. > > Laird drew in a deep breath, then told Maggie, “If it came down to it and Blake Thorburn sent something like that after my family, if I didn’t have measures in place, or if I didn’t feel my measures would hold, then I would use gun, knife, bludgeon, or whatever I had at my disposal to kill my family before that thing could reach them. Because I love my family too much to do otherwise.” > > There was near-silence, punctuated only by some sniggering from some of the things I took to be goblins. > > “It’s a big deal then,” Maggie said. “Why aren’t you taking the offer?” > > “Because I do have measures that should be effective. I told Mr. Thorburn as much. Successfully managing this situation and ensuring that things progress smoothly means safeguarding the bit players. I have the means to protect myself, I can give some to the Duchamp family as a pre-wedding gift, if they’re willing. If Crone Mara, you and the woods girl take the deal, most of us are protected. Blake Thorburn is rendered impotent, or he makes a mistake and removes himself as a threat.”

I wonder what measures are enough for freaking demons if holding them in one place requires a mound of boar carcasses. Everyone seems rather confident, which looks like something that can get them into trouble if Blake goes nuts after this meeting. I mean, I wouldnt be calling Rose a demonologist if she only had a single demon.

> “And destroys us all?” Mrs. Duchamp asked. > > “That is something we can work on, but it’s a risk nonetheless.” > > Maggie sat back, propping one of her winter boots up against the book-holder on the back of the pew in front, where the bibles and hymn sheets or whatevers were held. “This sounds an awful lot like a trap.” > > “It is,” Laird said. “Primarily for Mr. Thorburn, removing all possible leverage he might hold. I feel the risk to you if you take the deal is far smaller than if you don’t.” > > “But it’s still a little trap for me. For us,” Maggie said. “And I’m betting that when all’s said and done, you come out ahead.” > > “Yes. Alongside the Duchamps, in keeping with our alliance. But we’re all better off, Mr. Thorburn excepted, and he would be largely removed as a threat.” > > “No. Drat that,” Maggie said. “Drat you. I’ll do what I want.”

Blake, we have a Maggie, she’s ours. Also drat is a very lame slur. Any promises to never swear in her past? Maybe just growing up with a strict family?

> Her way of swearing seemed odd. It had in the vision where I’d first seen her, too. I felt a measure of relief and concern. She wasn’t an ally, per se, but at least she wasn’t playing Laird’s game. > > Laird said, “I thought I was being polite, including you. Johannes, Crone Mara, and the girl from the glades, then?” > > “I seem to be your last pick among the local practitioners,” Johannes said. When I craned my head to look, he was smirking. “I’m mildly offended.”

I'm still glad that people seem to be super not into whatever Laird is focusing on, mostly.

> “Offended or not, are you interested? We might as well settle this now.” > > “I’ll hear what the Briar Girl and Mara have to say, before I make any decision.” > > The Briar Girl shifted position. She was plain, her hair a mess, with a twig stuck in the back somewhere. Her winter clothes were layered, a little scuffed at the edges of the sleeves and pant leg. She was wearing pyjamas beneath the jeans. > > The spirit walked along the back of the pew with a coyote’s legs, until it stood directly behind her, leaning in to whisper in her ear with a beaked mouth. > > “When the house’s occupants are gone, the woods and marshes there are mine,” she said. > > “In what sense?” Laird asked. > > “In every sense. I want it like Johannes has the north end.” > > “You want it uncontested as your demesnes, you mean.” > > “Yes.” > > “A bit too steep of a price, I suspect. You’re not paying attention to the context of this situation. We need to drain the marshes to let the city expand, which is something we require to further all of our interests, yours included.” > > “I am paying attention. I don’t care,” the Briar Girl said. The spirit’s beak was partially open still by her ear, serrated with sawlike teeth. One of its large yellow eyes were fixated on Laird. “The city will expand all the same, but it will expand slower. More expensive for you. It’ll still get where you want it to get. When it does, I’ll have all those woods and marshes. One way or another.” > > “I see. Then there’s no use in asking the others,” Laird said. > > “I doubt I would have accepted, in any case,” Johannes said. “Just saying.”

I still like you Johannes. Your way of speaking and your dog all appease my interests.

> I glanced at Mara. She sat alone, eyes fixed in front of her, hands in her lap, very still. > > Nobody had really talked to her yet. Did she say or do anything? > > Laird was nodding, frowning. > > “My rose has done what she aimed to,” Padraic said. “You’ve offended two of us, Aimon Behaim. Johannes and me both.” > > “I’m not Aimon, my name is Laird,” Laird said. > > Padraic looked a touch annoyed at being corrected. “Aimon, Laird, Lame Airhard, no matter. You’ve wounded me, ignoring me in this critical moment. I have far more to lose than you, don’t I? An immortal lifespan, against, what, thirty more of your years? Twenty of your wife’s? Sixty two of one daughter’s, fifty one of another, one of a son’s life? Add them together for your family as they are now and you have, what?”

Laird not read up on this little quirk in Others? Where they dont recognize lineage and call you by the name of your ancestors? First hint in the story where we know something someone else doesnt if thats the case and that counts as something for me.

> One of his companions I hadn’t yet met said something under his breath. The numbers Padraic had given were eerily specific. Laird didn’t even flinch, hearing them, didn’t glance at his children.

Probably maximum possible natural lifespan. That "one year" one though is eerie.

> “Eight hundred and seven years, for your extended family? Paltry,” Padraic said. He made a face, “In terms of the years I’m expected to live, I’m much more important. Yet you dismiss me.” > > “I’d planned to make offers to you and many of the remaining Others, to ensure everyone was on stable footing before proceeding,” Laird said. > > “Well,” Padraic said, leaning back, “What would you offer? I’m going to be insulted if you don’t make a good suggestion, now.” > > “Despite the fact that we’re no longer negotiating?” > > “Exactly so. It’s a question of my pride. How do you value my remaining lifespan, Behaim?” > > “I’d thought I might offer to talk to the Queen that exiled you, and see if I could offer to make you a familiar to one of my grandchildren. I could fund him or her, so they could travel, freeing you from your imprisonment here for a time.” > > “She wouldn’t accept, and the offer is weak at best,” Padraic said. “Putting the rest of my life at risk for a mere forty or so years of mild adventure? Try again.” > > I clenched my hands in my lap. Had I set Laird back, here? A small success? > > “Your kind aren’t in my realm of expertise. Sandra? I apologize for asking, but-” > > The Duchamp’s leader nodded, all the way in the frontmost pew. The blonde PTA-bitch woman stood as Laird sat down beside his wife. She composed herself, then said, “What would you ask for, Patrick?” > > “That’s cheating.” > > “I’m still asking. I’ll try to make you a counteroffer.” > > “One of Laird’s generations. Grandchildren, grand-nieces and nephews, and the children of his cousins.”

Are this the people that follow him, i wonder what he gets from it. They look constantly enebriated from what I remember, they talked about partying too. Maybe he somehow needs company, or just demands it. Maybe it extends his lifespan in turn in some way. Very curious this group's tendency to seek taking people for themselves.

> “That has the unfortunate consequence of ending his line.” > > Padraic smiled. “I could return them, more or less in one piece. Let them age up to twenty or so, educate them. It would be novel, and if we kept some in reserve and staggered out when and how we returned them, we could amuse ourselves for hundreds of years.” > > “I see,” Sandra Duchamp said. “Here’s my counteroffer: what if I offered a messenger?” > > “The Queen won’t listen,” Padraic said, sighing. > > “To other banished Faerie, in other cities and towns. Until our family line ends or the Queen is replaced and the court dynamic changes up once again.” > > “Springtime,” Padraic said. “Mm. That would have been a good offer. Paved the way for an insurrection of sorts.” > > “Perhaps,” Sandra Duchamp said. “That would be dangerous for my family. I was thinking of maintaining some connection to the courts, in a peripheral manner.” > > “Nonetheless, I’m pacified. I no longer feel slighted.” > > “Then,” Sandra Duchamp said, “Thorburn’s offer remains open, I will know who accepts it, if anyone does. Let’s set that matter aside so we’re free to move on. The murder of Molly Walker?” > > Laird responded without standing, “It’s largely under wraps. The investigation will hit a dead end on its own.” > > “Any assistance needed?” > > “No. I’ll keep an eye on things.” > > “Good,” Sandra said. It seemed like she was leading things, now. Was leadership exchanged so easily? “In terms of more mundane business… Toronto is currently in the dark. Provided there aren’t any further interruptions, my family should be able to divert attention for the time being. I’ve had a short discussion with the Lord of Ottawa, and she is on board, keeping her subservients at bay.” > > “The smaller towns in the GTA?” The Briar Girl asked.

All this talk of Lords and Queens, ever since Grandma's chapter actually, I'm wondering what that implies and if Jacob's Bell has one. I'm thinking they dont hold the influence yet and are trying to figure that out. Probably trying to be one of the two main families, but things like Johannes sets that back.

> “Stable, expressing no interest and exerting no pressure. I see only three or four individuals or groups that might make an active play, and they are doing no such thing. The remainder would sell us out to Toronto’s Lord or try to sell us out to Ottawa and inform us. For the time being, we’re the only individuals in play, here.” > > There were nods all around. I saw some of the Others leaving. Apparently those were the only major points they were interested in hearing. > > “Next order of business. I’m obligated to call it to a vote. Flagrant use of one’s practice in public, acting against the local powers. Maggie Holt.” > > The witch hunter girl at the front perked up at that. So did Maggie. > > “Excusable use,” Maggie said. “Nobody even thought it was anything suspicious.” > > “To sanction the use of the Jacob’s Bell witch hunters to execute Maggie Holt, please vote,” Sandra Duchamp declared. > > The Briar Girl raised her staff. One member of Laird’s family, a teenage boy with brown hair, raised a golden disc, held between crossed index and middle fingers. He looked back at Maggie, and she rolled her eyes. > > Nobody else in the room raised their implements. Not even the woman who called the vote. What was the proper course of action if we didn’t have implements to raise? Raising our hands? Or were we not allowed to vote? > > “Two yeas, the remainder of the votes are nay. The execution is not passed,” Sandra Duchamp said. “Be careful. You have very few friends here. When we’re not following so soon after one execution, we may prove more willing to vote against you.”

Oh? Who was executed? Molly? I'm still thinking btw that not everyone who was interested in Blake's offer would voice themselves. And I'm highly suspicious of all this interest of outaide parties and how they dont know or shouldnt know about how the city is going in and trying to establish itself. Good to know we seem to be between Ottawa and the GTA in Ontario.

> I saw Maggie sit back a little. She was a little relieved, or she’d hidden the tension well. > > The discussion continued, along the same lines. Outside players, minor internal disputes over who was doing what, and all of the other details that went into maintaining the balance of power. > > ■ > > “…And with that, the meeting is called to order,” Laird Behaim said. He’d taken over again when Sandra’s voice had started to give out. He opened his pocket watch. “Seven forty-four.” > > That seemed to be the end of it. The remaining crowd picked up and got ready to leave, pulling on winter clothes, gathering implements and tools. I was among them, getting my jacket on before pulling on the backpack of weapons and tools. > > Many of the Others were gone. Most of the ones who remained were still human in appearance. > > Nobody seemed interested in talking to me, so I made my way outside. > > “Not exactly the result you wanted,” Rose murmured, as we passed outside. The mirror was still sticking out of the top of my backpack. > > “Not a bad result either,” I said. “Do you object? Bad plan?” > > “No. I would have liked more time to consider it, but there are worse ideas. What was with that bit at the end? You won’t use devils to attack someone, but they can attack you?” > > I nodded. “I needed some incentive. I didn’t have time to stand there thinking about it, so I went with the most obvious thing.” > > “Right. Well. Thoughts?” > > “Getting home, seeing if anyone expresses interest, get more reading done.” > > “Shopping? Food?” > > “Stores close in twelve minutes, and I don’t want to dally. If it comes down to it, I can live off what’s in the house now, at least until next month.” > > “Grim,” Rose said. > > “Tell me about it,” I said. “Remind me of this idiotic call, a little while from now.” > > “Will do.” > > “Something else we need to talk about,” I said, “Is this vestige thing. It’s the… second or third time I’ve heard it, and I’m pretty sure you referenced it, one of those times.” > > “Talking to yourself, Mr. Thorburn?” > > I wheeled around. Rather than stop, I kept walking backwards. > > Johannes and Maggie. North End Sorcerer and the girl with the checkered scarf.

