#angry youth elite

[fatallyfalling]

Bitter Water 0.08 ~ ♆

“ You’re staring again, “

{{ Finnick Odair x Reader }}

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warnings: typical Hunger Games violence/trauma/themes, language, blood, injury, PTSD, forced prostitution, enemies to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, President Snow, time skip, unshared feelings, nightmares, unintentional self-injury, alcohol, sexual harassment, character death, gore/blood, etc

{{ word count }} 6.3 k

{{ outfits }}

{{ prompt }} Desirability has consequences. Desirability is a cage, and you it’s prisoner. A product and a drug to the Capital elites as something to control and have obediently submit. But the drug of almonds and honey is something sweeter and you’ve grown rather accustomed to the taste.

{{ a/n }} This is another cliffhanger i’m sorryyyyy but thank you for all your patience i already have 0.09 in the works i’m hoping to get it up asap after this i love you all sm forehead kisses muah!!

If hell were a place on earth it’d be this room.

Quietly tucked in a penthouse apartment within Capital high-rise walls. With ornate furnishings and slippery silk sheets a stark shade of white that made your skin prefer the idea of being set ablaze and slopping off your very bones just to escape their ensnarement.

The scent of roses suffocates like poison.

If hell were a presence she’d slink between shadowed corners of the space, seeping through the walls, and the floor. Whispering through bars on the windows in the form of tightly drawn curtains blocking out what would have been a skyline view if it wasn’t to hide the happenings behind closed doors. The penthouse was kept cold. There was no love here, no gentleness, no kindness.

Kindness was scarce these days.

Had hell been a person she’d be the shadowed visitors with finely trimmed suits and dresses that glittered with each twist and turn. Gloved hands, colored hair, sticky fingers, and sultry lips covered in luster that held cruel, fanged smiles. Hands as rough as sandpaper that moved as aggressively as attempting to strike a dulled match with pointed nails that too often left angry crescents and small bruises imprinted on your waist and wrists. A predator.

And you were their prey.

Prey made to be caught and devoured.

Made.

You hadn’t always been this way. You knew that. You still foolishly clung to shattered youth and hopes of something “normal” but the pieces of that hope had become too small to pick up and too complicated to piece back together. Things were different now and there was no going back. The first year was the most difficult. Combined with the steep learning curve of mirror-practiced smiles and inviting the unconsented touch while maintaining the subtle demeanor you’d performed so well through The 67th Games when you’d rather commit treason and spill the blood of the penthouse visitors teetered over the edge of excruciating. What would be the cost of more blood on your already crimson-stained palms anyway?

Everything. Everything would be the price.

So carefully crafted were the claws you hid behind perfect manicures. The spiteful temper that blistered through your ribcage was now kept on an even tighter leash than before. You had to keep your loved ones safe. You had to keep that stupid Peacock safe. Your small family back in District 4 was kept unaware of what your frequent visits to the Capital entailed. However, the occasional resigned glances from your Father across the dinner table suspected otherwise. You met his gaze less and less as time wore on.

By the second year, you’d developed a routine. A controlled performance of engrained obedience and an equally forced smile laced with feigned pleasure to top off the act. On the outside, no one seemed the wiser, assuming you’d grown accustomed to being Desirable by the Capital District of Panem. Obedient - submissive, even.  But on the inside, a simmering flame groomed a hatred so vile part of you sometimes pondered how many worlds would shake when you erupted. A hatred for the President that forced you here and a hatred for the repeated lies you told and fell victim to in the name of survival thus far. There’d been plenty of liars in your wake of winning The Hunger Games. Wolves in bloody, rotted sheep’s skin stared down the last remaining lamb of the herd in the name of sacrifice and control.

You were nothing and everything and nothing again as the repetitive act carried on.

Desirability was a curse.

By the third year, You’re forced to mentor your first tribute. The boy had been young, just barely turning twelve a few weeks before The Reaping. The unluckiness of his name being drawn had reigned in pity from the Capital citizens and weary parents across the nation. It seemed to always be that way when someone young was Reaped. His name had been Trout Nettlewood. A gangly kid on the smaller end of others his age, but he was surprisingly nimble and could run like a fox, flaming red hair and all. Your assignment had been to shadow Finnick, learn the ropes, and inspire sponsors through your mere presence. Looking back, the rumors between the two of you had never been greater than during that time. The perfect picture of some twisted, hyper-romanticized, “what if - family” for the Capital’s voyeuristic viewing pleasure. At only only nineteen years old the sickening demand for the Peacock and yourself had never been higher.

Trout had been easily lovable by the masses. A small, scared fox who didn’t stand a chance. He was curious about everything and determined to learn despite his circumstances. The boy devoured the few books of healing herbs and edible foraging you’d scrounged up with surprising ease. He was smart and bubbly, dozens of freckles plastered across his cheeks, nose, and forehead that scrunched when he smiled. Your heart squeezed painfully when he did. The Capital fell hard and fast for the boy, adoring cheers ringing through the crowd during his brief interview with Caesar Flickerman. Warm smiles and a curious intrigue oozed from the auditorium that had you fear vomiting right then and there in the stage wings. Despite the adoration your Tribute earned, and much to your dismay, you knew the minute that bell rang in the Arena they’d look elsewhere. Even with the calculated facades and fleeting rumors, sharks were going into that deadly sea, and they wouldn’t hesitate to kill the weakest links the first chance they got.

You spared a sidelong look towards the bronze-haired man beside you and caught the creasing in his brows and pulse of muscle in his jaw with quiet observation. Both of you had matured over time. Finnick had developed like fine wine, of course. Whether it had been genetics or luck, the honey-tanned Darling was taller and broader, with refined features and a lean, muscular build that sent young women across the Capital swooning. If it had been possible for his charismatic nature and flirtatious attitude to get any worse he’d somehow found a way as well. The urge to punch the Peacock after every sneaking, sarcastic comment made on your maturity was growing as equally difficult to reign in as your hidden temper.

Victoriously, you managed a few jabs to Finnick’s inflated ego when no one else was looking now and then. Yes, you’d matured and better filled a few places than before, but you hadn’t seen yourself changing much at all these past few years. There was always something bigger to focus on and besides, vanity had never taken much priority when you’d grown up working day and night to feed the twins and aid your parents, especially following your mother's passing.

The banter between the two of you had made a routine of its own you supposed. Snapping retorts back and forth on the long train rides between District and Capital, or in elevators between revelries had become something you’d mildly looked forward to. Sometimes whispered secrets were traded in hushed voices when you'd manage brief relief from the vile clients that had purchased your company for the night. The secrets had started simple enough. Favorite colors and what pastries served at the Capital banquets you were forced to attend tasted best, just to name a few of them. You learned the Darling favored the small citrus tarts that seemed to only be served on special occasions when the fruit was in season, everything else was too sweet for his liking. Generally, he enjoyed anything citrus it seemed.

“You don’t have a sweet tooth? I’m surprised, Peacock.” You’d remarked at the time.

“Well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me,” He’d lilted in response, mischief gleaming in his sea-green stare. “You’re quite the mystery yourself, by the way.”

“I prefer the mystery. Why lay everything out like a book when you can keep someone guessing?” You’d replied with a wry smile of your own.

Another secret you’d learned was his knack for tying knots. He’d ramble off on tangents of different tying styles and their uses between hushed chuckles. The knowledge he shared was extensive, and you offered your versions from your time helping on the shipyards back in 4 before your games. He’d offered to show you a few times, but with your overlapping schedules, the time never came to pass.

That warmth in your chest sometimes flared when you caught yourself absently staring at his eyes, the way they crinkled at the corners, or the pronouncement of the dimples that pressed into his cheeks when he smiled. You never allowed the warmth to spread, however, firmly smothering any chance the minute you caught yourself dwelling too much.

Your trade-in secrets was a small rebellion to the parts the two of you had to play. A performance of its own behind closed doors or in shadowed alcoves with prickly thorns and PeaceKeepers lurking nearby just out of earshot. Friendly or not, you were able to sense the mutual understanding of your situations. The predicament surrounding the rumors of the two of you being an alleged item made it easier to avoid one another at gatherings, the aid of clients dragging the two of you to different parts of the various pleasure halls and amphitheaters to keep you apart was mildly amusing at times. In its twisted way of course. But the slight draw, as if a thread tethered the two fo you to one another seemed to draw you both back in each time.

“You’re staring again.”

“Am not.”

Your eyes shift, gluing themselves to the suddenly very interesting floor.

“You bite your lip when you’re nervous or lying,”

You hadn’t even realized you’d sucked the flushed muscle between your teeth.

“Stop being creepy, Peacock.”

Finnick snorts, a roll in his shoulders following the motion of shoving his hands deep in his pockets. Sea-green eyes remained fixed on the red-headed boy across the stage. The spotlights were sweltering. Maybe if you prayed hard enough, the heavy, velvet curtains of the wings would push in and swallow you whole. You wished they would. The hazy image of layered gauze and Caesar’s cackling laugh from your interview just three years ago flickers in your mind. You shake your head to push the memory away.

“He won’t make it past the bloodbath,”

Your tone is cold, detached maybe. A lump had formed itself in your throat and you swallowed thickly, the effort futile. The reality of tomorrow had started to set in after two intensive weeks of training.

“You don’t know that. He’s fast.” Finnick quips.

His tone is also cold, though a hint of determination weaves itself in his drawl as you spare another glance his way. The Darling doesn’t look back. His gaze is still firmly fixed ahead. The crowd bubbles with ‘awes’ and laughter at a joke Caesar makes. Trout smiles. Your heart twists.

“We’ll see,” You respond.

A warm weight presses briefly into your shoulder as the tall Victor beside you turns away from the dazzling lights. Finnick was always warm. “Stop being so pessimistic,” Finnick huffs. But there’s no light in his ocean's gaze as your eyes lock. You feel the phantom warmth of where his arm brushed yours to the other side of the stage. Trout greets you with a hug and Finnick tells him well done, ruffling his fiery hair. Mechanical clicks and flashes follow as you guide your Tribute away from the commotion. This was his final night alive for all any of you knew.

Finnick decides to try and rally a few more sponsor candidates before sauntering off to the pleasure halls of the Tribute Center, leaving you with Trout for the remainder of the evening. Part of you wishes you could write off Finnick’s disappearance as neglect of his Tribute, but you know by the Darling's gait that the weight of tomorrow morning hangs heavy. One last ditch effort to try and bring Trout any chance of surviving.

“Let’s go get you something to eat.” You murmur to your Tribute, trying your best to smile warmly but you know the corners of your mouth are a bit crooked and your throat feels like it’s going to suffocate and collapse. Trout smiles with an agreeing nod, and your heart painfully squeezes, but you take his small hand and lead him away anyway. You don’t look back at the bronze-haired male behind you.

Trout scarfs down his food, despite the multiple courses. You barely touch your own as you stare blankly into the creamy, rose-petaled soup. Bile stings your throat at the floral, desserty scent. You push the feeling down the same as you push your bowl away, opting to offer it to the child beside you. Trout happily takes it with a grin. You dab a napkin to the corner of his mouth with a featherlight touch.

The evening is quiet, and a fire roars in the hearth of a grand marble fireplace in the common area of the Tributes of District 4’s quarters. The female Tribute of District 4 was under Mags’ Mentorship and had been scarcely seen these past two weeks. Her name was Annie Cresta, you’d seen her here and there over the years but didn’t personally know who she was. She’d kept to her rooms and barely spoke. You couldn’t blame her.

