#years and years will pass and i’ll still look up to op as my artist inspiration
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October 2012: "Please Take My Card Away"
Every so often, I come into some money and get a little reckless. The amount of money varies, ranging anywhere from one hundred and fifty dollars to three hundred dollars. Admittedly, those are still pretty pitiful sums in the scheme of things, but they’re not chump change either. Whatever the precise amount, it’s usually a larger sum than I’ve had sitting in my wallet or lounging in my checking account for a long time, and magically one hundred and fifty dollars transforms from two weeks of hard work or three potential trips to the grocery store into enough money to buy four or five of the Nice Things I’ve had my eye on for the past few months. My logical mind always knows that what I’m holding is Practical Money—just enough for things like bills and food and T passes—but somehow I’ll manage to forget that factoid and start seeing my newfound wealth as Riches—plenty for food and bills and T passes and socks and shoes and video games and decorations and artists’ works and movie tickets and fancy dinners and tasty snacks and clothes and books and music and so forth and so on. The end result is invariably two weeks to a month in which, while waiting on the arrival of three pairs of five-dollar striped socks and a copy of Spec Ops: The Line, I don’t eat a whole lot, but when I do it’s at Elephant & Castle and I insist on paying for my companion.
One such occasion arrived with the first semester of my senior year of college. I had spent the summer in the role of [Company Name Redacted]’s design intern—a peculiar unpaid position which left me both blindingly certain that I needed to get out of school in order to be happy and equally convinced that perhaps, maybe, my life plan wasn’t going to hold up—and had, as a result, only managed to scrape by through the generosity of my family and the sturdiness of my savings account, now sadly depleted. The return of school brought with it the return of my job—I’d been working in [college]’s print shop and mailroom since the day I’d come to the school and though I only make around minimum wage, I’ve given over the majority of my weekday free time to [Different Company Name Redacted], resulting in cold hard cash—and thus the return of a stable income. I’d arranged to work twenty-four hours per week which, with paychecks coming biweekly, worked out to a little over three hundred dollars per pay period. After three long months of nothing but the basics, that first three hundred dollar check looked like a fortune, and I immediately, unconsciously, sought out something to splurge on.
PAX East—a Boston-based video game convention run by the creators of webcomic Penny Arcade—has been a staple of my year since it first took place in March of 2010. It’s expanded rapidly over its short life, being forced to move from the Hynes Convention Center after the first year to the Boston Convention and Exhibition Center for the second year and now PAX East 2013 has sold out of three-day passes within one day of those passes going up for sale, surprising its creators who, like so many others, foolishly believed there was little to know [sic] interest for “that sort of thing” out here on the east coast. Silly boys.
I went to PAX East 2010 first because the notion of a three-day event entirely about video games excited me unspeakably and secondly because I’d never been to anything remotely like a convention before and I rather suspected I’d enjoy it. I was entirely right; I loved the experience to death, even the boring parts, even though I went that year with a boyfriend who would be a hated ex in a mere month, even though I was in the worst phase of an eight-year depression at the time. I adored the exhibit halls where one could preview recently or soon-to-be released games and buy Chessex dice for your favorite table-top roleplaying game. There were tables for trying out every board game, card game, and pen-and-paper roleplaying game one could think of; there were tournaments for fans of Magic: The Gathering and contests for the best-dressed cosplayers (folks dressed in elaborate, detailed costumes of their favorite video game characters) and an overwhelming swath of free giveaways, including the massive swag bag guests received for simply walking in the door. PAX East boasted a huge array of panels from industry professionals and celebrities both in the digital and analog gaming communities, for those interested in discussion, and there were rooms of arcade cabinets, PlayStations, Xboxes, and PCs where one could borrow any game they wished for an hour. An entire hallway was cordoned off and filled with massive bean bag chairs so that people could sit with their handheld systems and play games with these stranger-brethren who gathered to PAX East with them. At night, musical artists like Metroid Metal, the Video Game Orchestra, and Jonathan Coulton provided concerts for PAX East’s guests, and throughout the whole convention one massive competition—the OmegaThon—was held to determine who was the all around best gamer at PAX that year. The concerts were almost a spiritual experience for me—I am not religious, but something about standing there watching an orchestra play an array of songs that not only meant an entire childhood to me but to all of the hundreds of people standing and sitting with me resonated in the way I imagine church resonates for the religious—and I loved the panelists for intellect. The cosplayers had my admiration for their skill, the bravery I thought it must take to put on that costume and pretend to be that character for no other reason than frivolous passion, and the sheer joy on their faces. I spent something like two hundred dollars, not counting ticket price, that first year, forty of which was solely on dice, and I came away with the absolute knowledge that I would attend PAX East for every year that I lived even remotely near Boston and that one day, I, too, would cosplay.
I did not cosplay at PAX East 2011, though I spent most of the autumn leading up to it thinking I’d don a Team Fortress 2 costume—a Scout or an Engineer. I simply never got around to constructing it; I am dreadfully lazy. For PAX East 2012, I managed to throw together a generic fantasy costume from odds and ends around my apartment—I’ve owned a purple cloak for at least six years and a pale green corset for perhaps two and these, in combination with alternately a beach wrap from 2002 or a long, rust skirt from my Irene Adler Halloween costume of 2011 worked out to something resembling a mysterious elf lady from a fantasy painting who was really risking her skin on the BCEC’s many escalators—but it wasn’t a character from anything in particular; it was a costume, not a cosplay. Perhaps it is no surprise then that when I found myself with three hundred dollars and PAX East 2013 six months away, I decided that I would create a cosplay costume; I would be Chell, the protagonist from Valve’s beloved video games Portal and Portal 2.
I began the search at work in the mailroom one day. It was a slow day with few customers and very little mail to sort, and I was bored. I did not, initially, think that I would put together a cosplay in a serious fashion. I merely wondered how easy it would be; was it possible? I had recently purchased a white tank top from ThinkGeek with the logo of the game’s fictional research laboratory, Aperture Science, emblazoned on the front. I knew the Portal 2 model of Chell well enough to know I needed about four to five more pieces to have her full look. What if it was easy? What if I could be Chell?
I decided to search out the little things first. She wore a dark gray pants-like something under a cerulean tanktop, white tank top, and orange jumpsuit. The jumpsuit, in the Portal 2 model, was unzipped and tied at her waist. She also wore Long Fall Boots—fictional footwear that enables its wearer to fall for any distance and fail to completely decimate their legs upon landing—and carried a Portal Gun—an equally fictional, vaguely gun-shaped device for creating two linked portals which defy space, enabling a person to move between them regardless of any intervene distance, gravity, or logic—and wore her hair in a ponytail. There were white bandages around one of her wrists.
I spent some time staring at various images and renderings of Chell before deciding that the gray, pants-like something was going to have to be spandex shorts. I remained undecided as to what, exactly, the gray, sheer swatch at her midriff was meant to represent, but I figured spandex or athletic shorts would get the point across just fine. As I mentioned before, I am terribly lazy, and so I don’t own anything even remotely akin to athletic wear, nor do I know where one goes to buy such things. I polled my coworkers on the subject, but they weren’t much help, so I decided to go with general clothing stores. I subsequently spent some time on the websites of GAP, Old Navy, Kohl’s, Target, Sears, and Macy’s. None of these turned up results I particularly liked, and certainly not in the shade or size I wanted or needed (I have a very large bum; clothing companies do not cater to people whose bum is twice as large, proportionally, as the rest of them). So I turned to eBay, scummy savior of us all, and wound up purchasing a pair of dark gray spandex shorts—“One Size Fits All,” it said, and I laughed, thinking how quickly my bum would destroy those shorts. The answer turned out to be a single wearing. Not the moment I put them on, quite, but near enough to; they now have a lovely seam along the butt crack that certainly wasn’t there before, but it’s not visible when I have the jumpsuit on.
At this juncture it became apparent that I was actually going to do it; I was going to make the costume. I immediately set about finding the cerulean tank top to go underneath my white Aperture Science one. This took an absurdly long time, though I searched many of the same places I had for the shorts, and for many of the same reasons. Shirt sizes, fortunately, are not a problem for me—I am almost always a Small, regardless of brand, though if the style calls for cleavage and low necklines, then I either need an extra-small or, more likely, probably just can’t wear it at all—and that was not the trouble here. No, the trouble was the particular shade of cerulean. Oh, there were plenty of light blue athletic tank tops out there, but none of them quite matched the light sky blue with the subtlest hint of yellow that Chell’s tiny scrap of visible under shirt displayed. I think I spent something like two hours trying to find the perfect shirt; it was certainly more time than I’d spent on the pants. In the end, I wound up giving target thirty dollars for a pretty ugly athletic tank in a nerve-wracking extra small. It was the closest match to the color that I could find, though everything else about it displeased me and shelling out thirty bucks chafed. When it finally arrived—I ordered it online; I couldn’t be bothered to try and get myself to a physical Target, not without a car—it turned out that the built-in sports bra was tight enough to restrict my breathing. “Oh well,” I thought. “I paid thirty dollars for it; I’m going to wear it.” (I never return things; I don’t like being an inconvenience to anyone but myself.)
I figured the bandages would be easily obtained at the Chinatown CVS, and they did turn out to be, and I already had the haircut for Chell’s ponytail. That left the three distinctive items—the orange jumpsuit which had, on closer inspection of images of Chell, a number of fine details; the Portal Gun which I could either buy an over-priced replica of or I could make; and the Long Fall Boots that I would have to make, no matter what. It was several days before I decided what to do about any of these items. The cheapest Portal Gun replica was one hundred dollars on ThinkGeek and sold out until December; there were a number of orange jumpsuits and coveralls to choose from but half of them were low-quality “prisoner” Halloween costumes and the other half were proper, working man’s coveralls only ever available in men’s sizes and typically costing a minimum of forty dollars. There was also a replica of Chell’s very specific jumpsuit available for one hundred dollars, but it wouldn’t be released until October 15th. As to the Long Fall Boots, making them was a daunting prospect. The in-game boots were heelless with a metal strut extending from the back of the calf to the floor that took Chell’s weight, her foot arched as though she wore a high heel. The black-and-white boots also had a massive open section at the shin and were, apparently, held on by straps there; the whole boot needed to stop just short of the knee and had a handful of black designs to be accounted for.
I do not sew, and I do not know how to operate a lathe. I also was getting three hundred dollars every two weeks and, following a painful and on-going break up, found that my living expenses and, particularly, food bill had dropped to a mere fifty bucks. I didn’t go out much, without the gentleman caller, and when I did it was to see my gaming group; I didn’t eat much, because my response to break ups is to unintentionally starve myself, and when I did I ate poorly and certainly not at restaurants or via Foodler; my rent and bills all amounted to very little compared with my previous lease, and so I knew I could have those well in hand. In short: I had disposable income, and I knew it. I did not sew; I did not know how to operate a lathe; I did not want to cut PVC or sand foam blocks into round shapes or figure out how to wire LEDs; I was and am terribly lazy: I dropped the hundred for the replica of Chell’s jumpsuit when it was released on the 15th, and I made mental plans to drop another hundred on the Portal Gun in December. In the meantime, a twenty dollar plush Companion Cube—another distinctive prop from the game—would suffice as a prop for the cosplay. Sufficient for Halloween at least. I can’t tell you how the Portal Gun will turn out, as at the time of writing, I haven’t bought it, but I can say that the Companion Cube turned out to be the perfect pillow for watching TV while laying on the couch and the jumpsuit ripped along the seam in the crotch as soon as I pulled it on (I must have a large, invisible penis) and is currently awaiting repairs from my roommate, who does sew.
Thus there were the boots; the things I had to make. I’d already lost at least two hundred and sixty dollars to the costume, not counting shipping. I couldn’t stop now, buyer’s remorse or no buyer’s remorse. I spent some time looking at what other cosplayers had made: there were modified Go-Go boots up the wazoo; there were a few examples of heelless fashion shoes converted through clever plaster work into Long Fall Boots; two people had actually done the amazing and made honest-to-god Long Fall Boots from scratch by sawing the heel of some high heel boots and milling aluminum to create a sturdy strut. These last were absolutely stunning in their craftsmanship and their accuracy to detail, but they weren’t up for sale, and I’m no more comfortable with power tools than sewing. I decided to go the Go-Go boot route.
Finding the right boots took some long hours of searching; I used the search term “Go-Go boots” because it most nearly fitted what I needed—white, knee-high pleather boots with a small platform and a tall heel. I wasn’t concerned about walking around a convention hall in three to four inch heels, as I wear heels every day and have done so since January 2011, if I’m not mistaken, but I was concerned about finding a style of heel that wouldn’t draw the eye. Most Go-Go boots, it turns out, have chunky, vaguely hourglass-shaped heels. Aside from being ugly and painfully sixties, this kind of heel wasn’t going to fade from sight after I painted them black—photos from cosplayers who had used this kind of boot proved that. No, what I needed was a stiletto, and it took two days before I found one I felt satisfied with through a long chain of store-hopping and modifying search terms. I risked the shoe size on an eight wide—like my bum size, my shoe size does not conform to fashion or factory standards; designers do not make high heels for people with wide feet, particularly not when those people should rightly be a seven or seven and a half in length—figuring that if it was too big I could wear multiple socks and trust to the boot shape to keep the damn things on. The size turned out to be almost perfect—lucky break—and I spent a couple more days staring at the untouched, white boots before I considered getting to work on them. The first step, I knew, was to cut out the front and create straps. I was terrified; what if I messed up? I’d have to buy new boots, and buying them and the supplies to modify them had easily brought the costume’s total cost over three hundred dollars. At this point, I was going to have to wear the stupid thing for every costume-able event for the next three years just to make the whole endeavor worthwhile; it was a damn good thing I counted Portal among my favorite games.
Finally, after much fretting, I sat in my living room with two of my roommates and my ex–gentleman caller. One of my roommates was gluing coyote fur to himself—he goes to art school and considers himself a therian (if you happen to know what that means), so this is par for the course in my day-to-day life—while the other, his lesbian girlfriend, made some felted birds for a set of commissions my mother had handed to her—the commissions were all from moms, grandmoms, and aunts—and my ex–gentleman caller was trying to improve my white-blue, defensive Magic deck that I couldn’t be bothered to make myself. I explained my nervousness over the cutting of the boots, drew moral support from my three literally and metaphorically closest companions, and set to work. I made cardstock templates for the cuts I would make and cardstock templates for the areas I would paint. I taped my cutting template to the boots with painter’s tape and started cutting. The first came out beautifully; the second I cut too far at one point and had to use a combination of duct tape and krazy glue to mask the massive horizontal slit in the boot. I use cyan dry erase marker to denote where the buckles—actually one-inch silver D rings I’d gotten at Joanne Fabrics—for the straps would go and made slits along those lines. I inserted the D rings and folded over a quarter inch of the edge of my cut and used about four packets of Krazy Glue to make the fold and the D rings permanent—I don’t sew, remember. I wound up with a shell of Krazy Glue over my finger tips because there is no easy or safe way to deal with Krazy Glue and so spent most of the drying time trying to scrape the little caps off. The following day, that one roommate attached a coyote’s tail to his butt, over his jock strap and using a binder of Pokemon cards as a weight to make sure the pressure on the silicone glue was strong, and meanwhile I threaded double-sided Velcro straps through my boots’ buckles, pulling them on and measuring out precise lengths so that the straps would have enough leeway to be adjustable at need but wouldn’t extend beyond the area of the cut out. I took the boots off and applied my cardstock stencils and painted high gloss, black acrylic paint onto the boots, creating a black toe, turning the platform black, coloring most of the heel and all of the stiletto black, and adding a swoosh to the outward-facing side of the boot. This took two coats and resulted in a number of missteps and smudges that I later had to obtain some Titanium White acrylic paint to cover up. I spent maybe four days on the painting, all told, adding numerous layers of both colors to ensure consistency in both hue and texture, buying a tiny professional paintbrush so as to refine the edges of the areas I’d painted black.
While the paint dried, I took a black, light aluminum, double-sided wreath hanger and had one of my roommates, a jeweler, saw it in half, giving me to gentle aluminum hooks. I filed the rough edge of the cut away and used my hands and a pair of pliers wrapped in scrap leather to bend these hooks into the shape of the Long Fall Boots’ struts. Half of the struts conformed to the back of the boots’ and my calves, while the rest bent outward in a gentle curve before coming back in toward the boots’ stiletto heels. I glue black foam and black felt to the bottom of the struts to prevent them from scratching floors, and then I used several packs of Krazy Glue to adhere the struts to the boots. This, it turned out, was the most nerve-wracking moment. I had thought that cutting out part of the boots was terrifying—what if I destroyed them? rendered them unusable?—but this was far worse. If I messed this up, not only would I be destroying the boots, but I would be wasting what had come out to about three weeks of on-and-off hard work to make these things look just right. These boots had been keeping me sane, through the senior year of college I did not want to have not because I didn’t want to graduate but because I had never wanted to go to college in the first place, because I only attended out of a perceived obligation to, because I suddenly understood those previously inexplicable students who dropped out in their final year of college or high school even though the beneficial, degreed end was around the corner; through the break up with a gentleman caller whom represented everything I had ever looked for in a friend, in a lover, in a partner, in a future but whom did not or perhaps could not return the feeling, could only care for me as a friend—oh, a good friend, indeed—and even as an object of desire but never as a romantic partner, never as someone to honest-to-god love; through the suicide attempt of a close high school friend who chose me, out of all the people in the world, to confide in, who, predisposed to anxiety and depression, had been finally and utterly decimated by the unintentional emotional abuse present in a relationship I had suggest she enter into with my best friend. Here were those boots, and if I did not attach the struts correctly, I would have ruined them, and I would have to start all over—I didn’t need that right then.
I attached the struts, and I used scrap pleather from that first hesitant cutting to create a little pouch over the top of the struts so that they’d be a bit more secure in place and would be less likely to stab me in the back of the knee, should I kneel while wearing the Long Fall Boots. I gave them a coat of high gloss black to disguise the glue’s dandruff, and I left them to dry. After several days, the struts still held, and the fabric of the boots did not tear under their weight. Several friends of both myself and my roommates saw the boots and declared them lovely; I myself was utterly pleased with them. Oh, there were some errors, to be sure—the swooshes in particular had been problematic, causing me to go over some rather extensive areas with mistake-hiding white, and there was that slit from my cutting error, and one of the struts was hanging ever so slightly askew, and I wound up having to put a felt liner along the edges of my pleather folds to keep the Krazy Glue there from chafing, and at one point one of the D rings popped out when I pulled on a strap too hard, putting the boots on, so that I had to glue it back in—but most of those errors were only visible up close; at PAX East, no one would be getting that close; from where they would be, in the lighting they’d be photographing (people always photograph the cosplayers) in, those errors would be virtually unnoticeable. I had a workable, aesthetic product, and I’d made them with my own two hands, through some tiny miracle, in the midst of two months of pain and disaster.
I set the boots on my unkempt floor, beside my bookshelf, and I put away the other pieces of the costume in my red file cabinet with my other, miscellaneous costume pieces, and I began looking forward to Halloween when I would wear the costume for twelve hours, throughout my work and school day—it would be the durability test, and by god, if anything was going to break, it was not going to be my boots.
#old writing#writing archive#nonfiction#personal essay#prose#the more of these i read the more distressed i become#AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH#assignments#college#relationships#money#credit card#making things#cosplay#you will see the cosplay#10s#2012#Age 21
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can u write more leachel please
no but i can fuck ur bitch
Leah’s first public reading was not packed. Of course, the seven of them all filed into front row seats and of course her parents, grandparents, Ian, and most of her teachers were scattered throughout the audience. Even Emily, her friend from middle school who she hadn’t really talked to since she went to private school, showed up. It was a sweet gesture but beyond the people who knew Leah personally, only around fifty or so were actual fans. It was fine and Leah did an amazing talk and afterwards Rachel slapped her hand against her thigh, wishing she could actually clap.
Leah’s tenth public reading was standing room only.
The National book festival was held once a year in DC and while there were two panels Leah was put on, they also asked her to do her own talk because she had a new book coming out. It’d been called by the New York Times book review “the most anticipated book of the year!” And Rachel had only been allowed to read the first draft of the first chapter, which was slightly killing her. But her girlfriend had a process, even if that process was to solely talk to Nora about it. Nora and sometimes Toni.
When Leah walked onto the slightly raised platform the entire room erupted into applause. It was a standing ovation and Leah looked beautiful and also incredibly embarrassed. Her eyes found Rachel’s immediately and they were so fucking intense, Rachel just wanted her to keep looking at her forever. Forever and a half.
“Wow,” Leah began when she reached her microphone. “I haven’t even said anything yet.” There was laughter, more cheers, gradually people sat down. “Thank you all for coming, I know there’s some pretty amazing panels going on right now. There’s still time to go to Roxanne Gay’s talk, it’s a few rooms down.”
More laughter, more cheers, a “We love you Leah Rilke!”
Rachel shook her head, smiling. Leah could pretend all she wanted, but Rachel saw what was happening. The entire world was slowly coming to life under her touch. The English language was being shaped to fit Leah Rilke.
Every think piece, ever op-ed, every review, mentioned the words Leah Rilke somewhere in there. Every teenage girl was talking about her like they’d talk about the Bible. TV studios and movie execs sat in rooms and discussed about how they could capture her writing style. Publishing houses wanted to find their very own Leah Rilke. Tattoo artists were adding to their pre drawn collections symbols from her books.
It was happening slowly, a little at a time, but time happened all at once. And history textbooks were being printed in Texas for the year 2032 that had an entire chapter about Leah Rilke.
The world was changing, and for the next half-century it’d be one where Leah Rilke was alive. And after, it’d be one where everyone was looking for the next Leah Rilke, however futile.
Leah didn’t see it, but Rachel could. And Nora. They talked about it sometimes, when a Dolly Parton song came on or Tolkien happened to come up in conversation.
“I’m not really afraid of public speaking,” Leah continued. “But can you all look somewhere else for a minute? I just need a break, I feel like you all are staring.”
There was more laughter and Rachel felt her phone buzz. Her eyebrow furrowed and she ignored it, instead focusing on the woman wearing her engagement ring.
It’d taken her a minute to propose, insecurities thriving with Leah off giving talks or going to conventions like this one. In a big empty house it wasn’t hard to feel less than, especially with one hand.
It’d been Dot who talked sense into her. Dot surprisingly sensible when she herself had eloped with Fatin, annulled it, and eloped again.
“Okay,” Dot said. “Maybe she’s too good for you. So what? She doesn’t know that.”
“Exactly,” Rachel said. “That’s my fucking point. She’s gonna find someone better and realize that I’m just… me.”
“Yeah,” Dot nodded.
Rachel glared at her. “You aren’t making me feel better.”
“I’m not Fatin, or Shelby, or Martha.”
“I know that,” Rachel said.
“It sounds like you wanna marry her,” Dot said. “So fuckin’ marry her. Then she won’t be able to fuck off with someone else.”
“But I want her to be happy,” Rachel said.
“So fuckin’ make her happy,” Dot said. “I don’t get what the fuckin’ problem is.”
So she proposed. Leah said yes immediately, not even a moment of hesitation, and they were planning a small wedding with a rabbi they both knew and a Huppa but not a Ketubah. Some sort of halfway for the both of them.
Rachel’s phone buzzed again and she turned it off, slipping it in her backpack to focus on Leah.
“This is probably the hardest book I’ve ever written. Not because its deeply personal or anything, just because I had to do so much research for it,” Leah said. “I even had to dedicate it to my sister in law because she spent hours with me looking at flight patterns and chess strategies. Do you guys know how many different kind of tulips there are? I can’t say I don’t understand the dutch a little better now.”
Nora squeezed her wrist and she looked over at her. Shelby caught her eye from beside Nora and passed her a phone, the notes app open.
Jeffs here.
Rachel frowned. Jeff Greene? The book review guy? Or maybe Jeffery Wilson, the Sony guy. Didn’t they have a neighbor named Jeff who liked to complain about their noise level to the police?
“Jeff?” She mouthed back.
Shelby was stone faced when she nodded and something sunk in Rachel’s gut.
Fuck. Jeff.
Leah was still talking but Rachel couldn’t hear her.
Where?
Shelby took the phone back.
The back.
Rachel clenched her jaw and Nora squeezed her wrist again, eyes wide.
Has Leah seen him?
Shelby shook her head and Rachel let out a breath of relief.
She got to her feet, and cast a quick smile back at Leah who’s brow furrowed at her. She kept talking though, stumbling a little on her speech. Behind her, Fatin, Martha, and Shelby followed.
Jeff wasn’t hard to spot. He was the washed-up has been, with the fraying hair and dark circles under his eyes.
“You need to leave,” Rachel spat.
“I’m just here to apologize,” Jeff said. “I don’t even—”
“You’re leaving,” Shelby cut off. “Now. Or I’ll call security.”
“Take this outside,” Someone hissed and Fatin dragged him out, shoving him roughly through the open door. Several more people waiting outside slipped inside, entirely grateful.
“Listen, I know I fucked up, I want to apologize,” Jeff said.
“She was a child,” Fatin said. “You’re a fucking predator.”
Jeff paled.
“Wait,” Martha said. “Are you here to apologize for dumping her, or for raping her?”
“I didn’t—”
Maybe it was Shelby that threw the first punch, or maybe Rachel. Maybe they both came at him at once. But Martha didn’t hold Rachel back like she normally would’ve, and Fatin snapped at some people to put their phones away.
Leah said it was ironic later, that Fatin was telling people to put their phones away, while Martha urged on a fight.
But it wasn’t a fight, it was a beat down.
Shelby had taken Toni to enough kickboxing lessons over the years to know how to throw a punch, and Rachel had been picturing this moment with Jeff for too long.
No one intervened once Martha pushed a couple people away explaining he was a pedophile who prayed on teenage girls. One person said, “Isn’t that Jeff Galanis?”
And Martha said: “Yes.”
Jeff Galanis hasn’t published a book in five years at that point, he wouldn’t publish one again. Leah wasn’t happy Rachel broke her only hand, and Toni started going to kickboxing lessons alone.
“It was stupid,” Leah told her, when she met her outside after they’d all been thrown out. “I don’t give a shit about him anymore. I just wanted you there.”
“I know,” Rachel said. “But it wasn’t stupid to me. I wanted you to know you wouldn’t have to see him again.”