Together eh? She seems to be getting around as you can get for practitioners and others in Jacob's Bell

> And, I had to note, a small contingent of goblins. The dog walked alongside Johannes, through slush and snow, the long hair not getting wet or dirty. Johannes wore a white coat, and it was pristine. > > Maggie, by contrast, had specks and spots of gray-brown grime on her leggings, with circles of wet spreading around them. Her skirt and hair blew around in the wind, and she hunched over, hands jammed in her pockets, as she trudged on. > > Most of the goblins were children, paying very little attention to us as they hopped onto nearby cars or walls. Two were large. Gorilla-like things, ugly as hell, stark naked, their faces bent in permanent scowls. A child-like goblin jumped on the shoulders of one of the larger ones. A moment later, it was seized and smashed against the nearest lightpost. > > “I’m talking to my companion,” I said. Might as well admit it. > > “Yes. You are,” Johnannes said. “I’m liking how quickly you’re picking this up. The language, turns of phrase used to redirect, to mislead. You’re talking to your companion, yes, but you’re not denying that you’re talking to yourself.” > > He knew? Even Laird hadn’t made any obvious connections. > > “You’ve been watching?” I asked. > > “Yes. Everyone has, to some degree.”

That was to be expected. All those Others were probably serving under someone when not by themselves.

> “You up for the deal?” I asked. > > “Didn’t you hear?” Johannes asked. “Behaim wants us to take the deal. It leaves everything in the hands of the two more powerful circles in Jacob’s Bell. Chaos is minimized, and they can take whatever action they need to in order to remove you.” > > “Why not call an execution against me?” I asked. “Seems easy enough.” > > “Laird promised you safety. He’s walking a fine line, trying to keep you in a position to threaten others while ensuring you’re manageable and that the situation stays stable,” Johannes said. “It’s most advantageous to him, because it lets him present traps to Maggie, the Briar Girl, Mara and me like he did tonight. He’s secure enough that any trouble you cause will set others back more than it sets him back. If you fail in that role, he kills you and finds an equilibrium with the next heir.” > > Maggie said, “It’s like he lives his life by the ticking of that clock of his, orderly, tidy, neat, but he thrives on controlled chaos.”

I forgot about that! I Thought he only needed to protect Blake in his presence during that one walk out for coffee! And the controlled chaos thing makes sense. If I didnt imagine it, his clock did look overcomplicated didnt it?

> “If-” a voice started behind me. It cut off when I turned. Rose. “If the execution was only stayed today because of the promise he made, what’s stopping him from doing it next month?” > > “A very good question, miss…?” Johannes let the question hang. > > “I don’t know if I should answer that.” > > “Miss Mirror. A good question,” Johannes said. “The obvious answer is that he won’t call for an execution if you’re useful to him. He can use the threat you pose as a distraction or a tool, apparently. He’s not worried, because he seems to think he has an answer to whatever you might send his way. How is that? How would he know what you have at your disposal and how to respond?” > > “Aimon,” Rose said. “She was close to Aimon, once?”

Very close. Might even be some Behaim blood in our character's veins.

> “Well, that’s one idea,” Johannes said. “You can then give some thought to a way around it. If you were to get your hands on a dark Other of horrendous power, is it possible that Laird might not have an answer to it?” > > “Depends on what the answer is,” I said. “Could be some contract she made with every Other in her books. Could be a tool, or some excerpts from the books.” > > “Very true,” Johannes said. “So?” > > “So,” Rose said. “I’m wondering why you’re ‘helping’ us.” > > “Are you wondering?” Johannes replied. “Mr. Blake Thorburn, why do you think I’m helping?”

I'm supposing Aimon was some kind of practitioner specialized in defense spells. And the only theory I currently have for Johannes being here is that he is a cool guy who is probably going to turn out bad and then I will be sad. In all seriousness,he only has to gain from making the two other bigger factions of the town not compete with him as the city expands.

> “Maybe because it’s a danger to Laird, and you lose nothing if I fail.” > > “If you fail badly enough, I could lose everything. In order of severity, there’s failure where you’re ineffectual, failure where you get yourself killed, and greater failure still where you might get everyone here killed. But yes. I lose nothing of substance by helping, and I could see Laird Behaim unseated, removed or disconcerted. I like that,” Johannes said.

I also like that

> “Which brings us back to what we were talking about before,” Maggie said. “How do you mess with Laird? I’m thinking, if he’s got his protections, he either has them on his person, which is unlikely since he’s protecting his whole family. They could be more abstract sorts of protections, or he’s set them up somewhere.” > > I nodded slowly. “Abstract meaning something like my grandmother made a promise to Aimon that the Behaims would all be safe, then signed deals to put it into motion.” > > No. It didn’t make sense that she’d leave me something like that if there was no way to use it against Laird. I didn’t say that out loud. > > “And?” Johannes asked, cutting into the silence that had followed my statement. > > “The prepared protections,” Rose said, “Are protections that are arranged already. Safe ground?” > > Johannes nodded. “It could be barriers, weapons, wards, or other safeguards. He prepares them in advance, then pulls his family back to safety if he expects you’re going to attack. It’s likely it would be somewhere accessible.” > > I said, “That means I’d have to find his place. If I disposed of the safeguards and prevented him from erecting any more, he loses his bargaining chip.” > > “That would be the natural conclusion,” Johannes said. “Getting into his place to do anything would be the real difficulty. His home is his demesnes, and any protections he has against demons, devils and infernal things might be supplemented with protection against the practitioner that might command them.” > > Over and over again, there were these dead ends. Couldn’t get a familiar, implement, or demesnes without other assets. Couldn’t attack Laird. > > “You’re not really thinking about doing this, are you?” Rose asked. Asked me. > > “No,” I said. “I don’t think it’s doable.”

You cant do those things without outside help. Much like this one visit. Fuck please dont be baiting the two of them to waste time and run out of safeground.

> “I don’t either,” Johannes said. “Returning us to the question of how you protect yourself. From a vote of execution or otherwise. You most likely can’t scare him into submission, you won’t be able to maintain the balance he wants indefinitely. Which would only be delaying the inevitable, by the by. That leaves you two options, as I see it.” > > He had a tone to his voice. As though he was waiting for me to ask what those options were. > > Why? > > I’d ask and he would… > > “You want payment, in exchange for you sharing what those options are?” I asked. > > “Or you can name them yourself. I’m not picky,” he said. > > We walked on in silence, boots squeaking and crunching in the snow. > > “When we first saw you, you offered help. For a price,” Rose said. > > “That’s one of the two options,” Johannes said. “I’m suspicious that any price I ask would be minor at best, compared to what you’d have to pay one of Rose Thorburn’s Otheracquaintances. If you know what I mean.” > > There was a moment of silence as we considered. Johannes seemed content to enjoy the silence. Maggie was quiet in general.

Why is she here anyways? Grandma and or her family seem to have done expensive things during their time since everyone seems to know about their debts.

> I asked, “They’re both allied against me? The Behaim Circle and Duchamp coven?” > > “Most likely. They’re united by the marriage that is coming to pass. It makes them powerful. Not as powerful as me, but powerful.” > > I nodded. “And I can’t stop the marriage? Split them apart?”

I doubt you can do much to bonds relating to enchantresses.

> “I don’t imagine you could. The idea I had was a simpler one. Think. What’s the issue you face?” > > The issue? Me being in Maggie’s shoes, seeing those hands go up, and the witch hunter with awful trigger etiquette. > > “If the danger is a vote of execution,” I said, “We could theoretically win over enough people that they couldn’t get the majority.” > > “Do all members of the family count?” Rose asked. “There’s no way, if they do.” > > “The senior member of each family unit gets one vote,” Johannes said. “All put together, that is three from the Duchamps, and four from the Behaims.” > > “Seven,” I said. > > “Myself, Maggie, The Briar Girl, Mara, Padraic, two Others, at a minimum,” Johannes said. “You might want more, in case any Others decide to vote against you. A slim chance, but you have one month.” > > “Except I can’t step outside for that one month,” I said. “I do, I have to face down whatever spells or traps they’ve laid for me.” > > “I’m hated,” Johannes said. “Why am I free to roam?” > > “You’re powerful,” I said. I glanced back at the goblins. “And you’ve got help.” > > Another catch-twenty-two. Get powerful so I could go outside, but I needed to go outside so I could get more powerful. > > It all came down to power. > > “If it’s not a vote of execution you face, having any or all of the named individuals helping you would still protect you against the family. Win each of us over, use us.” > > “Be used in turn,” Rose said. > > “Naturally,” Johannes said.

Something I think Blake isn't exactly quite ready to do is compromise. But I cant blame him. He physically cant compromise in his situation, enough problems, things to worry about and debts.

> “Speaking of. You have the one measure that was put in place,” Rose said. > > Measure? I turned my head. > > Oh. She was talking about what I’d brought up at the meeting. I’d been talking about Rose, but I’d let them think I was talking about something else. Something that could release the barber if I was hurt or killed. > > Would fear work? > > “I do,” I said. “I’m not really a fan of any option that works only after I get brutally murdered.” > > Leading Johannes and Maggie to believe that there was a safeguard in place. But the truth was, I wasn’t a fan of that sort of option. Generally speaking. > > “Food for thought,” Johannes said. He pointed at a busier road, though ‘busy’ was a misleading term, when one referred to sleepy Jacob’s Bell. A car every minute or two. “I’m going this way.” > > “You’re not taking the deal?” I asked, again. > > “We’ll see. There’s no rush,” he said. “We really should talk again. You know where to find me. Ask politely before you come, and there should be no issue. Miss Mirror?” > > “Yes?” Rose asked. > > “You would find yourself in good company, should you visit.” > > With that, he walked off, his familiar beside him, goblins following, darting into shadows as cars passed down the road. > > Leaving me with Maggie and the two largest goblins. > > “Good company?” Rose asked. > > “You’re an Other,” Maggie said. “That place is like an Other’s amusement park. There, it’s like the old days, before the Seal of Solomon. Before humans were really able to fend for themselves.” > > “This is sanctioned?” I asked. Hard to imagine there hadn’t been a vote against Johannes. > > “No,” Maggie said. “What does it matter? The area is his. Purely his. The only person who gets a say is him.”

Does he just respect Others that much? I like his style a lot either way.

> “That doesn’t sound like my kind of company,” Rose said. “Killing people, picking them off…” > > “Maybe he meant something else?” Maggie asked. She shrugged in answer to her own question.

I really doubt there is just a corner of town where people get picked off to get killed by Others. Laird would give a shit about that.

> “We’re walking this way,” I pointed. “You?” > > “Same. Straight all the way down to the lake.” > > “Same direction for a bit, then turning off to one side,” I said. > > Maggie looked back at her giant goblins, said, “Come on.” > > We walked together. > > “You’re friends with Johannes?” I asked. > > “Not really. I mean, some common ground. Acquaintances, but not friends. Neither of us are big fans of the old guard. But, you know, you can’t really interact fairly with someone when there’s this big an imbalance in power.” > > “No,” Rose said. > > I didn’t have anything to say to that. > > “Blake is a member of the old guard,” Rose said. “Just so it’s clear. Old family, old knowledge.” > > “But you two are clueless,” Maggie said. “You don’t know jack. You just got awakened, you just got introduced to this whole shebang.”

Just how did you begin with then? You are a girl, in the woods maybe or at least thats where we saw you if my memory isnt failing me, who taught you the ropes, the ins and outs?

> “Give us time,” I said. “We’re working on it.” > > “The rest of those guys out there? They don’t want you to have time. They’re going to use you, get you killed, then do the same for all the rest of them.” > > “And you?” I asked. > > “And me. I might be happier if you stay alive. That way there are more chances to use you. I don’t get much from offing you. Bit of a boost in raw power, but that only puts the grand kibosh on all of this. The guys in charge stay in charge, and us runts stay on the bottom. What’s the point of moving everyone up five rungs on the ladder, if you’re still going to be three rungs below the next pleb?” > > “I think that depends on your motivations,” I said. “If you’re trying to achieve something, then it’s good. If you want power for power’s sake, then no, it doesn’t help.” > > We had reached the street I turned off at. I stopped, and Maggie stopped too. > > “What do you want?” she asked. > > I thought back to the oath I’d made while awakening. “Freedom, safety, I want to help my family, past, present and future. I want to help my… companion here.” > > “Yeah?” Maggie asked. “Huh.” > > “What do you want?” Rose asked. > > “I can’t put it to words. I feel dumb if I say it out loud. But power helps everything. Knowledge is power. I want knowledge and power.” > > “Where’d you get knowledge in the first place?” I asked.

Hey Maggie did you know we have a FAT ASS THICC STASH of sum o' dat good ol' "knowdge" at the house?? Also good to see she has a deeper motivation. I'm imagining she has some real sentimental aspirations. For some reason "revitalizing a place taken over by someone else in power" came to mind. But I dont know if she has enough history in this town for that, we will see.

> She reached for her bag, rifled inside, and retrieved a small binder. > > “All here,” she said. She hugged it against her stomach with both hands. > > The way pages stuck out, how some of them seemed like newspaper, some like printer paper, and some clearly lined, it seemed more like a scrapbook than what it really was. A tome, a spellbook.