Trout had asked to sit with you on the sofa, Instinctively curling himself into your side. The small boy craved closeness, opting to stand close enough to either you or Finnick that body heat was shared or he could easily reach for a hand any chance he got. Initially, the two of you had tried to halt the child’s need for a caring touch considering what lay ahead, logically thinking it might hinder his independence in the area, but in the end, neither of you could stand to let him go into the maw of death without knowing the brief warmth of affection. Even though you were only seven years older than Trout, your viewpoints on the world were distinctly different based on experience alone. As mentors, it was your duty to train your Tribute and prepare them for the arena. The responsibility weighed heavy. 

But it was true you'd grown to love Trout in a way, just like you loved your siblings back in 4.

Maybe that made the goodbyes even worse.

Trout fell asleep nestled safely under your arm as your eyelids grew heavy while trying to recite the book of edible herbs you’d been working to memorize with him one last time. Your legs were outstretched across the leather cushions of the large sunken sectional, and your ankles lay crossed as the flame-haired boy slumbered soundly on your shoulder. He was still dressed in a finely trimmed, forest green suit though he lacked any dress shoes, just black crew socks. Trout hated shoes. The minute he got back from training they were always kicked off by the door. Thatcher had stumbled over them a few times and would grumble his distaste for the lack of manners but no one corrected the action, allowing the small freedom for the Tribute.

Your evening ensemble was a bit rumpled over your thighs and waist, but you didn’t mind. You barely registered the soft click of one of the heavy, entryway double doors as the wee hours of morning crept in.

Nor did you pay any heed to the whisper of a familiar almonds and honey cologne paired with a warm weight over your shoulders as the final pull to drag you into sleep.

No nightmares plagued your mind that night as the sweet warmth kept you safe.

The following morning was as unbearable as you’d expected.

You had awoken before Trout, grogginess trying its best to pull you back under the blanket of unconsciousness, but as your senses sharpened you remembered what today was. Dread settled heavily in your chest as you carefully adjusted your torso to prop yourself up better against the arm of the luxurious sectional in your best efforts not to wake the sleeping Tribute just yet. An ache splintered from the muscles connecting your right collarbone to your throat, howling in protest at the stretch of stiff muscle. You couldn’t help gritting your teeth at the adjustment, Trout's head weighing heavy on your shoulder as you shifted.

Blinking several times, your gaze finally shifted from the boy at your side to the slight weight over your body. A crease forms between your brows as your free hand shields a small yawn. Your nose scrunches with the action as you continue to wake up.

The faint scent of almonds and honey meets your groggy senses again, the worry in your brows deepening as you wipe away the sleep from your eyes. The weight and scent belonged to a familiar navy blue suit jacket, the material was sleek and satiny with a faint shine. It was Finnick’s jacket from last night’s interviews. A flicker of something warm strikes a thread deep in your chest, but you shove it so far down the feeling stops.

“Tch…” You click your tongue as you use your free arm to gently lift the garment, draping it over the back of the sofa as you turn your attention to the red-headed boy on your side. Tenderly, you give his shoulder a small shake and the boy stirs, eliciting a protesting groan from the child.

“Come on, gotta get up.” You murmur and Trout groggily sits up. A small, humored smile crosses your lips as you ruffle his already disheveled fiery locks. You try to ignore the deathly squeeze of dread in your heart as he breaks into a fit of laughter.

The morning picks up speed as Mags, Finnick, Annie, and Thatcher join you in the open-concept living area. Finnick takes trout off your hands as you quickly freshen up and find a change of clothes.

You don’t notice Finnick’s lingering gaze on your retreating form.

The air is heavy on the short trip to the flight hanger where the Tributes will be transported to the arena. Memories of your farewell and the bone-crushing hug from Mags flash in your mind. Casting a sidelong glance towards Finnick, you observe the clench in the victor’s jaw, which tells you he felt much the same about the hanger. Trout grips your hand like a vice as Peacekeepers lead the way. He’s trembling. Your heart squeezes painfully as it starts to splinter.

The peacekeepers around stand straight-backed with fingers warningly placed on the triggers of their rifles. There was no getting out, no last-ditch escape attempts.

Time was running out.

With a shaky sigh, you turn to face the small boy, who meets you with bleary eyes. “I-I’m scared,” He meekly stumbles over your name and you can feel the piercing pain of your heart breaking further. “I know, but you have to be brave right now, okay?” You try to soothe as you bend to be closer to his eye level. Finnick comes to stand at your side, taking Trout's cheeks in his hands gently as he too kneels. “You can do this Trout,” Finnick’s voice is firm as you nod in agreement. You bring a hand to gently stroke his red hair, the peppered freckles across his face scrunch as tears start to well up in his eyes. Finnick’s thumbs are quick to brush them away, continuing his speech. “You remember the herbs and you remember the knots I taught you. You don’t go near the Cornucopia - you run. If you find Annie that’s great, but your survival comes first, understand?” Finnick instructs as Trout nods, gripping The Darling’s wrists in his small, trembling hands.

You wished you could tell him everything would be okay. But you’d be lying through your teeth if you did.

You couldn’t give him false hope - it would dampen his senses in the Arena.

The peacekeepers start to fuss - instructing you to finish up as they shift their weight and adjust their rifles. You shoot a deathly glare their way, not quite caring for the possible repercussions. Glancing askance towards Mags, you see Annie in tears as she embraces the elder. Your heart breaks for her as well, but you’re quick to return your attention to your Tribute.

“Survive,”

Your words are earnest as squeeze the small boy’s shoulder, repeating the word that had kept you alive in the Arena just three years ago. Trout’s resolve breaks, and he throws his arms around your neck, pulling from Finnick’s hands and burying his freckled nose into the crook of your neck with hiccuping sobs. The constricting lump in your throat only tightens as you wrap your Tribute in your arms with a tight hug, pouring every hope and prayer to whatever gods might be listening to keep him safe into the embrace. Your gaze locks with Finnick’s for a moment and his sea-green irises fill with heartache as well. After a moment the boy shifts to hug the Darling with equal vigor.

The Peacekeepers have enough, and bark orders to get the tributes on the hovercraft.

Annie sniffs as she pulls away from Mags, her shoulders tremble as she boards the craft with two Peacekeepers on either side, semi-forcing her along.

Trout is reluctant to pull away from you both, but as a Peacekeeper steps forward and you send another defiant glare their way, earning a growl from the Keeper, the boy peels himself from Finnick’s embrace only to pull you back in and hug both of you one last time. You gently press a brief kiss to his fiery hair, unknowingly tugging hard on that thread inside Finnick’s chest as he takes notice of your action before the two of you are forced to pull away.

“I’ll miss you,” Trout whispers to you both before turning.

Your heart shatters then and there.

“We’ll miss you too,” You all but whisper.

A final, silent tear rolls down Trout’s cheek as two Peacekeepers turn to guide him to the hovercraft. The Tribute’s stylists follow close behind and you remain rooted to your crouched position with your arms wrapped around yourself till the industrial sound of the hovercraft’s door seals shut and reverberates through the hanger.

You feel sick.

As you straighten up, your gaze catches Finnick’s again, but his eyes quickly avert from yours, a muscle fluttering in his jaw. A crease forms between your brows as you divert your gaze to the departing hovercraft, your arms securely wrapping around your middle as if to self-soothe.

The trip back to the Tributes Center is silent - the tension thick enough to be cut by a blade. No words are exchanged as you arrive, heading straight to the pleasure halls to witness the beginning of The 70th Annual Hunger Games.

A vile cocktail of queasiness and dread coats your tongue as you force yourself to keep moving. The hall is bustling with Capital elites as you enter, following Finnick with Mags close behind. Your dread pools in your chest like a weight as you glance towards the large projections of the countdown to the beginning of The Games. Clenching your jaw you do your best to dawn a feigned smile. Finnick has already settled into his Cheshire smirks and relaxed demeanor, plucking an invisible lint from his shoulder as he weaves through the crowd, greeting sponsor candidates and past clients as he plucks two champagne glasses from a wandering avox before returning to your side. A part of you wishes you could slip between acts as easily as the Darling, his languid movements leaving bystanders none the wiser that the two of you had just sent a child to his inevitable death.

A child.

Your broken heart painfully twists at the reminder.

Cesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith have taken their positions as hosts of The Games as they banter across the multiple projections. Their voices meld into the cacophony that bounces off the high-rise ceilings.

“Drink?”

The Bronze-haired male’s voice cuts through your thoughts as he offers you the crystal glass. Your gaze snaps to his before flickering down to the champagne.

“Am I allowed?” You murmur, to which he responds with a wry smile and a nod before you tentatively retrieve the glass and all but down its contents. Finnick raises his eyebrows at your action but says nothing, a small shrug rolling over his shoulders and a coy smirk passing his tanned features before he echoes your movement, his head tilting back as he empties his glass as well.

A ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you observe the slight scrunch in his nose and the clench in the male’s jaw. The bitter aftertaste of the fizzed beverage leaves a tang on his tongue and a bubbling sensation in his throat.

“I always think it’ll taste better if I just drink it more,” Finnick scoffs.

“Sharing secrets already, Odair?” You murmur, your tone dull while passing your empty glass onto a passing tray as he does the same.

“You knew that one already,” Finnick quips, and you give a small shrug. The alcohol brings warmth to your chest as it disperses through your system. You’d allowed yourself one glass here and there after you’d gathered better control of the horrors that plagued your memories. Normally you tried to keep away from the drinks - mostly to keep the bad habit from developing again like it almost had after the 67th Games. But it helped to ease the edge before certain clients and at times like this.

“Maybe I did,” you reply, knowing full well he was correct. The dread still coils itself in your core but the normalcy of Finnick’s remarks is a slight comfort. A muscle pulses in your jaw as you protectively cross your arms over your chest once more. One of the small graces that came with mentoring; if it could even be referred to as one, was that neither you nor Finnick were allowed to take clients during the duration of The Games. As much as the Capital elites relished in gambling and playing dirty to gain loophole advantages, the rules for mentors were strict on prohibiting gaining Tribute favor by sleeping with sponsors. Despite the rules, that didn’t stop wandering hands and roving eyes over the honey-tanned Victor and yourself.

Rumors have still spread like wildfire alongside the grotesque demand for The Capital’s Darling and Doe - especially with the two of you appearing side by side regularly as mentors these past weeks, which inevitably sparked jealousy between clients as women and men alike shot possessive glares as they groped their chosen Victor. Bile threatened to rise in your throat as you bristled under a drunken man’s touch. Thankfully, his hot, liqueur-coated breath and wavering attention were pulled away as images of The Cornucopia swirled into view on the projections overhead. You don’t notice Finnick’s sidestep till his shoulder brushes yours, his radiating warmth lingering once again on your skin. Both of your eyes are glued to the screens, equal creases and hardened expressions replacing the parts the two of you too often performed.

Your eyes scan the small expanse of the arena you’re able to see, assessing your first look at the terrain while simultaneously scanning the other projections for Trout’s face. On another projection on an opposite wall, a grid of all the Tribute’s faces appears, prepared to blackout faces once the blood bath begins.

The Arena was set up similarly to a Pacific-northwestern mountain range. Tall redwoods and many caverns and cliffs are divided by a large dam. Your breath hitches as vague memories of the netted ravine of the 67th arena pass through your mind. Furiously, you blink the images away as the minute counter begins in a glowing hologram above the assembled stacks of weaponry.

“Do you see him?” you murmur, leaning slightly toward the male beside you with a hushed tone.

“Not yet,“ Finnick replies.

The bass of the automated countdown vibrates through your chest, each tick like an added weight to the dread that threatened to pull you under.

Warmth brushes your shoulder again as Finnick shifts, neither of you bothering to acknowledge your closeness to one another and neither of you moving away.