“Rach,” Leah sighed. “You remember how when we were driving here a Smith’s song came on?” Rachel nodded. “I realized then I literally couldn’t remember his last name.”
“Really?”
“Really,” Leah said. “We’re getting married in a few months, my new book is coming out, your starting your new job. We’ll probably be aunts as soon as Toni and Shelby finish those foster parent classes. Jeff is like—probably the least important person in the universe right now.”
“Sorry I missed the talk,” Rachel said.
Leah kissed her, soft and easy like they’d never once been.
“It’s okay,” she promised. “There’ll be others.”
There were.
#gus writes#leachel fanfic#leachel#leah rilke#toni shalifoe#some post canon hcs for you my love#the wilds fanfic#the wilds#gus answers
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Ixara
Around the time when you were making little drawings like that, you once invited me up to Ixara’s studio because you and he were hanging out and making art together. It was on the second floor of an old building on Hastings Street that had an iconic hand-painted blue sign that I used to always look for as I’d ride the bus into downtown from the suburbs. The sign said something vague like “The Space” — and though I somehow knew it meant it was artists’ studios, at the time I really had no clue what that meant went on inside.
When I got there I was nervous and feeling awkward about my own naïveté and spiralling in my introspection that I wasn’t cool enough to even be hanging out with you. Why you invited me, what you liked about me — I didn’t know. I had never met anyone like you, and it was probably my fascination with you that led us to becoming friends for a few good years. You wore thick black eyeliner and bright red lipstick and spoke with a subtle British accent that I’m still not totally convinced was real. You had big blue eyes and blunt bangs, and though your name was Angela, you went only by your last name. That’s how we all knew you.
Later on, during the brief period when you were a lesbian living in Montreal, before you got married (to a man) and had a baby, I wanted to send you a package in the mail, but I didn’t know how to address the envelope. First name, last name? First initial, last name? Last name, last name? I’m not sure what I landed on — I probably just jotted down the mononym, dropped it in the mail slot and prayed for the best.
Ixara also had a great name — but we never knew the story of what it meant or where it came from. Any questions about his upbringing were usually met with vague answers, if we got any at all. His last name, beautifully juxtaposed, might have been Scandinavian, though he was just as likely to tell you he was part crow or part raccoon.
Ixara was a sweet, genuine guy, goofy, lanky and crushingly handsome, a skateboarder with a glint in his eye who worked backstock in the clothing store where I was a shop boy. I had a crush on him and I’m sure he knew it — though I didn’t even know it myself. I used to think I envied the attention he got from all you girls, but as I recognize it now, I was actually envious of the attention you all got from him. He didn’t seem to mind my little closeted queerisms, either. I think I liked him for that.
Upstairs at the studio, I just sat there and watched you draw, and Ixara make whatever he was making. Ixara had that chill stoner vibe many of us West Coasters do, but he also operated on his own frequency; he could never really sit still for too long. He was always goofing off, pulling pranks — just how you’d imagine a vagrant skater kid who dropped out of high school.
By contrast, I was always the quiet, studious one. Studious in my observation of you all from the sideline, too. You asked me if I wanted to make anything, and I said no, I’m happy just watching, I don’t really know how to make art anyway. (That was a lie.) But you were kind enough to flip through the pages of your sketchbook and show me your drawings, saying you don’t really have to know what you’re doing, you just have to start doing it, and that eased my anxieties a bit.
Ixara’s attention shifted again and with a burst of energy he blurted out that he needed to go buy spray paint because he was planning to go out tagging that night or weekend. Ixara was the first person I ever knew who did graffiti, and I had never really considered where one goes to buy spray paint for these purposes before, either. So we walked with him to a nearby skate shop and while Ixara bantered with the owner and picked out his colours, I just stood there thinking about the wall of canisters that was locked behind cage doors, humoured that even the people who sold spray paint to graffiti artists had to worry about theft.
You stood outside smoking a cigarette.
That was one of the last times I saw Ixara, or heard from him, or really heard anything about him at all, for that matter. Once I caught a rumour that he had gotten arrested in the Interior during a bust at a grow-op where he had been working clipping buds for cash. Cannabis is legal now, and yet he’ll probably have that on his record forever. Ixara was one of those good kids who honestly just seemed to have an endless streak of bad luck.
There were lots of stories from those party days, though. So many of the people from the time all blur together now. As it were, we were all either drunk or high when we met and traded stories anyway — the memories now a fog as thick as the cigarette smoke in whatever dive bar back room we were singing Karaoke in.
There were stories of skaters I’d met in passing once or twice whose wealthy parents had sent them off to rehab for abusing drugs. There was one who was paralyzed in a tragic accident when he tried to pull a stunt by standing on top of a moving train he’d hopped on. There were guys who had reputations for charming the pants off of girls, then get so drunk and rowdy they’d push her around a bit or hit her and wake up on the beach not remembering any of it. I never really got to know these ones much beyond their reputations.
Ixara though, he shone through. Riding that bus home at dusk that night I clocked the tags all the way along Hastings back to Burnaby and Coquitlam and thought about all the kids who made them. I laughed about the thought of them buying their cans of spray paint, consumers shopping just like the rest of us, punked by the same old system — or else stealing it. Were any of the tags Ixara’s? I’ll never know. I never did find out what his tag looked like or what name he went by. If I did, I’d probably still be looking for it today — for some sign he’s out there and doing ok.
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Goodnight, Aaron (Aaron Hotchner x OC) Chapter 5
Summary: After being grilled about his ex-girlfriend on what is meant to be a fun birthday outing, Sebastian gets some new information dropped on him by a worn-out Jack.
AN: Sorry I haven't posted in a while! Been a bit busy with job and family stuff. Hope you enjoy this chapter. This chapter is mostly unedited sorry!
Tagging: @sunlight-moonrise, @clean-bands-dirty-stories, @genevievedarcygranger, and @davidrossi-ismydad
Chapter 4 // Masterlist // AO3 Link
“They asked you to coach?”
Sebastian watched Jack run off to warm up with his team, then he turned back to Hotch who clicked the car keys to lock, “Do they know what you do for a living? And they’ve asked you to coach before? Mental.”
Hotch let out a chuckle at how utterly ridiculous Sebastian made it sound. And, truth be told, it was “mental” that Hotch was still coaching his son and their team when he still had to wrangle together his own team back at the BAU.
Sebastian adjusted his bag strap, “You need to learn to say ‘no’ to some people, Aaron.”
Hotch shook his head, playing into that teasing tone that had worked its way ito the conversation, “Well I don’t suppose you would be up for it?”
“I know nothing about football.”
“Soccer.”
“Soccer,” and Hotch laughed at the way Sebastian’s nose wrinkled as he mimicked the accent – albeit with heavy exaggeration on the vowels.
“Dave!”
Hotch’s hand raised into the air, catching the attention of his co-worker.
Sebastian felt the pressure crank up to eleven as David Rossi sauntered over. He did not look like he was about to coach little league. He looked like he was about to go to one of his many villas in Europe and lounge around there for two weeks drinking wine.
“David Rossi, this is Sebastian Porter.”
“Jack’s nanny, of course,” Rossi shook his hand heartily. Sebastian immediately wanted Rossi to be the cool uncle he never had.
He couldn’t think of anything wittier to say than this: “And you work with Aaron. On and off the pitch.”
“Couldn’t let him do it alone,”
“My ride’s here, so I’ll see you this evening. Nice meeting you, David.”
Though Sebastian was already behind schedule, he spared himself the embarrassment of his boss watching him lightly jogging over to his companions - and said companions clowning him for said light jogging.
“Aww, a lil peewee match?” Bellamy teased loudly, though not loud enough for the team to hear her.
Sebastian wanted to give her a playful shove, but he didn’t trust that she wouldn’t slide off her rollerblades deliberately, so instead he retorted, “Bullying kids, Bellamy? I thought you couldn’t stoop any lower.”
Klaus stopped rolling back and forth on his BMX, “Which one’s the boss then?”
“Wearing the white polo and shorts, not holding the clipboard.”
Klaus squinted behind his par of wholly unnecessary sunglasses, “Hmm, both are fit.”
“Come on, you’re staring,” and Sebastian twisted Klaus’ baseball cap around backwards before climbing onto the back of the bike.
As Klaus gave an indignant retort, he pushed off and began to cycle away. Sebastian’s hands gripped his shoulders tight and he opted to send a smile in his boss’ direction as opposed to a wave. Bellamy, the embarrassing mom type that she was, waved with both hands and skated backwards as she went.
Their afternoon sesh was off to a rocking start when Sebastian refused even one drink – sticking instead to a diet soda – while Bellamy and Klaus went for bottomless Bellini’s.
Bellamy discussed what children the new term had brought her. A short summary was that they were all little shits whom she adored and would protect with her life. That had been her track record for the part three years she had taught at this high school. The trio clinked glasses in celebration to her track record.
“Honestly, they’re so ready to get to using the Bunsen burners. It’s gonna be bonkers,” She beamed as a server brought her a refilled glass, “Can’t wait to bust out the copper.”
“As much as I love you talking science to me,” Klaus paused to put on a solemn mask that was cracked from the triumph he was wearing beneath, “We have to talk about Pippa while I’m still partially sober.”
When both his friends zeroed in on him whilst sipping their Bellini’s through straws, Sebastian all but exploded with excuses, “Oh my god, I get it! You told me so! It’s been a month! Can we drop it?”
“You went back to her!” Klaus ignored Sebastian’s “I know’s” with his head craning to reach over his friend’s voice, “After everything she did to you! You that desperate for attention?”
“Yeah!”
Both Bellamy and Klaus ceased their teasing, Klaus dropping back into his chair as he said, “Woah, ok, sorry dude.”
“It’s ok.”
Bellamy took Sebastian’s glass away, “Babe, that’s really depressing, you sure you haven’t been drinking?” She took a long sniff, her nose twirling around the rim before sliding it back to Sebastian, “No, he really is that deep.”
“Ha ha.”
Both Bellamy and Klaus sobered up considerably, the tone of their voices shifting into quiet support as Bellamy draped her arm around Sebastian’s shoulders, “I’m glad you got out of it, Bash.”
“Me too. And Rachael.”
“Ooo, how is Rachael?” Klaus pushed his sunglasses up his nose. How he looked like such a douchebag, shades on indoors, yet so happy with that status, Sebastian didn’t care to think about right now.
“She’s got a job in a firm now, big proper one.”
“Oooh! Can she get me out of my parking tickets?”
Suddenly the lights dimmed and Bellamy whipped out her phone, grinning behind it as Klaus looked up and around with a baby’s curiosity.
A troop of servers marched over with the birthday cake Bellamy had dropped off earlier that day. Its bright red buttercream icing
Klaus went very quiet, a bashful smile glowing in the candlelight as the restaurant turned its attention to sing “Happy Birthday” to him.
“Happy Birthday, Klaus.” Bellamy and Sebastian kissed both his cheeks at the same time, a perfect photo op that one of the servers took for them.
The birthday boy was gracious enough to share his cake and give Sebastian a ride home after a few more drinks. Of water, Sebastian insisted that Klaus sober up a little so they weren’t going to crash the bike before his night out.
At the crossroads, Bellamy turned left when they went right, her arm stretching out to them like she was watching her loved one get shipped off to war. Sebastian was dropped off shortly after, just outside the block of flats, and Klaus was already off before Sebastian could tackle him with a hug. So he shouted after him. Nothing expletive, but it was enough for Klaus to look over his shoulder and smirk, swerving not a second later to avoid an incoming pedestrian.
When Sebastian entered the flat, Hotch and Rossi were in the sitting room, lounging in the settee over a bottle of whiskey artistically placed on the coffee table.
“Hey, how was the training?”
“Tough, but those kids are tougher.” Rossi raised his drink to his statement, and Sebastian thought about how he could subtly slide some adoption papers across the coffee table.
“Do you want a drink?” Hotch asked.
Already going to the kitchen, Sebastian checked in the stew he’d prepped that morning in the slow cooker, “I’m good, thanks.” He was a little peeved that he’d spent the afternoon sober, especially during the bashing of the ex-girlfriend, but he could always grab a nightcap later on. “Where’s Jack?”
“I SCORED A GOAL!”
Sebastian smile strained as he saw the state of Jack’s shorts once he rounded the corner to the kitchen. His shirt was off; clearly he was in the middle of getting changed.
“That’s brilliant, but if you come at me with them muddy keks, I’ll score a goal with you! Come back in your jammies and we’ll celebrate properly.” And he shooed Jack away to the bathroom. The star striker to be disappeared, his muddy rear skidding into his bedroom with the door closing quick behind him.
“‘Keks’?” Rossi repeated with an eyebrow raised.
So Sebastian clarified, “Trousers.”
“You mean pants.”
Sebastian narrowed his eyes at Hotch’s so-called correction before saying again, “No, keks.”
Thankfully they saw the funny side of it, allowing a hint of strain to drop from Sebastian’s shoulders just in time for Jack to come running back in. This time, he was wearing pyjamas.
Sebastian caught him neatly and plonked him on the countertop, “Tell me all about practice!”
As Sebastian prepared the rest of dinner, Jack babbled away about the training and his teammates. His energy by comparison to the other conversation between Hotch and Rossi caused theirs to stagnate in favour of joining in. Sebastian carried Jack across to the other counters without impeding his speech, keeping an eye on him and the food, while Hotch and Rossi joined in the storytelling.
At Jack’s description of Hotch and Rossi’s demonstration of a paired-up passing game, Sebastian’s abandoned phone began to buzz.
“Sorry Jack, I gotta get this. But why don’t you set the table?” Sebastian took him back down to Earth and shuffled him in the direction of the cutlery drawer before he picked up his mobile, “Hey, what are you doing up? Go to bed, young lady.”
Rachael replied with a heftier helping of snarkasm, “I’m in bed at the moment actually. Have you rung Mum and Dad yet?”
“I have, don’t worry,”
“Ok. Just checking.”
“Texting exists, you know? Not that I don’t delight at the sound of your grumpiness.”
“Yeah, well, you’re starting to sound more American.”
Casting an eye over to see Jack was nattering away to Hotch and Rossi, Sebastian whispered, “Shut your goddamn mouth.”
“I’ll call you after work. Love you, bye.”
“Bye.”
Sebastian hung up then slapped his free palm against his face.
Hotch caught his attention, leaning ever so slightly into his range of vision with concern, “Are you alright?”
“Forgot to say I love you, she’s gonna hold that against me for five years at least.”
As the person dishing up and the last to get to the table, Sebastian sat beside Rossi with Jack opposite him and Hotch diagonally across. There was a tautness in Sebastian’s back as he tried desperately not to gauge Rossi’s reaction to his food.
Instead Rossi reminded him of their meeting earlier, “Interesting choice in mode of transport today.”
Like a deer in the headlights, Sebastian tripped his way through his explanation, “Thanks, we’re desperately trying to reclaim our youth.” Then he popped a forkful of meat into his mouth to excuse him from further conversation.
Except Jack didn’t get the memo. “Who were you talking to on the phone?”
“My sister, Rachael, she’s got a big case on tomorrow.”
“She’s a lawyer,” Rossi pointed across the table with his fork, “Hotch was a defence attorney.”
The information was so shiny and new to Sebastian, that he forgot to implement his “you’re my boss” filter and he said, “You look for ‘intimidating’ in your job descriptions?”
No time for regret, Jack once against filled the space. “Intimidating?”
“Yeah, intimidating, big into justice, likes his suit,” and instead of back down, Sebastian leant over his plate as if to tell a secret, and Jack opposite him leant close too as Sebastian said, “Your dad’s basically Batman.”
Jack’s face lit up at the comparison, one he had made in the past, and he continued to grin as he ate his stew.
“Anyway, our kid’s following up on some advice about getting my deposit back from my bedsit. Landlord’s being an absolute bad word.”
“If you want, I can take a look at it,” Hotch offered.
Sebastian looked back at Jack with fond bemusement, “Told you, your dad’s Batman, just no billions minus the brutality.”
Hotch’s cutlery slipped and collided loudly with his plate as Sebastian said, “It’s all good, thank you. I just sent him some photos of what the mattress looked like when I first moved in, should get him to give up.”
The conversation stagnated from Sebastian, still worn out word-wise from his afternoon drinking non-drinking outing, so he was grateful for the fact he finished first and Jack finished second.
“We can leave the grown-ups now,” he said in a loud whisper, already walking off with Jack to his bedroom.
Over his shoulder, he heard Rossi say not so quietly an I-told-you-so about how “men can be nannies” and that Sebastian was a good choice. While Sebastian was relieved at he had made a good impression on Rossi, he was not so much feeling the inferred sexism his boss held. Still, he was hired now. Microaggressions could be tackled when he got to them.
Cross-legged on the carpet, Jack set about demolishing the rocket. Bricks flew across his little zone of construction. One stray red brick hit Sebastian right between his sock and his cuffed jeans.
“What are we on today, bud? Pirate ship?”
But Jack was quiet. His energy levels were definitely crashing after such a big day. Sebastian gave him space to answer if he wanted, taking charge of organising the bricks into sizes for Jack to pick from.
When there was no reply for a solid minute, Sebastian asked, “You ok?”
For a while, Jack continued his silence. He was busy looking for a very specific shape of brick. His fingers searched over the top of the pile then dove into it, fishing out the perfect piece. Then he spoke.
“Batman beats up the bad guys,” Jack said, his voice hushed, “But so does Daddy.”
Sebastian blinked then recovered just as quick, “Oh I’m not sure about that.”
But Jack shook his head with his eyes still on assembling his boat, “He beat up the man who killed Mommy. Don’t tell him, it’s a secret.”
“A secret from him?” Sebastian didn’t know he was whispering too until he had already spoken.
“He doesn’t know we know. Can you make the mast please?”
And Jack held out a square block. Sebastian blinked again and accepted the piece. Clearly Jack thought this was a very casual conversation, something that Sebastian should keep from Hotch very easily. And he was making a ship.
“Jack, have you told that to anyone else?”
“No.”
“How tall do you want the mast?”
Jack measured with the space between his hands. Taking note, Sebastian continued to stack bricks until the desired height was reached, and Jack took it off his hands, placing it in the middle of the boat.
“I’m gonna get a drink. Do you want anything?”
The little guy shook his head, now completely absorbed in his construction projects. With a pat on his head, Sebastian twisted his legs around to stand and went to stand in the hallway. The door closed behind him and he pressed his forehead against the wall. He took a deep breath, rolling his head to the left, and pushed back his shoulders. A crack from his neck introduced him to the kitchen, where he tossed a half smile at Hotch and Rossi. Then he busied himself with getting that drink. A few drops of water splashed against his wrist.
“Hey Sebastian?”
Said person looked around to see Rossi rocking on the back legs of his chair, “I don’t suppose Hotch ever told you that, when you were taking your trial day, he nearly called you every hour to see how you were doing?”
“Dave,” Hotch said with something that was clearly intended to be a warning tone. The smile he was fighting to keep off his face betrayed him.
“No, he didn’t.” He hid his smirk in his glass. It dropped fast though. The Batman comments were still heavy in his mind, and now with Jack’s context on the brutality aspect, he wasn’t really jazzed to crack another joke lest he stumble across some more unfortunate information.
Rossi didn’t seem to care about that so much, “I had to micromanage his micromanaging.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t’ve minded that.” Sebastian’s foot idly dragged across the tile in front of him, “I’m sure Jack wouldn’t’ve either. And speaking of-” He pulled out his phone and pulled up the website he and Jack had browsed during breakfast, “I have a very important question for you: can we get this bouncy castle for Jack’s birthday?”
He showed the photo of the dream castle to the two men.
“You mean a ‘bounce house’?”
“No, I mean bouncy castle. He was telling me all about wanting a slide one, he’d be over the moon if he got to bring his classmates around to go on one!”
“I suppose if we removed all my furniture and knocked down the walls, we could fit it in here,” Hotch said smartly. His eyebrows were raised as he looked away from the screen at Sebastian, who snorted. God, it wasn’t even that funny.
Once again, Rossi chimed in with his brilliant contributions, saving Sebastian from utter shame, “You know, we could have the party at my home.”
#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner imagine#aaron hotchner x oc#aaron hotchner fanfiction#criminal minds#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds x oc#my writing#r: male#wc: 2k+#series#goodnight aaron
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— if only, he wasn’t so perfect, (m.)
Pairing: multiple, jimin x reader
Genre: friends to lovers
Warnings: multiple lovers, breaking people’s heart, dom/sub tones, public sex, loads of cum, fingering, slight cullinggus, choking, unprotected sex, quickies, anal play, butt fucking, voyeurism?, people might hear ops, and etc.
Summary: if only he wasn’t so perfect, if only he wasn’t your past, if only he wasn’t so into you.
Words: 8.4k+ (shit)
Note: hi, i’m back with more smut this time hopefully it’s great. I couldn’t shake this idea out of my head so I wrote about it! You’ll understand the prompt as you read! Enjoy and tell me what you think!
Parties, they happened often and they’re well known, but the most exciting parties were those hosted by the resident baddies of the school. To get invited wasn’t exactly hard, be somewhat of their acquaintance and then you’re pretty much in, by that you just know where they live and are able to attend.
And if you weren’t exactly a visible acquaintance you’d have their little ‘group’ eye you like you’re some alien with a disease. But hey, getting stared at isn’t always bad if they were the hotties of the University, the bad hotties.
You had always been invited, specifically by an eccentric loud mouth himself. So here you were, doing nothing exciting but standing in their condo’s hallway listening to some people you didn’t know mingle—mainly because your closest friends didn’t fit in this kind of crowd, the rebellious troublemakers. And the few girls you knew were trying their best to get the main boys’ attention.
Let’s just say, in your University kids crowded together based on their interests and majors, you somehow managed to find yourself intertwined with a few different groups—some being due to your highschool life and the current due to your chosen course, you could say it was a rather nerdy course.
Similar enough to your childhood best friend to still have you guys kicking it, though he was definitely not kicking it at this kind of party, Kim Seokjin would rather be dead than seen at a punk’s party.
You weren’t so up-kept about your reputation or well lack there of, the few ‘nerds’ or ‘preps’ of your crowd that attended came for the free drinks, relatively okay music and well maybe a good fuck if they’re get it out of the six main punks who casually sprawled themselves all over their living room, getting high as kites or well drunk as fuck.
It wasn’t exactly a conversational party, like those fancy rich people ones that Seokjin would drag you to, neither were they all hype and that like those frat parties on the tv, everyone was still enjoying their time but they were all baked, most of the time. Saying stupid things whilst tramping over the non-baked, yet it was fun watching people make complete fools of themselves.
Though, these boys weren’t always lacking in entertainment in terms of their excitement level in parties, just so happened that today the party just so happened to be right after this crowd’s end of semester exam, you were just lucky yours were weeks ago and didn’t have to suffer in silence as these sad ones brewed in their realisation that they could fail.
Not that categorising people like that was typical for you to do, but you know the type of people that hung around these guys on a school night, those that cared little for actual school, but well more for the parties, the sex, or well they care about forcing themselves through a course their parents forced them to take. That’s only some though… well maybe most.
Yet, you felt a burning sensation on the side of your face as one of your dearest friends, Kim Jennie nearly falls all over you. You caught her with a roll of your eyes wondering how miss glamorous managed to fuck herself up so quickly.
In the circle of couches and huddle of best buds were the boys many spoke of, the baddest boys of campus consisted of a brainiac, but sulky and quiet, Min Yoongi. An extremely excitable yet intimidating, Jung Hoseok. Another brain that has a lot of brawn, but is relatively awkward talker, Kim Namjoon. A cute and bubbly yet cunning, Park Jimin. An artistic suave that could be considered arrogant, Kim Taehyung and lastly, a broody and still sort of nerdy Jeon Jungkook.
These boys were the few that sparked the many crushes from girls all over campus. You can’t deny really, especially when one of them took your virginity in high school—whats better is that you also took his.
“Jung Hoseok! You’re spilling the vodka everywhere!” Taehyung groans, trying to push himself away from the overly drink hyung who didn’t give a crap of what he said and continued overfilling his cup.
Taehyung tries to brush off the drops of pungent alcohol off his trousers before his eyes glanced up to lay on a girl he hadn’t seen in the longest time, “Hey, isn’t that, y/n?”
With a quick turn of heads after hearing the name, the ones still consciously themselves tilted their heads around trying to get a good look of the girl Taehyung asked of, through the crowd of people weaving around the tiny stretch of a hallway, Namjoon answered, “Yep.”
“She looks like that now?” Taehyung’s face fills with awe, his eyebrows nearly lifting off his head.
Namjoon just shrugs as he responds, “Yeah? You haven’t seen her? She’s looked like that since the year began.”
Of course Namjoon, the smarter of the group would’ve seen you around having study in the same building. Taehyung couldn’t seemingly believe it, shaking his head as he whistles, “She looks fucking good.”
Jeon Jungkook didn’t seem to take what Taehyung said as a compliment, frowning at what sounded like Taehyung was speaking of you in a derogatory way. Jimin on the other hand couldn’t keep his eye off of you, even so that the other boys noticed and teased him.
“Jimin, nows a good time, she hasn’t come to our parties in ages and what if she doesn’t come again. Go—get it in,” Taehyung wiggles his eyebrows as he tries his best to convince Jimin.
Who shakes his head quickly and dismisses the idea, “No, no, I can’t—you guys know how she makes me feel. If she even looks at me I’ll fucking pass out.”
Namjoon quipped his eyebrow as he cocks his head taking a drink, “You won’t. And who knows, you’re only doubting the possibility of being with her because you’ve never tried.”
“But—”
“And she’s not exactly a mean bitch, if she does say no, she’ll say it in a really nice way,” Taehyung pats Jimin on the back, “Hell, she might even give you a little kiss on the cheek for participation.”
Jimin groans at the thought of your rejection. Though, the black hole in the room went unnoticed as Jungkook, the epitome of black, rubs his face as if he was in pain, his feet tapping the floor impatiently.
“Alright,” Jimin makes up his mind, taking a quick shot before he stands up, “I’ll do it, what have I got to lose right?”
“A lot, actually,” Namjoon murmurs.
Immediately, Taehyung jumps up with a bright smile on his face, slinging his arm over Jimin hyping him up. “Yea! Alright, just go over there and don’t swallow your tongue yea?”
Taehyung also bends down to pick up a cup filled with a drink of sorts, “Maybe give her a drink to break the ice. You got it.”