Well that anwsers that doesnt it?

> “Where’d you get that?” I asked. “Or… how did you make it?” > > “Started off with a bit. Long story. Gathered the rest myself, piece by piece. Dealing, trading, competing for it.” > > “Want more?” I asked. > > She raised an eyebrow. > > “I’ve got a whole library of books,” I said. “But I need help.” > > “You want to deal?” she asked. > > “Maybe,” I said. “If my companion doesn’t object and-” > > “I don’t object,” Rose said. > > “-and if you can clarify what Laird was talking about, when he referred to you as a terrorist.” > > “I hate that word,” Maggie said. “It’s so overused.” > > “Is it inaccurate?” I asked. > > “No, but that’s because it’s vague. Using fear to achieve political aims? Define ‘using fear’. Define ‘political’. That Behaim guy is a terrorist. So is Sandra Duchamp. So is Johannes. So are you.” > > “I’m using fear so I can survive,” I said. > > “You’re raising your status in people’s estimation. That’s political.” > > “That’s pushing the definition,” I said. > > “So is Laird! You want my answer, on why he’d call me that? There you go.” > > I frowned. > > “What?” Maggie asked. “It’s the only real answer I can think of.” > > “I need more information before I can make a call,” I said. “But I’m going to get back.” > > “There are still hours of safety,” Maggie said. > > “There are. But my bag is getting pretty heavy, and I’m not sure I trust the general definition of hours, with Laird around, or the definition of safety, with, well, just about anyone I’ve met here.” > > “You’re leaving me hanging?” Maggie asked. “If I could say anything crude, I’d say it now. I… can’t even allude to it. Blue. You’re leaving me blue.”

Aha. She cant be rude for some reason. That is both cuteand frustrating. Imagine if Blake couldnt swear.

> “Sad?” Rose asked. > > Maggie groaned in frustration. > > “We’re going to meet again,” I said. “For now, though, you’ll have to forgive me if I’m overly cautious. I seem to recall you saying something about the noobs being easy marks.” > > “You heard that,” Maggie said. > > “We can meet sometime this week, maybe negotiate a deal. After… my partner and I have slept on it. My info for your backup,” I said. “If I can find a way to safely leave Hillsglade House, and if I can feel a bit more confident about working alongside you.” > > “How bad could I be?” Maggie asked. > > I looked at her, framed by the two monstrous brutes that were following her. > > “I don’t know,” I said. “Let’s not find out. I’ll talk to you later?” > > She shrugged. “Maybe.” > > I turned to go.

Seems like I will like maggie too. Not many likeable characters around. To be expected, first arc establishes our protagonists first, so we only got dealt with the worst people for the setup it was due. While I'm sad that Blake's plan didnt seem to work straight up, I am happy that Maggie and Johannes seem at least approachable after so much animosity.

> From the main road, it was only a little ways to get to the Hillsglade property. The only hassle was the uphill nature of the walk. > > “Watch my back?” I asked. > > “Sure,” Rose said. > > I trudged along until the house came into view. > > “We okay?” I asked. > > “I’m not sure how to answer that,” she said. “Generally? No. I don’t think we’re okay at all. We’re probably going to die.” > > “You know what I mean.” > > “Are you okay? No. Am I okay? No.” > > “Now you’re intentionally misunderstanding me,” I said. I added a quick, “I think.” > > “I am. Are we okay as a pair? No. We aren’t.” > > “Okay,” I said. “I get that.” > > “The mirrors are nice. I appreciate the mirrors.” > > “Good,” I said. > > “But we’re still not in a good place. Could a black slave be friends with his master, back in the day? Sure. I imagine there were some slaveowners who were pretty cool, didn’t beat or punish their slaves, were generous and kind…” > > “That analogy is pretty damn unfair,” I said. “I didn’t choose for you to be like this.” > > “Child of the slaveowner, then?” > > I would have reminded her that she was supposedly playing ball. At the same time, I was glad she was arguing with me. It beat the utter defeat she’d showed me earlier.

God damn yeah. Props for the analogy, but an angry and argumentative partner beats a defeated one every day of the week. Both for emotional AND writing purposes.

> “I want to do what I can to free you from your prison, my metaphorical slave,” I said. “I swore it when I did the ritual, just like I told Maggie, back there.” > > Rose was quiet, now. I didn’t hear a response from the mirror. > > “What was that bit, before, about vestiges?” I asked. > > “We were interrupted,” she said, quiet. Yes, please, shed more light onto this matter. > “What was it?” I asked her, again. I didn’t want to get distracted from the topic. > > “Vestiges. They’re… like shadows. A simulacrum is an effective double of another individual, a near-perfect simulation. You’ve got dopplegangers, Others that copy a person’s appearance, hiding inside a simulacrum. A reflection of a person, but with something different and frequently malevolent at the core. Erasing a person so they can take over their lives. Usually ending in disaster and murder.” > > “Sure,” I said. > > “There are glamours and illusions. Images, but little more than that. Living, alive, pretendings. Ghosts, which are usually emotional or mental impressions made on the world. Trauma, powerful ideas, they leave something behind, that you see out of the corner of your eye. Tied to some glimmer of the person that was, at the time of death, twisted by time and a degrading memory of their self.”

Yeah but you are a person that never existed though. We are talking about ghosts of living people. Doppels that impersonate others. You are almost like an alternate timeline being. I dunno,this vestige thing seems too much like a gotcha twist we will see later. It was information that came in for way too free. No foreshadowing, just labeled as so and bam. Issue solved. Doesnt't convince me as much.

> “And vestiges?” I asked. > > “Fit somewhere in the middle. A flawed simulacrum, or a ghost that left a deep enough impression in reality that you can use that impression as a mold. Memories, complex thought, they’re flexible. There’s a book on vestiges in the library. They’re interesting to work with because they can be altered. Strong enough that you can mold them, without them being too rigid.” > > “Molded?” I asked. “As in… changing a gender? Memories?” > > “Exactly,” Rose said. > > “You know what you are, then.” > > “Not even a copy. You want to know the reason for my big turnaround? Why I’m accepting my fate as a tool? That’s it. I know what I am now. I know the built-in limitations.” > > “Limitations?” > > “Read the book,” she said, from the mirror, “I don’t want to talk about it.” > > I had an ugly idea of what she was referring to. > > “Rose,” I said. > > “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said. “Later, Blake.”

I need to read that book right now. F she is a flawed simulacrum I want to know if its of Rose. Really. Because it doesnt match that she is a fem!Blake.

Oh but then again, the house needed to be passed to a female... and she was there with the lawyer, not Blake. Grandma Rose molded a flawed clone of Blake. I think the pieces are put together now. I'm suspicious. But it fits.

> “I wanted to ask about-” I said. > > But something told me she wasn’t there. Except for the crunching of my boots, there was only silence. She was gone.

The Riku Replica thing comes back again to haunt me (Kingdom Hearts can be cringy, but when they have a good scene, its amazing). Is there a worse existence than being sapient and know that you, as a supposed-to-be human being, has not only been made to just serve as a copy, but also has severe limitations that degrade that concept out of you? Riku Replica in the video for example discovers that everything about him is not only just replicated, but is also limited to what his original self was at the time of his creation. The real Riku however can still get stronger, can still develop, but whatever his Replica achieves, its capped. He can’t change, can’t develop, he can only do what his original could. That you will forever be just "someone's shadow". And it isnt an evil clone sorta thing. It just leaves you empty, angry and sad.

> I made my way up the driveway. Once safely inside, I locked the door, checked the windows, and then headed for the library. I didn’t see Rose in any of the mirrors. > > I searched the shelves until I found the book she’d been talking about. > > Vestige: Glimmers and Gasps > > The title only reaffirmed the ugly feeling I had in my gut. > > I scanned the table of contents. The title of one chapter pretty much gave it away. > > Duration.

Awn man, I fucking liked her. This being mentioned does make me raise the question of why it would be set up like this. It doesnt seem like something Wildbow would do, looks more like one of his bait-and-switch to me. WHICH IN TURN, happens even more as I question what or who exactly is the bird Blake has in his hands in the parahumans subreddit. And I'm thinking its Rose and she becomes his familiar. The abstract meanings of her becomming a bird too are very fitting, poetic and endearing. I know, I cant fake that I never saw that header.

> I read the entire chapter, first leaning against the railing, book in hand. Then I read some sitting cross-legged on the floor. > > Vestiges were flexible, like Rose had said. They could be molded. > > But Vestiges were impermanent. Sand castles. Given time, given external pressures, they started to degrade. Over time, the degradation got worse, to the point that it took more and more effort and energy to keep them intact. > > What was the power source that was driving her? > > How much time did she have? > > I finished the chapter, then closed the book. The cover had a silver image of half a mask, pressed into the leather. The other half of the mask was black, without any eye, nose or mouth. Half real, half shadow. > > When I looked up, my eyes roving over the room, I saw Rose in the mirror, sitting in the chair at the desk. > > I joined her on the lower floor, book still in hand. Next on my reading list. > > “Before we left for the meeting, I thought you said there wasn’t a book to explain you,” I said. > > “I said there wasn’t a book to explain why Grandmother summoned me.” > > “Ah. Why didn’t you say any of this before?” > > “Because you were focused on the meeting? Because there were two ways this could really go? You’d either get upset or distracted, and that would throw you off your game, or you wouldn’t, and that would throw me off mine?” > > “If it helps,” I said, “I’m feeling pretty off my game. I feel pretty horrible.” > > “Yeah? Well now we’re more on the same page,” she said. “Question is, what do we do about it?” > > “Can I just spend a minute or ten feeling like a shitheel?” I asked. > > “You can, but we’ll need to figure something out after that.” > > “We will,” I said. “Fuck.”

Sometimes you need to just stop and let aaaaalllll that shit sink in. Side note and the 68th time i say this out loud,but god damn do I appreciate how Wildbow characters are really REALLY emotionally cognitive and realistic.

> I stood there for a minute, in the middle of the room, so I could see where Rose sat at the desk. I felt the weight of the book in my hand. > > “I’m here for a purpose, Blake,” Rose said. “And I’m only here for a little while. We need to figure out what that purpose is.” > > “Fuck that,” I said. “I made a promise I’d help you. That doesn’t mean using you and throwing you away to fall apart.” > > Again, looking at her, I could see her withdrawing, a trace of anger in her expression. As if me speaking out on her behalf was somehow worse than me being a jerk. > > I didn’t get it. > > “What, then?” she asked. She was managing to hide the expression, now. “What do you do, if you’re so bent on helping me?” > > “Like Maggie said, knowledge and power. They’re one and the same, and they go a long way. Let’s figure something out.” > > “I don’t need rescue, Blake.” > > You do, I thought. But I said, entirely honest, “I need help. I meant it, and I need your help above all else. I’m going to do what I can to keep you around.” > > “That’s just selfish enough I can believe it,” she said. > > “Good,” I said. “So, let’s talk strategies.” > > “Strategy?” > > “Tell me how this sounds. If you like the idea, we’re going to hit the books, and we’re going to make sure it won’t come back to bite us in the ass. Dear Mr. RCMP Officer, you should know that Laird Behaim was at a function at the church last night. He has admitted in earshot of several people that he knows something about who murdered Molly Walker and how.” > > “There are a hundred ways that could bite us in the ass.” > > “We’ll double check each one,” I said. “What are they going to do? Try to kill us more? He wants to use us as leverage? We throw something other than horrifying hell-beasts his way. Question is, what do you think?” > > “I think it’s something. Provided we double check the rules, make sure we’re not getting ourselves executed. You want to attack his position?” > > “Throw him for a bit of a loop,” I said. “We can build on it. Get some people pulled in for questioning. Put them on the spot, see how they do when they’re interrogated and can’t lie.”

Problem being the whole thing of their family having ties with people manipulators. But then again,thats more deals to make, more debts to the pile.

> “Kids,” Rose said. “Get the kids in that interrogation room somehow. They won’t be as savvy. They’ll let something slip.” > > I thought of how the Behaim kids had done a poor job of concealing their fear and surprise. > > “It’s dirty,” I said. I smiled some. “Dirty is good.”

And thus the damages begin. They need to think better on how they will gain the police over. Anonimously? Cant Blake just lie to the people of the city and say the house is going to be sold in x amount of time, just to buy him some time of peace with the people, they hate him anyways, not like they'll hate him less any time soon, might as well make them hate more but on a later date. It would be my first instict at least,from before the awakening thing. Guess they would have to do pretty good omissions and loopholes now that they cant straight up lie anymore huh. The buildup of the arc that was set up in the first chapter didnt actually deliver, yet at least, which was a weird choice. I really wanted to get a full disclosure of the meeting, instead of the mere brief summary we had after the beggining, but at least we got to see more of other practitioners non aggressively interacting with our main cast. I'm camping and will be going to sleep soon. This liveblog was written accross many hours of a day actually, that I had some tree to lean on with a cool breeze passing through, while I also accompany my girlfriend as she reads Arc 26 of Worm! Tomorrow I will dive back into 2.3!