“You think they’ll make it?” You murmur again.

“I don’t know,” Finnick’s voice is clipped.

His unsure answer weighs heavy. There wasn’t any telling who would live or who would die.

Ten.

You swallow hard - resisting the urge to empty the contents of your stomach is proving to be a challenge.

Nine.

You still can’t see Trout.

Eight.

Where was he?

Seven.

“Where’s Trout?” You question, worry etching your tone.

Six.

“I don’t know.”

Five.

“Can you see him?”

Four.

“No,”

Three.

You drop one of your hands to your side, the action slightly brushing your knuckles with Finnick’s.

Two.

His callused fingertips interlace with yours almost on instinct.

One.

You don’t push him away. You don’t know why - but you don’t.

“Let the 70th Annual Hunger Games, begin.”

The silence in the hall is palpable as the bell tolls and tributes launch from their pedestals. A pain in your chest screams to look away but you can’t. You won’t. You have to find Trout. The first canon booms and your gaze momentarily tears away to the grid of Tributes. The boy from District 12 goes down. Another canon and another Tribute go down, but still not Trout. Several more canons fire off as the carnage begins, and several Tributes die in minutes.

Still no sign of trout -

“There,”

Your head whips as Finnick jerks his chin to one of the screens, a subtle point in the right direction. Trout is seen making a beeline from The Cornucopia for the trees, his speed and nimble movements allow him to flee unnoticed. You lose a deep breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. However, you don’t relax - tensions still hold high as canons fire and the first few, crucial, hours of the Arena wear on.

There’s no going back now.

Neither you nor Finnick slept a wink the following days. He’d wanted to rotate in shifts with the sponsors but you’d protested - arguing there was a higher chance of gaining favor if both of you were there talking to the sponsor candidates. Your gamble worked. Trout received a handful of sponsor gifts thanks to Finnick’s charm and the weaponization of your own skill set. A canteen of water, some rope, and a small hunting knife had gotten him through till now. He’d managed to stay high in the redwood trees, passing from branch to branch and remaining vigilant for edible roots and foliage during his brief periods on the ground.

Four days in Annie had managed to find him, the two cautiously allying. Annie didn’t have any weapons - leaving you to wonder how she’d gotten through till now. Trout helped her scavenge, the pair silently traversing the woods and managing to stay out of range from other Tributes.

Nearly half of them were dead by now.

Many of the tributes had died from tripping off the cliffs in an attempt to reach the caves. Except the caves held mutts in the form of grotesque bears with too big claws and white, bubbling froth filling their sharp-toothed maws. The remaining Tributes learned quickly to stay away.

You stood anxiously rooted to your spot near one of the tall marble columns on the outskirts of the pleasure hall. Finnick was maneuvering through the crowd with his usual greetings and compliments to the sponsors. Mags was around but she’d been swallowed by the crowd. The Darling was much more of a people person than you were - you never quite could pin down his thought process or calculate his next move. The 65th Victor’s shift between his playboy act and usual demeanor was nearly seamless, the change so fluid you sometimes couldn’t catch it.

You’re nursing a glass of champagne, your eyes glued to the projections of The Games. Exhaustion was tugging at your eyes, the internal war between consciousness and sleep raging on as you subtly shifted your weight from foot to foot. Your attire for the evening whispered across the glossed tile with your movements. Hyacinth had kept your outfits rather simple, the garments sleek and elegant. However they still subtly matched Finnick’s - the trend having continued since your victory tour. You’d tried not to dwell on the matter, figuring it was simply due to the fact you hailed from the same District or the fact you had mentored the same Tribute. Neither you nor The Darling had directly addressed it with one another.

“Sponsors seem lively as ever,” Finnick sighs as he appears by your side, leaning his weight against the marble column to your left. “Is that different than usual?” you ask, sparing the male a sidelong glance before taking a sip of your drink.

“No, but tensions seem to be rising. Someone higher up was paid off to sponsor an enormous gift to the boy from District 2. Unsurprising, but we should keep an eye out.” Finnick explains, his tone plain as if he were just discussing the weather. “Do you know what it was?” you ask, fully turning your attention to the bronze-haired victor.

“No - but it can be assumed to be a weapon.”

“If it’s anything like that trident of yours, I’m sure they’ll talk soon enough,” You murmur into your glass. You knew bringing up the deadly trident that had been gifted to Finnick during the 65th Games was a cheap shot. Finnick’s jaw pulses at the mention, and he plucks an invisible lint from his jacket while turning his gaze up to the projections.

“I hope not.” That is all he responds with before the two of you settle into a tense silence for a moment or two.

“I didn’t mean -“ you start but he cuts you off.

“I know.”

You sigh through your nose, downing the rest of your glass with a small scrunch of your nose. You don’t pry further on the matter because that’s not how the two of you worked. There was banter and the trade of small secrets but never quite full apologies or sincerity. It was better to stay detached, you guessed. The weight of your responsibilities and the pressure of the capital was enough as is. 

Personal attachments only meant more trouble. 

“How far away is District 2 from Trout and Annie?” You ask, shifting the conversation just as the projections shift to a different Tribute.

“They’re on opposite sides right now, but District 2 is on the move near the cliffs.“

By now you’ve turned your gaze away from Finnick, but as you look away you catch the turn of his head from the corner of your eye. It was another dance the two of you had weaved, one person keeping an eye on The Games, and the other acknowledging the conversation.

“Have you seen Thatcher yet?”

“They’re out in the gardens. I caught a glimpse of them while making my rounds. speaking of which, did you make yours?” Finnick rebuttals your question with ease and your jaw tenses. “I did. I had to pry Mr. Sarginski’s grubby paws off me but I did.” You reply, slightly scoffing as you recall the drunken sponsor’s misconduct.

“I’ll handle him next time.” Finnick sternly replies, that same muscle pulsing in his jaw as his eyes flicker to the drunk across the hall.

“Tch, I don’t need saving, Peacock.” you quip, your gaze flickering to meet oceans of sea-green before returning to the Arena.

Finnick simply scoffs with a roll of his eyes that matches the shift in his shoulders.

“Still using nicknames?”

“Still trading secrets?” You rebuttal.

“Touché.”

A wry smile crosses the male’s face, flashing his too-white teeth and pointed canines as he lightly shakes his head. A somewhat comfortable silence replaces the lingering tension between the two of you as you return your full attention to The Games.

Hours pass, and night falls over the Arena.

The sponsors were starting to dwindle, a normal occurrence according to Finnick.

“They’ll pick back up once there are fewer Tributes.” He explained, earning a hum of understanding from you.

The Arena stills in eerie quiet for another hour or two before all hell breaks loose.

You almost miss it as Annie and Trout are ambushed.

Your breath catches as you startle, straightening as Finnick does much the same beside you. Panic surges in your chest as the Careers of District 1 attack. 

They didn’t stand a chance.

The boy Tribute of District 1 swings his machete with a roar, narrowly missing Annie as she shrieks in pure terror, scrambling backwards. Trout staggers back but brandishes his knife, the small blade like akin to a butter knife beside the older Tribute’s blade. A part of you instinctively wants to call out - scream maybe, but you don’t. You can’t.

There’s nothing you can do.

The girl from District 1 throws a dagger, striking Annie’s arm and she cries out again. Trout swings at their assailants, screaming for Annie to run but she doesn’t as she clutches her wounded arm. You’re screaming inside your head for them both to run.

But they don’t.

Trout lands a slash to the girl from District 1’s chest, but it’s not enough.

Her District Partner swings his machete again and it’s all over.

Annie’s screams reach a blood curdling volume as blood sprays, hot and sticky as it splatters across her face, her jacket, the grass. Everywhere.

Your stomach churns as bile stings your throat.

Annie’s screams blare through the hall, the shrill sound echoing off the high-rise ceilings just as you clamp a hand over your mouth, muffling your own sob at the unfolding horror. Your knees buckle - and you hit the tile below hard. Finnick is frozen in shock, rooted to his place as his gaze loses any light. His jaw pulses and he swallows hard as he can’t look away from the projections.

Gasps ricochet through the hall as Capital elitists witness the gore.

The canon booms.

Trout’s face goes black on the Tribute list.

His head rolls.

Annie runs.

The Hunger Games continue on.

You failed.

{{ taglist }}

@emerald-09@reader-bookling123 @finnickodaddy @thehairington86 @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts@avoxrising @meri-soni-meri-tamanna@whens-naptime @violettbae@the-lonely-abyss @secretsicanthideanymore@nexxus13@takanparadiae@yourdailymemedelivery @wowzabowza69 @c4ttheart @lizzo-del-jaileraka @inatimate-icarus @thestrals-and-firewhiskey @honethatty12 @goldencolorrock @cherrsnut @el25 @sienaxgerali

[simply-whump]

My Lovely Boxer (순정복서) - Whump List

Whumpees : Kim Tae Young played by Lee Sang Yeob

Synopsis : Kim Tae Young is a cold-blooded sports agent. One of his clients is Kim Hee Won. He is an excellent baseball pitcher and, a dear friend to Kim Tae Young. To help him, Tae Young is asked to bring female boxer Lee Kwon Sook back to the boxing ring. 3 years ago, she emerged as an elite boxer at the age of 17 but then suddenly disappeared. (MDL)

Genres : Sport, Youth, Romance, Drama

Warning! Possible spoilers below!

Kim Tae Young

Ep 1 : (42:05) Emotional — (45:40) Drugged by injection, passes out, wakes up in bathtub with a plastic bag on his head, panicking, heavy breathing, falls out of the tub, wraps himself with a blanket, upset, throwing up — (54:54) Exhausted, falls asleep, wakes up startled, concern for him

Ep 2 : (56:08) Punched hard in the face, knocked out — (56:34) Head bandaged comically, startled, wincing

Ep 3 : (57:37) In a headlock, punched in the stomach

Ep 2-5 : None

Ep 6 : (01:00:00) Strangled, kicked, collapsed on the ground, heavy breathing, grabbed by the collar and pushed against a car, threatened, knocked out

Ep 7 : (03:00) Unconscious, wakes up, coughing, groaning in pain, tries to get up but collapses — (05:17) Threatened, frightened, flinching — (07:16) Sleeping, face bruised, concern for him, woken up, wincing in pain, tries to walk but collapses on the ground, more groaning in pain, helped up — (09:17) In bed sleeping, face and neck bruised, concern for him, balm applied on wounds, face patched up with some cute band-aids — (01:00:10) Learns the death of his friend, teary-eyed, crying

Ep 8 : (01:10) Depressed, recalling painful memories, anxious, panic attack — (02:40) Friends worried because he hasn’t left his room in three days — (03:07) Going to his friend’s funeral, so out of it that he forgets to put on shoes, concern for him, cannot enter the funeral hall, upset — (14:00) Emotional, tearing up the wall full of his friend’s pictures, concern for him, lowering himself to the ground — (24:06) Friends are worried for him so they break inside his room, sitting on the floor depressed, hugged — (28:00) Forced to get out of bed — (30:25) “Lightly” punched multiple times while wearing boxing protection, letting out his anger and frustration, screaming, sobbing

Ep 9-11 : None

Ep 12 : (00:00) Surrounded, punched in the stomach, collapses to the ground, hands tied, manhandled, put on his knees, angry, kicked — (10:10) On the ground, groaning in pain — (26:07) Angry, pushed, restrained — (34:39) On a chair, hands tied, teary-eyed — (40:05) Gun put on his head — (41:57) Found unconscious — (01:02:12) Playfully punched 

>> More Whump Lists

[mysticstarlightduck]

Character Introduction - Valen Cassidy (Scrapyard Boys)

⚡・・About/General Info ・・⚡

A street urchin despised by the government of New Omnium, Valen was once the son of a celebrated journalist - his mother was a woman who was on the verge of uncovering and exposing the true schemes going on under the surface of their city's elite, when she was suspiciously killed. Valen was then almost sent by the government to the mysterious Spectre Academies - a training ground for mutant youths, beloved by the public but which holds dark secrets within - but before they could, Valen managed to escape, utilizing his Electrokinesis powers to neutralize the agents and allow him to escape into the lower districts of the city, where he disappeared from the grid. Valen grew into a rebellious and defiantly angry young man, classified as one of the city's Top 10 Most Dangerous mutant outlaws, a target to be eliminated. With the help of his chaotic crew of other superpowered street urchins, Valen finds himself following his mother's footsteps - but this time through a vigilante route - to expose their city's dystopic regime and find out the truth behind the billionaire industries that built it. And slowly, they start to figure out that the origins of mutant powers in humanity was not quite what they were led to believe, and that the strange occurances happening all around the city were not mere coincidences.