As he pushes the blonde boy towards you, Taehyung drops back in his seat with a proud grin on his face. Turning to his side as Jimin strolls over towards you, Taehyung finally notices the brooding boy who had thrown his bucket hat over his face. He whips at it knocking the hat over as he watches the look on Jungkook’s face, “Sheesh, don’t look so fucking sad, you never know, she might actually say no.”
As Jungkook’s body physically rested from the words of reassurance Taehyung gave him. It was true, you might say no to Jimin’s advances but then again it was Park Jimin.
Before Jungkook had time to think of all the possibilities of your rejection for Jimin, across the room where Jimin had disappeared into the crowd was something that tore his whole world down.
You were enjoying yourself very much. The night was young, the company was good—but most importantly were the boys you could clearly see eyeing you down.
Surprising you mostly was a particular boy coming up to you with a drink in his hand, he was swiftly and confidently strutting through the crowd with only one goal—you.
You were talking to your friends before he made himself noticeable, your friends immediately dispersing with knowing grins on their faces. You hadn’t expected him to actually come up to you, neither did you expect the person to be Park Jimin.
Here he was, standing in front of you. Grinning ear to ear with a drink in his hand as he doesn’t do much after that. You raised your eyebrow at him whilst you nonchalantly leaned back against the wall, allowing your hips to jut forward.
“Hey,” He finally spoke, his eyes continuously not leaving yours, telling you that he came here with a mission.
You weren’t hating his company, but you did hate the eyes burning into you from afar. Whether or not this would make it worse you pegged to flirt with him, “Hey, Jimin.”
Your hand coming up to brush against the collar of his jacket, pulling at it and flattening it against his hard chest. He takes a deep breath as if to calm himself and for a second looking back at the boys before he continues, “This is for you.”
He pushes the cup in his hand towards you, immediately you took it, taking a sniff you knew you didn’t like it. Definitely smelled like something Kim Taehyung would chug all night.
“I’m okay actually, you drink it,” You placed the cup rim against his luscious lips, truly you only did this hoping the seriously intoxicated drink would calm him down.
Park Jimin isn’t a very good liar, nor is he good at keeping secrets. His body clearly showed he was uneasy, nervous, didn’t know what to say, though you knew he wanted something at least.
Jimin’s eyes enlarged as he asked if you were sure he should drink it, of which you nodded, tipping the drink past his lips. From a far this would look very, sensual, you were pouring a drink into his mouth with your eyes narrowed seductively. Your body pushing itself off the wall to better support him, your hip now anchoring his. His eyes blinked through the cup trying to read you.
You only gave him a smile as he took the entire cup with one chug. You knew he was a lightweight, he was going to lose it in a matter of seconds.
“Y/n, I really— really want to go out with you,” half drunk Jimin finally spat it out.
You were shocked, surprised, wondering if he was serious or not. Did Taehyung put him up to this because he should have told his friends that good boys like Park Jimin were definitely not your type.
Jimin must’ve read your mind, pushing his fingers up to keep your lips sealed before you could speak, “I know, I’m not your type. I really do like you, and if we could try—it would be great, if you hate it you can just break up with me—”
As his rambling went on and on, your mind didn’t push past the idea he spoke of before hand. Dating cute boy Park Jimin, interesting, you wouldn’t imagine yourself every considering it. Park Jimin, a charismatic, charming, cute boy who’s got a heart of gold—gets relatively clingy, pouty whenever he’s drunk and when he’s man, the boy can truly become something else. How did you notice all of this, mainly from the fact that you’ve always had your eye on the person he clings onto most, someone relatively different from himself.
Here he was, right in front of you, his lips moving but you couldn’t hear the words passing his pink lips.
Surely, you hadn’t thought this through, surely you must’ve been a teeny bit drunk because before he could even pause for a breath from his long speech you couldn’t help yourself, not at all.
With your arms flung over his shoulder, a hand pushing up his nape towards his growing buzzed undercut, pulling him up against your chest with your back arched into him. His own hands reacting to your touch as it clutched onto the small of your back, giving your exposed waist, thanks to your crop top, a tight squeeze with his warm, and slightly damp hand.
He had reacted extremely quickly to the fact that your lips had interrupted him, it didn’t seem to bother him—it seemed to have pleased him as low groans slipped past his lip against your own. God, he tasted like the shitty drink you just made him chug reminding you very much of the boy that gave him the stupid drink.
His dyed blond bangs falling against your forehead with every movement of his lips, sucking and pulling at your own he seemed to have naturally taken the lead surprisingly.
Maybe you could hear the faint whistling and gawking of his friends. Jimin’s toned body was hot against your touch as a free hand of yours made it’s way downwards to feel at his raising hem. He was even more vocal with a skin to skin contact that you could’ve imagined, you were liking this way too much.
“Ah—y/n, you’re killing me,” Jimin kissed his way down your neck, pushing his nose up against your collar bone as he collected himself from the very heavy makeout you’ve just had together.
You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, even so looking over at his table of friends and seeing a particular fuming brunette pushing his way out of the room. Of course, he’d freak out. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, seeing Taehyung running after the boy.
The boy who’s ever so often ignored you, never given you the time of day, would literally tell you that you look like a hoe. The boy you knew had the biggest crush on you but acted like a child with a crush he couldn’t accept, the boy now freaking out that his friend had just landed his crush.
The boy who’s name is Jeon Jungkook.
You hadn’t thought much of Jimin’s advances. You two made out that night and well, he was too drunk to continue any further which lead to his friends dragging him home.
Apologies were said on behalf of him which you didn’t really need but was thankful for enough. As they dragged him into their car Jimin wouldn’t stop whining about leaving you, cute but definitely funny.
You merely waved and was told Jimin was going to call you.
It’s been three days and you’ve heard nothing from the boy, his instagram filled with videos of his party filled nights since Friday. He didn’t seem to have a pause button and was a heavy drinker.
He hadn’t messaged you either, not on the app nor actually on your phone. You knew Taehyung had your number and that he’d likely give it to the boy but nothing.
It could’ve been possible that the boy was only speaking out of his ass, his drunk ass. Never the less you went on with your day at school without a bother. Only to be at lunch with your friends, hearing Jennie rambling on about her recent shitty date.
Jisoo wasn’t even listening and was mainly focused on her phone the entire time, the only person truly giving her the time of day was you. You weren’t doing much at all, just nodding and agreeing whenever she’d ask if you thought she was in the right.
Your mind was elsewhere, that elsewhere had bursted into the cafeteria with his posse. He was dressed in tight black jeans and a light blue sweater, looking as hot as ever. If anyone didn’t consider Park Jimin attractive they were probably blind.
He oozed attractiveness, drawing the attention of all even with his smaller stature than the rest yet he carried himself with a lot of pride which made him ever the more hot.
You were slouched against the seat without a care in the world, occasionally tossing fries into your mouth and sipping on some very good iced tea.
A true contrast to you, his eyes landed on you as he lined up for the food. His infectious smile brightening up his entire face, did you do that? His eyes pretty much disappear into his lids as he waves towards you making you jump, fuck, he did not just—
“Did Jimin just wave at you.” There it was, your angry best friend, he’s here to ruin the day.
You groaned and covered your face with the long sleeves of your shirt as you hear him set his tray down next to Jennie’s empty seat, who proceeds to ramble on about her guy troubles to him.
With your face tucked in your shirt sleeves you couldn’t see anything or rather hear anything as well, only seeing out from the bottom of the table through the peaks of your elbows.
Until a familiar pair of shoes stepped into view, the shoes were boots and they had black jeans bundled at the top of the shoe, oh no.
You winced, peering up at him slowly.
Jimin was leaned over with a hand on the back of your seat and another on the table as if he was trying to get a look inside your arms. “Looking for something?”
You immediately shook your head. The spiteful devil himself managed to sneer before you could speak a word, “She’s looking for an excuse.”
Jimin looked rather confused as he looked up at Jin. Turning over to you with a questioning look, of course Jin was trying to make you out to be the villain. He hated Jimin, mainly Jimin’s friends but Jimin was apart of that group.
“I’m sure she’ll come up with something great,” Jimin responds, being as kind as ever, “Can I talk to you?”
Within a flash you jumped off your seat, throwing your bag over your shoulder as well as picking up your food tray—dragging Jimin by his arm you ran away from confrontation with Jin about this situation.
You tossed the food and made your way outside with Jimin. His boyish laugh echoing through the hall as you both made your escape without peering eyes. Ending up nowhere special just barely outside of the building with the cool air brushing against your face.
“You wanted to?” You began, removing your hand from his arm and pushing them into your jacket pockets.
Jimin smiled, straightening himself up, “About that night—I really am sorry for not calling you. I’ve been busy—”
“Busy partying?” You interrupted.
Jimin cocks his head with a cute puff, “I—well I guess so but you know them, the guys they’d never let me miss a day of that—”
He explained himself very terribly, the only thing helping him was his very apologetic face. His eyebrows turned upright in the centre and his lips in a permanent pout.
“Jimin, I really don’t mind but honestly a text isn’t that hard especially if you’re the one that said you wanted to date me,” You jabbed, “Unless you were just lying.”
His eyes widened, “I didn’t lie, no no, I really do like you and really want to date you. I’m just—I was very drunk, I remember the amazing kiss but not much else, Taehyung said I needed some liquid courage and—”
“I know, I saw him push you over to me,” You added, beginning to grow bored of the conversation and biting at your nails.
“Let me redo this, can I please take you out...we could go to the movies today if you want,” He asked, his face filled with hope you didn’t want to crush.
Tonight, hmm, you were planning on watching a movie—a particular one no one wanted to go with you for, “Well, I was going to watch Endgame—”
“Great! I want to see it too.”
“Don’t you want to watch it with your friends?” You asked, secretly hoping he’d actually go with you.
Jimin acted as if he was considering it, going the whole way and putting a finger up to his chin, “Hmm, maybe... you’re right—”
You poked him in the stomach knowing he was playing with you. He laughed holding onto his side as he pushes away your tickling finger.
“Okay, okay, but really, you’re more fun than the guys so, I’d rather go with you.” He takes your hand and fumbles with it, lacing his fingers through it.
A damn flirt he was, knowing exactly how to get to your heart.
“Am I more fun to be around or am I more fun to look at?” You sussed.
Jimin grins, pulling your body towards his, “Maybe both?”
He was relatively more confident than he was when he was drunk which was strange since he was always pretty shy.
“Let’s meet there then,” You suggested, “It’ll be colder tonight I need to get my coat.”
“You can wear mine—”
“I’d rather not have my date die of frost bite,” You teased.
Jimin bites his lip, realising that he’d never win. He opts to listen and nods his head. Pulling out his phone, “Give me your number.”
“I thought Taehyung would give it to you,” You did the same, exchanging phones with each other.
Jimin sighed, “He was suppose to, but he was too drunk to do that.”
Of course he was. Kim Taehyung was a delirious drunk who completely loses his sense of reality. You remembered all of it quite clearly, the damn nights that he’d get so wasted you’d have to force him home. All those times he would come to your house, drunk or high, stumbling into your bedroom right into your bed. The same bed he’d—
“I’ll see you after school.”
The night came faster than you expected. As if time flew within seconds. You were on your way to see him at the movie theatre now, from his text he’d be waiting out front for you with the tickets he already bought for you. He’s slick, you’d never let someone pay fully for a date every but he managed to get there before you.
He was dressed in the same attire as earlier, as you were. Guessing that he came immediately after class alike yourself, his classes only ended earlier whilst yours ended at six which meant you were watching the screening at six thirty. It was currently, six fifteen in the evening. Somehow, the sun had set earlier that it usually does probably because of how cold it was.
“Hey,” Jimin noticed you immediately as you were walking him, untucking his hands from his jacket to embrace you.
You smiled and did the same, his body was warm under the thick coat he had on and you so didn’t want to stop hugging him. The scent of his cologne was deep and penetrating, only noticeable from so close but strong otherwise.
“Do you want snacks?” You asked, knowing that you wanted to pay for it since he paid for the tickets.
He nods with a smile, throwing his arm over your shoulder and tucking you into him. Walking towards the snack booth you scanned the snack choices. As the line grew shorter you were excited for one snack in particular.
You gave the employee a kind smile, “Could I get two drinks and popcorn—that’s okay with you right, and strawberry twizzlers.”
Jimin reluctantly allowed you to pay, only with a huff as he pushed his wallet back into his trousers. You weren’t a big fan of popcorn, only because of the buttery smell that could stick on your clothes after eating it and well you liked chewy snacks you could inhale the entire pack of without feeling bloated after.
With that you both got your snacks and went over to drinks to pick out what you wanted. Finishing up you both made way towards the theatre towards the seats Jimin had picked out, dead centre at the top with a great view of the screen.
You sat down on his left as he made himself comfortable, setting his drink on his right instead of next to you. He pulls up the armrest between the two of you and pulls you into him again, he did like being touchy—you weren’t about to complain you liked affection.
You opted to lean against him, his head constantly nudging against you as the movie begins. You were sort of late for the screening, the movie had been out a while therefore it wasn’t packed at all. You opted to snack on the long gummies as Jimin takes a long sip of his drink.
The comfort of his touch, and the great movie made for good fun, that was until he begins to show a little too much affection. His hand teasingly sliding down your arm right under it, gripping into your side as he tries to touch you under your shirt making you drop your snack.
“Jimin—what are you looking for?” You asked with a teasing tone, his mind was clearly not on the movie, rather he wasn’t even looking at the movie. When you looked towards him, his eyes were already on you.
Jimin was blatantly, upfront, “Your tits.”
Your eyes widened at that, he surely had no filter. You started feeling quite...turned on by his very dominant energy. You’d consider yourself into guys who were relatively switchable in bed but, he was surely a cutie who’s seemingly dangerous in bed—you weren’t so used to it, doms were in your past, one dom in particular made you a pretty bratty sub who loves teasing and playing with her partner.
You took a quick look around to see the nearest people around were near the end of the row and some were a few rows ahead. Unlikely that anyone would see what you two would do in the dark, especially if they’re watching a marvel film.
You reached for Jimin’s preying hand wrapped around your back and poking at the side of your left boob. You guided his little hands down towards the hem of your tight top under your jacket, getting him inside the shirt and over your bra. The heat from his hand already sending a wave of warmth towards your centre. He immediately beings groping at it, biting his lip as he looks into your eyes innocently as his hand did dirty things before you.
He boldly pushes the cup of your bra down, flicking his palm purposely over your hardened nipple—from the cold weather and his touch. From your close proximity you could hear him hum with satisfaction at the sheer size of your tit in his palm, he rolled your nipples between his ringed fingers as his lips breathed hot air down your nape.
“You’re shaking a little, baby,” He chuckled, the bellow of his tone vibrating against his throat allowing you to feel it against your neck. He was so close and fuck, you just wanted so much more.
With a bit more boldness from you, things got even more heated. Forcefully, taking his other hand your put it against your exposed thigh, he cocks his head looking down at your thigh. Your short tight skirt now riding up higher, he slides his hand down over your knees to snap the elastic of your socks against the back of you knees causing you to jump from the act, shit he was really going for it.
He bites your shoulder through your top as he makes his way up back to your thigh—towards the inner moistened thigh that you finally uncrossed, basically telling him that you’ve been rubbing your thighs together for some sort of release since he got his fingers on you.
“Already fucking wet, I want to take you in here so bad, fuck.” He was a freak, you’ve known—he looked like he was into fun things. He practically growled making you legs try to close but his hands were right there not allowing that to happen. His fingers scraping at your drenched underwear, his nails ever so often coming into contact with your clit making you shake.
You moaned when he began to push against your opening, “Where did shy Jimin go? Fuck—do it, take me right here.”
He seemed pleased with this, letting out a low growl as his fingers dipped through the side of your underwear pushing it aside for his fingers to enter with such ease.
You furrowed your eyebrows, biting your lips to keep yourself quiet. Your back automatically arching and your butt pushing up against him. From this position there wasn’t much he could give, you were pushed sideways against him. Your tailbone right against his hip.
You were about to do something you never imagined doing, but your high was far. The quiet sounds of your cunt squelching as he tries his best to angle his two fingers inside you, his hot hands kneading your tit with such skill—your nipples as hard as it could be with his fingers pulling and teasing it. Since the armrest was already down, it made things much easier for you.
You got up, his fingers falling out of you and your top. His face stitched with confusion in his cute little pout. You were so over the movie, even if you wanted to see it so bad—fuck—with Park Jimin looking like this right in front of you, you had to take him, right here, right now.
Just look at him, his blond hair pushed over his forehead, his jacket falling off his shoulders and his thighs—his thick thighs just sprawled out carelessly over the red soft seats.
“Y/n? What are you—”
You shushed him with a finger on his lips as you leaned in, pretending to do something that wasn’t what you were actually doing. You had a longer jacket on, it fell over your bottom so you weren’t worried the lights from the screen would show anyone anything.
You pulled your skirt over your hips, as unattractive as it looked on you Jimin’s eyes dropped from your own towards your panties—your thong that you wore because your bottom was a little too large to wear normal underwear with without the lines showing were visible to his eyes and his eyes only. He bites his lips with anticipation, understanding now what you were doing as his adam’s apple bopped telling you he wanted it as bad.
His eyes darkened and distracted right where you wanted, you reached for the hemline of your panties and pulled them down. His hands coming up to hold onto your hips immediately pulling you closer to him. From any other view it looked just like you were fixing your skirt, very close to your date that is.
His lips made contact with the front of your pussy, he ducked to let his tongue taste you. You whimpered out, surprising yourself as Jimin grinned against you continuing to suck on the little area he had to reach for your clit. His fingers slowly opening up your folds to lick at your wetness. He pulls away with a cocky expression.
“Baby, you want to sit here?” He pats his thigh, raising an eyebrow at his suggestion.
You nodded, leaning over to rest a hand on his shoulder, “Fuck yes, I want to ride that dick so bad.”
He lets out a strangled breath, immediately popping off his belt buckle and pushing his pants down, allowing the little light coming from the screen to illuminate his erection, a hard—dripping cock that flung out of his underwear and stood straight against his stomach. He lets out a breath of relief now that his cock wasn’t restrained inside his tight trousers anymore.
“How—how do you want it?”
You answered by getting on him, leaving him breathless as you took charge and sat yourself on his thighs. Your back facing his front to blend in, his hands immediately held onto your hips as you rolled them against him.
His dick sliding back and forth against your folds with ease from your arousal and his precum, with how horny you both were, things were going to be very easy.
With a swift lift of your hips as he was helping guide you, his cock slips right inside. The thick head stretching you out to the point of a teeny sting, fuck, you loved it when a cock was so thick it would hurt like he was ripping you. By all means, he wasn’t big as you were used to but hell, he’s got girth many would die for. The sheer thickness was making you whimper like a little puppy, choking on your own breath, Jimin slides his hand up brushing against your tits to calm you.
“Hmm, that’s it, fuck you’re tight,” He murmurs, his lips sliding up and down your exposed neck before he begins to suck on it, flattening his tongue against your neck you could just imagine what his tongue could do elsewhere.
Your body was moving with it’s own idea, completely taking him fully, he’s bottomed out all the way inside of you—feeling your clenching walls squeezing his cock to it’s brim.
Jimin’s hands had gotten all the way up your neck, now his fingers encased them as he began to tighten his grip on it. Fuck, he’s into choking too.
Your lips fell open as inescapable moans and cries left them, you’ve lost all control now as Jimin begins pounding into you from below. The sounds of your wet pussy and his cock slapping against your bottom and his thighs. The sticky yet so erotic sound, you could feel the thick hot cum that was stringing between you both were just dripping now.
“Ah, Jimin, you’re so good—holy fuck, I’m gonna cum,” Your high pitched whine made you come undone. Not giving him a chance at all, the boy also let out a loud moan, it sounded so good, so deep and hot just like his cock inside you right now.
Your pulsing cunt was squeezing the life out of him, you could feel his cum spewing out all over your wall—he stops when his cock has hit the hilt holding himself inside feeling your orgasm rip through you. Your body was shaking against him, with his hand held tight on your throat and hip you felt as if your best ever orgasm has just finished.
Fuck, it must’ve been the fact that you were in public and Jimin has just managed to fuck the shit out of you. You could feel his cock twitching inside as he begins to slip out, letting his softened cock fall against his thigh.
“Does this mean you’re my girlfriend now?” His joyful laugh echoed through your ears, as if this date couldn’t get any better.
The days went by with a blink of an eye. Jimin, with his exponentially grown confidence had managed to skill-fully eye you down in University without your friends knowing. His own friends were quite happy with the fact that he had finally asked you out and fucked the shit out of you nearly everyday—of which you hoped he never explicitly given any fine details to his friends.
But of course you’d get a strange feeling whenever a certain brunette would sit near you in class with a brooding expression—as if he hated you. Jimin had mentioned how the younger boy had stopped talking to him ever so often and would only mumble one word answers to him.
You told him not to worry, you didn’t want to explain that Jungkook had a problem with it. You only lied saying that he probably had some girl issues he had to deal with—which wasn’t a complete lie, you just left out the fact that the girl involved in his issue was you.
You remembered the day you met him, first day of University you ran right into the unsuspecting boy which lead to him cursing you out before taking a better look. He was attractive of course, Jeon Jungkook was ripped—a sports student who cared a lot about keeping himself healthy and fit. He dressed well, always comfy with his oversized expensive clothes.
Over the months he’d constantly give you a funny look, you didn’t know what that meant, either he absolutely hates you or really likes you—you found out it was the latter at a halloween party that he dressed as deadpool, drunk and high as fuck drowning you with compliments on your own costume.
Taehyung looked from afar with a knowing glance, you has assumed that night that Taehyung was yet again proud of his bestfriend who managed to get his ass over to the girl he liked.
Then came this year, you tried, you really did try to talk to him but he wouldn’t budge. The boy would just nod and murmur back responses as if he wasn’t interested. Strangely enough the boy was vocal on text and whenever you’d game, which didn’t happen so often anymore since he’d been so busy with school and life. He’d only ever be so open that time and never again, especially not now when you’ve grown apart.
You felt like he hates you—sneering whenever you’d near him.
Now to the present, you’d barely seen him. You’d really only hang out with your friends as per usual with the slight attention from Jimin at school and his whole attention whenever you’re out of school.
It was nearly Christmas, Jimin loved Christmas—he dressed in reds and greens everyday looking like the god he is in just his Christmas sweaters and pants. He didn’t do anything special, he didn’t have to.
He knows that if he had dressed in tight pants any day you’d soon rip them off when you’re alone, which lead to him purposely wearing his tight blue ripped jeans nearly every single day.
Tonight was different, very different. You got a message from Taehyung asking if you’d jump on a game with him real quick—he needed some help apparently and said, ‘you’re a nerd right, nerds are smart, help me’.
You didn’t think Taehyung would be the person to play Monster Hunter World honestly, but here you were, helping him kill a very simple beast.
“Taehyung, it’s just a Jagras—you’re only at the beginning of the game you idiot!”
He was, very, very bad at the game. You were frustrated, very fucking frustrated. He also refused to allow you to take the kill as he’d told you that you didn’t seen the level or the materials, which was true.
You just wanted to kill the thing so you’d finish this part already.
“It’s a giant ja-jarags—”
“Jagras—it literally says that on the screen.”
“Okay, a Giant Jagras. I’m new okay be nice to your new teammate,” He whined, continuing to try to attack the beast in the strangest matter.
You rolled your eyes as you laid on the bed on your stomach. You had the lights dimmed to a good amount and the main lights were from your PC and glow lights giving the room quite the moody atmosphere. You had your headphones on over your ears and the mic brushing against your cheek as you spoke, Taehyung really needs to invest in some good gear—you could barely hear the stupid guy.
You kicked your feet around behind you as you continued to mindlessly kill the other smaller Jagras around so they wouldn’t kill him, again.
“You sound frustrated,” his voice was low and raspy, drawing a warmth to the pit of your stomach. He kept his voice down so no one could hear from the other side.
You paused for the second to look back at him. How Jimin laid again your headboard with his shirt off from your previous heated make out that was interrupted by Taehyung’s pleas. He hadn’t even bothered to put it back on, only to give you a very nice sight of his ripped stomach and slim waist encased around his tight trousers and belt.
His feet kicks against your bottom as he sees you turn away with a huff. You were trying very hard to not jump on him right now.
“Oh my god! I almost got it!”
“But you didn’t,” you laughed, continuing to revive him.
You could hear Jimin scuffle around behind you, he was so restless. He must’ve been bored, tapping away on his phone as he watched you play with Taehyung. A boy who wasn’t your boyfriend who took away all the attention away from himself. Jimin was sulky, and pouty, constantly groaning and whining trying to fend to your attention which resulted in you telling him to be quiet and take a shower or something.
Jimin did not like not being the centre of attention, especially not being the centre of his girlfriend’s attention.
You paid attention to the animation of Taehyung’s constant deaths and his screams. Grinning ear to ear from how hard he was trying yet he fails at all cost.
Then of course, you felt a strange warmth on the back of your thighs—completely bare from your tiny shorts that probably rode all the way up over your bottom at this point.
You felt a wetness now, a hot, sucking sensation as it grew higher and higher. Then, a weight shifted and dropped over your legs, trapping them in.
“Jimin, could you not right now?” You whisper shouted at him, pointing at the screen.
He didn’t listen of course, what a brat. He sat his pretty ass right on the back of your knees as his fingers lingered at the hem of your shorts, “Aren’t these so unnecessary? They cover nothing babe, I can see your entire ass.”
His fingers teasing at the fold of your bare ass as he pulls the shorts over your ass roughly, allowing the crotch of the pants to rub against your clit causing your breath to hitch.
You immediately turned off your mic for a second, “Stop it. Tae can hear us.”
“Tae? Tae, you’re using nicknames now?” Jimin’s eyebrows cocked, his voice laced with jealousy, “You don’t even give me nicknames.”
His hands begin to grasp at your ass cheeks, squeezing them and rolling them out like dough. He used all his weight to keep you down, his frame slowly falling over your own as you felt him starting to grind against your ass with his hard erection.
“You’re such a brat, you call me a brat y/n—I didn’t leave my boyfriend all hard and horny to play a game with his best friend instead.”
God, his sarcastic petty tone was already getting to you. He was so jealous and it was so weirdly hot. He was thrusting with so much power you could feel yourself shifting back and forth, his hands were by your shoulders keeping himself upright. You couldn’t look back, he was trapping you—only allowing you to feel him.