2019 Addendum: She is now reading Pact and quickly catching up!! So in editing this in the present and will be readong 2.3 today! Aiming for a post on Wednesday the 27th!!

#CodeZeta liveblogs #pact #PactArc2 #Pact2.2

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kaywritesthings · 6 years

Text

The door.

aith: Faith spent a lot of time these days trying to disappear. With Buff and her little Slayer Central thing dealing with all of the big deal hellmouth shit, she really just had random vamps here and there, low level demons... It was, quite honestly, boring as fuck, and if it didn't mean going back with her tail between her legs, she'd have run back to B and her stupid goody-two-shoes friends. But for now, Faith was fine just coasting. She'd got a couple of vamps earlier, and now she was in the club, dancing her heart out on the floor in between drinks. Right now, still slightly sweaty from the dancing, she slipped over to the bar and grabbed another stiff drink, and then followed her nose to a small cloud of smoke nearby. She leaned against the table and smiled her slow easy smile. "What's a girl got to do for a hit off that?"

???? changed name to Zac

Zac: Zac was enjoying his vacation? Here. It was an odd place to have a vacation. WEll, really his car broek down and instead of whinning about it. He said it must be fate, and this is where he was suppose to have his vacation. He had his own personal cute little fog machine he had set up at his table, and when a girl who had no business talking to him came up. He just said a big huh? " A puff of hot ice?" He asked. He didnt mean to sound like a jerk, but he really wondered if people did that here. "Sure, help yourself. I mean go woman's rights." He laughed out loud. "I had three shots and I feel it" He was a bit of an over sharer.

Faith: Faith let out a soft groan- she had been sure that that amount of smoke could only be from pot, and she knew she could, in her infinite super strength, just go hustle someone for it, but it was nicer to ask. "I thought it was pot," she explained and pushed the smoke away, finally revealing the guy sitting there. She looked him over, and gave him a smirk. "You carry hot ice around with you, big boy? You don't usually come to places like this do ya."

Zac: "Well, no. I am from New Jersey." He said. "I met a freind though." He waved at xander who was busy with someone else, a short guy. "anyway, yeah, so wow you are still here. Usually girls look at me and bounce after two words, and I get it. " He shrugged. "I am too good looking for them." He teased with a wink. "I can buy you a drink, but I'm sure you heard that one like a million times."

Faith: Faith shrugged and slid into the seat beside him, kicking up one foot on the on the table and spreading out. She was never really good at being ladylike. "I went though a phase of dating bouncers. Most of 'em look like you but a little taller," she said and winked. "I just finished a drink, so I'm not going turn one down. Unless you got a price tag to go along with that drink," Faith said and leaned against his side. "Then we'll need to negotiate."

Zac: Zac was lost what tag meant. "Huh?" He got a little stiff when she sat beside him, becaeu this never happened. He was still pretty much a virgin. It had been long enough. She was young and hot. "What kind of drink tag do you want?" He asked. Xander came over and sat dwon acknowleging Faith.

Faith: Faith chuckled a little. "Nevermind, get me a drink," she said and laughed. "I'll have a whiskey neat," she ordered and then turned when she was Xander come up. "Don't you have another slayer to annoy? Blonde, cute, perky?" She smirked. "Run along, shoo."

Zac: "slayer? Oh, like the game? I am top score in Jersey." He said. "I didnt know you played" He said with a loud ohhh gasp. He looked her over and saw Xander leave. "Faith, he needs to get laid. Help him out." Zac blushed and shook his head "No that is very bad." He blushed and went to get a drink. HE came back. "But I can go a little bad.. I'm gay.. for women." he laughed and took a sip.

Faith: "Yeah, babe, like the game," Faith said and let out a sultry sort of chuckle and pat his chest. Faith hummed. "You could always break him in!" she called after Xander, laughing brightly. She watched the guy run off and smiled to herself. She really had laid most of the guys in this town already that were worth the time of day. And half the girls too, for that matter. She really didn't have much to lose. "Hey, I'm gay for women too," Faith said and smirked, taking a long sip of her drink. "But I like driving stick too," she said and walked her fingers over his chest. "I found in my experience that big guys have pretty thick sticks."

Zac: Zac had a lot of anxiety and she was so close, and he could smell her hair shampoo. It smelled peach shampoo. Herbal essence scent. He liked herbal essence. "A stick?" He squeaked. He wasnt sure what to say to that, but nodded. "I love sticks."He grabbed hi beer and downed it, wondered if he was on some prank show right now.

Faith: Faith laughed brightly. This guy was a trip. She wasn't sure if he really knew what she was getting at, so she leaned closer and pressed her breasts against his arm. "Really? That's diappointing. I thought you might be interested in letting me ride it a little later."

Zac: Zac laughed out loud. She said such interesting things. Then her breast was up close and he tried nto to look at them, even though he really wanted to. "You can.. do whatever you want.. I dont know your name. " He confessed.

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nancyswhlr · 6 years

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party tricks

jonathan x nancy, stranger things - 3k words

this is shameless au garbage & i’m not even sorry about it. (also i dont know if any of you watch new girl, but remember that scene where jess got all mad at nick because he kept ragging on himself despite how incredible she thought he was? yeah, i took no inspiration from that scene while writing this.)

dedicated to jackie & jonathan defense squad(TM) on twitter :)

“Don’t you think we’re a little old for seven minutes in heaven?” A 16-year-old Nancy Wheeler quipped from her spot in the circle.

Almost immediately she was met with a chorus of “no!”’s and boos, most prominently from Steve Harrington and his gang. In fact, the only two members of the group that stayed silent were beside her, her two best friends, who she knew would dread playing this game.

Because Barb was not only socially awkward to the point her sass was off-putting, but she was also gay. And Jonathan was socially awkward to the point he was called the town loner and freak, so isolated that he hadn’t even had his first kiss yet. He would’ve told her if he had, or if there was anyone he was even interested in sharing that with.

So her feeble attempt at saving them was overridden by the other kids at the party, passing around their solo red cups and sharing looks with the person they hoped the bottle would land on. She could practically feel her friend’s stomachs’ drop.

Tommy H went first, and Nancy wasn’t even going to bother to call out how the game was rigged when his bottle landed on Tina. The look on Carol’s face made the whole night worth it though, in her opinion. But she did shoot apologetic looks to her friends.

Barb seemed fine, despite her eyes not meeting anyone else’s. It’s not like she was out of the closet anyways, maybe she’d get lucky and get a nice guy like Steve, who wouldn’t pressure her to do anything. Barb could always handle her own.

It was Jonathan that Nancy was worried about. He also wouldn’t meet her eyes, and she swore she saw his hands shaking as he took another sip of his beer to calm his nerves. Her heart clenched, and without thinking about it she placed a hand on his knee.

“It’s gonna be okay,” She said to him quietly, while the rest of the group was distracted by Carol demanding Tommy to spin again. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll get your first kiss tonight?” She teased, gently. And felt a little bit better when his lips curled upwards in a slight smile, even if it was only for her sake.

“Maybe.” He shrugged, replying back in an even quieter tone than her own. For some reason, a small part of Nancy that she could barely acknowledge hoped he didn’t. He deserved a girl who really liked him, not someone drunk at a party pressuring him into it.

They’d always been friends. At least since the first time Mike had brought Will over and Jonathan accompanied him. She could recall their mom’s gushing as Jonathan was only supposed to come by with Joyce to drop his brother off, but Barb hadn’t been able to hang out that day and Nancy surmised Jonathan Byers would do. Unlike the rest of Hawkins, she didn’t care about their reputation or rumors. And, just like Mike, and she proved that by sitting with him at lunch the following Monday.

Ever since then, he’d been a constant in her life. He took her photos on the weekends, did their math homework together in study hall. He was there when she cried over Nathan standing her up at the eighth grade dance and she was there when Lonnie Byers had officially left his family for the last time. Through all of that, he never had a girlfriend. And she’d never been able to understand why.

Sure, he was quiet and liked being alone. But he wasn’t a complete loner, she was living proof of that. The right girl would understand that, understand him. He was so much more than Jonathan ‘the freak’ Byers. He was actually really cute, despite the fact the rest of the girls at school ignored him. He was kind, and a good listener. He was great at photography and was always down to do whatever her mischievous plans entailed. Last summer, it’d been her idea to break into the school’s pool after dark, and Jonathan was there to swim with her while Barb was too afraid of being caught. He always supported her, and she loved that.

Nancy shook her head, breaking herself from her cloud of thoughts. God, this is why everyone thought they were dating. Those rumors never let up, even when she was with Steve. They just shifted, saying she was probably cheating on him with Byers. Completely uncalled for, in her opinion, but it was Jonathan that was there rubbing her leg comfortingly when they had ultimately not lasted either.

“Who’s next?” None other than Steve Harrington asked the group. The usual rounds were made before the rest of the party finally noticed the close-knit group of three isolating themselves. Nancy didn’t really have anything against the game, but there was no one she wanted to be locked up with for seven minutes. Her best case scenario would be either one of her best friends. Or even Steve, who she’d ended things amicably with. She’d dare even say they were friends. “What about you three? Holland? Byers?!” Steve teased, wagging the bottle towards them.

Nancy instantly noticed the color drain from her friends’ face, her protective instincts kicking in while Barb was struggling to figure out an excuse not to play. Jonathan sat there silent, beet red. “I’ll go.” Nancy spoke up instead, not leaving any room for negotiation as she grabbed the bottle out of Steve’s hand. The rest of the group gave her weird looks, but she didn’t care if it meant she could save her friends.

She spun the bottle easily, and surprisingly steady for the few drinks she had. She could laugh in her ex’s face, she knew she wasn’t a lightweight. But she watched it turn several times until it eventually slowed to a stop. Right in between her and Jonathan, but close enough to count.

Nancy let out a relieved breath. That was easy, it was exactly who she wanted. Jonathan looked up at her nervously, the entire party’s eyes on them. “That’s not even fair, they’re already dating.” A girl at the edge whined.

Nancy forced herself to hold back an eye roll. “We’re friends.” She bit back, pointedly to the crowd. She didn’t notice how Jonathan’s eyes fell back to the floor.

“Well, then, it shouldn’t be a problem for you two to spend seven minutes in the closet together.” Steve interrupted, cheekily. “Common, let’s go you two!”

Nancy swore he acted like they never dated. Not that it bothered her, but he was also casual friends with Jonathan, so she wondered his agenda for pushing them together. Nancy let herself roll her eyes this time as she untucked her legs from under her, making sure her dress didn’t ride up. As she stood, she grabbed Jonathan’s hand and led him to the closet, Steve on their heels.

“Don’t have too much fun.” he barked out a laugh, Nancy shooting him a look of annoyance. She shook her head as they were pushed into the room together, a chair on the other side of the door locking them in. Just great, they’d forget about them in approximately two minutes, and it wasn’t like they could hear them over the thumping of the music. Hopefully, Barb would remind the group to let them out.

Nancy dropped his hand as her eyes adjusted to the dim light from one shitty light bulb. It had a warm glow though, and it made Jonathan’s features look softer in the somewhat darkness. Less sharp and angled, and it looked nice.

“So.” She broke the silence after a moment, hoping to get Jonathan’s eyes up from still being glued to the floor.

She let herself be proud when she got the smile she wanted from him, his shoulders untensing. “So?” He echoed, looking up at her.

“So,” Nancy shrugged, playfully. “I don’t know! Are you having fun?”

Jonathan laughed, trying to adjust himself in the small room. It was no use, no matter what they were on top of each other. Nancy let her back fall against the wall beside them. “I don’t know, I guess.” He shrugged, causing Nancy to raise her eyebrows in response. “I’ve never played seven minutes in heaven before.” He accompanied that statement with a small smile, letting Nancy know he was still being playful.

“Well I haven’t either.” She shot back, cocking her head to the side.

Jonathan laughed, and Nancy let herself smile at the sight. At the fact she was the only one he let see him so genuine and carefree. Besides his family anyways. “I can only imagine it’s not the kind of game you play with your best friend.”

His tone was still light, but Nancy could sense the disappointment behind his words. Again, her heart clenched. He deserved a cute girl that was crazy over him, but she couldn’t imagine anyone. No one seemed good enough for him in her mind. “Well, you’re right about that. Less talking normally, or so I’ve heard.”

Jonathan responded with a nod, and a lull of silence encompassed them for a moment. Nancy studied him in the bleak light, fidgeting and wondering how no one saw what she did.