⚡・・More Info ・・⚡

Pronouns - He/Him Current Role - Protagonist, Part of the Main Cast Appearance - Valen has very, very long, curly, and voluminous golden blond hair, messily styled and which he takes a lot of pride in. His eyes are a deep electric blue, like the color of lightning or electricity, which is fitting given one of his main powers is Electrokinesis. He is average height, though on the shorter end of the spectrum for someone in his late teens (when the main story starts), but he is very strong - freakishly so, for someone who is so lanky and whose powers have nothing to do with strength. He wears ripped-up denim vests with customized patches, an old, dark black shirt with the logo of his favorite rock band, also ripped-up jean pants and bright red long-neck sneakers, as well as tin rings and cheap necklaces. He has a menacing look that usually pushes others away, like a brewing lightning storm.

Personality Types:

✶ Enneagram: 8w7

✶ MBTI: ESTP

Occupation: Street Urchin, Vigilante, Rebel Powers: Eletrokinesis, Eletrical Conduction, Storm Manipulation, and the likes! Sexuality: Straight Alias: Thunderfall

⚡・・Extras・・⚡

✶ Character Playlist

Heathens - Twenty One Pilots

So Far Away - Staind

King For A Day - Pierce The Veil

overwhelmed - Royal & The Serpent

Break Stuff - Limp Bizkit

Here's To Never Growing Up - Avril Lavigne

Heat of The Moment - Asia

Buy The Stars - Marina & The Diamonds

And More!!!

・・・

✶ Tags:

#wip scrapyard boys #oc: valen cassidy #oc: thunderfall

Scrapyard Boys Taglist (-/+): @ray-writes-n-shit, @sarandipitywrites, @lassiesandiego, @smol-feralgremlin, @kaylinalexanderbooks,

@diabolical-blue @oh-no-another-idea

@cakeinthevoid, @clairelsonao3, @sleepy-night-child

@thepeculiarbird

@the-golden-comet, @urnumber1star, @ominous-feychild, @anyablackwood, @amaiguri, @lyutenw @finickyfelix

@thecomfywriter, @the-letterbox-archives @differentnighttale, @wyked-ao3

Let me know if you'd like to be added!

[blackangelism]

Dear Nobody’s Daughter, to Live Through This, you scrape off your Celebrity Skin; you know full well that you’re Pretty On The Inside...

HOW TO GET INTO HOLE?

• Angel Dust guides: I.

Aimed at @elexnorislingtxn and whomever wants to get into Hole...

HOLE is an American nineties’s kinderwhore band with a turbulent line-up and pure chaotic gold for music yet overshadowed by the controversial image of the lead singer and frontwoman of the band, Courtney Love. A staple in the grunge scene, the critically acclaimed sophomore record Live Through This of 1994 marked a peak in Hole’s career although the band was gaining audience for their 1991 debut: Pretty On The Inside. Celebrity Skin, the 1998 album, proved Hole’s peak which was rightly concluded by 2010’s Nobody’s Daughter thus finishing the legacy of Hole.

...In my very humble opinion, Courtney Love is a cunt. And, I love her music.

DO TRY Hole if you are into: Jack Off Jill, Bratmobile, Nirvana, Babes In Toyland, L7, Veruca Salt, Mommy Long Legs, Bikini Kill, Lunachicks, et cetera. Or, if you’d like to try something dolly and chaotic with an edge of feminism and aggression. I promise, listening to Hole makes you feel like a doll.

DO NOT TRY Hole if you’re a filthy misogynist who can’t stand the fact that the wife of a popular artist does in fact make good music on her own.

Yes, Courtney Love is a cunt, but she makes good music. Seperate the artist from the art.

If you’re still present here, welcome! Now, moving onto the actual guide...

FIRSTLY, I think to decode this, we’d have to learn about the albums individually. Of course, I’m going to leave my recommendation for listening, but to best suit yourself, you can find your own way around with the descriptions I give for each of these albums...

“ PRETTY ON THE INSIDE ”

Slut-kiss girl... PRETTY ON THE INSIDE of 1991 is about beauty, which is the life as a sex-worker about Courtney Love’s time as a sex-worker. It includes Courtney Love on vocals and rhythm guitar, Eric Erlandson on lead guitar, Jill Emery on bass, Caroline Rue on drums, produced by Kim Gordon of Sonic Youth and Don Fleming of Gumball.

tracklist. TEENAGE WHORE, BABYDOLL, GARBADGE MAN, SASSY, GOOD SISTER—BAD SISTER, MRS. JONES, BERRY, LOADED, STARBELLY, PRETTY ON THE INSIDE, CLOUDS.

IF YOU WANT... angry, chaotic, messy and sloppily mixed music that is very heady and makes you feel like a doll, listen to this album first.

Blending elements of punk rock, the album features distorted and alternating guitar compositions, screaming vocals from Love, and “sloppy punk ethics”, a style which the band would later distance themselves from, opting for a less abrasive sound on subsequent releases. Love’s lyrics on the album are often presented in an abstract narrative form, and describe disparate scenes of graphic violence, death, and female sexuality. The record was dedicated to Rob Ritter of the Los Angeles punk rock acts the Bags and The Gun Club. [< source, wikipedia.

If you want a more refined yet more depressed version of this album, migrate to Live Through This after; if you want a more refined and self-assured, slightly sarcastic but honest record after this listen, go to Celebrity Skin.

FUN FACT: the song BABYDOLL is allegedly inspired by Madonna.

“ LIVE THROUGH THIS ”

Miss Worlds... LIVE THROUGH THIS of 1994 is about the changes that come with marriage and motherhood, themes mainly being motherhood, body image, depression, child abuse and elitism. It includes Courtney Love on vocals and rhythm guitar, Eric Erlandson on lead guitar, Kristen Pfaff on bass, Patty Schemel on drums, produced by Paul Q. Kolderie and Sean Slade.

tracklist. VIOLET, MISS WORLD, PLUMP, ASKING FOR IT, JENNIFER’S BODY, DOLL PARTS, CREDIT IN A STRAIGHT WORLD, SOFTER, SOFTEST, SHE WALKS ON ME, I THINK THAT I WOULD DIE, GUTLESS, ROCK STAR.

IF YOU WANT... a tragic and softly edgy listen with a harsh sensibility and pure womanly depression scrawled all over, listen to this album first.

Live Through This marked a departure from the band’s noise rock roots toward a more alternative rock format. Love had sought a more mellow sound for Live Through This. The resulting music was starkly less aggressive than the band's former work, blending more structured melodies and smoother arrangements with heavy guitar riffs. Consequently, this featured a mixture of songwriting techniques, including use of power chords as well as arpeggios, and occasional use of keyboards. [< source, wikipedia.

If you want a tougher, rawer, more journal-entry music than this, migrate to Pretty On The Inside; if you want a more refined and self-assured, slightly sarcastic but honest record after this listen, go to Celebrity Skin.

FUN FACT: Courtney Love’s late husband Kurt Cobain does backing vocals on ASKING FOR IT.

“ CELEBRITY SKIN ”

Petals... CELEBRITY SKIN of 1998 is about the lost people, the more opulent Los Angeles and Californian culture, about the promises and agonies of Southern California; it was aimed to divulge greatly from the grunge sound of before. It includes Courtney Love on vocals and rhythm guitar, Eric Erlandson on lead guitar, Melissa Auf der Maur on bass, Patty Schemel on drums, produced by Michael Beinhorn.

tracklist. CELEBRITY SKIN, AWFUL, HIT SO HARD, MALIBU, REASONS TO BE BEAUTIFUL, DYING, USE ONCE & DESTROY, NORTHERN STAR, BOYS ON THE RADIO, HEAVEN TONIGHT, PLAYING YOUR SONGS, PETALS.

IF YOU WANT... a rock-fueled pop sound with many lyrics that are references and have layered meanings, a comforting almost listen, listen to this album first.

The band sought to use Los Angeles and the state of California as a unifying theme and began writing what they conceived as a “California album” in 1997. Unlike Hole's previous releases, the final songs on Celebrity Skin featured instrumental contributions from several musicians outside the band, primarily Billy Corgan, who co-wrote the musical arrangements on five songs. Auf der Maur's former bandmate Jordon Zadorozny, as well as Go-Go's guitarist Charlotte Caffey, also contributed to the composition of one track. Frontwoman Courtney Love, who wrote all of the lyrics, named the album and its title track after a poem she had written that was influenced by T. S. Eliot's The Waste Land. Motifs of water and drowning are also prominent throughout the album, as well as recurring themes of angels, Heaven and stars. [< source, wikipedia.

If you want a tougher, rawer, more journal-entry music than this, migrate to Pretty On The Inside; if you want a grungier yet more depressed version of this album, migrate to Live Through This after.

FUN FACT: Love clarified that she had derived the album name from a short-lived band in Los Angeles named Celebrity Skin, as well as a bootleg pornographic magazine featuring nude candid photos of celebrities.

“ NOBODY’S DAUGHTER ”

Dirty Girls... NOBODY’S DAUGHTER of 2010 is about the time of rehabilitation that Courtney Love went through after a long cocaine addiction and legal troubles following that, written in rehabilitation; about feeling lost, confused. It was supposed to be a solo album of Love’s, but was made to be Hole’s last album after their 2002 dissolution. It includes Courtney Love on vocals and rhythm guitar, Micko Larkin on lead guitar, Shawn Dailey on bass, Stu Fisher on drums, produced by Michael Beinhorn, Micko Larkin, and Linda Perry.

tracklist. NOBODY’S DAUGHTER, SKINNY LITTLE BITCH, HONEY, PACIFIC COAST HIGHWAY, SAMANTHA, SOMEONE ELSE’S BED, FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE, LETTER TO GOD, LOSER DUST, HOW DIRTY GIRLS GET CLEAN, NEVER GO HUNGRY.

I DO NOT RECOMMEND LISTENING TO THIS ALBUM VERY FIRSTLY, but, IF YOU WANT... a polished and the most mainstream-sounding of the four albums, sad, confused, lost record written during rehabilitation, this is your key.

Before the album’s release, former Hole guitarist Eric Erlandson publicly disputed Love’s use of the Hole name, claiming it violated a previous agreement between the two, which Love contested. On its release, Nobody’s Daughter received generally mixed reviews from music critics, with some praising its instrumentation and lyrics, while others criticized it for its folk rock elements as well as production issues and Love’s vocals. Despite this, Love said in 2010 that she considered it the best record she had made. [< source, wikipedia.