His trapped cock, brushing against your ass—the sheer bulk of his bulge spreading your cheeks apart allowing him to push himself up against your wetting core but mostly your other whole...a particularly sensitive one he’s been begging to explore.
He bends downwards to nudge his head into the crook of your neck, peppering sweet kisses down your neck as you craned them over for him, trying to keep yourself shut as your mic had been back on.
“Tae-Taehyung you need to load up on h-health, gosh,” You tried to distract yourself from Jimin’s hands, but it wasn’t working anymore.
He’d notice your attempt and wasn’t going to lose your attention again. One of his hands left your side and proceeded towards somewhere else.
He dipped his fingers into his mouth as you could hear, before he pushes them into you through your shorts and underwear—causing you to choke on your words.
“Uh, did you slip, y/n?” Taehyung asked.
“Nope, I just thought I saw a spider...”
You could practically hear his smirk, fucking, Jimin was so pleased with himself. He continued to pry your pussy open with his fingers, curling them and stretching your hole out for him. Feeling the wetness, spilling out the sides as he kept digging for more.
His thumb would keep pushing up towards your asshole, running his thumb up and down, “Babe, can I please—fuck, it feels so tight.”
His voice was dark, hungry. You weren’t about to say no, you wanted it too. You liked anal play. Whenever Jimin wasn’t around you’d have fun with yourself too, touching yourself and teasing yourself, you knew that your ass was the epitome of sensitive. It gets you to cum in seconds.
“Will it hurt?” You asked, you’ve never had a man with larger hands than yourself in there, you were sort of worried—scared, but fuck, if anything more excited about how the stretch would feel.
“Huh?” Taehyung said, as he tries to slice at the beast again.
Jimin chuckled quietly as he whispered, “No, you’re in good hands baby.”
Literally, and figuratively. Jimin presses against the rimmed hole, feeling the ridges and just imagining their tightness around his cock, especially knowing you’ve never had anyone else in there. Maybe he did have a slight virgin kink, and anal virgin kink.
His thumb makes its way into you, swallowing hard from the sensation. It feels so good. His thickest finger proceeding to make it’s way into you, stopping at the hilt of his hand. Jimin couldn’t help to wriggle his thumb around feeling around the walls, thank god you had taken a shower before this.
Jimin’s satisfied grumble was enough to make you bite your lip, keeping it down. Yet, through your sealed lips he could probably hear your whimpers and grunts.
“Turn the mic off, fuck, I need to be inside you—you’re going to be so fucking loud.”
He was right, you did exactly what he said. He was also going to loud from the looks and sounds of it, just a finger in he’s already about to cum.
“Will it fit though?”
“Babe, we both know I’m not that big.”
At least he was honest, and not arrogant right. You nodded, he liked this position you guessed. He stretched you out with another finger pushing into your asshole. It was so much, yet not enough.
As he finishes prepping your ass for him, he gives you a smack on the ass before pulling everything off your ass. Giving him a full view of your juicy ass, “Hmm, can’t wait to fuck this ass.”
You wondered how many times Jimin had actually done this, he seemed awfully experienced but your trail of thought was immediately cut off as he spreads your ass cheeks out—letting a drip of his saliva drop over your little gaping ass. He pushes his face into you, it wasn’t the first time he was eating you could but fuck, it was the first time he was eating out your ass.
You gripped onto the bedsheets that you could, biting into the fabric as he pushes your body down. Sucking, and licking into you, lubing you up as much as he could. He smacks his lips before popping off his belt and pulling down his pants only enough for his dick to come out.
You couldn’t see it but you wanted to imagine a red hot stinging dick just so hard and ready to rip you open. You hear you spitting some more into his palm before he pumps his cock a few times.
“Alright, deep breath,” He tells you, pushing the head of his thick cock up against your asshole.
You did, taking in a deep breath before it turned into a whole ass fucking scream of pleasure. He didn’t give you even a second to move, holding your hips flush against your bed as he fucks into you without a second thought.
He couldn’t even control himself, your ass was clenching at his every thrust—the base of his cock getting all the tightness it wanted. His balls slapping against your clit as good as it can it.
“I didn’t know—fuck, that jealous sex was this good—” Your words spun into a high pitched moan as he pulls out nearly all the way only fucking you with the head of his cock where he wanted more tension.
He sets his chest down against your shoulders, his bare chest flush against your still clothed top, “I’m only fucking you this hard ‘cuz you’re a fucking brat.”
Dominant Jimin was good, too fucking good—he’d get like this if you didn’t listen to him. He’d push your over his knees and smack your ass unlike it was red and boiling before he’d eat you out. He’d fuck you like he wanted to get himself to cum the fastest, without a care for how you were feeling—which was only a show, he knew you felt good, you liked being fucked hard.
“I should be a brat more often.”
He continued to drill into your asshole even harder like no other had before through the night, no fucking mercy. Taehyung only echoing into your ears asking if you were still there. Taehyung only thought of it was a glitch and nothing more. It was only when Jimin came inside your ass and began to pry out out his cum with his mouth did you realise that Taehyung had invited another into the game.
His gamer tag you knew well, from you dropped fucked out form you stared at the screen blankly. Jungkook had been playing with Taehyung for a while—he’d passed that part of the game and had better gear now. Holy fuck, how long did Jimin fuck you for—it wasn’t even enough, Jimin wanted to torture you, he didn’t even know Jungkook was in the game at this point.
He forced you to continue playing, joining back into the game with questions from Taehyung which you only said you took a while in the bathroom and forgot the mic was off. Jungkook casually speaking around you like you didn’t exist at all, of course with Taehyung trying his best to make you two talk.
He got better, only a few words but you couldn’t even say much without a squeak leaving your lips as Jimin bites and nips into your neck with his cock warmed all up inside your cunt the entire time.
You didn’t know why your head was getting off the idea of Jungkook hearing you cum, seeing you, you even imagined Jungkook in Jimin’s position right now, you were in deep shit, you were Jimin’s right now and not suppose to be thinking of fucking another but it was so hard.
So fucking hard.
#bts#jimin#taehyung#jungkook#jimin smut#jungkook smut#bts smut#park jimin#jeon jungkook#dom!jimin#jimin x reader#jungkook x reader#jungkook angst#boyfriend!jimin
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*+ .˚ₓ hello new friends ! i’m mini from the 6ix . i’m here to cause trouble 😈 , with my new kid nikoo , neeks , neekeekee , nikoochu . i would’ve been here earlier but #theweedhittoostrong sOoOoOoOO . . . like this ( i’ll come love u ) and let’s brainstorm , send each other muse posts , make each other scream and discuss what we’re gonna do to S P I C E 🔥 things up around here ! let me know if u prefer discord ! [ 𝕚𝕥'𝕤 𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕡𝕙𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖 !#0644 ]
do my eyes deceive me , or did i just see ( NIKOO MARTINEZ ) getting out of the car in hunnington ? i guess ( SHE’S ) living around ( DENALI HILL ) , which i could've guessed . hopefully they can keep their ( - SELFISH & - CYNICAL ) shit to theirselves , and focus on being ( + AMBITIOUS & + CONNECTED ) to avoid any problems . and for the love of god , lets hope they don't talk about the ( HIDDEN ) thing .
BASICS !
Full Name: nikoo [ knee - coo ] martinez
Nickname(s): neeks , keeks , neekeekee , nikoochu , kiko ,
Age: 22
Height: 5′2 ft
Date of Birth: january 25th 1997
Zodiac sign: aquarius
Hogwarts house: slytherin
Ethnicity: mexican
Nationality: american
Gender: cis female
Pronouns: she/her
Orientation: bisexual
Religion: agnostic-catholic
Tattoos: a cross on her wrist , latin saying down her spine saying ‘ex nihilo nihil fit . camino largo, paso corto.’ ( nothing comes nothing . long road , short road )
Language(s) Spoken: english + spanish
Accent: american
A LITTLE HISTORY ! [ tw * abandonment , violence , sexual abuse ]
nikoo doesn’t know who her parents were . her memory of them becoming a blur with each passing day. from what she could remember , was being left at a random sidewalk at the AGE OF FOUR with the clothes on her back , under pouring rain in miami , florida . luckily she was standing in front of a home with nice people who said nikoo kept repeating she was waiting for their parents . . . well , her parents never showed up and CPS showed up to put nikoo into the system .
you would expect she would end up with a family that loved her bc she was a baby still - - - WRONG ! every family she was placed with found some kind of fault , or their homes would be raided for maltreatment [ think of those horrible ppl that take in kids just for the paycheck ] , nikoo could tell you the many horrible stories from the homes she’s been in . AT SIXTEEN nikoo was at her last foster home , months before . she was left home alone with her fosterr dad , and her usually technique of ignoring him didn’t work . . . and well , things happen
DAYS LATER , neeks packed a bag in the middle of the night and left her foster home . she never went back . as in , she became a runaway from the state . living on streets , the couches of strangers . the streets became her home , and eventually at EIGHTEEN , she was living in an apartment with some other people who had nowhere to be . throughout the years , neeks met a guy when she decided to do a CO - OP program through high school in a car garage . so the man treated nikoo like his own . teaching her about parts - - - even involving her in his side business - - - stealing car parts from cars and selling them , specifically high end sports cars . that hustle was covered through the garage .
the garage eventually was raided but before that could even happen nikoo discovered a different way to make money . she is hell of resourceful , believing in survival of the fittest and the idea of looking out for yourself . she abandoned the man that helped her out , letting him go down along with his business - - - and nikoo started scamming the people she’s met through dating apps . whether it’s them giving her money , clothes , or paying for something . basically she’s a SUGAR BABY without really giving much sugar . that , and she works as a cam girl to earn even more money ( her savings are WILDD )
the good thing about her past is that she actually excelled in school ! nikoo got her degree in mechanical engineering , along with a songwriting and record diploma . random i know , but she got it , what can i tell you . though she keeps that a secret . technically her whole presence in north carolina is a secret . she lives with her ‘sugar daddy’ in DENALI HILL , whomst she claims is her uncle - - - twice removed bc they look nothing alike . she’s been iin north carolina only for a few years and tells herself it’s just a stepping stone .
PERSONALITY !
if you’re rich , or somewhat profitable , nikoo will find some way to use you . she’s a kiss ass without coming out to be a kiss ass . you know , she’s just slick about it . she loves to be tested mentally . like if you’re willing to tango , she’s all about it . settling for less is not in her mentality , she wants more , and the best of things because she’s never had it growing up .
she’s a straight up hustler ok , if there’s anything she can do for money , she’ll do it . she doesn’t like talking much about herself , and if she does , most things she’ll say about herself are lies . she lives a manageable double ( triple ) life , along with working on her masters online , she currently interns at TESLA . and ofc , she loves cars . one day she plans to put together her own custom car . she writes songs on the sides , not for herself , but for other artists and she’s pretty notable . she’s signed with a publishing house so she gets paid to do that too KDFJGHDFKJGH
to the rest of the world she’s just a mr stewart’s neice from texas , who is staying with him until she gets her feet on the ground with her ‘ modelling gig ‘ . it’s funny because she prefers people to think she was stupid than to actually figure out she’s smart , and also hella promiscuous . unless you’re one of her clients , or paying her for something , she has no interest in you . neeks prefers to be alone . choosing to stay to herself . she’s still the life of the party though , cos you know . . . she can take money out yo pockets , steal that louis wallet , probably hack your account if she wanted too . bitch is smart with computers .
if she’s friends with someone , again , they know what she chooses to tell them . but neeks is pretty laid back , chill . kinda hanging personality , though she dresses like she’s about to hit the club every night , rolling up in a nice ass tesla that’s probably paid for by her ‘ favourite uncle ‘ . she’s flightly af . bc of her clients , she doesn’t do relationships , she doesn’t even like to be touched unless she’s aware it’s coming . if you touch her without her knowing , like hugs , or even trying to scare her , she will. . . . maybe , cut you .
CONNECTIONS ?
I WANT THEM ALL !!!
PLATONIC , ROMANTIC , ENEMIES , BROTP’S , SEND ME SOME MUSE POSTS AND WE CAN DO THOSE TOO
LET ME KNOW YOU WANNA PLOT AND I WILL BRAINSTORM WITH YOU . I LOVE MAKING PLOTS AND TALKING AND BEING A HOT MESSS
#cancelled:intro#this might be . . . long#im#sORRY#LET ME LOVE U THO OK#there's trigger warnings inside this ok
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What do you think will happen in "Through the Moon"?
Hmm, I’ve changed my mind a couple times as to what I think will happen, but I’ll let you know what I’m thinking right now, anon:
Since this story takes place in the Moon Nexus (and involves some kind of invitation for a ritual there), I imagine that some time must have taken place since the Battle of the Storm Spire. Just throwing out a number, I’ll guess that something like a year to 18 months have passed, which gives the trio enough time to change and adjust to the new peace they helped create.
So, some background on each of them before we dive into “Through the Moon.” All three are now living in Katolis.
Ezran is having a tough time, as he now has the most responsibilities of the three of them (oh, how the tables have turned). It turns out that Opeli’s “peace will require just as much strength as war” was not a joke. The battle to save Zym might have led to peace with the elves and dragons, but it has upended the entire world order. Katolis now has closer ties with the elves (the Sunfire elves in particular) and the Dragon King Azymondias than it does with several of the Human Kingdoms (particularly Neoloandia, which has cut off ties to Duren and Katolis after Prince Kasef’s death).
The battle also shifted the balance of power; Katolis lost much of its army, while Duren, which suffered the fewest casualties, is now the strongest Human Kingdom and breadbasket for the Pentarchy. While Queen Aanya means well, King Ezran has been encouraged to allow General Amaya to rebuild the Katolian army. Additionally, racism against elves and dragons is a hard beast to overcome, and Ezran has been struggling with certain voices in his court that are urging him to take an aggressive stance against Xadia. Keeping these people pacified has been a challenge…especially now that Rayla is living in the capital as a permanent guest.
In spite of his age, Ezran is pretty much on top of this all—Corvus once commented that he had shown more “courage, strength, and grace than most leaders show in a lifetime,” and I think that will shine through here. He might not be the most learned or most well-informed person in the room, but he knows when to rely on experts and when to rely on his sense of right and wrong.
So, “Through the Moon” might show a little bit of that–how Ezran has begun to fill his father’s shoes (as well as make his own), how well he’s adjusted to being a ruler during peacetime, and how much he still has to grow.
Callum is a prince reborn. In just a few months after the battle, he quickly mastered Sky Magic in its entirety, even coming up with several new techniques along the way. He has also learned quite a bit about the other Primal Sources and their respective Arcana. Callum is also within striking distance of finally understanding the Moon Arcanum (more on that later).
He’s trying to help Ezran as best he can, but this “awkward step-prince” always had trouble succeeding at his princely duties, and that extends to administrative and political matters. He’s no Viren, and neither his personality nor his Sky Magic provides much help at court. His abilities are more physical than the creative, complex spells that Viren often does.
Instead, Callum finds that he’s most helpful outside and beyond the walls of the castle—this is, after all, where the sky is, and where Callum is at his strongest. He’s often flying to other towns, and helps the common people with building roads, constructing dams, clearing out fields for farmland, irrigation, and the like.
The people who knew him before are quite surprised by this change. He used to be this bookish artist boy who could barely hold up a sword, wearing a signature red scarf and blue jacket. Now, he’s a strong, confident mage, sporting sleeveless shirts that reveal elaborate runes on his arms. He can fly and is therefore more physically capable than any ordinary human in the kingdom. Many less tolerant people are also put off by how protective he is over his new elven, um, “friend” Rayla.
Now, on to Rayla. Hoo boy…
Here’s what we first hear about her—Only Rayla is still restless
At first, I was wondering why she was refusing to believe Viren is dead, when it seems everyone else is ready to move on. And then I remembered this scene:
Viren: “I’ll return for you soon. It will be a pleasure to add one more Moonshadow elf to my collection”
Both her terrified expression and her registering what Viren is saying help explain why she’s so restless—whatever was in that bag must contain something related to other Moonshadow elves (either their remnants or their essence).
Then, when talking to Callum about what he saw in his spell, she’ll start to put two and two together. Even if he didn’t understand what he was seeing, he must have seen Lain and Tiadrin get coined by Viren.
Rayla doesn’t know if they’re dead or not, but she realizes she needs to find that bag. Maybe they can be revived, maybe they can’t. But the pain of not knowing is overwhelming.
She’s also probably fearful of the man himself. While she’s been overpowered before, she’s never been so helpless as she was before Viren. His “I’ll return for you soon” line stays with her, and not being able to confirm beyond a shadow of a doubt that this monster is gone will haunt her.
And to make matters worse, no one has been able to find Viren’s remains. Most assume his body was just lost, perhaps in a ravine somewhere. But Rayla needs to find his bag of coins. Combine that with the sheer terror she expresses in the scene above, she probably doesn’t fully believe that something like a fall could kill someone like Viren. And part of her hopes that’s the case; if she’s right, there’s a chance she can find her parents’ coins (and whoever else) and either revive them or, at worst, make peace with the fact that they are gone for good because the uncertainty is just that painful.
Without knowing for sure whether Viren, her parents or Runaan are gone, she’s lost. At least Callum, who tragically lost his parents, knows they are gone. There is a bit of solace in the finality of accepting your loved one’s passing. Rayla, on the other hand, is trapped between hope and fear. Hope that they may be alive, fear that she’ll never know.
Callum will pick up on the fact that something’s wrong, and Rayla will likewise let him in. She knows now that she’s safe around him. She can be vulnerable and scared and raw around Callum, because he will never think less of her, never judge her, and never love her any less.
And this is just something she will absolutely adore about him. Even though he’s incapable of giving her closure (even as a mage, he can’t just bring them back or give her an answer), he’ll always try to make her feel better, even if only by a little bit and for a short while.
Nevertheless, the three of them are called to an ancient ritual at the Moon Nexus. I’m guessing that, since there’s peace with Xadia, Lujanne either invites the trio back, or reveals the Moon Nexus to the Human world. In either case, there’s an invitation for Ezran, Callum, and Rayla to come back and take part in this ritual.
At some point, either by accidentally overhearing something or just from Lujanne explaining the ritual, she learns that the lake is a portal between life or death.
This is her chance, she thinks. This portal contains the answers to all the questions she’s been craving. The questions that have been eating away at her that no amount of “Big Feelings Time” has been able to ease.
Part of it is to see once and for all if Viren is dead, but the main reason is that she wants closure. She wants to know whether she needs to save her parents and Runaan or mourn for them. At least then, in either case, she can move on.
But the portal is unstable, and the ancient Moonshadow Elves who destroyed it never intended for it to be reopened. It seems as though Rayla will have to risk life and limb (and maybe not just her life and limb) to reopen the portal. I’d wager that, in the midst of the ceremony, she’ll jump right into the lake because, let’s face it, jumping into certain danger is something she’s used to at this point.
And speaking of things certain characters are used to, Callum will for sure have another episode of “here I go doing something reckless to protect Rayla,” and follow her.
As a quick side note, if there’s a time for Callum to unlock the Moon Arcanum, it’s here. He’s already worked through his understanding of reality and appearance well enough to apply it when facing Sol Regem. He’s also cast his first Moon spell, and hence knows how it “feels” to do Moon magic. Just as with the Sky Arcanum, Callum’s got all the details he needs “swirling in his head,” and just needs a way to bring it all together.
But, for Rayla, this is very much an introspective journey– Will Rayla’s quest to uncover the secrets of the dead put her living friends in mortal danger?
I am very skeptical that we’ll learn Viren is alive before S4. That is such a huge reveal to occur before we even see the trio on screen! And to a lesser extent, I have a hard time imagining how S4 could start off with Rayla knowing that her parents and Runaan are indeed alive.
Instead, I imagine “Through the Moon” to be more of an introspective look into Rayla—How does she see the world? How does she see herself? What’s bothering her, and what does she do to overcome her internal strife?
This would honestly be a breath of fresh air—while S3 does a good job shining a light on Rayla, it’s mostly from Callum’s perspective (he notices her sobbing and goes to comfort her; he observes and comments how she’s a hero; he helps her work through her feelings about her parents).
This graphic novel is a great way to focus on Rayla’s perspective instead. Her journey at the end of S3 left us with a bit of a “now what”? So, this book might be a good way to begin answering that.
#rayla#through the moon#tdp speculation#thanks for asking#the dragon prince#tdp#runaan#tiadrin#lain#callum#ezran#viren#zym#moonshadow elves#lujanne#tdp graphic novel
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On The Hill
A/N: This is LITERALLY one of the most interesting things i’ve ever read. My Co wrote this based off of her love for political angst/dramas, and honestly, it’s really good guys, TOTALLY WORTH THE READ. We hope you enjoy this little piece by Momo (@sailor-baek )
Characters: Park Seonghwa (ATEEZ) & Reader (Y/N), featuring another ATEEZ member!
Theme: Political AU, angst, love affair, political drama
Nothing comes easy when you work for the President of the United States. Especially when it involves Park Seonghwa.
💥Warning: Angst💥
The processional march was colorful noise in your ears as you followed closely behind the big man. It got older every time you heard it, which was, quite regrettably, every first Friday of the month. Really, anything would be better than the obnoxious blaring of-what was it? An oboe? You had no idea but it sure didn’t sound like the Chopin Nocturne op.9 no.2 you had to turn on every night to sleep.
“You’re doing it again.”
You didn’t even remember getting on the floor, a communications intern behind the press caucus chuckled. Carrie Ann. George Washington University undergrad and poli-sci masters at the good ‘ole Harvard. You made a mental note to fire the little shit as soon as this thing was over. Your attention turned to the man, still waiting for a complete introduction at the podium.
“Doing what, sir?”
“That frown thing with your eyebrows. You’re gonna get wrinkles, Y/N. What was that cream thing you use? You better stock up before Big Pharma gets their hands on the patent or I’ll have to call you...what is that new movie with Oprah?”
“A Wrinkle In Time, sir.”
“Yes, that one! A wrinkle-”
“It’s a childrens movie; nothing to do with premature aging, sir.”
A little huff escaped his lips and a slight tug appeared on yours. The press secretary was clapping now signaling for your boss to give his address.
“I’m sure your daughter will be happy to watch it with you tonight. Mr. President, you’re up.”
“Ah yes, it appears so.”
You watched as he made his way up to the center; flurries of camera flashes turning the west wing corridor into a light show. This is the time when you would check out. His speech was solid, you had looked it over yourself the hour prior. Today, however, there was a particular bump in your paved smooth travel down the hill. A rather large bump, by the name of Park Seonghwa. He was standing to the right behind his Prime Minister with the cheekiest smile plastered across his face. Bilateral economic relations didn’t warrant this kind of happiness, it oozed off of him like fucking honey. You had heard your greenies gushing over him earlier that day. The hot speech writer from the embassy. Why was he even here? Stupid question, you knew it was because he was Prime Minister Cho’s nephew. Nepotism at its finest. You had to use that one later. It would definitely sting. When clapping resumed again you made your way to the podium to rally the cameras back into the hall.
“Coverage of the reception will be permitted. I’ll have the details sent over via secure line. Until then please wait in the briefing room for further instruction. Thank you, everyone.”
You turned the corner still trying to shake that stupid smile from your mind when Carrie Ann caught your eye at the coffee corner. Before you could stalk all the way over, someone called your name.
“Ms. Chief of Staff...sir?”
God, you had forgotten your interns had project due today. “One sec, hun.”
You pivoted straight into a paper cup of coffee. “You look like you wanted to, um, talk to me.”
“Carrie Ann, do I amuse you.” The cup was warm in your hand now; sickly sweet aromas filling your nose. A little sip of the searing liquid confirmed your suspicion, too much liquid sugar. The poor girl had gone white.
“More specifically, my face-does it...does it make you want to laugh in a room of every major news outlet in the Pacific?”
“No ma’am, I didn’t mean to-”
“But you did.” You took a longer sip and gave her one last canvas before turning back to the little crowd that had gathered. “This coffee is wonderful by the way. Just a little suggestion, though; go easy on sweetener. You’ll need to remember that when you start at the local Starbucks.” You relished the gasps all the way to your office. It wasn’t until someone cleared their throat that you remembered you weren’t alone.
“Shitty morning, my greenies. Tell me something that won’t make me want to throw you off of the east wing balcony.” A lazy finger point at the intern that had tapped your shoulder earlier opened a flood of updates.
“The KORUS coverage just hit air and it’s already trending on Twitter and Facebook.”
“Washington Governor Townsend has agreed to the state park expansion plans in Olympia; we should have the contractors’ bids on your desk no later than noon.”
“The writer guy is waiting in your blue room, ma’am. Said he has an appointment.”
Messy papers were strewn all over your desk; draft bills for POTUS to look over and countless testimony from the bane of your existence that was the municipal aide fund. You didn’t even look up. “I know plenty of writers, Joshua, you need to be more specific.”
“The hot one, ma’am. Tall, Korean, windswept hair look-”
“You need not go on, dear, this is the White House, not a middle school cafeteria. Send him in.”
The group trudged to the door. “Wait. I want all of you to finish up those Arbor Day submissions from the kindergartners. Pick a winner too.”
“The criteria, ma’am?”
“I don’t know, pick one that colored the trees unrealistic colors. I support impressionism and nothing says ‘Happy Tree Day! Thank you for the oxygen!’ more than a purple ficus.”
“Got it, ma’am, purple ficus.” You shoo-ed them off with the hope that the president would get a chuckle from handing a five-year-old artist a certificate for a periwinkle disaster on national television.
“That girl from earlier. I passed her crying on the way here; such a harsh way to be let go.”
You scoffed, “I might just call secret service to drag her out. Why are you here, Mr. Park? You didn’t have an appointment.”
Seonghwa sauntered to your desk, unbuttoning his suit jacket while easing onto the varnished oak and cocking his head to the side, “Hm…” he grabbed the bow cascading down your blouse, rolling the silk in his fingers, “I never imagined something so frilly on someone so…”
“So what?”
He glared down at you, dropping the bow and retracting his fingers, grabbing the pocket square out of his suit, “So… disdainful.”
You smiled unevenly, “Sometimes I wonder where you learn words like this, but then I remember you went to college here and I can’t one up you with pretentious vocabulary.”
A smile spread across his face, “Do you want it in Korean? 경멸적인.”