“Sorry you’re stuck in here with me.” He said suddenly, Nancy looking up immediately. “I’m sure there are more...fun people you’d want to play this with.”

Nancy found herself floored by how down on himself he was. How could anyone else possibly see how great he was when he couldn’t even see it himself. “Hey.” She moved to him, putting a hand on his arm to force him to look at her. “Don’t do that to yourself. There’s no one else I’d rather be in this closet with.” Jonathan gave her a weak smile, and she knew he didn’t believe her. “I’m serious, stop selling yourself short.”

“Thanks Nance,” he mumbled, and she wished she could say more. “There’s no one else I want to be in this closet with either.” he admitted, causing Nancy to smile too. At least some of the tension was gone as she dropped her hand, but put no more distance between them. Instead, she stayed put, her eyes locking with his. “Even if it is just a friend.”

Nancy felt herself straighten. “You’ll find someone.” Now it was his turn to raise an eyebrow at her, but she looked determined. “I’m serious, you will. Someone who can see how...how incredible you are.”

Jonathan laughed, and she could tell even in the dark he was trying not to blush. “You think so?”

“Yeah. I do. Jonathan, there’s so many great things about you.”

“That’s why I’m tied with Harrington when it comes to how many girlfriends we’ve had.” he mumbled back, sarcastically, clearly not believing her.

Nancy shook her head, “Don’t do that. Don’t compare yourself to Steve. You’re nothing like him.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Nancy resisted the urge to groan. “Stop that Jonathan! You’re nothing like Steve, in a good way. You’re-you’re kind. And smart. And so talented at photography. You’ve always been able to make me laugh. And, you’re a great listener and friend, you’ve always, always, been there for me. Much less that you’re insanely cute, despite those girls out there that refuse to acknowledge that because of their stupid egos. And you deserve someone that knows all of that about you, that really likes you for you-” She was saying, but only snapped out of it when she looked up to realize just how close they were. Was he moving closer? Nancy forced herself to take a breath, to steady herself, but felt the air knocked out of her by the way he was looking at her.

She’d never seen such a look of adoration, everything he was feeling expressed in his warm brown eyes. She found herself completely caught up in it, and if she just pushed herself on her tiptoes, her lips would brush his. As if that thought occurred to her for the first time right then, it floored her. She could kiss him. She could kiss him.

She thought about it before. A little. He’s always been cute and a good friend. But he was always Jonathan, her loyal best friend first. Always there for her, never pushing her in any way. Did she actually have feelings for him? Did he have feelings for her? Wouldn’t he say something if he did?

Of course he wouldn’t. He was Jonathan. He’d never pressure her, do anything to ruin their friendship. She wondered if there was some truth to Will’s offhand teasing about how she was like his sister now (“or could be, one day” he’d hum lightly, and Jonathan would glare daggers at him). Based on the look Jonathan was giving her, she had a feeling there was.

Jonathan’s mouth parted, and Nancy, without realizing it, let her eyes follow the action. It didn’t even occur to her for a moment he was saying something, his voice quiet and full of doubt. “You really think all of that?”

Nancy forced herself to meet his eyes again, despite being a few inches on top of her. The idea of being close enough to kiss him still made her stomach do somersaults, but she forced her voice to stay even. It wasn’t that hard when she was talking so softly. “Yeah, I do.” She responded, ever so confident and collected.

Jonathan seemed to be at a loss for words as he struggled to reply. A blush covered his cheeks now as he spoke, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. “God, Nancy, you’re so incredible.”

She felt the wind knocked out of her (again) at how sincerely he spoke. She decided, however, she was sick of not knowing what it was like to kiss him despite the fact the idea only came to her a short while ago. Without thinking twice, she, slowly- still giving him an out, pushed herself on her tiptoes. She heard Jonathan’s breath hitch before her lips met his.

She decided immediately she liked it. His lips were just a little chapped but felt nice against her soft ones, and he was warm and tasted like the beer they’d both been drinking all night. She didn’t realize it was sweet, almost chaste until she felt his hands settle on her waist. She also didn’t miss how they were shaking slightly like they did when he was nervous. In an effort to hopefully calm him, and to bring him closer, she moved her hands to his neck. She tugged on his collar lightly, bringing him closer as she gave him a better angle to kiss her.

It then occurred to her again, when he did nothing to deepen the kiss, that it was his first. No one had taught him to kiss properly. That was fine, she decided as she brought him even closer by snaking her arms around his neck. She could do it.

And Nancy had to admit she was impressed by how fast of a learner he was. She found herself pressed against the wall she’d formerly been leaning on, Jonathan following her lead as his hands moved from her hips up to her hair, the kiss getting more passionate. She moved as well, bringing his hips closer as her arms went to his waist. It felt good, right. To finally be able to kiss him. She didn’t even know how long she’d been wanting this without realizing it, but she could tell Jonathan had too by how intensely he was pouring all he had into this kiss. Anything reminiscent of being chaste was a distant memory.

Somehow, her hands had gone back to his neck and tangled in his hair as he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her even more impossibly close. Making no plans of slowing down, Nancy moaned as softly as she could. Her senses were so overwhelmed in the best possible way.

She nearly squealed in surprise when light flooded the room.

Completely caught up in the moment, it dazed her and took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the not pure darkness as Jonathan all but practically jumped off her. It was a futile attempt though. They’d already been caught. Despite this, her arms were still wrapped around his neck while his hesitated loosely at her hips.

The first face they saw was Steve, sharing an impossibly smug look with them. It only took them another second to realize the party had quieted down, everyone looking at them from their spots. Except for Barb, who didn’t know if she should look surprised or confused as she stood behind Steve.

Nancy forced herself to bite down a smile, her hand running down to Jonathan’s chest now. She couldn’t be bothered to care that she’d been caught making out with him, what these kids thought of them, but Jonathan wore an adorable shade of red all over his face now. In fact, she had half a mind to tell Steve to close the door and pick up where they left off, but she took pity on her poor partner instead.

Slowly, she untangled herself from him as she also removed his own hands from her hips. She couldn’t help but chuckle at how frozen and profusely embarrassed he looked. She didn’t lose all contact though, keeping one hand locked with his, before taking a steadying breath. She probably (definitely) looked hot and flustered, and her hair was probably (definitely) all messed up.

There was a variation of different looks given to them from around the party, ranging from judgment and disgust that she was making out with that freak Jonathan, to smug ‘we all knew you were dating’ looks from a few others. Most notably Steve, who grinned at them. Who still hadn’t said anything. In fact, no one had said anything. The room was still silent.

Biting down on her lip, Nancy decided to be the first one to break it. It’s not like anyone else would. Especially not Jonathan, who still looked like he wished the ground would swallow him up whole. Maybe Barb, who was still gaping at them.

Nancy instead just cleared her throat, turning to fully face the party. “Hey, Steve?” She asked, still breathless.

“Yeah Nance?” He shot back, still looking incredibly amused by this whole thing. Steve couldn’t keep a laugh out of his voice as he replied.

“Would you mind giving Barb a ride home?” She took a beat to fully interlock her fingers with the boy behind her, getting ready to lead him out of the closet. “Jonathan and I are going to get out of here.”

#jancy #jonathan x nancy #jancy fanfiction #jancy fanfic #otp: definitely you #prompt was from an au post: 'we've been friends forever but now we're playing 7 minutes in heaven and i think im in love with u'#i saw that and naturally got inspired #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #my writing #nancy x jonathan #also im sorry i actually love the last line lmao

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randomrants99 · 4 years

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everyone has their own a group of people they called as friends. the difference is, each one of us has the quality and quantity in friendship that we desire. since i was still a kid, i have quite a number of acquaintances/mutual friends. but very few people i let them into my life. even so, some years i made a wrong move. i chose wrong people to share my sorrow. some years, i took for granted those who were truly care about me. another phasa was when i ditched everyone because ive had enough with the dramas and all. one thing for sure, those bittersweet lessons have made a benchmark for me to be extra careful and wise in choosing friends that are worth my time and energy. although i have a constant friends that i can comfortably talk to, it doesnt mean i would go extra miles for them. and they dont even have to appreciate me unless they want to. no hard feelings. im just so done with everyone's bullshit. of course we need friends in our lives but set the boundaries for every single aspect if you can. focus on yourself more than anything else without overlooking your own weaknesses. i sound so bitter the fact that my constant friends are always there for me. well most importantly and notably, god knows. i can care for them as much as they care for me but then i also will take extra precautions to not let them hurt me. if they did anything beyond my expectations, then dont blame me if i come and go as i please. if you went talking shit about me offline or online without any concrete reason, mind that i wont negotiate. i let you go as i please. i do aware everyone has their temper, million reasons to be mad but your feelings should be controlled within your capacity. its not fair to let out your anger to innocent people. yes, you do mad at me but is it really my fault at the first place??? you should ask yourself too whether you should blame me alone. it seems like im spilling my current frustrations here hahaha ok. i wanna let the world know my constant friends. its alisya, mdd, yadi and norman. the ones that i would go to whenever i feel happy, sad etc each one of them plays different role in my life. they also share some stuff with me (as far as i know), seek advice and im willing to help them because i know they are willing to help me too especially yadi. but among these 4 persons, i rather to spill everything to alisya. she is the most constant. and whatever ive mentioned earlier, i didnt speak so much about her. alisya is everything. with her, im not afraid to be judged. with her, i dont really care if i were being too myself in sickness or happiness. with her, i can talk about everything. unlike those 3, there are only certain topics i can talk to them. i even easily get irritated by those 3 except alisya. thats why whenever i come and go as i please with them, i wont do that with alisya. ill make sure we talk to each other and constantly say hello despite being busy. i wanna see her more than i want to see everyone else. to mdd, yadi and norman - thanks a lot for our friendships. you guys are not just nothing. you guys are still something in my life. thanks for checking up on me. for the rest of my friends that are sometimes " hey whats up " me,,, thanks. it just that - ive had enough. sometimes i realised i havent make peace with my past yet. i hope everyone is in a good state of body and mind. till then

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ernstin · 4 years

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Stackin’ Stickers: Snowboard Agents

As published in King Snow - 11.2 - October 1st, 2019

This article’s first priority is to try and explain the world of snowboard sponsorship and the agent’s role within it. This will be done by exploring what an agent is, who needs an agent, and how agents might be changing snowboarding. I’ll also discuss the wealth gap between top-tier pros and the average sponsored snowboarder, and how professional snowboard sponsorship has changed over the years. In order to understand all of this, I first approached Superheroes Management, i.e., an agency, interviewing Jaimeson Keegan. Jaimeson is the owner of Superheroes and former head of sports, entertainment, and marketing for Red Bull. Jamieson is currently the agent for Devun Walsh, Darcy Sharpe, Mikey Rencz, Seb Toots, Maria Thompson, Tyler Nicholson, Mons Røisland, Zoi Sadowski Synnott, and many others. We also chatted with Jake Kuzyk, who has had a great career despite never having an agent represent him.

What is an agent?

An agent is someone who speaks on your behalf. They’ll go out and get you those sponsors you don't have, or they’ll maximise the support you’re currently getting. An agent sets up contracts, keep you informed, and talks business with the business people. They cross the T’s and dot the I’s. But not only that, an agent will act as the middle person between you and your sponsors. They will negotiate money and travel budgets for you. They will make sure that you are being compensated fairly, and that your interests are being heard. In return, however, an agent takes a cut, maybe 10% or 15%, whatever was negotiated before the agent started working for you. That percent keeps the agent working for you. His or her salary is dependent on yours. And, in the best situations, it’s a symbiotic relationship where both parties are benefiting.

Having an agent seems like a pretty awesome thing. The general consensus is that having an agent helps you focus on snowboarding, and not business. When talking with Mikey Rencz he said, “I was getting to a point where the business side was getting overwhelming and I was kinda young, and didn’t wanna deal with it.” Seb and Darcy said something similar.

Darcy said, “I could focus on snowboarding and being myself and not jammin up any creativity I got going on.” And Mr. Toutant said, “I think it is really important because at some point you are focusing on your snowboarding and people wanna sign you up, and you dont wanna get to stressed out by all that bullshit. You wanna focus on your riding.”

Having an agent allows you to narrow your focus and not get lost in the numbers and the search for sponsors. An agent can also help you determine your monetary value, as Devun Walsh said, in a very earnest way, “sometimes I feel like you don't know your full worth, so it’s better to have someone else tell the company what you’re worth.” Asking for money is hard, especially when it’s for doing something as fun as snowboarding. It’s weird to think that slapping some petex to your feet and burning down a hill can be profitable. When thinking about this, Darcy said he thought getting an agent was great because he never really knew how to say, “hey, I’m worth money in snowboarding. That was a ridiculous idea to me as a kid.”