If you want a tougher, rawer, more journal-entry music than this, migrate to Pretty On The Inside; if you want a grungier yet more depressed version of this album, migrate to Live Through This after; if you want a similar but more scattered listen, to Celebrity Skin.

FUN FACT: The painting on the cover is of Marie Antoinette and the tracklist page has the edited background of a painting of Anne Boleyn.

MY RECOMMENDED PATHWAYS...

Lastly...

HOLE is a kinderwhore band, which is minutely distinct from riot grrrl. And, Courtney Love has a lot of beef with, to be honest, mostly everyone. So, yeah... For example, Babes In Toyland, a band often mentioned in the same vein as Hole, has their frontwoman, Kat Bjelland, in hatred with Love. I do not recommend looking up to these people as people, but please do try their music.

Die, cry, adore Hole.

FUN FACT: My favourite Hole album is Pretty On The Inside!

Dear Nobody’s Daughter, to Live Through This, you scrape off your Celebrity Skin; you know full well that you’re Pretty On The Inside...

DID YOU GET INTO HOLE?

[wannaeatramyeon]

Gun Park x Reader: Retirement

You've been waiting for this day

"Happy 20th Birthday!"

Gun had mentioned he would retire at this milestone.

When you raise the question, all you get is a noncommittal answer. He still has unfinished plans, and despite the increase in danger and punishment of getting caught, he isn't ready to wrap up this life.

You're under no illusion as to the kind of man he is, but had pinned your hopes on a passing phrase.

.

.

The months and years fly past.

"Happy 21st Birthday!"

"Happy 22nd!"

"It's your 23rd... Happy Birthday Gun."

You've been waiting faithfully for him.

You counted down the years by his side, but there's no end in sight. Truthfully, you could be content if he gave you an actual deadline but it seems the target is forever moving.

The sleepless nights wear you down. Grinds at your patience. Each time Gun is away, you fear your phone buzzing. You worry about someone telling you that he is injured or arrested, or even worse - dead.

This year, the timing is unfortunate but you think this is the best gift you can give him. Releasing the shackles that weigh him down, one less weakness for enemies to target.

You tell him it is over.

His response surprises you, "We have something good. Have patience and wait for me."

You don't give him an answer. You can't even bring yourself to respond to the request for more patience, the only indication of emotion are the narrowing of your eyes and threat of angry tears.

You tell him it's better if you both separate.

.

.

"I'm out," Gun announces.

There's a finality about this conversation. Charles knew this day was coming, each year borrowed time. He tells Gun that it's not easy to wash the blood off his hands, but he seems different today.

Like there's a renewed spark, something which has gradually fizzled out over the last few years with no real successor or foreseeable endgame.

"If it's for Y/N, then you're making a mistake."

Taking a drag of his cigarette, Gun considers this. "Funny. I thought the same about you if you dared to say no."

Charles isn't the young man he once was, didn't hold the power he once did. Maybe in his youth he would have killed Gun to keep him quiet. Perhaps it's old age that has softened him. But the elephant in the room is that rejecting Gun would just cause further headaches.

Instead, he negotiates the terms of Gun's exit.

He doesn't make it easy, and he doesn't make it quick. This agreement needs to benefit Charles Choi as much as Gun Park. Besides, Gun can put in the effort if this is truly what he wants.

.

.

Dismantling everything Gun has built with his own two hands comes easier than he expects.

There's hardly any anger or resentment with this outcome, just acceptance. On the worse days, he carries on his warpath by thinking of you.

He is violent and merciless, destroying all lingering evidence of the crews and any underhanded dealings of HNH Group.

A final death rattle for the Shiro Oni in exchange for a clean slate for Elite.

Isn't it peculiar where life takes you. What was once the mission given to his potential successors is now the lifeline for Gun and a new beginning.

At the end of it, Gun has no legacy. He erases all trace of his empire.

Charles finally lets him go. It's an anticlimax. Dismissed like a normal employee, handing back your credentials to your boss.

But it's done.

.

.

You wake up tangled in bed together. You give him a sleepy smile, and he finds you radiant.

For his 24th birthday, Gun has his closure and he has you.

[galtips]

The origins of gyaru possibly go back to the 1980s when all-girl biker gangs ruled Tokyo’s streets. Their hardcore style, attitude and rites of passage like graduation ceremonies, very much remind us of the gyaru of today. Even more so they embodied a rebellious spirit, now referred to as gyaru maindo (gyaru mind). The magazine “Teen’s Road” that brought this biker style to small town schoolgirls. Over time, leather jackets and boiler suits with kanji lettering became a more mainstream trend and real biker girls got angry at posers! Teen’s Road eventually ended because the staff were “tired of being physically assaulted by the readers” and some biker girls were even kidnapped.

At the same time, elite university clubs were throwing parties in Shibuya with organisers known as chiimaa (teamers). These well-to-do chiimaa regularly hit the dance floor instead of hitting the books. Chiimaa’s girlfriends mimicked LA beach style and earned the nickname paragyaru or “paradise girls”. Paragyaru didn’t know yet but their dress sense would inspire what was to follow in the 1990s,

Kogyaru (“ko” meaning “little” or “kid”) appeared in the 1990s. The name is believed to have originated as bouncer slang to describe the high school paragyaru girls who tried to sneak into clubs by dressing older. Affluent high school girls with chestnut coloured dyed hair (chapatsu), short school skirts, designer uniform blazers, oversized cardigans and modest tans were the trendsetters of the time. Loose white socks and white eye makeup were the cherry on top! But why were high school girls wearing their uniform after school? It was actually a popular ploy for rich schools to entice new freshmen with the fashionable designer uniforms. Girls wanted to be seen wearing their blazer and skirt after school as a marker of style, school pride and as a symbol of youth.

High schoolers eventually took over department store Shibuya109. Anything bought there was considered kogyaru style, like crop tops from Me Jane and Esperanza platform sandals. Many of the first kogyaru began to work at 109 shops becoming well-known gyaru fashionistas, dubbed “super charisma clerks” (スーパーカリスマ店員). Celebrities like singer Amuro Namie with her natural kogyaru appearance placed gyaru style into the mainstream’s consciousness. She had a natural Okinawan tan, light brown hair and wore white lipstick. Her stage outfits mimicked 109 style, and so Amuro fans thinned their eyebrows, wore chunky platform boots and colourful belly tops in admiration. That earned them the nickname Amuraa (Amuro admirers) which crossed over with gyaru style.

In 1995, Egg magazine launched as the number one source of gyaru fashion and lifestyle. After all, gyaru didn’t care what others thought about them and they took pleasure in being loud, sex-positive and even developed their own slang. Egg magazine took street snaps of kogyaru who sometimes went on to become regular models, for example Rumi Itabashi and Kaoru Watanabe. Meanwhile, purikura launched in 1995 with the idea for business professionals to take miniature portraits of themselves for their business cards. No one foresaw them becoming super popular in gyaru culture, with pages and pages dedicated to them in Egg.

Adults were worried about Japan’s declining national character in the late 1990s. Kogyaru with their gyaru mind ethos were targeted and chastised for their alleged practice of enjo kōsai (compensated dating). Growing up with new tech like pokeberu (early pagers) and terekura (telephone clubs), these women gained more independence but also new ways to wreak havoc. For example, terekura were created to connect men and women who wanted to date. But when kogyaru called in to the terekura, they set the men up on a date just to stand them up.

Teenage girls were also widely viewed as serial shopaholics. People thought that they wouldn’t think twice about selling their worn underwear to businessmen for money! Even though only a handful of kogyaru did this, the media didn’t care! Kogyaru were the face of “shameful” public morals. But the more the media covered enjo kōsai, the more schoolgirls congregated in Shibuya’s streets to make big bucks! In the end teenage prostitution became associated with kogyaru style.

After a decade of kogyaru mania, new substyles and gyaru circles emerged. One of the most prominent gyaru circles was Angeleek. Angeleek primarily wore a style of gyaru called ganguro, which were gyaru who darkened their skin. Other substyles like mamba and yamanba evolved out of ganguro. Yamanba wore the darkest foundation they could get their hands on, wore extreme white eyeliner, harsh nose contour and decorated their cheeks with gems and flowers. They liked tropical, beachy clothes and floral accessories. It was dramatic and yamanba were impossible to ignore! But by the early 2000s there was a sudden decline in these more extreme styles. Due to the style’s unsavory reputation, girls turned to other substyles of gyaru or stopped being gyaru completely. Egg even took a break from publishing for a few months. Was this the end?

Not exactly! Egg and other gyaru magazines returned as the mid-2000s brought about an unexpected gyaru renaissance. In 2005, another magazine called Ageha was launched. It was aimed at gyaru Hostesses who called their style agejo. By 2008, gyaru was thriving and there were so many genres of gyaru and the style became more popular internationally. Styles like hime-gyaru, hime-kaji, onee-gyaru, rokku-gyaru and ame-kaji entered the scene. Tsubasa Masuwaka, a prominent gyaru figure at the time, was featured on both gyaru and non-gyaru magazine covers. She also launched a makeup and false lashes line called Dolly Wink which is still popular today!

The late 2000s to mid 2010s saw a more laid back toned-down look. Gradually, girls lost interest in the style and Egg and Ageha ceased publication. Gyaru brands followed the magazines by toning down or rebranding. In 2014, Alisa Ueno’s brand Fig&Viper was dubbed as neo-gyaru in an article by ViVi magazine which sparked some debate. Many gyaru did not view this brand as gyaru and Alisa Ueno herself admitted that she never called her brand neo-gyaru.

Not many other styles have lasted as long, or made so many comebacks. From the biker gangs of the 1980s to the yamanba of the 2000s, gyaru fashion has gone through many changes. Some even claim we are in a post-gyaru era! Will it ever become a mainstream fashion again? Who knows, but in the meantime we’ll be rehearsing our Para Para dance moves!

Ps if you don’t want to read all of that here is some YouTube links!

[dallasgallant]

Gone with the wind |

Made a meta a while ago combining a few themes within the novel to Great Expectations, a novel Pony mentions reading for school. So I’ve decided to read Gone with the Wind too.

This meta is somewhat easier than Great Expectations as the book outright tells you why it’s important to the story and just what Pony and Johnny take out of it! The traits of “them southern boys” as they find themselves having to uphold similar standards of masculinity. Their gentle traits internal to the outward standard, though with less pressure to some degree due to class.

In the book it mentions ‘riding into battle. Gallant men’ and the movie draws two paragraphs a couple hundred pages apart. One on bodies sprawled in the sun during the siege of Atlanta(?) and then ‘those who refused to recognize defeat who road into sure disaster because they were Galant.’

Southern honor:

A sense of self tied to perception and status, often tied to adherence to tradition and independence.

It is an incredibly interesting historic concept which was delved into a lot in a class I took on the Old South, it’s been a semester and I will look through my notes but please forgive this for being a little more rambly then distinct. There’s going to be a loss of nuance here just because this isn’t a full lecture lol. The concept is a duel thing as on one hand, having honor and pride is not inherently bad but it’s the headstrong refusal to accept any other view that leads to self and societal destruction. Something to note is that the particular brand from Gone with the wind and that tends to be talked about the most academically is of the “large planter” variety, a class of people so rich and powerful and few they’d essentially become a aristocratic group of hyper elites. It’s interesting to look into but not the point of this meta, just setting the stage. The novel goes into even the aftermath the old views don’t die, there’s no adapting or accepting- just festering in confusion and hate… to be so headstrong is both remarkable and incredibly stupid. An analogy would be the emperor’s clothes caught fire but he walks around as if he is still clothed. Gone with the Wind is a really fascinating book to be told from the Uber rich perspective, the views of society and war from that class and Homefront perspective and its criticisms. Apparently, the movie is not nearly as analytical and more pretty dress gone how sad, but it’s not what we’re here for.