“Why should I respect you, Seonghwa? I’m the White House Chief of Staff; not the eager college girl that gets you a cream cheese bagel in the morning.”
The way he got under your skin was criminal. Bad enough that he still hadn’t answered your initial question. What was the question? You were getting too old for this. “Your speech on NATO was cute; Prime Minister Cho did well for the press.”
“Did you like it?”
“Oh, I did. In fact I have a particular word in mind to describe it.”
“What would that be?”
“쓰레기.”
“Ah! She knows Korean now; such a dynamic personality.” His index finger tapped against his palm, “First off, we have a condescending Chief of Staff, who, with no mercy or remorse, loves to fire her perky college interns. Second, she must be achingly smart because she dragged my Korean speech-”
“I’ll stop you right there. Perky? Not exactly the word I’d use to-”
Seonghwa stood, readjusting his suit, “Let me finish, Y/N. Finally, for someone so beautiful, you sure do have a terrible temper.”
“You came here to be an asshole; is that it?”
“Takes one to know one, ma’am.”
“You’re the one that called it a dynamic personality.”
He paused, clasping his hands together, “I simply came to ask if I’d be seeing you at the party tonight.”
“To gawk at your latest arm candy? Don’t count on it.”
◎
The Secretary of Commerce had always rubbed you the wrong way. From the beginning of the appointment, green shadows in his hollow eyes had made his motive clear. Sure, the trade renewal was beneficial to everyone. It was especially so to one certain senior official that had poured half the budget into the Korean subsidiary of a Chinese chemical manufacturer. You weren’t a god, neither was the president. The things that were sacrificed in the name of universal well being wouldn’t keep you up at night. Besides, the geezer talking your ear off had to pay for his estate in Great Barrington somehow. You felt a hand slip around your waist.
“It was a pleasure, Mr. Secretary. Congratulations on the agreement.”
Pulled away without much more than a nod in his direction you turned your attention to your companion. “How did you know I was dying of boredom?”
“Y/N, dear, you wear your heart on your sleeve. It couldn’t have been more obvious if you had screamed ‘insolent plutocrat’ in his face.”
You gravitated towards the bar and took the cucumber vodka Yunho held out. He was every bit the man your parents had expected; fitting the description a 9 year old you had mapped out and stuck to the fridge. Doctor Jeong Yunho; Chief of surgery at Georgetown, specializing in neurology. How else could you describe Yunho but simply strapping. Heels didn’t challenge his height. His goofy smile never faltered and his bright eyes followed you like a puppy. Walking into any function with him felt like a cold drink laced with ecstasy; only mildly dangerous and the biggest ego booster. He made you feel powerful.
You leaned in to begin a whisper into his ear.
“My my my, what do we have here?” If Yunho was ecstasy, Seonghwa was the dirtiest mephedrone on the black market. That hand found your waist again. The woody scent on Yunho’s lapel invaded your senses. There came a time every woman had to face the music; you hadn’t wanted it to be tonight.
“Mr. Park, I don’t believe you’ve met my fiancé.”
“Park Seonghwa, right? I’m Yunho, nice to meet you, man.”
The newest patron took his hand, giving it a firm shake. “Likewise, Doctor. I assume congratulations are in order.” You cast a sidewards glance to Yunho who was playing idly with the silver band on his finger. The whole ordeal was suffocating.
“So when’s the big day?” Seonghwa’s eyes were on you now, still full of the morning’s mischief.
“End of June; we’ll make sure to send you an invitation.” You scooted a little closer to Yunho, letting his guarding presence hold you upright. A shrill beep sounded from his breast pocket; one that you had heard many times. He cleared his throat a little and reached for the pager. Duty always called. It didn’t matter even if you had just helped to divert a nuclear crisis. If someone had their head cracked open on an operating table, Dr. Jeong would be there to patch them up. You took a long swig of the sweating cocktail and set it down.
“You should go, honey. It sounds urgent.”
He offered you a sheepish smile. Seonghwa just turned to face the bar, sloshing a drink in his hand.
“Multiple trauma crash on the 95. Baby, I’m sorry.” Yunho lightly grabbed out your hands that re-did the buttons of his suit.
“I of all people know that work is work. Don’t sweat it kid. I’ll see you tomorrow night, okay?”
“You’re not coming home?”He met your lips in a chaste kiss.
“I fly to Mumbai first thing in the morning and I still have lots of stuff to do before then.”
Yunho just nodded with understanding and bent down to peck your cheek one last time. “Text me when you land.”
“Will do. Drive safe.” When he was far you heard a snicker come from the side. Rolling your eyes you motioned the bartender over for a refill. It was Bruno tonight. Thank god. He always kept the good stuff on the side for you.
“Work is work, huh?”
“Precisely.”
The brooding man eased towards you slightly, still looking forward. “Are you working me?”
“For what reason would I do that? I have nothing to gain.”
He downed his dark liquid. “We both know that isn’t true.” and with that, he was gone into the crowd of tipsy politicians. Dim chandeliers and the gaudy presentation was suddenly becoming too much. With swift steps you made your way to the president’s table, a pleasant smile plastered on your face.
“Sir, I’m going to head out for the night; lots to do for tomorrow.”
“Of course, Y/N! Send my regards to Yunho on his surgeries. I saw that he left earlier.”
It was that obvious, huh? “I will. Thank you, Mr. President. Congratulations again on the agreement.” With a quick side hug to the misses and last goodbyes, you walked to the back entrance. Your night detail was waiting at the door, purse and coat in hand.
“Evening, ma’am.” You took your purse and got into the car.
“Hello, boys. I’m so ready to sleep.”
“Home, ma’am?”
“Not tonight, Sarge.”
“Of course.”
The ride to the Regis was short. Without much thought you were in your suite; draped in silk and nursing a vintage malt the adorable concierge had given you. And you had tried so hard to not come off as an alcoholic. How disappointing. The door clicked open but you didn’t pay it any attention as you were still enthralled by the itinerary in front of you. A hand pulled the pin out of your makeshift bun sending hair cascading over your shoulders.
“You work too hard, Y/N.”
“I am my work. It runs my life” The humming in your ear made a familiar heat rush to your chest. It flared out down your arms in little tingles.
“This here isn’t work. I think this is something you’re doing all for yourself.”
You reached behind you, bringing lips hard against your own. There was a little cut on the bottom one from a consistent bite the owner was likely not aware of. Sucking on the spot elicited the deepest moan you’d ever heard. Music on par with Nocturne op.9.
“Add selfishness to the qualities of my dynamic personality.”
You turned around in your seat and found a firm grip on your ass pulling you flush against a rattling chest. “He seems like a great guy.”
“Don’t talk about him, Seonghwa.” Stepping off the chair you pushed him towards the bed. He fell onto the plush surface without a sound of protest.
“You definitely have a type. The press would have a field day.”
Settling over the cocky speech writer that had been tugging on the edges of your mind all day was satisfying to say the least. You fit there perfectly; taking everything that was Park Seonghwa in until it made you dizzy. Though not as dizzy as he became when you abused his neck with abandon. You always adored his icy veins threatening to pop in restraint. His hands fumbled at your hip, willing you to move against him. He was too busy getting off to shameless moans of his name in his ear to feel your knee press down hard on his clothed dick.
“If anything gets out to the media, prepare to have this handed over to your uncle on a silver fucking platter.” His breath hitched and you swore the bulge in his pants only grew. You replaced the knee with your hand and used the other to rip open his now wrinkled button down. Your favorite surface. Not as broad as Yunho, but Seonghwa would say the filthiest things to get you to paint trails down his chest until he couldn’t breathe. That’s the difference between your choice of drugs. The most dangerous ones were the most addictive. So when he captured your mouth again, a fresh whimper on his lips, you had no intention of backing up the threat. Seonghwa. Seonghwa. Seonghwa. Pure honey to taste.
“Please, just fucking ruin me, Y/N.”
“I serve at the pleasure.”
#park seonghwa angst#park seonghwa smut#ateez political au#ateez#ateez park seonghwa#ateez seonghwa#ateez smut#ateez angst#ateez writing#ateez imagine#ateez au#ateez one shot#ateez hongjoong#ateez yunho#ateez yeosang#ateez san#ateez mingi#ateez wooyoung#ateez jongho#park seonghwa#writing by momo#sailor baek
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I saw the "what scares you the most" reblog and I am wondering if you could extend the hc thing and let us know the deepest fears of all the ops :)
Oh boi, you don’t ask easy stuff, do you? Okay, I’ll give it my best shot! And a big thank you and hug to @todragonsart who’s been a huge inspiration and help, and my willing co-conspirator 💜
FBI
Ash: Failure, not being good enough at what she does. Combined with her impulsiveness and competitve nature, it can be a volatile mix. She also fears being treated differently than her colleagues just because she’s a woman.
Thermite: He’s afraid of his explosives. He knows how unstable they can be, and how easily they could cost someone’s life (his own or even worse, someone else’s). He nearly lost all sensibility in his hands the last time a charge went awry, he doesn’t want to contemplate what could happen if he messed up again. Still, he won’t let his fear change his life, or make him lose confidence in himself.
Pulse: Spiders. All those spindly legs and how they scuttle around, weaving that disgusting stuff… he can’t stand spiders, they make his skin crawl.
Castle: The hopelessness of life, how the bad always seems to outshine the good and the fear that his effort and choices won’t really make a difference.
SAS
Thatcher: The pass of time. All his life he’s been a soldier, he doesn’t know what he’ll be once he can’t serve anymore.
Sledge: Not measuring up to what people expect of him. He knows he’s expected to be Thatcher successor when the old man retires, and those are some really big shoes to fill in. He’s also afraid of not being able to protect his squad, his friends. Especially the younger two, who can be reckless and irresponsible at times or most of the time in Smoke’s case
Smoke: Being ignored and alone, that’s the reason he was/is a troublemaker, to catch people’s attention.
Mute: Memory loss. Aside of all the wealth of knowledge he has suddenly disappearing, are you still yourself without your memories?
GIGN
Montagne: Illness, like the one that runs in his family. He can fight terrorists, but he’s not so sure he could fight (and win) against cancer.
Twitch: She’s strongly empathetic, and she fears that could be her downfall, that it could make her unable to act decisively in the middle of the action, that her emotions would paralyze her.
Doc: His choices costing innocent lives, even if it was by inaction (rather than direct action) on his part,
Rook: He fears his trust exercises makes him look gullible, aside from worrying that his skillset is insufficient compared to the other prodigies in Rainbow, that he’s too simple to be part of such an elite group.
Spetsnaz
Tachanka: He built himself an image of powerful, unflappable and unstoppable force, yet deep down he’s only human. He’s terrified people will see through his act and stop respecting him without that metaphorical mask.
Kapkan: The unstoppable marching of time that is slowly guiding us to inevitable death (according to that post you mention xD). In fact I think he’s terrified of his own feelings, of becoming too attached and emotionally dependant on other people. He craves it as much as he fears it.
Glaz: Going blind. He’s a soldier, a sniper, and an artist. Without his eyesight, he would be nothing.
Fuze: Despite his reputation, he’s terrified of accidentally killing someone with his gadget, be it a civilian or worse, one of his team mates.
GSG9
Jäger: He has PTSD from Outbreak, which for a time rendered him unable to pilot even. It also left him with an irrational panic to darkness, he sometimes thinks he can still hear those things scuttling closer and closer to him, while he’s alone in the dark, not knowing if anyone will come for him.
Bandit: He’s already experienced it, and would rather never have to lose someone close to him, knowing it was his fault. That’s why he tends to keep people at arm’s lenght. Note: I don’t think Cedrick is dead, but Bandit is too chicken to face him after the incident, considering their relationship irreparably damaged, aka lost.
Blitz: After being a soldier in the Kosovo war and witnessing its horrors, plus all that he’s seen working in a counter-terrorism unit, he’s afraid of discovering how far human depravity can go. Every time he’s deployed, he fears what new horrors he’ll see this time. However, that’s also the reason he wanted this job, to stop those things from happening.
IQ: She’s a perfectionist, and her obsessive nature and refusal to gice up are a result of her deep seated fear of failure. She defines her worth by her success, and if she doesn’t succeed, then what is she worth?
JTF2
Buck: He’s a direct and practical man, he fears being stuck in a position where he has to act diplomatically or deal with politicians, or even being a public face where his actions and words would be examined by many people.
Frost: She’s not good at reacting in front of surprise or unpredictable situations, plans meticulously because she fears getting caught off guard and not knowing what to do.
SEAL
Valkyrie: She fears physical injury. She already had to give up her dream of being an Olympic swimmer after the car accident that broke her arm, now the stakes of injury are much higher, and she could lose her job and new life. She also fears being treated differently or patronized just for being a woman on an almost purely male environment.
Blackbeard: He’s afraid of losing faith in his nation. If his country was wrong, he would start to question if what he’s done for the country was the right thing or not, and that terrifies him.
BOPE
Capitao: He fears helplessness, being again in a situation where he can’t do anything but wait for someone to help him, just as it happened when h was taken hostage all those years ago.
Caveira: Not being able to protect her family is her worst fear, and knowing how prone her brothers are to get in trouble, it’s not an unreasonable fear. She would do anything for them.
SAT
Hibana: She’s scared of losing her cultural identity. Tradition is important to her and her family, and yet she works away from home in a multicultural team, so she fears losing touch with her roots, forgetting who she is.
Echo: He’s terrified of Ying. Have you ever seen her angry? He has, and after all you can’t spell terrifying without ying.
GEO
Jackal: Failing his brother’s memory. If he can’t solve Faisal’s murder, what’s the use of his life? He can’t have his brother back, hell sometimes he can barely remember his face anymore, but he can bring him justice.
Mira: Fear of abandonment. After he mother left when she was a child, she always has that little voice in the back of her head whispering that everyone else will leave her too, just like mom did.
SDU
Ying: She has PTSD from being in a car crash. Took up driving, and quite recklessly, to feel that she was in control of the situation, not her fears. Yet every time she hears a loud crash noise or feels the car not responding as it should, she starts to feel the panic building up.
Lesion: Drowning. He’s a good swimmer, but during the incident in the oil tank, when he igested the oily water and started coughing, that was the first time he ever thought he would die, with his lungs filled with toxic waters, and it stuck with him.
GROM
Zofia: Following her father’s footsteps and alienating her family because of her job and the expectations she puts on others.
Ela: Due to how her childhood was, she’s always had that feeling in the back of her mind that she won’t ever be enough for the people close to her, not as good as others, not as worthy of love. She also fears she’ll live all her life under Zofia’s shadow, unable to be anything else but the Bosak little sister.
707SMB
Vigil: He’s afraid of loss, vulenaribility, emotions… In fact, it would be easier to list what he isn’t afraid of. Just check his bio and you’ll see.
Dokkaebi: She fears to not be taken seriously due to his young age and image. That’s the reason she so viciously shows off her skills and exploits people’s weaknesses. She is ruthless out of fear.
CBRN
Lion: Himself, what he most fears is becoming again who he was before finding faith. He knows his pride and anger aren’t good either, but at least they keep him in check from spiralling down again.
Finka: Her illness, she’s terrified of the day she won’t be able to move, feels like it’s a countdown to the moment her life will be forever put on hold and she will only be a victim, someone to be pitied.
GIS
Maestro: He fears losing the ability to chose what he wants, of his family or Rainbow taking him for granted and wanting him to stay forever, and how could he say no to his loved ones even if he wanted something else? The guilt of leaving them would kill him.
Alibi: Stemming from witnessing her father being extorted by the mafia, she fears being taken advantage of, or witnessing again how someone close to her being in that position. She’s also afraid that in such situation her anger would override her common sense.
GSUTR
Clash: She’s afraid of her own volatile emotions, of acting rashly again like she did when she was part of the riots.
Maverick: Water, it triggers his PTSD, bringing back memories from when he was imprisoned and waterboarded during that time he was MIA. He avoids bodies of water as much as he can.
GIGR
Kaid: He’s a man who values honour highly, and fears that his moral integrity could be questioned, that someone would think him capable of taking bribes like the Commander that besmirched the reputation of the Fortress before he took over.
Nomad: Growing up in a privileged family came with certain expectations for her future, however, she preferred to enlist and travel constantly alone rather than remain home. She fears having to live a sheltered life again, having to marry and not being able to keep proving to everyone and herself that she’s capable of.
SASR
Mozzie: He’s afraid of being forgotten, and that’s the reason for his showman personality and his tendency to take risks.
Gridlock: She fears taking on more responsabilites than the ones she already has (eldest of 5 siblings, indebted family, taking care of the farm’s finances, and protective of her teammates), that’s why she keeps turning down promotions.
BONUS
Warden: He painstakingly built himself an aura of mystery and danger and proficiency, his biggest fear is people being able to see through all of that. He can’t bear the idea of someone degrading his merits.
Nokk: [REDACTED]
#rainbow 6 siege#r6s#rainbow six siege#r6siege#headcanons#Anonymous#I hope you guys like the bonus and find it funny too xD
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A Tale of Two Dragons
I had the absolute pleasure to work on a collab with the amazing @mgenjo for this Shimada brothers piece. They had an amazing idea for it and we went back and forth yelling about our boys to create this story and this incredible piece.
I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did working on it with such a talented artist and creative mind! Thank you so much for the opportunity, I had a blast!
“Otōsan! Tell us the story again!”
Hanzo rolled his eyes at his little brother’s exclamation. He was twelve years old and still liked their father telling them stories before bed. It was childish, and yet, Hanzo found himself pulling up his blanket higher and looking to Shojiro expectantly. Their father set his hand on Genji’s head, then sat down between their futons.
“Which story would you like, Genji?” He asked quietly, though, there was a knowing look in his eye as Genji motioned excitedly with his hands.
“You know the one! With the dragons!”
“You mean the one where they were grounded for not going to sleep?”
“Otōsan,” Genji whined, Shojiro smiling as he leaned back against the wall. Hanzo rolled over to face him, Genji doing the same as their father took a breath.
“My family tells of an ancient legend about two great dragon brothers: the Dragon of the North Wind, and the Dragon of the South Wind,” Shojiro started, looking at each of his sons in turn before continuing. Genji glanced at Hanzo, smiling before turning his gaze back to their father.
“Together, they upheld balance and harmony in the heavens. But the two brothers argued over who could better rule their land. Their quarrel turned to rage and their violent struggle darkened skies.”
Shojiro’s voice rose as he held up a hand, sweeping it down as he spoke. He narrowed his eyes, tone changing as he paused, Genji kicking his feet under his covers.
“Until the Dragon of the South Wind struck down his brother, who fell to the earth, shattering the land…The Dragon of the South Wind had triumphed, but as time passed, he then realized his solitude. The sweetness of victory turned to ash.”
Hanzo stared at the tatami mats, fingers tapping against his pillow lightly. He pursed his lips as Genji leaned in, waiting for their father to continue.
“For years, the bereft dragon’s grief threw the world into discord, and he knew only bitterness and sorrow. One day, a stranger called up to the dragon and asked, ‘Oh dragon lord, why are you so distraught?’ The dragon told him, ‘Seeking power, I killed my brother. But without him, I am lost.’ The stranger replied, ‘You have inflicted wounds upon yourself, but now, you must heal. Walk the earth on two feet as I do. Find value in humility. Go to bed when your father asks you--”
“That’s not how it goes!” Genji interrupted, Hanzo blinking out of his slight daze.
“Are you the one telling the story? I think not, little sparrow,” Shojiro teased, Genji giggling as his hair was ruffled fondly. Hanzo chewed on his lower lip.
“I don’t like this one. Can you tell us a different one?”
“No! I want to hear the rest of this one, it’s almost done anyways! Please, Otōsan!
“Genji, we hear this one all the time--”
“And I like it! The dragons are so cool!”
“Boys. I will finish this one, and tell another, how does that sound?”
Genji nodded, Hanzo sighing before sinking back down into his bed.
“Very well, then.”
Shojiro cleared his throat, demeanor changing to add theatrics the story once again.
“‘Only then will you heal.’ The dragon knelt upon the ground. For the first time, he was able to clearly see the world around him, and he became human. The stranger revealed himself as his fallen brother. Reunited, the two set out to rebuild what they had once destroyed.”
Genji rolled over and clapped, Shojiro smiling at him before turning to Hanzo.
“See? It is a quick story. Now you can pick one.”
Hanzo didn’t bother explaining that it wasn’t the length of the tale that made him uneasy, murmuring something about a different story he no longer wanted to hear.
---
Hanzo winced as the needle bit into his skin again, ink seeping below the surface. Marks that would stay there forever, marks he was proud to bear. His dragons, drawn by the clan’s elder tattoo artist, perfected over generations of Shimadas sitting in the same spot he was, needles piercing their skin, marking, claiming.
The elder had appraised him before his sixteenth birthday, circling around him time and time again, his leathery eyes narrowed. Finally, he had tisked and bowed himself out to start working on the initial design. Shojiro had been proud, Genji excited. Hanzo had blue ink tracing up over his arm the next day, the needle starting sharply just after it had been cleaned and prepared, piercing in clean, black lines.
Genji watched avidly for the first few minutes, asking if Hanzo was okay, if it hurt much.
“I’m okay. It’s not that bad,” Hanzo replied truthfully, even as the sting of the needle continued to press consistently into his forearm.
It was fading with each line Hanzo endured.
Genji became bored after ten minutes, which was expected. Hanzo would stay in the chair, still and silent for another four hours before he was given a break, which was expected. They were back at it again as soon as the elder tattoo artist was ready.
---
Hanzo cleaned his arm carefully, rinsing cool water over it. He had been training with his bow--nothing too strenuous, and he had made sure to cover it properly. The lines were almost complete. Details Hanzo had been staring at every night before he went to bed etched into his skin precisely, eloquently.
Scales that already seemed to shift and move over his skin, even without colour. Fine lines of fur placed meticulously across the dragon’s back and tail. Delicate, intricate swirling storm clouds with bolts of lightning dancing across them. The dragon’s face, its mouth parted in a growl, ready to strike.
He had been told colouring it would take at least another four sessions. There was to be blue ink covering most of his arm, so the dragon would stand out starkly against the raging storm. Hanzo trailed his fingers over it lightly, following the beast curling around his arm.
“Anija!”
Hanzo blinked and looked up into the mirror, past his own reflection. Genji waved at him, hair still sticking to his brow, face red. He must have continued practicing while Hanzo went to clean up.
He had watched his little brother train for a bit; the strokes favouring his left side needed work, always leaving his right open and vulnerable. But he was fast and agile, footwork mixing in seamlessly with his coordination and strikes. Hanzo had found that if Genji didn’t think he could win--as he often did when the two sparred together--he would work less on making his strikes clean and more on out-stepping the enemy. It won him a few rounds, until Hanzo caught on to the pattern.
Genji always seemed to do better when he was not really trying.
“Your hair is a mess,” Hanzo commented offhandedly, Genji grinning as he sat down next to him. He was still breathing heavy, heat coming off him in waves. Hanzo grimaced at the touch of his slightly damp hand on his tattoo.
“Go wash your hands! I have a colouring session in an hour, and I don’t need your sweaty paws giving me an infection.”
“I just want to look!”
“Then just look.”
Genji tilted his head as he looked at the dragon, hands going back to rest in his lap. Hanzo lifted his arm and showed it off a bit, a small smile growing on his lips as Genji’s eyes seemed to sparkle.
“It’s so cool! I can’t wait to get mine, then we can match!”
“That’s only if you get it on your arm, too. The elder might think it’ll look better somewhere else,” Hanzo told him, Genji making a face.
“But it’s my tattoo. I’ll get it where I want.”
“If you say so,” Hanzo shrugged. Genji stood up and bounced slightly on the balls of his feet.
“I want to see it again when you’re done with today’s session.”
“I’ll make sure and show you, if you’re not asleep.”
Genji grinned, then ran out of the room.
“I’ll probably be up playing that new game I got! You can play it too if you want, it has a co-op mode,” He called, voice fading along with the sound of thumping feet.
Hanzo shook his head fondly, then went to go disassemble and clean his bow and arrows.
---
The dragon’s eye was golden, shaded to have depth, standing out against the deep blue of its scales. It watched him constantly, both an assurance and unsettling at the same time. Half completed in blue and gold, just like the dragon on the tapestry in the main hall. The Dragon of the South Wind intertwined with his brother.
Hanzo didn’t know why he was recalling such a story now, in the middle of his meeting with the clan elders and his father. He must have zoned out. Shojiro was speaking in that tone that indicated he was unhappy with something, though, Hanzo hadn’t figured out what, just yet. Genji’s name popped up, the elders shaking their heads.
Hanzo finally started to listen again.
“He has been doing everything we ask of him. Genji does not need further conditioning,” Shojiro argued, Hanzo looking between him and the elders thoughtfully.
“I hardly think playing video games and going out to spend the clan’s money on frivolous activities is ‘doing everything we ask of him’, my lord.”
“Then what would you have him do, if not be the child he is?”
An elder glanced to Hanzo at that, his eyes narrowing. He said nothing, however, sitting back and watching the argument commence. Hanzo figured it was just another pair of eyes making sure he was doing what he was supposed to.
“He can still be a child, but he must pick up more responsibilities. He must become more involved with the clan before he strays too far.”
Hanzo watched Shojiro’s jaw work, clenching slightly as he held the gaze of the woman that spoke up.
“We can add to his training schedule and require more attendance to clan business, if you wish, but I will see to the additions myself.”
“Very well.”
The elder that had looked at him before caught Hanzo’s eye again, not looking away this time. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable under the hard stare, cold and unwavering. Hanzo tried to focus on the meeting instead, the feeling of being watched following him even after it ended and he went to his kendo training.
---
Hanzo peeled off the protective layering over his tattoo, Genji gasping as it went on full display. It was beautiful; the colours bold and shaded to perfection, the design made to stand out and give a sense of majesty. Power.
Hanzo could feel it, the way the dragons settled in his skin, a persistent presence. One to be called upon should he ever wish to. Only a Shimada could control the dragons, only a Shimada had that gift. The tattoo merely symbolized it, gave a visual connection to the mystical one.
“It’s amazing,” Genji murmured, Hanzo tilting his arm this way and that to let it catch the light.
He loved it. Deep, navy blue with shimmering gold cut through, black lines stark against the tan of his skin. The ink still fresh and shining.
“They said I can get another one when I turn twenty-one. I might get matching ones on both my arms, like Otōsan’s. And you’ll be eighteen by then, you can get yours too.”