Apart from this, an agent is someone who can also translate your value to sponsors. Mikey gave me an example where he said, “Imagine if someone approached me for a commercial or something, and said we’re gunna give you $5000 for the day.” That sounds like a great deal, right? And Mikey would have accepted it too. But, Rencz explained that that’s where Jaimeson steps in, “Jamison would then ask ‘what’s it for?’ and ‘what’s the reach?’ and after that he’d be like, no you’re gunna give him $20,000 for the day.” That’s a huge boost in salary, all because someone knew what the ask was worth. The price a rider is willing to do something for isn’t always the right price. An agent can bridge the gap between rider and businesses making sure the rider does not get taken advantage of, or, isn't mistakenly undervalued. During our interview, Jaimeson disclosed that the first goal that is set after signing with Superheroes agency is to get that rider 100k a year in sponsorship dollars, “a living wage,” as he put it.

However, there is also Jake Kuzyk, an all-star rail rider, who has never had an agent in his corner, which, given what I just said, you might think is kinda nuts. But, Jake views it differently. Jake said that he believes that an agent could actually hurt his career. He says, “Based on what [I] do and who [I am], it’s almost not smart to have an agent. I think having an agent would hurt me. All the sponsors that I have, it’s like a friendship. It’s a real connection. I think I’d be in a worse spot financially and with longevity as far as my brands go.” A justifiable concern for anyone who has spent a lot of time building relationships with his or her brands.

Who is an Agent for?

If not all riders feel like an agent is good for them and their career, then who is an agent for? According to Jake, “I think unless there is high demand and you are one of those people who are willing to run on high expectation, and do well under pressure, then an agent is kinda good. But for me, I’ve always wanted to do things at my own pace and in my own way.” A valid point. If you’re that type A personality who works well under pressure, all the power to you to meet those demands put on you. Money can dictate expectations, creating performance goals and obligations that are not for everyone. But, there are still guys like Rencz who have agents, and are not running on that type A personality. So what’s different about Mikey? When asked, he said, “there used to be a lot more interest in the filming side, and also there was a lot more going on for people who filmed for videos and shot for magazines, even three years ago.” I interpret this as Mikey saying that these days there is not as much money for people who film video parts, and that maybe the need for the average video part guy to have an agent isn’t as big as it once was. However, that’s not what Seb thinks. Seb said that, “when I hear people say that an agent is only good for people who make a lot of money, I think that’s wrong. Agents are there to help you sign a bigger deal and get more opportunities.” So, Seb thinks that you should have an agent if you are good enough to have one, which makes sense. Why wouldn’t you like a little extra coin? However, Rencz also speculates that some “team managers don't really wanna deal with [an] agent,” meaning that some TMs want to deal directly with the rider, not the middle man. This could be for two reasons. The first being that maybe the TM does not want to be pressured into paying his or her athletes more when times are tight, even though the athlete deserves it - which is a sad reality. Or, two, it could be because some TMs also value the relationship with the rider, and don't want a middle man to answer to. Either way, we’re kinda back at the point that Jake made about an agent potentially hurting the career he wants. So, maybe an agent isn't for everyone, especially if you film video parts and want a relationship with your sponsor? Well, that’s not entirely true either. When talking to Jamieson about this, he said that he thinks “there is actually a big appetite out there specifically for riders that do not compete. I know brands that when I call them and go, ‘hey, I got someone you’d be interested in,’ they say, ‘oh yeah, we would be, but call us when he or she stops competing.’”

So, who is an agent for? I don’t entirely know. But I can ambiguously say that an agent works best when there is a symbiotic relationship, a win-win, between rider and agent.

That said, there is one obvious group of snowboarders that an agent seems uncontroversially good for, and that is the all-stars. Or, as Jaimeson calls them, “the A listers.” He says, “If you're a true A lister, your earning potential is, I dunno, anywhere between $500,000 and up. The most bad ass [riders] in our spaces earn a tremendous amount. Those are the one percenters, if you will.” These are the snowboarders who come to people’s minds first, guys like Mark McMorris, Seb Toots, Sage Kotsenburg, Ståle Sandbech, Torstein Horgmo, and others. You can probably imagine the others. These people just have too many other things going on to worry about dealing with contract renewals and bonuses and their financials in general. Their priority is performing, performing for themselves and performing for the stickers on their board, that’s it. They’ve got big goals and big money to answer to. When you’ve struck the perfect marketable mixture of talent, personality, and fan following, the sky's the limit.

How might agents be changing the industry?

Agents are great at getting riders non-endemic sponsorships, sponsors like BMW, Virgin Wireless, Audi, and other brands who have nothing to do with snowboarding, but want to be associated with snowboarders. These brands know that there is a market value attached to the top names in snowboarding, and that putting money into that athlete could yield a return for them in brand association and logo recognition. So they do it, they invest. Which is okay to some degree, I think. Non-endemic support allows boarders to put more money into what they love doing. These brands allow riders to travel, get proper physio, feed themselves, save for the future, etc.. They also put money into the sport, giving snowboarding events the means to be broadcast around the globe, gaining exposure for snowboarding and bringing in money. This money can then be put back into the endemic industry through brands, resorts, and media outlets, benefiting everyone.

However, it is also possible to see how this could change snowboarding in a negative way. As Rencz said, “if you look at the contest riders with really weird sponsors, you’re like, ‘OoOoOo, that guys got an agent for sure,’ because [the rider] is not finding those sponsors, and the [sponsors] aren't hitting them up. You know? It’s like specifically sought out through an agency...” So the “snowboarder” doesn’t have any sponsors from a snowboard company. And while that’s more common place within mainstream professional sport, it’s a weird phenomenon in life-style snowboarding, which maybe shouldn’t happening. But why does it? Well, probably because of the money. And if that is the case, what does that mean? In other words, what does it mean when riders start having more non-endemic sponsors than endemic sponsors? Does it mean that non-endemic brands could start having more influence over the direction of snowboarding than snowboard companies? Has this already been happening? I honestly don't know the answers to these questions. But, I think questions like this are important to think about. Not thinking about them gets us to the premise for the movie Idiocracy, which is a movie set in the future where brands and big money dictate everything. It’s a future where Gatorade-esque drinks water farmers fields because Gatorade is, quote-unquote, “better than water.”

The Wealth Gap.

As many of the riders interviewed in this article have said, one interesting phenomena of contemporary snowboarding is that the wealth gap is growing. That is, there are a few athletes making a lot of money and many athletes making less. The group of riders making more money are the group of A listers that Jamieson brought up earlier. They are akin to the 1%. And then there's everyone else. A big middle class of boarders who are really good, but only receive a pair of pants and some beanies at the start of the year. This growing wealth gap is interesting because it mimics our current economy, but maybe it’s not unexpected, considering that the snowboard world is just a microcosm of the world at large. When talking about this with Jamieson, he said, “I don't think action sports are insulated from what is happening in society. I think a lot of people are disappointed. They feel confident in what they are achieving, and it’s more difficult for them to get rewarded for it.” I guess it isn’t a coincidence that the “glory days” of the prosperous professional snowboarder happened when North America was financially stable, with a strong middle class economy. Devun also expressed his amazement for what snowboarders will do for such little money, saying, “I feel like there are kids who are willing to kill themselves on rails for like 30-grand a year. There is no way, back in the day, that people would be willing to risk their neck for that.”

Being a Professional Snowboarder

There is no doubt that being a professional snowboarder has changed in the last 10 years, especially within contest riding. The amount of pressure and obligation has increased, everyone in this article agreed with that, to some degree. Devun did say that “before you had to kill yourself all year to make [a] video part and now it just kinda comes out when they feel like it . . . apart from some of the videos.” But other than that, everyone agreed that being a pro is difficult. Seb said, “[what I would say] has really changed is snowboarding became so much harder to make it at a pro level, if you're getting drunk all the time and not really taking care of your body, it is definitely harder to keep up.” Darcy acknowledged that there are so many good snowboarders on Instagram that you need to stay on top of your game, whereas before, if you were a part of the chosen few, everyone waited for your part, and whoever else was good was rarely seen.

In the past, the lack of accessibility also allowed for us to know who was pro and who wasn’t. We knew pros had promodels, whether it was a piece of outerwear or a board. That just doesn't seem to happen as much. The lines are blurred because the money is limited and the talent pool is limitless. Even companies don't really seem too concerned about the pro label. If you go to Rome’s website, LNP is still listed as one of their pros. But he barely snowboards anymore and has a full time career as a heavy-duty mechanic.

While interviewing Seb, this was one of the reasons he thinks there is less money in the industry. He said, “for snowboarding you don't always know who is a pro and who is an amateur, which is something huge and something we need to change. . . When it is built properly, it’s easier for a big company to invest in the sport.” He went on to explain that if you want to be a certain type of rider, there should be a clear way to achieve that.

His points are good, they absolutely make sense as far as growth and money goes. I mean, making it clear to people how snowboarding works is great for sponsors. It allows sponsors outside of snowboarding to know who they are getting behind. It can provide an objective value for a snowboarder. But what about for guys like Jake who aren't into that structure? When talking about structure, Jake said that it’s one of the reasons he does not have an agent. He said that, “I just always wanted to have control over what I did. I’ve always wanted to be very involved with all the projects I’ve worked on. . . “I don’t ‘yes man’ things, and do random stuff that I don’t really believe in.” With more structure, you can lose diversity, you can lose guys like Jake, making pro status only attainable to a certain type of person, which is an issue snowboarding is already dealing with, considering how it is generally dominated by wealthy, white males. So, it’s hard. Snowboarding sponsorship is a unique and ever evolving place that can be difficult for professionals, AMs, industry folk, and everyone to exist within, happily. It’s a complex matrix with many parts, understanding it is hard. I tried to show you a little of the objective and the subject side of it, but when it comes down to it, there is no right information or algorithm when trying to understand it, and maybe there shouldn't be.

#Snowboarding #snow #agents

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ronanlyncx · 7 years

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the best parts of the dream thieves (featuring me crying pt. 2)

part one

- “Ronan was everything that was left: molten eyes and a smile made for war”

- Ronan’s second secret #gay

- Gansey: “i would have thought you had more muscles. Don’t feminist have big muscles?” i just want to punch him can someone please punch him

- gansey calling ronan an incredible creature #gay

- “The elderly made ronan anxious” bitch me too!!!

- Ronan wanting to race kavinsky in the pig and adam is like dude no there is like 5 people in here we weigh too much and ronan goes: “noah doesn’t count” “Hey!” “You’re dead!” i love these nerds

- Gansey: “am I in your dreams?” Ronan: “Oh yes, baby” i hate him jsjksksk

- “Ronan sometimes dreamt of Adam, too” #gay

- Gansey and Ronan going to get orange juice at 3:32 am

- “Unlike some people, my sense of worth isn’t tied into my occupation.” “Ooooooh,” Orla crowed… she traded her Henrietta accent for a gloriously snotty version of the Old South. “Someone’s been hanging out with Richard Campbell Gansey the third too much.” orla just came for blue’s life holy shit

- “Jane!” “It’s a wizard in box.” “It will do your homework.” “And it’s been dating your girlfriend.” “Are you all drunk?” hey quick question wtf am i reading

- “Why is the tea so good here?” “I spit in it” Blue Sargent is an icon

“Blue Sargent was pretty in a way that was physically painful to him. He was attracted to her like a heart attack.” not to sound like a cheesy white lady or anything but this shit breathtaking bro

- “What do you want, Adam? What do you need, Adam?… Freedom, autonomy, a perennial bank balance, a stainless steel condo in a dustless city, a silky black car, to make out with Blue, eight hours of sleep, a cell phone, a bed, to kiss Blue just once, a blister-less heel, bacon for breakfast, to hold Blue’s hand, one hour of sleep, toilet paper, deodorant, a soda, a minute to close his eyes. What do you want, Adam? To feel awake when my eyes are open.” PROTECT THIS ANGEL GET HIM SOME TOILET PAPER WTF (also notice how what he wants continues to drop in difficulty to acquire this is so sad i’m literally a mess)

- “You be careful, Adam Parrish. ‘Cause one day you might get what you ask for. There might be girls in Henrietta who’ll let you talk to them like that, but i’m not one of them.” i really love this woman

- “He [Gansey] was bare-legged and sockless in his Top-Siders and very clearly a real human, an attainable human, and this, somehow, made Ronan want to smash his fist through a wall” #gay

- “Adam thinks he saw an apparition at his place” Ronan eyed Noah, “I’m seeing an apparition right now.” this entire relationship is just ronan roasting noah have you ever seen anything so pure

- Noah freaking out about the glitter in the snowglobe #angel

- Ronan paying Adam’s rent i am alive

- Gansey comparing Blue to a platypus

- “He threw me out the window!” “You’re already dead!” amazing

- Blue wanting to get Adam high so he can relax seriously someone let this boy take a nap

- Noah: “Is crack the same thing as speed?”