That’s more me rambling than proper analysis, it may be bare bones without some background but I’m going to tie it together now.

As the type of Southern honor they’d admire while reading is more the base concept of it, they’d relate far more to some conscripted “white trash” than the elite. This honor did defuse a bit across the society, though like any poorer people aren’t subject to half as many social rules and have their own variation but the base remains.

Greasers have their own similar sense of honor.

They’re brash and quick to fight and get angry. They’re defiant. Their duty to protect their own and what’s theirs, to help, fight to maintain appearance in their own little circles. They’re loyal and bound to help each other. They have dignity. They’re tied to anger and masculinity and the confusion of youth. The same goes for being gallant, their loyalty and duty to each other and their bravery shown in a rumble or just facing the day to day struggle with a stone face. Staying cool in the face of it all. That’s tuff. That’s gallant. That’s Greaser honor.

Similar to the concept of southern honor it also depends greatly upon others perception of you than your own, it is putting up a grand tough facade. It is doing everything to protect the image you fought so hard to maintain.

It’s easy to see why Johnny latches onto and recognizes Gallant behavior. They focus more on the tough and cool and strong parts because they do in lives all the time.

Another connection is the loss of innocence, Pony has his life forever altered by the events of the book. Pony can’t go back to who he was when he left the movie house just as Scarlett can’t go back to a Belle who never knew want. The change to his person is not as drastic but it is too a loss of a place in time. When the gang was all together, happy and simple. That too is… Gone with the wind.

—

Thinking about how Pony would stop and explain civil war stuff to Johnny because he didn’t know much about it, which is so sweet not only reading aloud but explaining. But also thinking about if pony got stuck on some big old words and they just went “I dunno” and moved on.

Also unrelated but I went out of my way to find a blue cover copy because I’m a nerd. Don’t have the second copy from the Hospital giftshop though, it was a hardcover and we never get a good look.

Props to them for getting half way in 4-5 ways this book is like 800+ pages, oh my God. I’m still not completely through (have 100 or so pages) and it’s been months 🫡

[askganon]

Thoughts on the punk movement

Talk and bravado are meaningless when action is required.

Much like the bohemian movements that came before promoting love over war, the scene of punkhood was derived from angry youth who would rather make a visual statement and infight over which member embodied the spirit of the movement more than work toward true change.

Coloring the hair and adorning leather and patches does little to overthrow the corrupt elite.

[oncillabrigade]

I feel like I see a lot of fan authors/artists depicting Jason and Tim (and sometimes Steph) as unrelentingly mean to Damian in public, and that doesn't ring true to me. I haven't read the comics since before Damian was introduced (Wayne Family Adventures pulled me back in, and oh man there are fun DC comics these days!) so maybe I'm missing some canon examples of that... but I feel like every single child in that family gets how awful it is to be in the spotlight at a young age. They remember how awkward and exhausting it was to always smile for the camera, always be perfectly behaved, always uphold the ideal of what a Wayne adoptee should be. It didn't matter how you felt; you had to act the part. And they wouldn't make that harder for anyone.

Detailed thoughts below the fold!

Acting like a Perfect Wayne Kid™️ must be easier for Tim than for his siblings, because he was already playing that game as a Drake. But that doesn't mean it wasn't excruciating, especially for someone as introverted and wonderfully weird as Tim. Honestly, I think he'd be a mine of useful information for the later additions to the family!

I can see him at a charity dinner next to Cass, indicating which utensil comes next, murmuring, "I know, it's ridiculous. And there's no real reason, which makes it so hard to remember. But you're doing great." I can see him helping Duke practice the "right" laugh before a party: "Not too loud, not too real, not too many teeth showing. These people are terrified of genuine emotion, but in a shittier way than Bruce is." And I can most certainly see him talking Damian through how to leave a room when there are TOO. MANY. PEOPLE and the walls are closing in, showing him escape routes at different venues, explaining, "you don't want to use the bathroom excuse too many times in a row. People notice and tabloids start saying you have an eating disorder. I'll text you a list of alternate reasons to leave a conversation."

What I cannot see is Tim leaving anyone out to dry in the hell of high society. Even if Dami were driving him NUTS, I don't think Tim would call him a brat, insult him outright, or badmouth him to others. I think the worst thing he'd do is roll his eyes with humorous exaggeration and say, "okay, Damian, you've done your little brotherly duties--go talk to your friends, okay?" He could be SEETHING about a horrific fight 30 minutes before their appearance and play it off as, "haha, well, all brothers bug each other sometimes." And then he'd pivot, flawlessly, to a positive comment about the whole family, Dami included. Tim Drake, world champion of compartmentalization, fiercely loyal and kindhearted, is not giving the press a single bad word about his siblings. He is smiling and saying all the right things.

And then... then, there's Jason.

Jason understands, firsthand, how hard being inducted into the world of Perfect Wayne Behavior™️ is. Can you imagine Jason Peter Todd going through that? It's not just that he was in a new world, where money and food and clothes were a given, not a hard-won prize. It's not just that there were a million new rules to memorize (how to wear a suit, inscrutable dining etiquette, passive aggression instead of speaking your mind when angry, etc.). It's not just that he was suddenly thrust in the limelight at a young age, thrown in at the deep end of child stardom. It's not just that he was inevitably compared to Dick, who's naturally charismatic in a way that made his rambunctiousness forgivable by Gotham's elite. It's not just that he was simultaneously learning to be a Wayne AND a Robin, which was both mentally and physically exhausting.

No, it was all that PLUS who Jason was when he had just been adopted. Picture him: a kid from Crime Alley, recently out of a school for troubled youth, mourning the loss of his mother, and WAY too fucking smart not to see the condescension in the eyes of his new dad's peers. He was treading water constantly in every aspect of life, occasionally managing to float... all while the press and high society watched intently and judged him like he was swimming in the Olympics. Being Robin gave him magic, but god, he must have used so much of it up on just getting through public appearances.

I refuse to believe that someone who went through that would belittle or humiliate anyone doing the same. Especially when it comes to Damian. Damian, who comes from a world where physical prowess is the ultimate trump card, now trapped in a conversation where mentioning that prowess means he loses status. Damian, who knows the worst physical pain you can imagine and takes it as all in a day's work, struggling to contain his disdain for someone complaining about their tennis elbow. Damian, who was exposed to the worst aspects of humanity before he could form permanent memories, staring in disbelief at a kid his age saying the teacher who gave them an hour of detention is SO evil. Damian, who had mastered the rules of the League, discovering that the rules of Gotham high society are SO different that his prior knowledge is actively disadvantaging him.

I cannot imagine Jason seeing Damian as anything other than a fellow kid trapped in the pool with all eyes on him.

So Jason will do what he's always done: stand up for someone in need. Because Damian IS in need, no matter how much of a pain-in-the-ass he might be. That means Jay is telling the press about how smart Damian is, how good he is with animals, how proud the whole family is of his art. It means he's wearing suit pants with deep pockets so Damian's emotional support plushie is on hand at all times. It means he's using his bulk to clear the way to the balcony when the kid needs air and quiet. It means he's verbally eviscerating the posh knob who called Dami a brat, because NO ONE outside the family gets to say that shit about Jason fucking Todd's baby brother.

I don't care how annoyed they are with each other--bat kids hang together in the face of danger. And make no mistake: being a Perfect Wayne™️ is one of the most dangerous missions they face.

[stromuprisahat]

Tolya the Tailor

“You have a Tailor,” I said. Sturmhond winced. “I am not a Tailor,” Tolya said angrily. “No, Tolya, your gifts lie elsewhere,” Sturmhond said soothingly. “Mostly in the celebrated fields of killing and maiming.”

Siege and Storm- Chapter 8

I know this was meant as a funny moment, but it got me thinking.

The Twins are some of the most brainwashed characters we're intorduced. Religious fanatics, worshippers of mercenary life built on violence and physical strength, completely disregarding the less fortunate, less gifted...

Who's to blame is rather obvious:

Tolya and Tamar’s mother had been a Grisha stationed on Ravka’s southern border when she met their father, a Shu Han mercenary. “When she died,” Tamar explained, “she made my father promise not to let us be drafted into the Second Army. We left for Novyi Zem the next day.”

Siege and Storm- Chapter 7

Now, we don't know how old the children were, when that happened. And even if we did, how likely is it that they would be present, and old enough to remember well? The father could tell them anything, and they would be none the wiser.

The way they're presenting "their" opinions makes it obvious they've been taught to "think" certain way, and never even considered doubting their dogmas.

The initial quote shows angry reaction to mere suggestion Tolya's speciality's Tailoring, although at that point the speaker doesn't even suspect it's him doing it. Anyone else strongly reminded of rl examples of boys being taught to value violence highly above useless femininity represented by arts, caring or other "soft" traits?

“When Genya’s abilities began to show themselves, I could have had her choose between becoming a Fabrikator or a Corporalnik. Instead, I cultivated her particular affinity..."

Shadow and Bone- Chapter 7

Applying this information (assuming no continuity errors and/or retcon) to what we know about Tolya's youth so far, how likely would be a boy, raised by an elite fighting instructor, who rejects any form of dependence on others,- to receive support to "cultivate his particular affinity"? Especially in a world, where he's likely to need self-defense?

And how better to ensure the desired outcome than scorn and belittlement? Just switch "Tailoring" for "feminine hobbies that make young boys gay". "Real men" are stoic, good in fighting, they refuse weakness and dependency. The only soft thing allowed comes in a form of heroic poetry, not silk keftas!

Further I read, more does Tolya look like a victim of his father's upbringing, favouring toxic masculinity. And from what I remember about following books, meeting fully-fledged Tailor doesn't help him "see the light". His father's memory is worshipped, his negative impact on both children remains unrecognized.

[ogdeville]

Clone High Theory:

Many of the clones aren't actually who they think they are, and that's why there's clone 'copies' between S1 and S2. Some of the new ones included.

My examples: Topher Bus, The Freida's, Joan of Arc, and Ghengis Kahn.

1) Topher Bus doesn't look much like Christopher Columbus (CC) did at his age, and there's a difference in core personality traits.

At Topher's age CC was actually quite tall for his era at 5'7. With modern medicine, nutrition, etc- he would likely be equally tall as, or taller, than JFK. (but not as tall as Abe)

CC also didn't become a Brunette until later in his life (only to go pure white at 30) with light colored hair in his youth.

What they do have correct is his curly hair, nose, and skin tone. (CC was described as having a 'Ruddy Pallor' and 'burned easily in the sun. Likely he had some kind of Rosacea. They're both cave dwellers.)

The core personality traits that are different between them:

CCs core personality trait was Greed. he was a self serving person who was superficially charming, good in social situations, and had a lust for wealth and extravagance.

They share self serving behavior, elitism, egoism, superiority-inferiority complexes, and nearly all men back then had mommy issues and Topher definitely does.

However Topher completely lacks social skills, any kind of socially acceptable charm, and while he is self serving he isn't as quick to opportunistic risk. He needs more time to weigh things. He COULD have not attempted to save Abe from continually shooting himself in the foot verbally the first time they met. Why? in order to make a new social pariah, or shift focus off of himself. Make a new public enemy #1, be the first to call him out openly and attempt to make himself look good. Instead his first instinct was to try and save Abe from the same fate he suffered. (Suffered being generous; but they are mentally torturing him with asylums and angry possums so I'm giving him a handicap.)