“I’d make mine green, though.”
Hanzo huffed a laugh.
“Of course you would.”
“I’d get it on my right arm too, since it’s the one I hold my katana with. Sounds cool, right?” Genji looked up at his brother the same way he always did when he expected him to agree or praise him, eyes wide and expression open.
Hanzo gave him a little half grin, ruffling his hair and messing it up more than it already was. Genji made a noise of surprise, pulling back and swatting at Hanzo’s hand before trying to fix the style.
“Yeah, that’s pretty cool.”
“Young master.”
Hanzo turned, brow raising as his posture straightened. A cold expression settled on his face, turning the corners of his mouth down and drawing his brows together. His attendant bowed briefly, then gave him an equally blank stare back.
“Your presence is requested in the Eastern hall.”
With a sigh, Hanzo stood, Genji watching him as he leaned back on his hands.
“Very well, I will be there shortly.”
The woman bowed again, then walked away swiftly. Genji eyed her as she left, then tilted his body towards his brother.
“When you’re done with the meeting, you want to go get something to eat in town? Rikimaru is having a special on their ramen, they have a new flavour I think you’d like,” He offered. Hanzo gave him a look, brows furrowing slightly as he shook his head.
“I cannot.”
“What? Why? You did all your training for the day, right?”
A nod, Genji frowning at the motion.
“So, come with me.”
“I have other things to attend to, Genji. This meeting is just one of the evening.”
“Oh,” Genji murmured, eyes drifting down to the floor before he stood fluidly and shrugged, hands going into his pockets.
“Well, if you change your mind, I’ll wait until your work is done.”
Hanzo fixed his yukata, going to the door and turning to Genji just before leaving.
“Do not bother, just go without me.”
---
Genji grit his teeth and tried to wriggle his way out from Hanzo’s headlock, face red and sweat dripping from his forehead. Hanzo held fast, dropping his center of gravity slightly and widening his stance, not allowing his brother to hook a leg behind his and sweep it. He was getting sloppy, too easy to defeat.
Going out almost every night partying, drinking, and staying in a club until the early hours of the morning was taking its toll. Hanzo had a feeling he was doing drugs on top of that as well. He certainly wouldn’t have been surprised if it was true.
Genji finally slowed his struggles and tapped Hanzo’s forearm, gasping as he was let go.
“You do not even try anymore. Your form is lacking, your attacks too rushed. Steady your breath, keep your focus. Again!” He snapped, Genji throwing a glare his way.
The younger Shimada had been acting out more and obeying less, ever since he had realized he could without much consequence. He did what he wanted while Hanzo was stuck with shouldering the burdens he left behind. The elders were starting to nag on him about the behaviour, but he would push back, give Genji the benefit of the doubt.
Something he had taken from his father, the urge to protect Genji from what he had to endure. He gave in to far too easily when it came to the young sparrow. He took a strange sort of pride in shielding his little brother from the harshness of the clan, that innate sense driving him to side on Genji’s behalf every time the elders had a complaint.
“He will come around, just give him time.”
“I will speak with him, he listens to me.”
“I will do it for him, then. He can take the next one.”
“Let him do what he wants.”
Hanzo brushed off his gi, their fight wrinkling the fabric, dirtying the white with stains of brown.
“We’ve been at it for almost an hour. How many times do you have to beat my ass into the ground before you’re satisfied that you’re better at judo?” Genji grumbled, wiping his forehead and pushing his hair from his face. Hair that had recently been dyed green. Vibrant and obnoxious, screaming for attention.
Hanzo hated it, but he couldn’t deny that it fit his brother.
“At least once more. We go until you can beat me.”
Genji groaned, then shook his head. Waved a dismissive hand towards his brother as he walked towards the exit of the dojo. Hanzo’s nostrils flared, eyes narrowing.
“I’ve got somewhere to be tonight, I’m already late because of you. You can beat me up again tomorrow.”
Hanzo’s jaw tightened as Genji left the dojo, slamming the shoji door shut as he went.
---
There was a weight Hanzo didn’t know his father had been bearing for him until he was gone. Shojiro’s ashes sat in front of him, and Hanzo had never felt it so acutely. Overbearing. A burden he was not ready to carry. But he had no other choice. He had been training for this moment his whole life, and yet, it felt like he was just a child waiting for someone to tell him what to do and how to do it.
Shojiro’s death had been untimely, Hanzo rather young for having to take the mantle of oyabun. The elders were constantly watching him, whispering in his ear even at his father’s funeral. Any moment they had, they would share their ‘deepest condolences’ before murmuring something about him needing to be ready as the next head of the clan.
Hanzo couldn’t stop staring at the box his father’s ashes were in, his mind oddly blank. He felt a muted sort of sorrow, face remaining stoic and stony while the Buddhist priest droned on with words he didn’t hear. His stomach churned, hands shaking slightly where they were pressed against prayer beads.
Genji was crying quietly next to him, eyes downcast. For once, he was at the house and sober. Hanzo was just glad his brother was with him. He would not have to go through the day alone, even if Genji was there for their father, not him.
The funeral felt like it lasted for a week; three days dragging by, each one slower and heavier than the last until finally, Shojiro was simply a memory.
And Hanzo was suffocating in the legacy he had left behind.
---
Genji’s tattoo had been started soon after their father had died, though, months later, there was still only half finished line-work on his right arm. Hanzo had mentioned it more as the weeks passed by, though, they had not talked much.
A Shimada tattoo was something to be proud of, a blessing only given to those with pure blood and strong hearts. Those with the will of a dragon. Not to be left partially completed or brushed aside, as most of Genji’s responsibilities had been as of late.
Hanzo kept him at a distance now that he had more work to take care of, more business meetings, more deals to strike, more assassinations and black market trades, always more. He would not let on that he was struggling with it on his own, because to admit that would be to admit a weakness. And weakness was always exploited.
The elders had been speaking with Hanzo more about the unruly behaviour of his brother, the conversation shifting in a dangerous territory.
“Genji’s actions need to be reigned in before he does something you cannot cover for him. He needs to step into his role in the clan, his family, or he will become a burden that needs to be cut from it.”
Hanzo clasped his hands in front of him, taking a moment to gather his thoughts before responding.
“I will see to it that he understands the position he is in.”
“My lord, if I may speak freely,” An elder spoke up. The same one that had been watching him when he was still learning from his father, the same one that had been whispering to him for years about what he needed to do for the clan with the promise of greatness in his future.
Hanzo nodded once, sharply.
“You have done nothing but try and help Genji, take burdens off his shoulders and allow him the freedom he takes so brashly, and what have you gotten in return for this effort? For years, you and your father took on what he would not so he could do what? Party, drink, and waste himself away late into the night.”
“When people in town think of the Shimada name, is this what you want them to imagine? A boy with no respect or shame, using his family as an excuse to get what he wants? They should respect and fear the Shimadas, their power and reach, as they do for you. They know who you are, what you stand for. Perhaps it is time to let Genji know this as well, or teach him if he refuses to listen to you.”
Hanzo leveled the elder with a cold gaze, eyes flicking to the side after a moment.
“Perhaps you are right…”
“He is meant to be at your side, assisting you with your work and bettering the clan. That is what he was born to do. You have followed your path, and here you stand with an empire at your command. He is straying from his, and you see the havoc he is wreaking, yes? He needs only a few...Corrections.”
“I will see what I can do.”
“Very good, my lord.”
---
Genji had not listened. Time and time again, he walked away from Hanzo trying to reason with him, asking for help, laying his trust out only to be pushed away and proven wrong to have given it. Their conversations turned short, full of bitter comments and resigned tones.
A rift had grown between them over the years; Hanzo could not quite tell when it had started, but it was a cold and gaping thing now. Left unattended, chipping away at the edges to widen the distance between them with every argument, slammed door, and frustrated shout. Some things left unsaid, some things where too much was said.
Hanzo knelt on the tatami, the ridges digging into his knees. His chest was bare, the air around him cold and biting. Winter was setting in early this year. He felt as ill-disposed and distant as the wind blowing through the grey skies, whipping the clouds into storms.
At the sound of metal hissing, his hands clenched into fists on his knees. He could feel the heat of it by his right shoulder, the two dragons of the Shimada clan crest burning a livid orange at the end of the brand.
“It is tradition. The mark of the Shimada clan. The mark of the master,” They had told him. Hanzo had not argued, gone through the motions of binding himself to the clan symbolically before it would become yet another marking to carry with him forever.
He had murmured oaths into the silence, listened to those returned to him as oyabun, people promising loyalty and unending fidelity to the clan, to him. Genji was not among them, as he should have been. As Hanzo had asked him to.
He did not flinch as the heated metal was pressed to his arm, the smell of burning flesh the only thing that made his expression change. Just a slight wrinkle of his nose, quickly corrected into the wall of stone he had perfected. That stench never failed to make Hanzo’s stomach turn, disgust as potent as the smell.
The pain set in when the brand was removed, stinging and throbbing across his shoulder. Unpleasant, but he’d had worse.
The ceremony finished as monotonous as it had started, everyone bowing low as Hanzo stood and faced them, now as the oyabun. His title was merely made official, but nothing would change.
For a brief moment, Hanzo wondered if this was the life he had always imagined he would have.
---
Hanzo stared at the polished wood of the table, feeling disconnected from himself. Body and mind distant, uncoordinated. Words spoken without really processing or feeling.
“Very well, I will do it.”
---
Hanzo sat poised and still, like a statue. It was almost as if he was one now, cold and hard as any stone. Sculpted by the clan, maintained by his duty to do right by them. He was waiting. Genji should have arrived ten minutes ago, but Hanzo had not expected him to be on time.
There was not much Hanzo expected of him anymore.
Such potential, gone to waste by his own devices. They could have built an empire together, but Genji had chosen to walk away from his birthright, discard it as though it meant nothing to him. Maybe it did mean nothing to him.
The shift of weight down a hallway had Hanzo’s attention, soft footsteps coming to a halt behind him. Genji stepped into view, wearing his training gi--the one with the sleeves torn off. It was the first time he had been at the estate in over two weeks; he had left after their previous fight, both brothers angry and frustrated, neither willing to budge.
Hanzo lifted his head, hands settling on the weight of his katana resting in his lap. He had just finished cleaning it, meticulous and precise. It would be a short meeting, no matter the outcome.
The younger Shimada held something in his hands, sitting down next to Hanzo and setting it between them.
“Hey. Thought you could use some of this. It’s your favourite.”
Hanzo glanced at the sake bottle Genji motioned to, a frown curving his lips. It was his favourite, but now was not the time to get drunk and sloppy, as Genji might. A mere token of goodwill could not help him now.
The silence became uncomfortable after a moment, Genji sighing and leaning back on his hands. He had always done that, ever since he was little. Something about that thought struck Hanzo wrong.
“You wanted to talk? I’m actually glad, I’ve been meaning to do the same,” He continued. Still at ease, eyes distant as they looked out to the city lights twinkling just beyond the balcony. Hanzo’s grip tightened on the hilt of his katana.
“I feel like we’re just...We’re definitely not the people we used to be. And I think that’s setting us further and further apart. I miss when we were younger and you…” Genji trailed off, eyes shifting to his brother before he took a breath.
“I don’t like what we’ve done to ourselves, I guess. But, I still don’t want to change for the sake of something I don’t believe in, Hanzo.”
They’d had this conversation dozens of times, and dozens of times, Hanzo had snapped at him for saying that. Now was no different. Old habits coming to haunt him again.
“Of course you don’t. You have not for years now, and it has done nothing but cause me more problems.”
“Anija, I’m not here to fight you on this. I just thought we could talk without it turning into an argument, for once,” Genji sighed, a hand going up to tug his hair from his forehead.
Hanzo caught sight of his tattoo, dark lines and scales left half finished. His arm went back behind the curve of his body to support his weight, hiding it again.
“I have tried to speak with you time and time again--”
“I know, okay? You just repeat what the elders shove down your throat, and I’m tired of hearing it. I know I’m a disappointment and a disgrace to the clan, I get it. And they know I don’t care what they think or want to do what they tell me. That’s not going to change. But I’m here to talk to you, not them. I need to talk to you, Hanzo.”
Hanzo’s lip twitched just slightly. If that was truly how Genji felt, so be it. He stared at the tapestry of the dragons, bodies intertwined in green and blue, working together in harmony.
Standing up took more effort than it should have, his body feeling heavy. As if he was not truly in control of it. Anger flared bright and hot in his chest, the dragons rumbling low as the words of the elders came back to him.
Genji had flown away long ago, left him behind, chained to the cage of the clan to uphold on his own, and he had not looked back. He had left him alone, even after everything he had tried to do for him. Genji had disobeyed the clan, and it was Hanzo’s duty to maintain order.
So he would.
“You are not going to change, then?” Hanzo murmured. He could hear the resignment in Genji’s voice as he responded, and there was a bite of annoyance there too. It only irked Hanzo further.
“That isn’t the point I’m trying to make, but no. Not if it’s going to be like this, I won’t.”
Hanzo was quiet for a long moment, then he nodded to himself. His katana caught the light as he unsheathed it, the motion quick and practiced.
“So be it.”
---
The gardens were lovely at night; there was a peace to them that could not be found anywhere else. Soft, orange light cast on the smooth grey of stone pathways and patches of vibrant grass, littered with cherry blossom petals. The moon was full and bright.
Hanzo’s fingers dripped with blood as he wiped his katana clean of the crimson staining it further. The stench of smoke and ash followed him as he set his blade down and walked back to his wing.
---
Hanzo walked past Genji’s room and paused, brows furrowing as he backtracked and looked inside. Still empty. Genji avoiding home after they had fought yet again. Hanzo walked inside silently, closing the windows with a soft tap. They must have been left open after Genji had left, again.
Hanzo understood why he didn’t want to be there, but he had not seen his brother in a long time, too many days passing in a blur to count anymore. He missed him. There was no one else for him to talk to, no one else he trusted the way he trusted Genji. There had not even been a call.
He had asked around the estate earlier that day, talked to servants and guards of Genji’s, but none had seen him. There were a few that gave him hesitant looks every now and then, but it was to be expected. Hanzo did not often ask where Genji was, anymore.
A headache flared behind Hanzo’s eyes--he had been getting more of those lately--and he grimaced. Sleep was alluding him, although, Hanzo had only been having nightmares lately, waking in a cold sweat most nights. He remembered arguing with Genji last he had seen him, a bitter sense of regret nagging at him for acting out of anger again.
While Genji’s habits were to distract himself and run away from his problems, Hanzo’s were to become frustrated with them, unable to let go or see different solutions once he had the one he wanted in mind. It had caused him more issues than not when it came to dealing with his younger brother.
Hanzo sighed and went past his own room. It was late, and a walk in the spring air would do good to clear his head. He thought about the dreams he had been having lately; gruesome images with red smeared across his vision, someone shouting and pleading, the wreckage of something at his feet. It wasn’t easy to deal with, but these things tended to happen to trained assassins. Sleep never came easy, and the dreams were never good ones.
Walking through the garden was nice, the weather still cool and dry enough to be pleasant. He tried to remember how long Genji had been gone for this time. Was it weeks? Or had it only been one or two days? Hanzo could not recall. Perhaps Genji had been right all along, maybe he was overworking himself.
Stepping over the sakura petals and following the stone walkway, Hanzo made it to the main hall. He was silent as he wandered inside, noticing some scratches in the floor. Hanzo knelt to examine them. Ran his fingertips over the splintery wood, that small strand of hair slipping from behind his ear as his head tilted.
Those had not been there before. He stepped closer to the katana on display, resting on a pristine stand, a chip in the blade. Blood on the scroll hanging behind it, a cut running through the bottom. Hanzo sucked in a sharp breath.
Something snapped.
Genji stood there in front of the scroll, brows furrowed in confusion. He shook his head, motioning to the katana in Hanzo’s hands.
“What is this? You know fear tactics don’t work on me anymore. I’m not a child.”
“No, you are not. Which is why I can no longer protect you from them. You made your choices, Genji. Now you have forced me to make mine.”
“This is ridiculous. I will not fight you anymore. If this is how you’re going to continue to treat me, I’m leaving. For good. I have something I’ve been working on, people who see me for who I am and what I want to be. I’m not going to stay trapped here forever. I hope that one day you can do the same,” Genji told him, gaze bright and fiery.
He turned and began to walk away, Hanzo gritting his teeth. The katana moved in a flash, Genji grunting and stumbling as it cut clean through his heels. The first drops of blood splattered in a little arc as Hanzo flicked the sword back up into a defensive hold.
“You will not walk away from the clan this time, brother. I let you stray too far, and now, it is my duty to fix that mistake. You have left me no other options,” Hanzo whispered.
He felt the first tears slide down his cheeks as Genji looked up at him from behind his shoulder, eyes wide with fear. Never had Genji looked at him like that before. Hanzo felt something in him shatter, a voice in his mind telling him to stop, this is your little brother, don’t hurt him.
But the blade swung again and again, Genji shouting as his arm was sliced open, again and again. Deep gashes across his body, more stains on the floor, on Hanzo’s clothes. He fought back, reached for the katana on display, Hanzo’s own blade chipping it with the force of his blow.
But he was already losing.
He always had against Hanzo.
Genji scrambled back, clutching at the wall to try and push himself to his feet. A tear ripped through the bottom of the scroll behind him, his blood staining the paper, spreading like ink. Genji collapsed again with a cry of pain.
“Hanzo, don’t! Please…!”
Blue crackled along Hanzo’s tattoo as he raised his arm, an odd sort of numbness blanketing his mind as he watched his dragons burst forth. The katana sang, the force of the beasts being unleashed upon it, upon Genji, creating an ungodly chorus. Genji’s screams and pleads were drowned out in the ethereal growls and roars. Blue and red mixing in a cacophony of sound and colour. The dragons dissipated, leaving a ruined Genji in their wake.
Hanzo stepped closer to his body, looked down at the arm partially torn from his torso. Black lines of ink shaping scales and clouds, red smeared across it in streaks. Unfinished.
Genji had wanted it to be green, some time ago, had wanted it to match Hanzo’s.
Blood dripped from Genji’s lips, eyes staring up at the roof, unseeing. It smelled of ozone and burnt flesh. Hanzo’s nose wrinkled slightly. He looked up at the tapestry of the dragons again, unable to recall the story his father had once told them at the moment.
But he did remember it was Genji’s favourite story.
Hanzo blinked, taking a shuddering breath as he heard voices behind him, barking out orders.
“Dispose of the body. Take care no one sees, and clean this mess quickly.”
Hanzo watched as guards and a few of the elders filed into the room, the latter watching him with a cold sort of approval. It made him feel sick, but the emotionless mask settled into place, hiding what he felt inside as easily as it always had. Hiding the pain in his heart and the tears, the way he felt like he was falling apart, breaking and crumbling.
“My lord, you must stop!”
Hanzo frowned. The voice had not come from anyone in the room.
Hands grabbed at his arms, and he pulled away with a shout, back hitting the scroll. His katana fell with a clatter, an attendant jumping away from it. The woman stared at him as he looked around the room with wide eyes, heart racing and a cold sweat on his brow. His hands shook, heart pounding and breathing uneven.
“My lord?”
Hanzo’s gaze darted to her, then down to himself. There were cuts along his hands and arms, blood warm and stinging as it ran in little rivulets down his palms and fingers. He dropped to his knees, body curling over as he gripped his head.
“What have I done?! What did I do to him?!”
“My lord, please, I don’t know what you mean…”
“Where is Genji?! Where is he?!”
The attendant looked down at him, brows furrowed and lips pursed. Hanzo felt like he was going to throw up. Tears joined the blood running down his cheeks. How many days had Genji been gone?
“He is dead, sir.”
Hanzo swallowed thickly, his father’s story on repeat in his mind along with the images of Genji’s broken body at his feet. Genji was dead, struck down by his brother, and Hanzo was choking on the ashes of what was left of himself.
---
#shimada brothers#genji shimada#hanzo shimada#this collab was so much fun#thank you again for letting me work on this with you!#also make sure you check out their piece for this it's so amazing
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Here we are at the end of the year with our last Monday Meeting Notes blog. Salut to you all!
A few things before we get to celebration preparation. First, the V5 Cults of the Blood Gods KS is doing fantastic, with over 1700 backers and a whole passel of Stretch Goals achieved – and we still have more than two weeks to go!
You can check it out here, if for some wacky reason you haven’t yet: https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/200664283/cults-of-the-blood-gods-for-vampire-the-masquerade-5th-ed
But, if you’d like some more info before heading over to the KS page, well, do we have options for you! They are just the links for this week to interviews and reviews…there are even more out there!
(These links are also below in the Onyx Path Media section curated by the irrepressible Matthew Dawkins).
This Friday’s Onyx Pathcast is a V5 Cults of the Blood Gods design diary! Check it out direct on Podbean, or your favorite podcast venue! https://onyxpathcast.podbean.com/
Plus, Polyhedron Podcast interviewed Matthew Dawkins regarding V5 Cults of the Blood Gods right here on their show: http://metahedronstudios.com/polyhedron/2019/12/26/polyhedron-ep-101-who-are-the-hacata?
And Gehenna Gaming did the same thing just yesterday over on their Twitch channel twitch.tv/gehennagaming, and you can catch up with that interview by subscribing to them!
And circling back around to the Story Told Podcast, here’s their interview with Matthew Dawkins regarding V5 Cults of the Blood Gods: http://thestorytold.libsyn.com/bonus-21-vampire-the-masquarade-5th-edition-cults-of-the-blood-gods-interview-with-matthew-dawkins
While Flames Rising interviews a whole bunch of the writers of V5 Cults of the Blood Gods right here: http://www.flamesrising.com/discussing-faith-among-the-dead-with-onyx-path/
And even more Matthew Dawkins interviews (if you haven’t had enough) over here on booknest.eu, in respect of (you guessed it) V5 Cults of the Blood Gods: http://booknest.eu/reviews/charles/1758-interviewwithmatthewdawkinsii
Lunars art by Priscilla Kim
End of the year “look-back” from the OP crew as to what could have gone better:
To sort of match and compliment our look back at the good stuff from 2019 that I put up in last week’s MMN blog, here are the thoughts from our Onyx Path crew as to what things in 2019 maybe weren’t so good – or at least are something we can look to improve.
Now this sort of retrospective can be seen as a downer, but for us, we want to be always looking for ways to improve what we do. In fact, a lot of the “Goods” from last week’s list were “Needs Improvement” in previous years! So in a lot of ways, these are snapshots of where are crew sees our issues right now, and are extremely useful for us:
Dixie:
For me personally, I hope to do a better job in 2020 than I did in 2019 of managing the stable of incredibly talented editors with whom we work. Personally, I love talking with each and every one of them, but anyone who watches the blog knows there have been weeks here and there when 12 projects were in editing at once, and that’s a lot! Anticipating a project’s needs weeks or months out is something we should all keep in mind so that no one department, be it art, approvals, development, or editing, ever gets bogged down for too long. I want to deliver books that are not only beautiful and well-done, but timely and efficient!
Monica:
There’s so many channels we have to communicate, it’s difficult to sync up and get the same message. On some of our convos, we’ll have three people posting almost the same thing. I’d like to see better coordination so we’re not either jumping the gun or over-responding to what’s already been addressed.
Ian:
I don’t know how to do this effectively, but we need to try to do a better job of shaping conversation so it’s more productive. During the Aberrant Kickstarter, a lot of forum discussions got pretty heated and just went around and around in circles even after a given topic had already been addressed. I want people to be able to consider concerns so we can make a better game, but the way the conversation took place made me want to avoid it instead.
Mighty Matt:
This is mostly on me, but we could have been a lot more proactive in explaining how our expansion into local game stores rolled out this past year. We could have had more tools for retail stores to communicate with us and our distribution partners. Something of a personal goal of mine to do more outreach to stores and work with distributors in more ways.
Deviant art by Michael Gaydos
Mirthful Mike:
Even though we have been doing the “put the books into stores” thing with out KSs since the Cavs KS, I’m still not seeing a lot of our product out in the wild. While I’ve seen Pugmire and Mau every now and then… I’ve seen nothing of CtL2 or Scion. I don’t know if that is a shortcoming on our end… or maybe stores are hesitant to order anything other than OGL and 5e titles.
Matthew:
Travel and conventions. It’s becoming a running joke / curse that whenever I travel internationally to attend a convention, I suffer flight delays, lost luggage, missed connections, and other such mishaps. This year saw everything bar an actual plane crash, so here’s hoping for an exemption from that when I fly to Milwaukee for Midwinter in January! I’m staying at a hotel near the London airport I’m flying from the night before I depart, I’m building more time in for my connections, and I’m taking everything as carry-on luggage, just to try to alleviate some of this travel hell!
Eddy:
One thing that we could have done better: Focus on the positive. It’s understandable that we get derailed by a shitty vocal element or focus on a project that’s on fire, but sometimes that ends up dominating our discussions, and making things seem like they’re worse than they really are. V5 is a good example — it’s been a slog to deal with all the problems with that property, so much that I was genuinely surprised with how good Chicago by Night turned out to be.
Lisa:
The bad for me is being at PAXU and having a freelancer have to tell me who they are or worse be there and not know they are present at all. Many fans enjoy being able to tell writers, artists and developers how much they enjoy their work on our games and even get an autograph. It would be nice to be able to introduce them at the booth if I know they are there. Some sort of communication to let us know who may be in attendance and find out if they want any sort of recognition would be great.
Dark Eras 2 art by Luis Sanz
RichT:
Most importantly, these and other thoughts on how we can better do what we love to do are going to be part of our Onyx Path Summit in just a week – right before we attend Mid-Winter. So, part of my job is to get discussions going there as to our team’s concerns, and believe me – these are just the first ones they sent me, as well as other changes we might be positioned now to implement.
We’re also doing a panel there in the intimate surroundings of the Hilton’s Founders Room, so if you have questions and/or concerns, praise or problems, please feel free to add them in the Comments for this blog and I’ll pass them along!
Talk to you all next year, as we prep for all that and continue to create our:
Many Worlds, One Path!
BLURBS!
Kickstarter!
V5 Cults of the Blood Gods has passed $100,000 and 1700 backers, and has trumpeted forward passing through Stretch Goal after Stretch Goal despite the holidays!
Onyx Path Media!