- Ashley not going into St. Agnes bc she “refuses to participate in a ceremony that doesn’t allow equal spiritual privileges to women” NICE

- Ronan dreaming kavinsky a replica of his white sunglasses after kavinsky gave him a copy of ronan’s leather bands #pettygay

- “and he was the boy with the most beautifully interesting car and the most savagely handsome of friends, Ronan Lynch” #gay

- Gansey: “I love this car. I should buy four more of them. I’ll just open the door of one and fall into the other. One can be a living room, one can be by kitchen, I’ll live in one…” what...the fuck

- Declan coming to give gansey a new battery for the pig and Ronan actually doing the most™ “He hurriedly sprawled back in the seat, throwing one jean-covered leg over the top of Adam’s and laying his head in a posture of thoughtless abandon. By the time Declan arrived, Ronan looked as if he had been asleep for days.” this is so extra omfgggg

- “His [Declan’s] gaze followed his brother’s leg to where it rested on top of Adam’s, and his expression tightened.” dude ronan even your brother is noticing your crush u gotta do better

- Gansey thinking that Ronan tried to kill himself after all this time and then finding out that Ronan was attacked by a dream demon thing #shook

- Gansey and Ronan fighting a different dream demon thing with a box cutter and a crowbar how are these children alive

- “She [Blue] wore a dress Ronan thought looked like a lampshade. Whatever sort of lamp it belonged on, Gansey clearly wished he had one. Ronan wasn’t a fan of lamps.” This is the least subtle homosexuality metaphor i have ever read in my life (also: Gansey crushing on Blue #nice)

- refer to this post

- “Let’s just go on before Gansey has time to say something that makes me hate him” lmao

- “The air was stained permanently with the pleasant odor of Ronan’s childhood: hickory smoke and boxwood, grass and seed and lemon cleaner. ‘I remember,’ Gansey said thoughtfully to Ronan, ‘when you used to smell like this’” #gay

- Dream toaster

- “I am being perfectly fucking civil” #iconic

- “Don’t fucking swear” #iconic pt 2

- Calla preforming arial yoga through the continuation of Ronan’s reading

- The entire time they are on the boat adam and gansey have the biggest hard-ons for orla and blue wants to die/kill them and ronan is disgusted

- ronan complains about the heat like 600 times i love my dramatic son

- Gansey finding the skin of blue’s calf more “tantalizing” than orla’s entire torso boiiiii if u dont get!!!!!

- “Blue cheerfully spit a mouthful of brown water on his boat shoes.” she’s doing god’s work

- “He was struck by what a glorious and fearless animal Blue Sargent was.” I’m emo

- “Gansey, pacing next to his ruined miniature Henrietta, set his eyes on Ronan. There was something intense and heedless in them. There were many versions of Gansey, but this one had been rare since the introduction of Adam’s taming presence.” The fact that adam calms gansey down is so pure and i cannot believe this is canon (also: blue also calms gansey down... i love my bisexual son)

- Gansey being badass asf when him and ronan go to confront kavinsky about breaking in the apartment and ronan going super heart-eyes

- also i am convinced that this scene is dick’s bi awakening

- “…Gansey leaving for D.C. without him was unbearable. They had been a two-headed creature for so long, Ronan-and-Gansey. He couldn’t say it, though. There were a thousand reason’s why he couldn’t say it” #GAY

- “While i’m gone, dream me the world. Something new for every night.” #REALLYGAY

- no one in fox way can work a cellphone maura literally had to get blue to make the gray man’s voicemail work

- Ronan blowing a kiss to gansey and adam when they are flying away in the helicopter i fucking hate him jsjsjs

- Helen asking if Adam wants to go into the whole foods with her and adam just stares at her. me too buddy

- “’Pigmy Pouters. Feisty ones!’ Gansey mouthed Blue at Adam. Adam let out a little wail of helpless laughter.” adam parrish laughing: a concept

- Blue finally admitting to herself that she likes Gansey while laying in his bed

- “I’d ask you out, if i was alive” “i’d say yes” :(((((

- the fact that adam’s dad actually pushed my manz down the stairs at one point i will personally fight robert parrish

- “This is Adam Parrish. Shake his hand. He’s more clever than I am. One day we’ll be throwing one of these shindigs for him.” MY HEART

- Adam literally filling up a whole page describing helen #bi

- when helen asks why ronan wasn’t with them, adam and gansey both get the mental image of the house burning down lmao

- “you gonna race with those shades on, you Bulgarian mobster Jersey trash piece of shit?” he’s so elegant with words!!!1111!!!

- Ronan thinking Kavinsky is beautiful um this is gross but #gay

- Gansey calling Blue to calm him down just because she makes him feel “uneven and shattered” im fucking emo

- Kavinsky calling gansey literally anything BUT his name: “Dick three” “dick dick dick” “Dickie”

- Ronan figuring out how to master his dreams and then leaving kavinsky #scammer

- to be honest i cannot believe helen and gansey managed to convince adam about the hondoyota with the literal SKIT they used

- “HEY, OLD MAN!” “Ronan!” ANGELS

- ronan apologizing for wrecking the pig and Gansey actually not believing his ears.

- “Hey, Churchill tried to negotiate with hitler.” “Did he?” don’t argue with boat shoe about history this man will rip you to shreds

- pink switchblade

- “Times circular, chicken”

- BLUE GOING OFF ON ADAM IM JUST ABOUT TO QUOTE THE WHOLE ROAST

- THE WHOLE ROAST: “Politics! I have no interest. Voting? What? I forgot my apron. I think I ought to be in the kitchen right now, actually. My rolling pin-” “i didn’t know that you-” “thats my point! did it even occur to you? You wouldn’t have gone someplace without Gansey, though. You two make a grand couple! kiss him! (lmao) Well, i don’t want to be just someone to kiss. I want to be a real friend, too. Not just someone who’s fun to have around because- because I have breast!” GO OFF BITCHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

- Adam calling Blue a raging feminist like do boys not know that this is a complement like yes this is the angle i am going for thanks for noticing

- Gansey and Blue’s first drive together #i #am #emo

- “Jane, in this light you... Jesus. Jesus. I’ve got to get my head straight.” MURDER ME

- When Adam woke up at fox way after being asleep for 24 hours or whatever he drank four glasses for pomegranate juice and three cups of tea and then left in the span of ten minutes. i know sometimes these kids act like they are 50 years old but....this is a teenage boy

- “It was against Ronan’s nature to appear overly interested in anything.” HES SO EXTRA

- Grey man: “But it wasn’t personal.” Ronan: “It. Was. To. Me.” :((((((((((( also i’m pretty sure neil josten said the same thing to that police officer one time i love parallels.

- “when ronan thought of gansey, he thought moving into monmouth manufacturing, of nights spent in companionable insomnia, of a summer searching for a king, of gansey asking for the grey man for his life. Brothers.” kill. me.

- kavinsky dying #goodshit

#the raven cycle #pynch #bluesey #trc #adam parrish #ronan lynch #gansey #blue sargent #noah czerny #trc edit #BLLB IS NEXT IM SO EXCITED TO RE READ #anyways here u go nerds

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tesalionlortus · 7 years

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LMAOF - those ought to be my fave comments about TFA...

“How did you get so many likes which such an inane and asinine comment? That sentence meant nothing, and even if it had it would have only done what you think it did because it was copy-pasted from ANH. You also talk about how no one really cared about Alderaan's destruction (aka you're critical of the fact that it wasn't fleshed out) but you ignore that this wasn't fleshed out at all either. After "the Republic was destroyed" no one cared either, they immediately just went back to finding Luke and crying about Han rather than even truly mention the Republic's end. Also, it's "destruction" doesn't even make any sense. How does the largest, (nearly) completely galactic government get destroyed just because it's capital planet was blown up? It wasn't even like a centralized capital planet, they voted on which one they wanted to be the capital all the time so it's not even like that system was really important. Every planet would have representatives to replace deceased senators and were supposed to believe this one act destroyed the whole government? Also, how was their entire fleet destroyed? I don't care if the New Republic limited their Navy there is no way they actually stationed 90% of their fleet in one system... Also, there's the whole fact that StarKiller Base lacks any creativity and is stupid, and the fact that it makes no sense the laser would break up into pieces, and the fact it makes no sense that that many habitable planets were that close to each other without being uninhabitable at best, and the fact it makes little sense everyone could see its destruction that well. Sorry for being pissy with you, but the new trilogy is utter garbage is makes my brain not feel like it has increased intracranial pressure if people realize that. P.S. The concept is dark but the execution was not one of the darkest scenes, it was fucking hilarious because of the distractingly blatant Nazi similarities that they pushed so hard and for all the reasons I gave before. Good day, sir. Lmao“

“Assuming the New Order has the resources to build such a weapon - which throws any reasonable assumption of balance out the window between them and La Resistance, if they were so superior in resources certainly they shouldn't have been fought to a stalemate. Furthermore, if we get past all that silliness the New Order loses this weapon in Episode VII along with whatever personnel and materiel were on Starkiller Base at the time of its destruction. Certainly, the loss of such a weapon and resources, already ridiculous in scale, would cripple them going forward, but we all know it won't. The Empire was the continuation of a Galactic Republic which had been building its weapons and forces with no real competition for three decades. The New Order is the remnants of a pack of dudes who were beaten - or at least tied - by a New Republic that has fewer weapons and resources than the old Rebellion. It requires a dozen excuses by see-no-evil fanboys to be even nominally feasible and EVEN PAST THAT it's still a lazy creative idea.“

“Maybe JJ Abrams sat down with his creative team and decided that fans need a third Death Star which can be blown up again, so as to invoke a feeling of nostalgy, which is good for ticket sales, and fans are now creating numerous theories as to how to place this enormous piece of bullshit in the SW universe. Basically, if Abrams had decided to come up with a giant piece of poo as the new superweapon of the new empire, fans would've created a backstory for it the next day, uploading it to the Wookiepedia and youtube as well. There goes your canon. You can come up with a backstory for everything. 'Snoke'! 'Kylo Ren'! 'First Order'! Of course, the SW universe can be expanded as we like, but I hate it, when the creators abuse this right and give us poorly devised, stupid and cheap random stuff that will sell very well among children. The original story deserves so much more than this. Take a look at Yoda (the original one), how much effort they put into his uniquely peculiar personality and his wisdom. And the jungle planet he lives on. Or Cloud City. Or Han's and Leia's relationship as it developed before our eyes. Or the conflict btw Luke and Vader. Or Vader's suit. Everything was original, everything was carefully designed, everything had enthusiasm behind it. I don't feel any of that with the new episode. They just copied everything from the old trilogy, giving everything and everyone a cool-sounding new name, and that's it. I only felt a bit of redemption when I saw Rogue One. That movie again dared do something new and use a lot of creativity.“

“Rogue one, although not even needed since it plays during the old triologies time period, featured a way greater diversity of new and starships in general than Episode 7 which plays aproximitly 30 years in the future. As far as i remember Episode displays 5 different Starships: "The Falcon" "X-Wings" "Tie Fighter" "Star Destroyer" "Kylo Rens Drop Ship", well reagrding the fact that 4 out of 5 featured ships were part of the old Triology that is absolutly sad and is one thing that shows up the uncreativity which spreads throughout the film. That movie is supposed to play 30 years after Return of the Jedi, yeah cool story does look like the Galaxy just went on a quick nap to skip those years. Leia Organa a politican is the "General"(wtf) of a Resistance consisting of a dozen X-wing(wtf) and which appears to be hunting the First Order. Main tactic could be to destroy the shield generator of star destroyers and smack 1 or two X-wings right into the Brigde to disable them or something like that, pretty effective fighting style isnt it?... wait, huh well something seems to be wrong... list goes on btw Swamp planet, X-Wing support arrives shoots down 10+X Tie Fighters, dont scratch the main targets Drop Ship which is parked stationary at the ground. Damn those undisciplined "Rebel" Pilots, they rather want to show off their skills than to follow their mission objectiv. No wonder Ren got away, the resistance seems to really be a massive threat to the First order which reasons the destruction of multiple planets for that the New republic will stop supporting the Resistance with... wait with what actually ? 1 X-wing per year ? Well i dont think the Resistance even has 30 X-wings, i guess its only political support then, well and of course the First order cant allow that ! Good Idea to blow up planets worth i dont know massive amounts of credits in infrastructure whithout negotiations btw, really good plan tbh. This movie simply consists of made up uncreative shit.“

And finally:

“A new hope's plot hole of the Death Star exhaust port suddenly became the most clever plot in all of Star Wars while diminishing TFA to a child's tale.“

#star wars #the force awakens #anti tfa #dumbass writing #nostalgia exploit

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kyloknightofren · 7 years

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You’re Sure It’s Not Spelt Hucks?