It wasn't until later he felt he could take a risk on Abe. Both in trying to socialize with him, and in blackmailing- sorry, WHITE LEVERAGING- him. He had to be sure it would work rather than sail across the Atlantic.

His choice in aesthetics (Topher being minimalistic and CC being maximalistic) may be part of him actively distancing himself from CC, but there is also that to consider. He seems to enjoy cramped spaces. Topher's core traits are anxiety, and rage which have led to bitterness. Quite frankly, he's a whiner who doesn't actually want to DO anything, just bitch about it unless the effort it takes is truly minimalistic, or if he can remain anonymous.

It's very possible since CCs remains were moved 3 or 4 times, over long distances, since 1509 when they were moved for the first time from Valladolid to the Monasterio de la Cartuja.

2) There are several clone copies but none more dramatic in change and status than Frida. Why would he clone a duplicate that looked so drastically different? Because the first Frida wasn't the right one. This seems fairly simple.

It is possible that the first Frida he cloned was a Frida Kahlo impersonator and being as scattered as he is- he dug up the impersonator by mistake, only to correct it later with the new batch of clones. Just leaving the old Frida frozen like Ghandi and wiping her from their memories.

Frida had to be a copy by time overlap.

(I can picture a scene of Mr. B very unceremoniously saying 'I told you so' while digging up the correct body.)

3) Joan of Arc was burned at stake. There were no actual physical remains to bury or do anything with at all. The heat would have destroyed everything useable even if she hadn't burned to the bone.

There is no way for Joan to be the actual Joan of Arc. Likely there was a chapel that claimed to have a reliquary or lock of hair belonging to Joan of Arc which was counterfeit and likely belonged to a young woman who simply looked like her.

She also WOULD be hearing voices by now that don't come from a retainer. Joan of Arc was very obviously schizophrenic (assuming she believed she was hearing the voice of God and not just claiming it) Joan is currently at/past the age it would have begun to manifest. So far the only emotional or instability she's shown was in response to aggression, and sleep rejection. Why she didn't want to sleep is a mystery still. She seems to have a lot of mind-body problems like Silly Legs, but not hallucinations or voices. So she may have mental issues, but I don't think they are the same. If she started hearing voices for real shed reject all medication so there's no way she's managing it herself. Likely her clonemother had mental problems which led to further belief that whoever they got the DNA from was Joan. Additionally, quite a few people claimed to be Joan of Arc shortly after her death.

[side note: I don't believe they genetically altered the clones in any purposeful way. Abraham Lincolns signature height, lankiness, large nose, and hands/feet were the result of Marfan Syndrome. Since his appearance is unchanged, it stands that he also has Marfan Syndrome. This means JFK has Addison's Disease as well. So I don't think they 'snipped' that part out if it was present.]

4) Ghengis Kahn wasn't a mouth breathing idiot, he was a savvy military leader able to defeat armies far larger than his own. He would have fucking DOMINATED that maze. Not mention just be... Y'know... Smarter in general. Like I feel as if this doesn't need to be said??? That's not him. No way.

Ghengis Kahn asked to be buried without any sign or markings, though it's generally believed to be somewhere near the sacred Burkahn Khaldun in the Khentii Mountains of Mongolia: which are heavily regulated with even the Soviet Union leaving it undisturbed due to the symbolic importance of the site to the natives of Mongolia.

It is more than likely he cloned a falsified artifact, or had to scramble so hard to avoid the authorities that shoot on sight, he took the first large male body he found.

Summary: considering Scudworths self admitted incompetence when it comes to keeping track of DNA samples. He ended up cloning himself over and over again on accident while trying to clone Wesley bc he couldn't even keep the hairs straight.

I have no doubt in my mind that at least half the Clones in Clone High aren't the right person/ not who they think they are. There might even be some mislabelings or mix ups with switched identities. Mr.B wasn't part of the process until after he made his first batch of clones as we saw him holding Joan's test tube, so he wasn't there to keep Scudworth even somewhat organized.

What are your thoughts?

[hierarchyproblem]

Big dumb album of the year post, here we fucking go:

Punk

A lot of the punk releases that crossed my radar this year were really hardcore-y hardcore or weak-ass "indie punk" shit, and that doesn't do a lot for me. And like, who cares if Rancid are still making music? Does Tim Armstrong even need any more money at this point?

This year I liked All Together Now from Cop/Out and All Riot from Angry Youth Elite. GEL's Only Constant sadly wasn't a patch on 2021's Violent Closure (though I did get to see them live and they put on a hell of a show), and I look forward to seeing Killing Daisies develop their sound following a pretty strong debut with Break the Silence. The HIRS Collective are at their best at their grindiest IMO, but I still liked lots of We're Still Here. Slutbomb's EP Commodified Identity is exactly what I want punk to sound like, but this year's winner is Dog Park Dissidents with their debut The Pink and Black Album.

I've talked before about my frustration with the state of queer punk at the minute, which largely seems to consist of didactic lyricism, indie-pop influences, and the basics of liberal feminism presented as radical politics. Not so with Dog Park Dissidents: their lyrics are frequently funny and occasionally surprisingly emotive, their political content is incisive, and while we're not talking face-melting blast-beats here, the songs are genuinely entertaining. Half of the songs on this album have more to say than the entire discographies of some punk bands, and are pretty catchy too.

Favourite tracks: Rainbow Drones, Host, Class Struggle

Grindcore

I haven't listened to much new grind this year; I don't know what releases have even happened. There must be some good stuff that passed me by - let me know what I missed!

The Full of Hell collaborations weren't really my thing, but Haggus' EP What's Your Excuse was great as ever. Sometimes trawling bandcamp you can strike gold such as Coming Apart from Tolerances Of The Human Face In Crash Impacts or Human Decay from Rancid Stench. There was only ever gonna be one winner this year, however, and it's Gridlink's Coronet Juniper.

What can I even say about this? Gridlink have done it again. Somehow, even after guitarist Takafumi Matsubara's stroke in 2014, they've managed another album that's almost as perfect as Longhena. Their "technical grindcore" sound is unique and electrifying; Gridlink are untouchable. Nobody sounds like them. I'm blown away.

Favourite tracks: Silk Ash Cascade, Anhalter Bahnhof, Octave Serpent

Black Metal

It's been a fucking good year for black metal.

Between Panopticon's The Rime of Memory, Underdark's Managed Decline, Blackbraid's Blackbraid II, and Trespasser's Αποκάλυψισ, there's been plenty of excellent releases to keep me busy (can you tell I got into this through RABM?). I thought the production felt a little thin on the final Dawn Ray'd album, To Know the Light - the lack of a bassist hurt here, more than on any prior release - but I had the good fortune to be at the album release show, and it was the best gig of my entire fucking life, so this album holds a special place for me. Sad to see these guys go.

Fadheit's EP Afterglow deserves a special shout-out for carrying the torch of Lifelover's brand of depressive black metal, a sound I'll never get enough of. Probably everyone's black metal album of the year is going to be Saturnian Bloodstorm by Lamp of Murmuur, and that's well-deserved. This is possibly the best Lamp release yet, and I'm very into the freezing Immortal-esque guitar tone on this one. I'll be going back to Saturnian Bloodstorm for a long time, but the album I've actually enjoyed the most this year is Immortal themselves, with War Against All.

It's a rare enough thing for a band to keep releasing quality music for thirty years - even Darkthrone have had their misses - but Immortal are still going strong. You could be forgiven for phoning it in at this point, but I don't get that impression: as much as black metal can be "fun," I feel like Demonaz is still having fun, and I had a lot of fun with this album too. If you like black metal, there's plenty to like here.

Favourite tracks: No Sun, Return to Cold, Wargod

Ska

Ska is going from strength to strength right now; the past few years have been some of the genre's best in a long long time. This year I was delighted to see Mustard Plug releasing music again with the excellent Where Did All My Friends Go? and I enjoyed a lot of Poindexter's upbeat ska-pop debut album Treats. I scratched my ska-punk itch with Public Serpent's caustic The Bully Puppet and HEY-SMITH's frantic Rest in Punk. Popes of Chillitown's latest Take a Picture has something for everyone, drawing from about a hundred genre influences.

Still, my favourite ska album of this year is Plastic Presidents' debut Good Times Can't Last.

Please, please, do yourself a favour and listen to that opening track. This is one hell of an attention-grabbing debut, without a single skip on the tracklist, covering dancey 2-tone-era ska-punk through to aggressive skacore. If this was the only album they ever released, they'd have earned a spot in my pantheon: I'll be following eagerly to see what they do next.

Favourite tracks: Chains, West Omaha is a Terrible Place and I'm Definitely Afraid to Die, Break Free

Other

This "category" is one hell of a grab bag, but I don't know where else to put Tomb Mold, one of the only death metal bands I unreservedly love. Their most recent release The Enduring Spirit is sure to end up on a lot of album of the year lists.

The Nearly Deads' We Are the Nearly Deads is pretty much what I want rock to be (that is, completely without trace of any fucking metalcore influences!). I have a soft spot for symphonic metal, and Chapter III - Downfall from Ad Infinitum hit that spot this year. Finally, while I preferred Brave Murder Day-era Katatonia, I still like the goth rock thing they've been doing basically ever since then, and Sky Void of Stars is one of their better albums in that vein.

My left-field pick for Album of the Year, however, is Shit Present's What Still Gets Me.

I usually can't stand the kind of thing that's just punk-adjacent enough for the algorithms to insist on trying to force it into my ears. I didn't expect to like this, either - but it's really, really good. Like, I should hate anything you can describe as "emo-pop," but I don't, here. I love it. The songs are so well-crafted, the vocals so perfectly-delivered; there's an energy and emotion to this album that's had me listening to it on repeat since May.

Check it out: it's the best album of 2023.

Favourite tracks: Voice in Your Head, More to Lose, Cram the Page

[the-silver-peahen-residence]

||The mokkori's punishment and lesson 4: dragon and Jackal team up/Final||

*Waving* Hi. Just writing the last chapter of the lesson drabble for my friend but it seems we are continuing with this one now being the last chapter. So, lets see what this story takes place for our friends hmm?

IF you wanna read the three lessons they are under here:

Lesson one

Lesson two

Lesson three

((Your reading lesson 4/final chapter))

||Drabble Summary||

Mineta has gone and messed up when both Davion and Jaron finds out he has stolen the panties again from the girls to even sneaking a kiss to Melinda! Now, a Jackal and dragon are in rage. What will happen to Mineta now? Read to find out.

||Warning||

~Beatdown will happen later or in between

~Chase scene will happen with both Davion and Jaron working together in drabble

~scary girl moments will happen and boy scary moments too.

((~Guests in Drabble~))

The DBT along with some other fractions like The Lupins, The Demon Elite Anthem, The Upstander Campagin, and the Knights of Darkness belong to my friend @demon-blood-youths

While The cursed vixens, Shallow Butterflies, The season demon warriors, The Elemental Phoenix feathers, and The Dark Eclipse nightshades of both boys and girls belong to me. A few of the A-1 class members are guests but I do rp as a few of them.

((Note: This drabble will have heavy grammar mistakes and errors but this was written for fun. I hope you understand but also enjoy please.))

"Well, this is a nice hall. My collection is getting bigger and bigger!" Mineta was happily hiding again near some area of New York City after losing Melinda. He was smiling at the cute girl panties he stole from her and blushing from the stolen ones he has gotten again! He just won't listen and it just gets worse and worse for him.

"Though, I know the others back in the small hotel will be wondering where I am even if we are over seas. This is the best!" he sighed thinking of all the girls in the fractions so far. He already had plans on trying to steal more and more again.