This Friday’s Onyx Pathcast is a V5 Cults of the Blood Gods design diary! Check it out direct on Podbean, or your favorite podcast venue! https://onyxpathcast.podbean.com/
Today we give special focus to the Story Told Podcast‘s recent review of Book of Oblivion for Wraith: The Oblivion. It’s a glowing review (four ghosts out of five, or eight oboli out of ten), and you can listen to it right here: https://thestorytold.libsyn.com/episode-43-book-of-oblivion-review-for-wraith-20th-anniversary-edition
Plus, Polyhedron Podcast interviewed Matthew Dawkins regarding V5 Cults of the Blood Gods right here on their show: http://metahedronstudios.com/polyhedron/2019/12/26/polyhedron-ep-101-who-are-the-hacata?
And Gehenna Gaming did the same thing just yesterday over on their Twitch channel twitch.tv/gehennagaming, and you can catch up with that interview by subscribing to them!
Our Twitch channel continues with its streams of fantastic content, including a behind-the-screen special for Scion, a new year’s special for Scarred Lands, and regular games of Changelign: The Lost, Hunter: The Vigil, Mage: The Awakening, and more Scarred Lands!
Follow us on twitch.tv/theonyxpath to watch us live or catch up by subscribing!
Likewise, continue to tune in to us on YouTube for actual plays of Changeling: The Lost, Pugmire, Vampire: The Masquerade, and much much more!
Subscribe to us on youtube.com/user/theonyxpath
And of course the Gentleman Gamer, Matthew Dawkins, continues his Gentleman’s Guide to Scion over on his channel, youtube.com/user/clackclickbang
Here’s the ever-increasing trove of Occultists Anonymous actual plays of Mage: The Awakening, expanded even further!
Episode 68: Who Are You?
Wyrd the Seer takes stock of her cult and Labyrinth, calling on Stephen Klein to get to know more about him… and to begin instructing him in the higher mysteries.https://youtu.be/gke84fsDxuo
Episode 69: What Have I Done?
Wyrd the Seer calls upon Shodel, the Consilium’s Herald, to speak about her work at the theater and then returns to her search for the Other World.https://youtu.be/jDOsgHmGWLI
And circling back around to the Story Told Podcast, here’s their interview with Matthew Dawkins regarding V5 Cults of the Blood Gods: http://thestorytold.libsyn.com/bonus-21-vampire-the-masquarade-5th-edition-cults-of-the-blood-gods-interview-with-matthew-dawkins
While Flames Rising interviews a whole bunch of the writers of V5 Cults of the Blood Gods right here: http://www.flamesrising.com/discussing-faith-among-the-dead-with-onyx-path/
Discussing Faith Among the Dead with Onyx Path
And even more Matthew Dawkins interviews (if you haven’t had enough) over here on booknest.eu, in respect of (you guessed it) V5 Cults of the Blood Gods: http://booknest.eu/reviews/charles/1758-interviewwithmatthewdawkinsii
Don’t forget Red Moon Roleplaying have two actual plays of Vampire: The Masquerade and one of Changeling: The Lost going, with all locatable on redmoonroleplaying.com
Drop Matthew a message via the contact button on matthewdawkins.com if you have actual plays, reviews, or game overviews you want us to profile on the blog!
Please check any of these out and let us know if you find or produce any actual plays of our games!
Electronic Gaming!
As we find ways to enable our community to more easily play our games, the Onyx Dice Rolling App is live! Our dev team has been doing updates since we launched based on the excellent use-case comments by our community, and this thing is awesome! (Seriously, you need to roll 100 dice for Exalted? This app has you covered.)
On Amazon and Barnes & Noble!
You can now read our fiction from the comfort and convenience of your Kindle (from Amazon) and Nook (from Barnes & Noble).
If you enjoy these or any other of our books, please help us by writing reviews on the site of the sales venue from which you bought it. Reviews really, really help us get folks interested in our amazing fiction!
Our selection includes these latest fiction books:
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On Sale This Week!
This Wednesday, we will be releasing the PDF and physical book PoD versions of Tales of Good Dogs, the Pugmire Fiction Anthology on DTRPG!
Conventions!
2020: Midwinter: January 9th – 12th, in Milwaukee, WI. Check out David Fuller’s Athens, Ohio Scion actual play tie-in adventure (soon to be coming to the Storypath Nexus community content site) that will be running at Midwinter. The event url is below:
https://tabletop.events/conventions/midwinter-gaming-convention-2020/schedule/402
More talk about this next week!
And now, the new project status updates!
DEVELOPMENT STATUS FROM EDDY WEBB (projects in bold have changed status since last week):
First Draft (The first phase of a project that is about the work being done by writers, not dev prep)
Exalted Essay Collection (Exalted)
N!ternational Wrestling Entertainment (Trinity Continuum: Aberrant)
Contagion Chronicle Ready-Made Characters (Chronicles of Darkness)
Trinity Continuum: Adventure! core (Trinity Continuum: Adventure!)
Duke Rollo fiction (Trinity Continuum: Aberrant)
TC: Aberrant Jumpstart (Trinity Continuum: Aberrant)
RUST (Scarred Lands)
Redlines
Kith and Kin (Changeling: The Lost 2e)
Dragon-Blooded Novella #2 (Exalted 3rd Edition)
Many-Faced Strangers – Lunars Companion (Exalted 3rd Edition)
Second Draft
Player’s Guide to the Contagion Chronicle (Chronicles of Darkness)
M20 Victorian Mage (Mage: the Ascension 20th Anniversary Edition)
Exigents (Exalted 3rd Edition)
Crucible of Legends (Exalted 3rd Edition)
Development
Heirs to the Shogunate (Exalted 3rd Edition)
TC: Aberrant Reference Screen (Trinity Continuum: Aberrant)
Monsters of the Deep (They Came From Beneath the Sea!)
One Foot in the Grave Jumpstart (Geist: The Sin-Eaters 2e)
Scion: Demigod (Scion 2nd Edition)
Tales of Aquatic Terror (They Came From Beneath the Sea!)
Across the Eight Directions (Exalted 3rd Edition)
Contagion Chronicle: Global Outbreaks (Chronicles of Darkness)
Contagion Chronicle Jumpstart (Chronicles of Darkness)
Manuscript Approval
Scion: Dragon (Scion 2nd Edition)
Masks of the Mythos (Scion 2nd Edition)
Buried Bones: Creating in the Realms of Pugmire (Realms of Pugmire)
Trinity Continuum Jumpstart (Trinity Continuum Core)
Post-Approval Development
Scion LARP Rules (Scion)
Mummy: The Curse 2nd Edition core rulebook (Mummy: The Curse 2nd Edition)
Titanomachy (Scion 2nd Edition)
Editing
Lunars: Fangs at the Gate (Exalted 3rd Edition)
Let the Streets Run Red (Vampire: The Masquerade 5th Edition)
Geist 2e Fiction Anthology (Geist: The Sin-Eaters 2nd Edition)
Dragon-Blooded Novella #1 (Exalted 3rd Edition)
Legendlore core book (Legendlore)
WoD Ghost Hunters (World of Darkness)
Mythical Denizens (Creatures of the World Bestiary) (Scion 2nd Edition)
Pirates of Pugmire KS-Added Adventure (Realms of Pugmire)
M20 The Technocracy Reloaded (Mage: the Ascension 20th Anniversary Edition)
Yugman’s Guide to Ghelspad (Scarred Lands)
Trinity Continuum: Aberrant core (Trinity Continuum: Aberrant)
Terra Firma (Trinity Continuum: Aeon)
Deviant: The Renegades (Deviant: The Renegades)
Lunars Novella (Rosenberg) (Exalted 3rd Edition)
Post-Editing Development
TC: Aeon Ready-Made Characters (Trinity Continuum: Aeon)
Night Horrors: Nameless and Accursed (Mage: the Awakening Second Edition)
City of the Towered Tombs (Cavaliers of Mars)
W20 Shattered Dreams Gift Cards (Werewolf: The Apocalypse 20th)
TC: Aeon Jumpstart (Trinity Continuum: Aeon)
Vigil Watch (Scarred Lands)
Scion Companion: Mysteries of the World (Scion 2nd Edition)
Cults of the Blood Gods (Vampire: The Masquerade 5th Edition)
Wraith20 Fiction Anthology (Wraith: The Oblivion 20th Anniversary Edition)
Hunter: The Vigil 2e core (Hunter: The Vigil 2nd Edition)
Indexing
ART DIRECTION FROM MIKE CHANEY!
In Art Direction
Contagion Chronicle – Finals coming in.
Trinity Continuum: Aberrant
Hunter: The Vigil 2e
Ex3 Lunars – Art is in.
TCfBtS!: Heroic Land Dwellers – Working on finals.
Night Horrors: Nameless and Accursed – Contracted.
Cults of the Blood God (KS)
Mummy 2
City of the Towered Tombs
Let the Streets Run Red – Art notes and contracts finishing going out this week.
CtL Oak Ash and Thorn
Scion Mythical Denizens – Need sketches for fulls.
Deviant
Yugman’s Guide to Ghelspad – Sketches coming in, should see some finals soon.
Vigil Watch
Legendlore (KS)
Technocracy Reloaded (KS) – Got notes out to artists for halfs and splats.
Scion Companion – Working on art notes for that.
In Layout
Chicago Folio – Halfway through layout.
Trinity Continuum Aeon: Distant Worlds
Pirates of Pugmire – With Aileen.
Proofing
Dark Eras 2 – At WW for approval and they will be back after the New Year.
Trinity Continuum Aeon Jumpstart
They Came from Beneath the Sea!
VtR Spilled Blood
At Press
V5: Chicago – Shipping to the KS fulfillment shippers. PoD proofs ordered.
Geist 2e (Geist: The Sin-Eaters 2nd Edition) – Being printed.
Geist 2e Screen – Being printed.
DR:E – Being printed.
DRE Screen – Being printed.
DR:E Threat Guide – Helnau’s Guide to Wasteland Beasties – PoD proof on the way.
Trinity RMCs
Tales of Good Dogs – PDF and PoD versions on sale Wednesday!
Memento Mori – Gathering errata.
M20 Book of the Fallen – PoD proof on the way.
Trinity Continuum Storypath Nexus Community Content – Getting it set up.
Today’s Reason to Celebrate!
Today in 1920, Jack Lord – of Hawaii 5-0 fame – was born. He was “a groovy lady-killer”.
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Focus
PAIRING: Rob x Reader x Chris
CHAPTER: 12/?
WORD COUNT: 2,176
CHAPTER WARNINGS: Cute fluff, Stressed Reader, Gossip, Frustration
A/N: Here's chapter 12 to the collaboration @natasha-cole and I are writing - enjoy!
With a reassuring pat on your shoulder, Kim smiled before pulling open the door to the ladies’ room. Bri, ever the optimist, wrapped an arm around your shoulders and walked out with you. Bidding you good-night and good luck, the two of them sauntered back over to the decidedly smaller group of people they’d been sitting with earlier.
Wandering back over to the couch with the conversation you’d just had with the girls still fresh in your mind, you began to gather your things, fully intent on heading back to your room.
Rob’s tired smile greeted you from where he still sat on the couch. Lifting himself from the cushions, he raised his arms, stretching while trying to stifle a yawn.
Realizing your own exhaustion, you glanced at the phone in your hand to see how late it was. The screen read three-forty-five. How you’d managed to stay awake this long, you weren’t sure. Though it may have had something to do with the company you’d kept and the conversations you’d had in the several hours that had passed since you’d followed Kim up from the green room.
“I don’t know how you guys do this every weekend.” Smiling at the man in front of you when he reached for your hand, the question in your eyes was undeniable as his warm fingers laced themselves through yours.
“You get used to it, or rather, some of us do. We see each other a lot, but Saturday nights – everyone is so hyped up after the concert that we couldn’t sleep right away if we tried.”
Nodding your understanding as the two of you made your way to the door, you let his answer sink in. He must have mistook your silence for discomfort however, and as his thumb smoothed over your knuckles, you were brought back to the present.
“You okay?” Concern mingled with the fatigue on his face, and you smiled. The idea that someone could read you well enough to tell the difference between your being tired and upset was a new idea for you. For a moment, you considered just talking to him right then. The halls were quiet as he walked you back towards your room, but the thought was brief. You knew you’d rather be completely present for the conversation you’d be having with both him and Chris. Squeezing his hand, you nodded.
“Just tired. I don’t think I’ve been up this late in ten years.” “I’m actually debating whether it’s even worth it to sleep at this point.”
Rubbing your free hand across your face, the small movement seemed to bring with it the full weight of your exhaustion.
“Trust me, you’re going to want to sleep as much as you can. Don’t wanna show up for work in the morning and not be at the top of your game. It’s J2 day after all.”
Nudging your shoulder as the two of you approached your door, Rob stopped short, pulling you around and into a sweet hug. The steady beating in his chest threatening to make you fall asleep standing right where you were. Pressing his lips to your forehead, he smiled sleepily.
“Get some sleep, [Y/F/N] – I’ll see you tomorrow. Or…rather, later today.”
Nodding to yourself, but finding it difficult to move away from his embrace, you finally sighed and unlocked your door. With a final glance, Rob said goodbye and turned to walk back down the hallway.
Having zero energy to change into different clothes, you fell face-first into the mediocre hotel bed, asleep before you could even think about anything that had transpired tonight.
****
A frenzied knocking at the door pulled you from a deep sleep. Squinting against the early morning sun streaming through the window, you hoped the noise had been part of your dream. Closing your eyes to try and recapture it proved futile as the insistent interruption sounded again.
If only you'd given whoever stood on the other side of that door a spare key, you wouldn't have to get out of bed.
Wishful thinking on your part.
The next round of knocking came with the muffled sound of your name. Not wanting to disturb the people who were likely trying to sleep in on the final day of their weekend, you begrudgingly extracted yourself from the nest of blankets and crossed the room to the door. Pulling it open amidst yet another flurry of knocking, you were surprised to see Kim and Briana standing on the other side.
Craning their heads to look over your shoulder, Briana brushed past you into the room while Kim started immediately with rapid fire questions.
"Good morning, Sunshine!" "How ya feeling?"
"We brought coffee, and not that gross hotel sludge they so generously offer for free, but the real stuff. The good stuff."
"You like coffee right?"
Nodding with a barely disguised grumble of affirmation, you could only smile as the women both grimaced good-naturedly.
"Yikes, rough night?"
"...you're uh, you're not hiding anyone under the bed or in the closet are you?"
The last teasing remark was the first thing Briana had said to you, and honestly, the first thing that even remotely registered as a question needing answered.
Standing to one side so Kim could squeeze past, you turned, still wrapped in the duvet as the door clicked shut behind you.
"Definitely not."
Sipping at the bold flavors of the latte Kim had given you, the surprised glance shared between the other two women went unnoticed.
"Well, uh, have you talked to them yet?"
Glancing at Briana, her gaze was still on Kim even though she had spoken to you.
Turning your attention to the other woman, your eyes narrowed upon noticing the poorly concealed consternation Kim wore on her face.
"No….why?” Setting the coffee on the bedside table, attention now fully on the girls, you crossed your arms under your chest, alternating your attention between them, hoping one of them was about to start talking.
"Uh, well, funny you should ask...but uh...we..erm.."
Briana was stalling, shooting furtive glances to her friend, silently asking for help.
"We can't find Chris. We thought maybe…"
Waffling her hands in the air, her very pointed expression made it clear why they were at your room at nine am.
Choking on a sip of the coffee you'd picked back up, you took a moment to wipe the back of a hand across your chin.
"And..what, you thought he'd be here?!"
Scrunching up her face, Kim shrugged before nodding vigorously.
"I'm not sure whether to be offended or flattered." A snort of laughter followed the statement, but you weren't really upset.
"I mean, I guess I can understand why you guys would think to come here but I haven't seen Chris since last night."
"Rob walked me back to my room and then I crashed. As you can see, I didn't even change."
Skirting the bed to pick up your phone from the dresser, you flicked open the screen. There were no messages or missed calls.
"I'll shoot him a text and--"
"We've all done that. Went to his room too." Briana said the words softly, as if she wasn't sure how you'd take the news.
"Yeah, but maybe Chris will answer [Y/F/N]. Couldn't hurt anyways." Kim pointed out.
"I mean...it is still really early. Hell, I've only slept five hours myself. Are you guys sure he's not just passed out in his room?"
Typing out a quick good morning text, asking Chris if he wanted to meet for lunch, you set the phone back down on the dresser.
"Chris is always the first one up. Dude is awake before the birds, regardless of how late he stayed out the night before." Kim went on to explain that nobody had heard from him since he'd left the party last night.
"I'm sure he's fine. Really...he's a big boy, he can take care of himself."
"The convention doesn't start for another few hours, right? I bet he'll be back before the first set of photo ops. He's probably just getting breakfast or something."
****
Following the girls downstairs after you'd taken the time to shower and brush your teeth - which went a remarkably long way towards feeling like a functioning human again - the vendors room caught your eye.
"I'll catch up later guys, I'm gonna check this out."
Ducking into the adjacent hallway, several tables were spread across the space. Arranged amongst the typical t-shirt vendors, artists sold everything from paintings to jewelry to custom figurines.
Selecting a tote bag and several CD's from the Louden Swain merchandise table, you were paying for your selections when a familiar voice caught your attention.
"Yeah, that's her."
"I don't know, but he's been really different this weekend. It's like he doesn't even see us now that she's around."
The conversation was all hushed tones and urgent whispers, and it was clear that whoever the woman was talking to was trying, unsuccessfully, to keep her voice down.
You weren't typically one to eavesdrop on others discussions but it was pretty clear you were part of it. Plus, they were talking about Chris. Maybe they knew where he was.
Before you had a chance to ask them, the two women walked away, leaving you to wonder what they were talking about.
"Don't pay them any mind, unfortunately, gossip spreads like wildfire around here and since you're the new girl, you're the hot topic of the weekend."
Sitting diagonally from where you stood, a girl smiled at you from behind her booth. Approaching her table, you took note of the stylized art of the guests, lined up next to a large, incredibly detailed portrait of Rob.
"Wow, this is really amazing."
Bending over to study the color palette she'd chosen to use, you'd intended to take her observation with a grain of salt. She, however didn't appear to be finished.
"You seem cool enough though. You're pretty talented with that camera of yours. Chris talks about you often."
There was no hint of jealousy or mockery in her words, and her neutral expression seemed friendly enough.
"You guys are friends?" "Have you seen him today?"
The woman shrugged nonchalantly.
"I suppose? He and I have been at the same conventions for several years, and we take great delight in annoying each other - but aside from that?"
Bending over her notebook, she went back to working on her drawing.
Taking note of the fact that she hadn't really answered either of your questions, you were just about to look through her portfolio when your phone rang.
"Hey, did you guys find him?" "Oh...really? And what time does it start? Damnit. Ok, I'll be there in a sec."
Dropping the device back into your pocket, you said a hurried goodbye and made a beeline for the door.
It was nearing eleven o'clock, when a line of people would be waiting for their photo ops with Jensen. Hurrying to the room, when you arrived and the space was silent, concern really started to set in.
Chris had never missed a Creation event since he'd started. Well over a hundred events and he'd always shown up. You could only hope today wouldn't change that.
Approximately fifty people were already milling about outside of the quiet space, volunteers trying to herd them back into the auditorium.
"Guys, please return to the theater - we'll be calling Jensen's photo ops in groups of fifty to a hundred at a time."
"Chris hasn't even set up for the day please go back to your seats."
You made a mental note to thank the volunteers at some point today, they really were the backbone of these conventions.
Slipping through the door, you were quick to flip the light switches. The silence and the dark were too much together when you'd only ever seen the room brightly lit and loud.
Figuring the least you could do was start setting up, you made the rounds, checking that lights were connected, the printers were turned on and the marks on the floor didn't need refreshing. Chris's equipment wasn't in the room, but then you hadn't really expected him to leave it overnight.
Checking your phone once more, it was still devoid of any notifications. Navigating to your own playlists, you hit start and docked it in the cradle sitting on the table. It wasn't his music, but it made the wait infinitely less awkward.
When the door opened, you glanced up, heart beating wildly in your chest. Hoping…
"Hey, uh, we've got the first fifty people lined up out here. Should I let the handlers know to bring Jensen in?"
Chris's assistant searched your face for answers. Problem was, you had no idea how to do this alone. Right now, it looked as if your choice was being made for you however, as you couldn't realistically ask them to wait any longer than they already had.
'Uh..ye-yeah.. go ahead. Let's see what happens."
TAGS: @natasha-cole @wings-of-a-raven @jamielea81
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Prologue (Part 1)
Or: My Dinner with Reuben
Blood War: Masquerade of the Red Dead Trilogy Volume 1
I always loved the cover art. It was done by an artist called BROM. Here’s his website.
Robert Weinberg dedicates the book to Edgar Allan Poe “for obvious reasons” and Bram Stoker “who started it all”, though Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu might disagree with that. On Poe, peppered throughout the book, between the three parts and on the back cover are short quotes from his works, mostly “The Masque of the Red Death”. Obviously. It’s a little BS though. Any elements inspired by Poe are shallow, at least in this book.
Underneath the dedication is a little disclaimer:
While the locations and history of this trilogy may seem familiar, it is not our reality. The setting of Vampire: The Masquerade of the Red Death is a harsher, crueler version of our world. It is a stark, desolate landscape where nothing is what it seems. It is truly a World of Darkness.
For in the grim dark 1990′s there is only war. And vampires.
Going into the book I thought this disclaimer was a little wanky. I expected that “a harsher, crueler version of our world” would translate to “our world but with more rats, goths, and supernatural creatures.” Similarly, the book’s spine labels the genre as “Dark Fantasy” which in my experience usually translates to “regular fantasy but with more rape.” Turns out the World of Darkness setting is a little more complicated than that, but most of the time Weinberg isn’t too subtle on the whole “darker version of our world” thing.
I just want to let you know, before we get started, that I’m not the biggest expert when it comes to V:TM lore. I’ve never played the tabletops, or read their source books. My knowledge comes from Bloodlines, wiki binges, and lore dumps on Reddit and the Something Awful Bloodlines 2 thread. Please bear with my dumb ass if I get something wrong.
Alright, enough preamble, let’s get to the actual story.
We start in Rome, June 15, 1992, at an outdoor restaurant near the Coliseum. A meeting there was set up the night before through an anonymous phone call to the “heart of the Vatican.” For a suitcase full of money, they’d talk about vampires, or as the book dramatically puts it:
“We will talk,” declared the mysterious voice in somber, cold tones, “of The Kindred.”
The first to arrive is Father Naples, named so because it’s a word you’d find on a map of Italy. He’s a member of the Society of Leopold, who only get one more brief mention after this prologue so all you need to know is that they’re Catholic vampire hunters. He’s a big buff guy, described like a cross between a priest and a high ranking CIA agent. He came unarmed.
His faith served as his shield. Along with the five other agents of the Society of Leopold in the restaurant, including two women disguised as streetwalkers.
The Society of Leopold is the “the devil was behind this” kind of religious, so it’s weird they’d jump straight to hookers when thinking of disguises for their agents, or that said agents would agree to it. But this is the World of Darkness, a harsher, crueler version of our own, and that means there’s hookers everywhere, so put on the hot pants and think of Italy.
So Father Florence here’s got his disguised agents, who “carried enough firepower on them to start a minor war.” He’s also something of a badass.
And, though he had retired years before as a field operative, Father Naples still maintained his training in the martial arts. An expert at both kendo and karate, he could kill an attacker a dozen different ways.
He’s also got some agents in a nearby hotel room with a directional microphone aimed at his table to record the conversation. Soon, the target of all this seeming overkill arrives; a blonde mid-twenties guy in a white suit. His voice was different than the one who made the phone call, implying to Naples, and us, that there’s at least two people involved on the other side of this setup. It’s a neat bit of foreshadowing. After a firm handshake and no-selling Father Naples’s patented death glare, the stranger introduces himself as Reuben, “like the sandwich.” They banter a bit about the biblical Reuben before he decides to troll the Father a bit. First by saying he’s older than he looks, then by passing on the Father’s offer of wine.
“No thank you,” said Reuben. “I do not drink wine.”
He waits a beat for a reaction, then orders a Coke and a menu. I think I like Reuben.
Since vampires can’t eat or drink (unless they have high Humanity and a good dice roll) Father Naples is thus satisfied that the guy is not a vampire trying to trick him, deciding he’s “definitely human. And not very clever.” Reuben had made an obligatory knock at airline food, so now Naples believed the agents recording the conversation could use this clue to track down his real name and where he came from through airline records.
They get to the You Got the Cash/You Got the Stuff part of negotiations, with Reuben showing off the twenty million US dollars in his briefcase (Not euro because we’re the only country whose currency matters fuck you Italy) in exchange for a monologue from Naples about the history of the Kindred, starting from the beginning. Reuben says Father Naples can summarize if need be.
“Summarize?... How does one summarize ten thousand years of absolute evil? An impossible task, but let me try.”
The rest of the prologue until the end is Naples’ exposition on vampires while he drinks a shit ton of vino. Since it’s Vampire: The Masquerade Lore 101, I’ll summarize like our pal Naples.
Vampires secretly control the world. There are thirteen vampire clans descended from Caine, of Cain and Abel fame only spelled with an e for some reason. Ye olde Caine killed his brother, though I once read that in this setting it wasn’t so much just committing the first murder as introducing the very concepts of murder and killing to reality and basically ruining everyone’s lives, including demons. God punished Caine by giving him vampirism, forcing him to kill to survive for inventing killing. The vampirism also gave him superpowers, so he’s like a little bloodsucking demigod. I’ve seen jokes about God punishing Caine by giving him cool superpowers, but according to Father Naples Caine needed them because everyone knew what happened and were pissed at him for inventing murder and eating them. When everyone and everything wants to kill you on sight you need to be OP to survive and then feel sad about it.
(He also didn't learn most of those powers until later, when he met Lilith.)
Caine discovered that he could make more vampires through the classic “drain their blood to the point of near death and then feeding them your own blood” method. He sired three new vampires, who weren’t as powerful as him but still quite capable of ruining your day, a trend that continues through twelve or thirteen vampiric generations, although the latest generations are puny compared to Caine and his kids.
Caine and the Second Generation founded Enoch, the First City, and were worshiped there as gods, I’m guessing because of a mixture of fear and the hope of getting some sweet vampire powers if you suck up to the first murderer. The Second Generation then sired the Third Generation, thirteen vampires that became known as the Antediluvians. They’re the ones the modern thirteen vampire clans descend from.