So for the @verymerrykylux shindig that I’m totally late for, I got to write for @gingerbitch-hux. I’m so sorry it’s late. I have no excuses. I’m a lame dude. Anyways! I hope you like it. Thanks to @sithofren and @kyloren-sithlord for reading through this and giving it the polishing it needed!

There is something to this newfangled Facebook thing that Han is simply unable to wrap his mind around. Leia insists -- in that endlessly annoying Leia way of hers -- that he needs to get it in order to stay current with ‘this generation.’ Whatever that's supposed to mean. Han’s never met a computer he couldn't work his way around, but this god damned, imbecilic blue-and-white website of death is testing him in new and inspired ways.

He hates it.

His first friend, surprisingly, is Luke. He didn't even realize Tibetan monasteries had wifi, but proof to the contrary is staring him right in the face. Lando and Leia tie for second, because he can't find the little button that looks like a horribly mutilated and bleached upper body for a solid ten minutes while Leia sends him a series of increasingly concerned and illegible texts, using literally anything on the keyboard save actual letters, until he finally cedes defeat and calls her to ask for help.

She rolls her eyes at him but helps all the same. She's sweet like that -- burn and salve all in one.

It takes him a month to realize that he's missing something, or perhaps more accurately, someone. Han had simply assumed -- evidently wrongly -- that Ben would search up his name, click the little white face and their relationship would repair itself. The accident smoothed over, or perhaps even ignored; Ben’s attempts at running from the guilt that Han had no small part in exacerbating, resolved.

Searching ‘Ben Solo’ comes up with frustratingly little -- ‘Ben Organa’ produces even less. The internet is supposed to connect people, and all it’s left him with is the taste of palpable bitterness.

Leia gives him a knowing look over what could generously be considered spaghetti and spinach salad that night. She’s never been much of a cook, and Han himself can’t do much in the kitchen beyond opening the wrapper of a granola bar. The house feels empty with just the two of them, and Han can’t even fathom how much emptier it must feel when he can’t take anymore of acting domestic, when it’s just Leia.

“He’s not on there, you know,” she starts, apropos of nothing after too many minutes of uncomfortable silence.

Han grunts in response, digging into his pasta with renewed vigour. Perhaps if he just doesn’t respond, this conversation can simply stop. Of course, Han knows that’s a losing battle.

“I try looking, every few months. Perhaps I’m just not cut out for this internet crap. But -- I happen to know someone. He’s rather good with technology, always getting me out of a bind when I need it.” She smiles at him -- it’s small, but significant. Like everything about her. Han can’t remember the last time he saw her smile like that.

“Is that so?” he asks, the beginnings of a smirk playing about his mouth. “I suppose I could take another look for you, princess.”

“My hero,” she says, rolling her eyes with something he hopes is fondness.

The next days are spent in a fevered state, scrolling through the blue-and-white screen of death. He’s always worked best when he has some sort of task to complete, some goal to reach for.

It seems unlikely that Ben simply isn’t on the internet — he’s a young man, after all. Or at least, that’s how Han remembers him. It’s been close to ten years. Things can change.

Still, no matter how hard he works, there’s no tangible results to give to Leia. no gold medal to award for a job well done. Google refuses to cooperate with him — all of the results pulled up relate back to the accident. One particular news site has the gall to refer to it as a tragedy, which is frankly absurd.

Han resorts to means he never thought he’d use — calling Luke’s daughter and praying that she doesn’t tell Leia. Rey insists that she hasn’t heard from her cousin in at least five years, which is still somehow better than Han himself.

But, she does give him a name, someone he was apparently seeing when they last ran into each other (in a coffee shop of all confounded places). Hucks. Which can hardly be the real name of a human being, but Han supposes that if Rey can be married to someone named Finn, then who is he to judge?

Hucks turns up...nothing. Well, not nothing exactly, but unless Hucks lives in the Bahamas and is a very busty sixty year old retiree whose given name is Pamela, Han probably has the wrong person. Still, he’s not here to judge Ben or his life choices (much), so he sends a link to Rey via email and waits for confirmation.

What he gets in response is a series of -- what are they? Emogicons? -- that indicate someone crying from laughter. Or at least, Han thinks that’s what it is. Rey sends another email to follow up, informing him that he’s spelt Hucks wrong, which is hardly his fault. Who the hell assumes it’s spelt ‘Hux’?

Idiots, that’s who.

Hux is apparently a very well-off lawyer with a strange fixation with ginger cats and a child that Han assumes is his own, given the bright shock of red hair and what Han can only consider to be most morose pout he’s ever seen on a toddler. He apparently doesn’t have a first name, and might be the most boring person Han could have ever conceived of.

His relationship status isn’t publically listed, and as he scrolls through pages and pages of Hux’s very tame Facebook history, he can’t help but be disappointed that there’s nothing on his wall from Ben Solo-Organa-whatever.

There is, however, a lot from a person named Kylo Ren, whose profile picture looks like a hunk of metal garbage in a white room. Leave it to uppity rich folks like Hux to be friends with modern artists. At the very least, this Kylo Ren character has good taste in animal pictures -- Han is a particular fan of the one with the cat holding onto a railing with the caption ‘Hang In There!’.

Han debates, for the better part of fifteen minutes, when is the appropriate time to send a friend request to someone you’ve never met before. He texts Leia for a second opinion and she replies with a series of thumbs up and the weird hands that look like they’re straight out of a televangelist gathering. Which probably means something like ‘go for it’, but Han has never been very good at figuring out what Leia’s trying to say without making a giant mess of everything.

At 3:02, which is probably a very respectable time for lawyers to get tired of working and go on their phones, Han sends his request.

It takes a week and three days for him to get a response from Hux, during which time Han alternately frets that this entire thing is a waste of time and curses Hux’s name for making him wait for so long.

<< Who the hell is this?

There’s a moment of clarity when Han realizes that yes, of course Facebook has a private messaging system. No wonder Leia kept teasing him about posting things onto Luke’s wall. Damn stupid website.

<< Hello? I’m very busy and I don’t have all day to sit here and wait for decrepit old men to figure out how to use the internet. I don’t want whatever it is you’re selling.

>> hi no dont go my name is han

>> i think u knew my son

>> ben

<< Jesus fucking Christ.

>> thats not my name but ill take the compliment

>> i just want to talk to ben

<< We’re all very happy without you and your miscreant ways, thank you very much.

>> wat does that even mean

<< “Ben” has told me all about you. We aren’t interested.

Han is...puzzled, to say the least. He knows he wasn’t the ideal father, knows the accident was his fault, but he doesn’t think that that qualifies him to be treated like the literal scum of the earth. But still. Ben knows this man.

>> wat do you mean “ben”

>> his name is ben

<< Perhaps it used to be, yes. That’s no longer what he goes by.

>> y not?

>> ben is a perfectly good name

>> its a family name

<< Yippee for that. It’s still not his name.

<< Look, I could spend all day arguing about what name my incredibly asinine husband prefers to go by, but that would be a) pointless, and b) a waste of everyone’s time, but most importantly mine.

>> i just want to make sure hes ok

>> wait

>> husband???!?!?!?!??!?!

<< Fuck.

<< Fine.

<< If I answer all your questions, will you promise not to try to contact “Ben”? He’s very . . . delicate, about things like this.

>> but i want to see him

<< Good for you. Those are my terms. Take them or leave them.

>> ok

There’s a brief negotiation, mostly steamrolled by Hux, where they discuss where to meet. They settle on a coffee shop in downtown which Han assumes must be close to Hux’s office. He’s never heard of it before, but -- it’s something.

Han hates the downtown core with all of his being. Where the hell is everyone supposed to park? It’s damn ridiculous. He circles around the block where Hux’s chosen coffee shop is for the better part of twenty minutes before finally finding a spot, squeezed in between two cars that independently are probably worth at least five times what the Falcon is.

He’s wearing his finest jacket — the one with only one grease stain — and a pair of probably clean brown corduroys. Definitely not because he wants to impress his...son-in-law? He’s still not fully able to wrap his head around the concept, no matter how hard he tries. He has a son-in-law, and that son-in-law has a child. Does that make him a grandfather? Does he even want to be a grandfather?

He hasn’t told Leia about this meeting, mostly because he doesn’t want to get her hopes up. Han has spent the better part of twenty years disappointing her, and there’s something about how tenuous their relationship is at the moment that tells him that if he well and truly fucks this up, there might not be any going back.

Hux is easy to spot — he’s the only one with ginger hair and a frown in the whole damn place. He’s sipping fancy coffee, which is to say, coffee that didn’t come from the McDonald's drive through around the corner from his garage.

He claps Hux on the back as he comes around, sliding into the seat opposite with a gruff “Hello.” Hux gives the watch on his hand a cursory glance before glaring up at Han.

“You’re seven minutes late.” His voice is clipped, accented in a way Han wasn’t expecting. It reminds him of Luke’s Uncle Ben, of the Arizona desert and his old smuggling routes.

“Yeah, well, you try parking around here and see if you can get anywhere on time, son.” Hux rolls his eyes, seemingly unimpressed.

From what Han can gleam, Hux is always seemingly unimpressed.

“Yes, well, that’s all well and good but I have a meeting I need to be at in thirty-three minutes, so if we could simply cut to the proverbial chase, I would be most appreciative.” Hux taps a finger on the cup of his fancy coffee, which seems to be more white fluff than actual coffee. The motion draws Han’s attention down, towards the ring gleaming on his hand.

“So — you really — you and Ben?”

“Me and Kylo, yes. If you want to have this conversation, the least you could do is make an attempt to call him by his preferred name.”

“Wait — you mean the Kylo Ren who posts all the cat pictures on your Facebook?”

“Oh my fucking — yes. Of course. Obviously. That Kylo. Your spawn, Kylo.”

“Oh.” Han stares down at the table, at Hux’s hand again. The ring is gold, plain and unadorned but clearly polished regularly and meticulously. There’s something about it that makes Han wish he’d worn his own wedding ring, if only to prove that he’s not a bad husband as well as a bad father. “Are you — happy?”

The question contorts Hux’s face into something more closely resembling a sneer -- it’s clearly not often that he considers happiness as something important, a metric to be closely observed. “I — yes. I suppose we are.”

“That’s good.”

“Indeed.”

They sit in silence — awkward, uncomfortable silence — for what feels like an eternity but is more likely only a minute or two. “He’s an artist, you know,” Hux starts, clearly trying to reach for any topic of conversation that the two of them might have in common. “He has his own studio, and — well, I suppose he doesn’t do as much now because of Cillian, but still. He’s very well known within art circles, if you go in for that sort of thing.”

“Cillian?” Han asks, desperate for anything to cling to in the hopes of continuing the conversation.

“Yes, Cillian. He’s rather brilliant, for a four year old. Kylo is — well, he’s much better with him than I am, but that’s perhaps because Kylo still has the mind of a child locked inside the body of a giant.” The words are harsh, but they’re said with the barest hint of affection — the first actual sign of emotion Hux has displayed throughout the entire conversation.

“And he’s — yours?”

“Ours,” Hux corrects quickly. It’s evidently a conversation he’s had before, if the rapid way he replies is any indication. “He’s ours, no matter who’s biology he’s got in him.”

“Right, yeah.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance of Leia or me getting to spend some time with Be-Kylo?” Han knows what the answer is most likely going to be, but he can’t help but ask anyways. For Leia’s sake, if not his own.

“I -— look. You seem like a nice guy, sort of. Kylo’s told me all sorts of absurd things about you that might be true, but given his proclivity towards grandiose exaggeration, probably aren’t.” Han nods along, waiting for the definitive ‘no’ that he’s expecting. “But I can’t speak for Kylo personally. It’s not my place.”

Hux reaches into his breast pocket, pulls out a business card in matte black with the name ‘Kylo Ren’ emblazoned in plain white font. “Send him an email. Don’t bother calling because he doesn’t answer his work phone and he has no idea how to check voicemail, no matter what he says to the contrary.”

“Thanks, kid,” Han says, taking the card and putting it in his pocket like it’s a winning lotto ticket. In some ways, it is.

“Don’t mention it,” Hux says, standing up and straightening his suit. “Really, don’t. I sleep on the couch enough as it is.”

Han chuckles, sliding out of his chair. “Yeah, his mom’s the same way. They’re always making you think they hate you when it’s the damn opposite.”

Hux makes a face, something between pained and affectionate, before looking down at his watch. “Well, this has been — something. I ought to —”

“Yeah, yeah. Go on, kid.” Hux glares, but offers his hand to Han anyways. The shake is firm — surprising, given Hux’s relatively willowy figure.

“Have a good day,” Hux says, by way of closing remarks. Han smiles and thinks that, for the first time in the better part of a decade, he actually might.

#kylux #gingerbitch hux

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