Then everything goes to shit for Caine. Again. The Antediluvians, ambitious dicks, rose up and killed the Second Generation, destroying Enoch in the process. This could be thought of as Caine’s true curse: being forced to watch his childer, and their childer, and so on plot against and murder each other as he had done to his brother, and generally being a plague on mankind. See, Vampire: The Masquerade can be a bit too try-hard edgy and horny at times, but then you also get neat bits of writing and lore like that. As for Caine, he disappeared after the fall of Enoch. He’s now a cab driver in Los Angeles. Or a hermit in Greece, messing with traveling scholar vampires. Or both. Depends on who you ask. No, really. I’m being serious.
I should mention that, religious guy that he is, Father Naples likes to pepper his monologue with casual mentions of the devil. He says things like...
“It was then, in his darkest despair, that Caine learned from Satan a monsterous secret.”
“Encouraged by Satan, Caine created three such monsters.”
“And, in time, urged by Lucifer, they, too, bestowed the gift of eternal life on a select group of their victims.”
“They knew not the Lord God, but Lucifer, the Dark Angel.”
...and generally blaming the big guy below for getting the vampires to do vampire things. While most of what Father Naples says about the setting’s history is correct, the Satan stuff isn’t. Lucifer is a character in the World of Darkness, specifically Demon: The Fallen, but he has nothing to do with V:TM. This adds a neat bit of characterization and unreliability to Naples’ narrative; something Reuben will point out at the end of the prologue.
The Great Flood happened, but Father Naples doesn’t mention it. He skips to the Antediluvians founding the Second City, which didn’t get a name like Enoch because in its two thousand years of existence apparently no one could think of one. With the support of their childer, the fourth generation, they ruled over the Second City and, according to Naples, enslaved humanity. But eventually humanity rose up against the vampires, killing some of them with sunlight, fire, and beheading. The Second City fell and the surviving vampires fled. The Antediluvians disappeared. Some modern day vampires believe the Antediluvians were all dead, while others (the correct ones, turns out) believe they’re hiding, resting in torpor (a kind of vampire coma) this whole time and one day, they’d wake up and, as Father Naples says, “...the world of the Undead shall tremble.” This is our first mention in this book of Gehenna, the end of the wold according to the Kindred. He also says their return was predicted in Revelations, but I’m no biblical expert so I can’t tell you what bits of Revelations that might be referring too.
Reuben asks what happened to the fourth generation, or the Methuselahs as they’re now known because they’re old as balls but not “lived before the Biblical Flood” old. Father Naples tells him, then goes on to explain the titular Masquerade, vampire factions, and the thirteen clans.
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Make It Rain!!!
This story happens to me very recently while at work. I didn’t want to share this story as it’s recent, but I have decided that I’m just going to change some things. Long story, TL:DR at the end.
This story is too good. I don’t want this memory to be lost in time, like tears in rain. (Blade Runner reference. Best movie)
I work in security, and it’s an easy job, real easy. However sometimes things come along and you have to deal with them. Like a naval personal banging on the door thinking it’s his ship (real drunk)
Most of it is homeless, drug addicts, or drunks. Easy stuff usually no problems. The real issues are when people I’m working with, find it important to push their weight around.
Queue Mr BD (Big Dick). Now BD and I don’t have a lot of interactions. We don’t really talk to one another. Considering the building I’m in charge of is away from the rest of the company security.
Since that’s the case I have my own rules and guidelines. They were approved by my superiors, for this specific building and for its environment.
The building I work in has a lot of artistic types. The places does commercials, ads, product placements. You get the idea.
The head of marketing we will call him HM. Is in charge of everyone in that building. He talks to me on a very, very regular basis. He comes to my office more than a few times a day to chat, smoke breaks and all that.
It’s very friendly, very simple. Everyone knows the rules. I talk to them all like I have been around for years. It’s a very wholesome place.
It’s a normal day things are running fine. Half the workers in the building are gone doing an off site shoot.
I get a phone call telling me that the custodial staff found lost money. I thought it was weird, since no one stated they were missing money.
No problem I’ll deal with it personally. Now when someone says they found lost money, I think they found it in a common area. You know in the bathroom, lounge, or cafeteria. Some place like that.
I get the custodial staff member to take me to where they located the missing money. He takes me to the highest floor and leads me to the office of.... You guessed it HM
He points to the desk and all I can say is “Ok, umm how is it lost.?” The money he is talking about is a nice stack of 100’s on HM’s desk.
Now the stack of 100’s are clearly fake. Not by how they look, but for the fact that they have pink Chinese writing on them. It clearly states in Chinese that the bills are used for training.
It’s usually used to teach Chinese bank tellers to count American money.
HM uses the fake money to reward everyone. Once every 6 months they get rid of all the stuff they can’t use for further sets. They have a HUGE auction. The only thing you can use, is the fake money. HM loves to say “Make it Rain.” While he does the money shuffle. It’s his favorite quote. He passes it out like candy.
I thanked the custodial staff for showing me, but it wasn’t a problem. I fill out the paper work indicating the money was fake, and no actual money was missing. I submit the paper work.
A few hours later I get a call from BD.
OP. “Hello, This is OP, how can I help you?”
BD “OP your paper worked is F’d. I’m looking at your report, about the missing money. How do I know what you said is true? How do I know you didn’t just take it, and claim it’s fake?”
OP “I clearly state what happened in the report, and what the mistake was.”
BD “Not good enough I have a report of stolen money and I can’t let this be tossed to the side, because you said so. you will get pictures and submit them as well.”
It’s kinda a hassle for me to do this , but it’s not a big deal. I can also see where he is coming from.
OP “Ok, I just want to make it clear no one reported money being stolen. Nor was any money actually missing. However no problem I’ll take photos, but I promise you will laugh when you see the pictures of the money it’s clearly fake.” I chuckle
BD “OP who is in charge here? You or me?”
OP “I’m the supervisor of this building, if that’s what you mean.”
BD “NO OP, who is in charge of you.? It’s me, do what I tell you. I don’t want to hear you back talk me.”
OP. “Listen BD I meant no disrespect, I already told you I was going to take care of it. Thank You for your call.” I hang up after.
As I walk back to HM’s desk. It’s eating away at me how he talked to me. We are a team and should respect one another. He first called me a liar, accused me of stealing, then claimed I was disrespecting him.
Ok perhaps he is having a bad day. I haven’t really talked to him much. I let it go and proceed to take photos.
To be sure it’s clear where it’s located. I take photos of the money, desk, office, surrounding area,and direct hallway location. Just so the report showed everything.
I resubmit the paper work with about 20 photos attracted. There should be no question as to what the money was, or what it was used for. I clearly state why HM has it to begin with.
An hour latter I get another call it’s BD again.
BD “This report is still bad but it’s better. I don’t believe this is fake money and I want you to confiscate it. Turn it in for review.”
OP “We don’t do that here. This building has clear guidelines stating we don’t confiscate, and We don’t look in people’s bags when they come in. This building has different rules. Approved by CEO, HM, and Head of security. I can’t do what you are asking me to do.”
BD “First of all OP. I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. Confiscate the bills, and if anyone else is seen with money confiscate it as well. I don’t believe the heads would agree to such an unsafe protocol.”
Now at this point I would make it clear that phone calls are recorded for “better costumer service.” Everything he is saying is being recorded on his end and mine.
It’s silent on the phone for a few seconds. While I think about this. I come up with an idea.
BD “HELLO?!!!!”
OP” To confirm what you are saying. You want me to go around and literally look into peoples bags against policy 50, and then confiscate any fake money they have, against policy 51?
BD “Stop trying to trip me up with your bs. Do your damn job, or I will fire you!! Is that clear?!!!”
OP “You got it BD.”
BD hangs up
It’s very clear to me that this will go south real fast. I know I have to handle this perfectly, or I could be fired.
I write up an email explaining everything even connect the report to it. I also clearly make statements about the conversation I had with BD. Making it very visible the order he demanded I carry out, and copy past of the policies it violates. I cc Head of security, and HM.
This guy either has it out for me, or doesn’t understand how the building and it’s rules. I’m not going to have him hang over my head like this. Threatening my job, because he doesn’t want to understand.
I know all I have to do is catch the right person, and BD is screwed. I know the staff should be coming back soon from their shoot.
I go down to the front of the building. I wait till I see the group coming back. I stop them at the front door. Stating “Excuse me who is lead of this group.” “I am.” HM steps past some people.
He looks at me with a confused look.
HM “OP is something wrong??”
I pull him aside and tell him the situation. All the while he is waving people past him into the building.
HM “What?? Are you serious? This is unacceptable. I have known you for 2 years. I’m not going to let this stand. Let me make some calls. Can you shoot me an email of that report please?”
OP “Already done.” I smile at him
HM “Did you know I would react this way?”
OP “ I had a feeling you would in some way, after all you like to make it rain!!”
His face grows wide with a smile. “MAKE IT RAIN!!” He does the money shuffle and starts walking away.
HM “Don’t worry OP I like you to much to see you leave, I got this.”
About an hour or so goes by, I get a call from HM.
Apparently BD claimed I never said the money was on HM desk, or that it was fake. He also said that I acted alone and with no orders from him. HM completely denies threatening to fire me.
OP”I see.... well it’s a good thing I recorded my conversations with him.”
HM “Wait you record all your phone calls?”
OP “ if it’s on one of the security phones, like the one I’m on yes.”
HM “I see...MAKE IT RAIN!!!” He then hangs up.
He calls back a few seconds latter and tells me to send him a file of the recording. He is going to have a conference call with Head of Security. They have know each other since they were teens.
The next day I come in to a surprising large amount of emails. All about event requests the normals stuff.
The very last email I got was an email from Head of Security cc’d with HM. He apologized, for having to deal with that situation. Thanked me for compiling with BD until I was able to get things straighten out.
BD has been terminated the day prior after the voice recording was listened to.
I was also given full ability to run the building. The only person I answer to is Head of Security. Kinda a small promotion.
TL:DR Guy threatens to fire me if I don’t do as he says. Clearly violating policies. Only to find himself fired instead.
(source) (story by Darigone)
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Closer to the End
Depression is my nemesis.
Eventually it will kill me.
...if I let it.
By Billy Goate
Art by RusoTsig (@rusotsig)
Life's falling away from me. The visual evidence is all about. Unopened mail builds up at random spots around the room like mini Towers of Babel. Even things that normally give me great delight -- a recently delivered set of vinyl records -- lie undisturbed in their brown cardboard packages. Meanwhile, my email continues to multiply exponentially: 200 unanswered today, 400 tomorrow, 800 on the day after that (for the curious, the tally stands at 2,359 today). The very thought of opening my inbox makes it equivalent to walking out into open traffic, so I avoid it like the plague.
Meals have become simplified these days -- if it can't be eaten out of a package, forget about it. And all those empty wrappers? They, too, join the general disorder, decorating the landscape of my solitary hovel. Eventually, messages from friends and family go unread. Bills go unpaid (even when there are sufficient funds). The yard turns into a veritable jungle of tall grass, weeds, and sprawling bushes. Clothes go unwashed and hygiene is neglected for days at a time. Weekends are spent pouring over regrets about what might have been, brooding about the end of days.
As any doctor will confirm, these are classic symptoms of depression. What they can't tell you is how hopeless hopelessness can feel.
Karl Briullov - The Last Days of Pompeii (detail)
Black Sabbath’s final show in the Pacific Northwest. Usnea's album release party. Saint Vitus reunited with their first singer, Scott Reagers. The return of Sasquatch. Once in a lifetime small venue appearances by international bands, such as Cult of Occult. A rare hometown gig by Yob. Visits from Goya, Primitive Man, and countless others. Ceremony of Sludge. Even events with the Doomed & Stoned's own name stamped on them. All of these are things I've missed out on in the past year or two because of depression.
It's not that I was too down to even consider going. On the contrary, I was actively planning to go. I RSVP'd, bought tickets, and even checked out the camera equipment to film the shows. In most cases, I'd gotten dressed and readied, even told people to expect me, but for one reason or another I fell under the unyielding grip of depression and came up with an excuse for why I couldn't go. Then one day I just got tired of making excuses and stopped going out altogether.
In one case, I was halfway down the road on a two-hour trip to see Saint Vitus and Witch Mountain perform at Star Theater, when suddenly a wave of grief washed over me from head to spine. As soon as I spotted the nearest overpass, I exited, turned around, and returned home. Even shows I knew would be cathartic (Bell Witch playing their titular Mirror Reaper at a local watering hole) just couldn't cause me to drive a couple miles down the road. The few times I managed to go out, it was because I absolutely forced myself. I practically fought with my inner man all the way there, too -- teeth clenched, hands tightly gripping the wheel, rehearsing in my mind a myriad of reasons why I should just turn back and stay home.
For me, Alice in Chains captures the frustration perfectly in "Excuses":
Everyday it's something
Hits me all so cold
Find me sittin' by myself
No excuses, then I know
Depression has robbed me of so much. I've missed opportunities to collaborate with musicians and artists because of it. I've pushed away friends and family, until contact between us has become more and more scarce. I've even stopped celebrating my birthday. I have become a shadow of a man.
What's worse, there's been a new development: anhedonia. I remember only casually looking up the meaning of that word when reviewing Undersmile's album by the same name. Anhedonia basically means that you stop finding pleasure in life. As I browse through my friend's timelines, I find it difficult to relate to their happiness. I think quite often of the emptiness of it all, of being alone and growing older, and the ultimate futility of human pursuits. I often feel more of an observer than an actor in the great drama of life.
As you read all of this, bear in mind that I've managed to hold down a steady, full-time job for decades, right up to the present day. You see, some cope by drinking, others by eating, and others still chase the fleeting high of romantic love, but I found my copacetic in work (as absurd as that might sound). I’ve damn near worked myself to death over the past couple years, too, taking precious few "mental health days" or vacation. At one point, I stopped accruing paid time off, because I'd reached my limit and my boss had no choice but to mandate that I take two days off per month. Can you imagine? I’d been known to come into work on the weekend, rather than spend it alone with my thoughts. At least at work, I can stay distracted with something I feel makes some kind of difference.
I can't feel my life
Makes me want to cry
How bad i feel inside
Like I wanna die
Destination unknown
Wreckage in tow
Depression grows
I have no home
Lately, all I've wanted to do on the weekends is sleep. When I'm at work, I'm fine. I'm in the zone. I have purpose. Things make sense. I'm needed. When I'm home, I always have a list of to-dos, but no matter how busy I try to make myself, I find myself suffering with a lonely, aching feeling. It hurts to be alive. That's the only way I can describe it. So I go to sleep early -- and sleep and sleep and sleep -- without so much as the aid of melatonin. All I want to do is go to sleep and forget and wake up the next day and start fresh, hoping all of the oppressive feelings of darkness have left me. I'll sleep 9 hours, 10 hours, 12 hours is not unheard of, then curse when the alarm wakes me up to face the day. I haven't slept so much since I was a teenager.
At least some of my depression seems linked with sunlight. While the sun is out, I'm mostly okay. When I'm taking my meds, I feel possessed with purpose and I'm busy chipping away at a dozen assorted projects, networking with bands, record labels, and PR reps around the globe, auditing new records, editing submissions from my team, and occasionally summoning enough nerve to write an album review of my own. But when the sun sets and darkness takes hold, bathing the landscape in its sinister shadows, everything changes.
In the heart of winter, there is an existential dread that overtakes me when the sun sets. It's almost primitive. There seems to be no rational basis for feeling this way, unless we factor in some kind of code passed along in the evolutionary programming of the reptilian brain over the millennia. You know, that thing responsible for our fight or flight response -- the urge to either take a swing or get the hell out of Dodge.
Loneliness is not a phase
Field of pain is where I graze
Saw my reflection and cried
So little hope that I died
That cryptic note of horror hints at what happens when our coping mechanisms stop working for us. For me, it was burnout. I worked and worked and worked, and then I came home and did Doomed & Stoned in the evenings and weekends until I inevitably reached a point of absolute and total system overload.
We've seen a spate of deaths in recent years in the heavy music world stemming from depression. It seems to be the creative person's curse. Chris Cornell of Soundgarden. Linda Nygren of the Wounded Kings. Dozens more artist deaths are listed as "N/A" in Metal Archives, but you always wonder. Even an accidental drug overdose can owe its underlying cause to depression. Often it's hard to untangle addiction from the need to escape acute emotional pain.
Though it is tempting to buy into conspiracy theories linking suicide to pharmaceuticals, chemtrails, fluoride in the water, gangstalking, and covert government ops, it's important to recognize that suicide is nothing unique to our life and times. Narrowing the focus more specifically to musicians and other artistic types, we've had many historic instances of depression. Think Beethoven, Franz Liszt, and Tchaikovsky -- three people who pioneered much of the musical language that doom metal utilizes for expression. Each experienced prolonged periods of melancholia for various reasons, from physical malady and loss-fueled grief to unrequited love and the utter rejection of society. Arguably, Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky died at his own hand.
Perhaps it won't surprise you that many of us who have an affinity for doom metal (though certainly not all) are also at risk for suicide. A recently published study by the University of Manchester found a correlation, though not a causal link, between members of "alternative subcultures" and "the risk of self-harm and suicide." There was no definite conclusion drawn from the piece, other than to point out that a problem exists (no kidding) and that more long-term studies are needed.
I've got a notion as to why heavy music draws the heavy-laden: misery loves company. We're drawn to the mysteriously compelling ability that doom has to commiserate with our feelings, from lyrics that deal so honestly with sadness to the solace of sharing a joint with those who are on a similar path.
But sometimes depression is so severe that you don't want to go out on the weekends at all, not even for your favorite band. Before I get too deep into my own story and how I'm treating my depression, some of you may wonder why I am writing this piece and have decided to share it publicly. I can assure you, I have nothing to gain from this. I'm not crying out for help (I'm too stubborn to ask for it when needed, anyway) and I'm certainly not trying to sell you on anything.
To be truthful, I've been chipping away at this piece (currently standing at 53,726 characters) for two years. I revisit it when the depression hurts the most. It acts as a kind of release valve for me and since that's at least providing some relief, I'll keep scribbling words upon this page. So before you leave thinking this was all just a self-indulgent slab of depression porn, stay tuned. There really is more to the story, including some valuable insights I'm learning about dealing constructively with my depression and its underlying causes -- physical and psychological.
To be continued...
★ Read Part II
☆ Read Part III
Here I sit writing on the paper
Trying to think of words you can't ignore
See the cycle I've waited for
It ain't like that anymore
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I recently made a post saying I'm radfem now. So I thought perhaps I should adress that in a bit more detail. I'll try to not make this post several years long, but it's unavoidably gonna be a big post. This is to give a rough overview of my opinions, for anyone interested in knowing that.
The points I bring up, in the following order:
- Patriarchy/oppression of women and girls
- Gender/sex
- Transgender
- Femininity
- Sexuality
- Female only spaces
- Porn industry
- Prostitution
- BDSM
- Reproductive rights and women's rights in general
- End notes/wrap up
Patriarchy/oppression of women and girls
So I used to be an anti-feminist MRA and thus I didn't believe patriarchy was a thing. It took me a long while and lots of research and observing to see the fault in my ways. Admittedly, I was wrong, and now I know better. Also worth mentioning is the reason I found my way into radfem was because with my detransition I became increasingly gender critical, so if I focus extra on gender/sex opinions that's why.
Gender/sex
Women and girls are oppressed in the world because of their sex, and it has nothing to do with "gender identity" and you can't opt out of oppression by transitioning or calling yourself another gender. Gender is a social construct and is just masculinity and femininity, including personality traits that can be called such. Anyone can be masculine or feminine and it doesn't make them the opposite sex or "not real" men/women. Male/female brains is not a thing. You are the sex you were born as. Woman just means adult human female and man just means adult human male.
Transgender
Having dysphoria often tells people who have it that them wanting for their bodies to be of the opposite sex is what makes them, on some psychological level, of that sex. Conforming to the gender roles of the opposite sex often alleviates dysphoria cause it helps with passing, but few trans people think that the gender roles is what makes them men/women. It's just a tool to deal with dysphoria. Trans people should absolutely get the medical treatments available for their dysphoria for those who want that. Out of politeness and caring about their dysphoria, I usually refer to trans men as men and use he/him pronouns, etc, and vice versa for trans women. And on occasion I use the word "cis" to refer to people who are not trans but I don't agree with the term. I only ever use it for simplicity and in its simple meaning "not transgender" but I try to avoid it.
Femininity
My stance on this might differ from other radfems but what I do definitely agree on here is that it should NOT be forced upon women/girls in society like it clearly is. I appall that and it should not happen. I also see there are lots of harmful stuff about modern femininity that also should be scrutinised. However, I think that femininity at its core can be good if you just know what you're doing, and I think especially femme lesbians seem to have a pretty good grip on that, not just myself. I think very critically about it and do encourage others to do too. I want to eradicate the forcing of femininity and its harmful aspects - but not the femininity itself. And that's actually NOT because I love being femme: it's because I was coerced to be masculine as a child, and that not only harmed me, but also made me realise and understand that femininity is a genuine and essential form of expression for my artistic mind. So, I think I do have pretty good reasons for having the views that I have on that point.
Sexuality
Sexual attraction/orientation is sex-based not gender-based. Lesbians are not attracted to males/penis and gay men are not attracted to females/vagina. It's important that definition does not get changed by the trans movement and anyone thinking it's "no big deal" or think that it should be changed is a homophobe. Any male trying to force dick upon lesbians is a horribly gross lesbophobe and no it doesn't make it any better if it's a trans woman. It's very much like just another form of conversion therapy and should not be tolerated. I'm a lesbian, so it matters to me a lot. And on that point I also stand in solidarity with gay men who get to face the same crap from females/trans men. However, I'm half-okay with trans women just calling themselves lesbians as long as they can behave themselves and know they're not actual homosexual females, and vice versa for male-attracted trans men calling themselves gay. Again only because of their dysphoria, and only if they're not acting like homophobes. I'm however NOT okay with trans women invading lesbian spaces, but I'll get back to that point in a bit.
Also I'm really strongly against trans people not disclosing being trans to sex partners. Doesn't matter if they're pre- or post-op or how well they're passing. Trans feeling DON'T get to override "cis" feelings. That might not be a super specific radfem point but I notice transmeds vehemently disagree with me on that point, and it just comes across as very entitled, so yeah.
Female only spaces
Are and should be for biological females only. Although I'm slightly lenient on trans women using women's bathrooms because in my own country it doesn't seem to be an issue of men abusing that loophole, but I'm NOT fine with any males using women's locker rooms, abuse victims' support groups, abuse shelters, lesbian spaces, etc. Women need our own spaces away from the male oppressors. And as a survivor or sexual assault and rape who's kinda scared of men, I do very much understand that need. Even though I look too ambiguous due to my ftm transition to get any sort of access to women only spaces, aside from bathrooms, apparently. That's my own fault though, isn't it?
Porn industry
Absolutely disgusting, what the hell is going on there?! Kind of. Women and girls are being badly hurt there and it needs to stop. I don't care if that means no one ever gets to ever have porn to watch, people's safety is more important than other people just wanting something sexy to watch. Men's violence on women (in general) is being perpetuated by porn teaching them that women are objects and only there for men's sexual pleasure. And I'm pretty sure it even exacerbated my own internalised misogyny in the past when I was watching a lot of porn and searched for the worst of it. I no longer want to support the porn industry in any way. I made the decision, few weeks ago, to stop watching porn completely and so far so good, although I was close to giving into it a few days ago but didn't. I've got this.
Prostitution
I used to want to become a prostitute, actually. Before I came to my senses on that point and realised it was just my traumas speaking for me again. I no longer want that at all, and it makes me feel sick to just think of it. But I read up on it a lot back then. I understand that the entire "sex industry" is directly harmful to the women in it and indirectly harmful to women not in it. I'm all for doing whatever we can to stop it. However, since I read up on it in the past, I'm kinda skeptical that the Nordic Model would be a good solution. It has a lot of issues. As I'm living in a country that has that model implemented (Sweden) and I know that there is a lot of hidden trafficking going on here that cannot be spotted or caught due to the faults of the Nordic Model. According to my own (possibly flawed) research the Australian Model seems to be better at both catching trafficking and making prostitution in general less dangerous for those involved, but by no means is that a perfect model either. I need to learn more about this perhaps, but at the end of the day I'm 100% against any form of prostitution existing.
BDSM
I used to be into bdsm and didn't want to see that it's harmful, and basically just a "socially accepted" form of abuse. I used to be into "rapeplay" and a lot of humiliating kinks as the submissive because it let me "repeat" my past traumas. Along with my realisation that I'm a lesbian, I also finally understood the true depth of my traumas and no longer want to engage in anything bdsm or kinks. That has no place in my life anymore. It just kept damaging me more when I needed to heal. That made me understand that there's still abuse involved in bdsm even though it's "consensual" cause how can you make an informed consent to something you don't understand is gonna harm you?
Reproductive rights and women's rights in general
I guess this covers the whole "bodily autonomy" thing and I include anything from being able to get birth control and abortions to stopping fgm and child marriages, and much more, in this category. I dunno really what to say here other than of course women and young girls being treated as cattle, abused, mutilated, raped, forced to give birth, forced to marry, etc are very important issues that need to be fixed and that asap. I'd even say such things matter the most to me when it comes to women's rights: having the right to one's own body from the moment that any female human is born. But also, reading up on those really heavy topics gets to me so bad I can't manage it. I get really bad panic attacks and just start sobbing uncontrollably. So for the sake of my own mental health, that's why I don't reblog much of that. But please believe me that is still very important stuff to highlight, talk about and get to the bottom of.
End notes/wrap up
All of this and more really stems from the systematic oppression that women are constantly kept under, and I see that "red thread" connecting all these issues to that root. We need to get to the core of those problems (and many more that I didn't bring up here) which is men in general oppressing women in general. So that got me back to where I started, patriarchy. That's a nice wrap up, I think. I tried hard to not make this into a gigantic post, so that's why I left out a lot of details, explanations, my own personal experiences that led me to my opinions, etc. And yes, it's absolutely fine to ask me about my opinions on any of these things, and call me out (preferably with an explanation) if you think it's horse shit and I'll look into it.
#personal#my radfem views#i know its not super comprehensive but i aint got all night#still new to this#and still learning#im a get shit for my views on trans i think but im too fucked up to care anymore
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