"I better hurry up and get out of here before I get caught." he snickered but he rushes off while not knowing he was going to be hunted in a moment.

~~~~~~Meanwhile~~~~~~~

"Wait, again!?" Shdwkyz said seeing a very disturbing angry Vivi who was glowing a dark violent purple mixed with black. It seems her panties were stolen again! Even seeing some of the guys trying to calm the girl members down.

"Yes Shdwkyz..again. I'm really really getting sick of this little rat..stealing my clothing.." she said in a cold tone that he sweatdrops seeing her quirk reacting rather dangerous. Oh boy.

"Breezy please calm down! We'll find him don't worry!" Rust said even if Breezy was freezing the air around her showing sharp needles. Yeah the hurricane was pissed!

"But this is getting out of hand! He's stolen our clothes AGAIN! I thought the last beating we gave him told him not to do it anymore!" Haliee cried while seeing seeing Damien trying to calm her down.

"Well, he's pushing his luck because he's stolen a lot more! We need to find that little fucker and make the beating worse!" Kali said in rage now but Rex was calming her down even if he saw his sister Ashley crying and Joshua helping her calm down.

"I say we just beat him worse the next time!" Vanessa said even looking more furious than ever.

"Well, we already have some idea on what to do but we need to spread out to find him. He could be anywhere!" Fin said with arms crossed with the others thinking about it. Even Ahmed sigh to think of this. True, they need a plan but that's when he noticed.

"Speaking of which, where is Jaron?" he asked but the DBT boys tense to think. The last time they saw him he went 'out' for a bit but they had a idea of what and where he went.

"...Lets just say he's.......'out' right now. But I'm sure he will be back soon." Navarro said even if the others were unsure. They sounded worried and nervous. Ink blinks when hearing this but that also includes her cousin. He wasn't seen after hearing a familiar angry shout one time. So where could they be right now?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mineta was relaxing like nothing was wrong, eating some hot dogs while smiling. He had the stolen panties and bras in the bag so no one knows what was in them. It was like the best day for him even thinking about going to Philly to see the fractions there. Or remembering some of the girls from the Seeker tribe fraction and the elemental phoenix feather fraction. He still even had a pair each from the girls there!

"Well, seems I can move on. I wonder where I should go next?" He snickered finishing up his food and gets off the chair while happily picking up the sack. He was about to head out before hearing some growling. "Huh?"

He sees three growling familiars smelling and trying to pick up some scent. It seems Mineta wonders what they were while holding the bag of stolen girls underwear. "You know...I wonder who they belong to??" he mutters but he turns to start walking off then saw Christine look up. It seems she saw him and smelled the air before growling.

Mineta blinks looking back now seeing the three growling at him. "....Uh oh.." That's when Christine, Sid, and Layla started chasing him! With a yelp, he begins running away from the three that was now chasing him.

~~~~~Back with the others~~~~~~~~~

The guys were finally able to calm the girls down with some sweets which helped but Fosh was seeing Mouse trying to find Mineta with him helping before Fosh was upset inside seeing that Mineta stolen from her again!

"Damn it. Where did he even go. I can't see him on the cameras and he's not even showing up in the regular areas." He said.

"But he's got to be somewhere Fosh. He can't have gotten far." Maggie grumbled with T-bone rubbing her back. Even Ping and Taz were upset with Gerald rubbing Ping's back and Timmy rubbing Taz's back worried. Both were upset too but didn't show it.

"I am looking everywhere from camera to camera. I even asked the other hackers to help us out but nothing yet." he said but keeps looking.

"Well, that little fucker better hope no one finds him but if I did I would have blown his ass sky high! Hell, even the six claws are looking for him!" Echo said in rage that her green eyes were red as Navarro was trying to calm her down and being sure Ink was good. She was thanks to Jinx but he knew they were pissed too.

However, as he was looking he got a call to look at his phone. A Jackal icon was seen telling him it had to be Jaron. He picks it up and speaks. "Hello? Jaron?"

"Fosh....did you find Mineta?" Fosh looked nervous hearing the new tone from the Jackal's voice. Even the others were shocked hearing his tone. He didn't sound like the happy cheerful cook they always knew. Oh no no no, he sounded really cold, and a bit darker than normal. What the heck happened? This even shocked the DBT a bit. Yeah, the Jackal was pissed.

"I...N..No. I'm still trying to find him with Mouse helping me. He's not being seen on the cameras and we been looking for a while." he said but got nothing from Jaron didn't speak to sigh.

"That little thief has to be somewhere..he couldn't have gone far..right?"

"U...Uhh..n..no. But I'll keep looking for him with Mouse helping me. He can't have gotten far Jaron." he said but Jaron was driving looking around but he was already looking about.

"Hmm...well, I'll keep looking..he's bound to be somewhere." he said.

"Yeah, but we will keep-"

"Hold on..." Fosh blinks to look at Mouse as she was checking a camera.

"What's wrong mouse? Did you find something?" he asked.

"Yeah...I'm picking up something near the North! I...wait, isn't that Jaron's three familiar jackals?" she asked showing the screen seeing the three chasing someone holding a bag stuffed with something.

"Wait.....that's Mineta! He's near Davion's location!" he said but Jaron heard that.

"So the thief is there....thanks Mouse and Fosh..." he said before hanging out but everyone was silent to slowly look at one another.

"I..I never heard Jaron sound so cold before..that's new." Hex said looking nervous.

"Y..Yeah..he sounded really an..angry.." Ashley said worried.

"Well, he has a right to be. Mineta stole Melinda's panties like the other girls AND he kissed her cheek! If that's not one way to piss him off then Mineta should be begging for mercy if Jaron finds him." Rust said but Shdwkyz thinks.

"Though remember Davion knows about this so you know he's keeping a eye out for him. You don't think he's just got Jaron on him. He's also got Davion on his ass too." the snake said but they knew it was true. Oh boy.

~~~~Near Davion's section~~~~~

Mineta was running tired but scared from the three familiars trying to lose them. They were quick but he had to get away before they catch him. He looks left and right trying to find a way out before making a right turn in a alley way to keep quiet. The three jackals went by barking trying to find him but the other lets out a breath to see they went off to keep looking.

"Seems I might be hunted again. I better move before I'm found." he said quickly leaving to try finding another area to hide but as he did, a wave of flames hits in front of him to make Mineta jump back startled. "!?!" He backs up from the hot red flames but walks into someone.

"....."

"So your the little fucking thief that stolen from my cousin?"

Mineta's face went pale slowly tilting his head back to look up. He saw a very tall but very angry male above him. His eyes were amber red with flames showing in his hands. Even his dragon wings were seen. Davion the dragon bounty hunter has found him. This made Mineta pale even worse shaking in tears.

"Uhhhhh...t..thief? What thief? I don't know what your talking about man! Hahahahaha.." He said scared backing up but Davion growls making the other yelp.

"Don't lie to me! I know you stole from my cousin and her friends! You little sick fuck have their underwear and bras in that bag don't you?" he said.

"I..I don't! I DON'T!" he said but held the bag tight like his life depended on it. "Besides, I don't know anything about the girls in New York. Or your sexy cousin or anything-" he laughed but stops when hearding a very angry dragon that was changing to his dragon humanoid form.

".......oops....."

"You fucking little..."

"Uhhhh I'm going to go now sooooo......." backing up, he quickly runs away to get from Davion.

"HEY! GET BACK HERE YOU LITTLE SHIT!" he roars taking flight while Mineta was screaming.

"LEAVE ME ALONE! YOU'LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE!" he screams running off from the rage fueled dragon. Davion roars out but was chasing him in the air now trying to catch him.

"WHEN I GET MY FUCKING HANDS ON YOU, I'M GOING TO WRING THAT LITTLE NECK OF YOURS FOR MESSING WITH MY COUSIN AND HER FRIENDS!" he roars hearing Mineta screaming in fear as he ran.

However, down the road, Jaron was checking something trying to figure where the thief was but that's when he saw his three familiars Christine, Sid, and Layla show up. "Did you three find anything?" He asked seeing the three give light nods pointing to the north. Looking that way, Jaron glares to see the familiars lead him as he slams on the gas speeding off to follow them. He was not going to let this slide when it came to his friends but the same goes for anyone messing with his girlfriend.

Mineta was running afraid of a dragon trying to burn him to ashes as he runs with the bag of stolen underwear and bras. He didn't want to die by the scary dragon. He did throw a few of his purple balls at him but the did stick to him. Even using them to jump away quickly.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!!" he screams.

"GET BACK HERE!" Davion shouted trying to knock him down but Mineta looks ahead seeing a street but he quickly bounces to the right seeing Davion make a sharp turn to the same direction.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck!" Mineta was still running for his life trying to get away from the dragon. But as he did, he heard something speeding to see a car coming up. He blinks to look but noticed it.

Wait, wasn't that Melinda's boyfriend? When getting a look, he can see that the Jackal's expression was..not friendly. He looked ready to do something that scared the grape hero.

"uh oh.." He quickly jumps over a fence and runs through a alley way as Davion sees him disappearing. He growls to look but saw Jaron screech to a stop.

"Jaron!"

"Shit.....he got away." He said not happy but Davion sighed. "Don't worry, I know a short cut. He can't get far. I'll take the north side but you take the other side. We will catch him." he said seeing Jaron nod but gets back in the car to quickly drive off and Davion taking the skies again. One of them will find him for sure.

~~~~~~With Mineta~~~~~~

He keeps on running but finally gets back to a hiding spot. Seems he was able to get to where he's been able to get a breather from the two hunting him down. He was tired from running but at least he got his so called treasure.

"Too close...they were too close. I think I'll have to keep a eye out from now on. Though, at least they didn't catch me." he smiled now looking through the bag of cute panties. He was nuzzling his cheeks against a few of them with a smile but even already looking happy. His true treasure. He knew nothing would stop him! Nothing would make him give up the ways.

"Though, this is too good haul." he laughed still looking at the pairs of bras too. Nothing could ruin this for MIneta. However, as he was looking through and giggling that's when he heard three growling to make him stop. He blinks to look up seeing three familiars again.

"Oh no.." Wait, did they find him!? He quickly gets up to put the stole panties and bras back in the bag to get away from his hiding spot but as he gets out of the hiding spot, he sees it go up in flames thanks to a Dragon from above who finally found him! He looks scared running off but that's when a car screeches to a stop in front of him to make Mineta stop and fall on the ground wincing.

He sees Davion land but he made sure he didn't get away but he looks seeing the car door open showing a rather silent Jaron Jackal. He shuts the door but looks to walk over while standing in front of the thief.

"Ummmmm...It's not what it looks like?" Mineta laughed only for Christine, Sid, and Layla to growl at him even louder with the baby pup joining who growls and yips at him mad too.

"No? Well it seems like it does you little punk!" Davion said cracking his knuckles scaring the hero before he got scared.

"You know.." he heard Jaron speak but he didn't show the upper part of his face due to the hat. "I'm really never the type of guy to be violent even when it comes to working on a way to make peace with anyone but you know that don't you?" Jaron asked but Mineta blinks getting a bad feeling.

"I..I do..."

"Well...you also know I'm not the one for violence towards anyone......however.." that's when he lifts the hat up that Mineta really paled seeing him. Jaron's eyes were cold and deadly but he was showing that same disturbing smile on his face.

"You..Oh my friend you on the other hand deserve a far worse violent punishment than what you gotten so far. No one.....gets away with being a creep to my friends and team members.." However his expression darkens that the upper part of his face was shadowed.

"And No fucking asshole gets away with stealing my girlfriend's panties or fucking touching/kissing her. So..maybe you need a more...'learning lesson' so you won't do this again...right Davion?" he said with that thrill seeking grin but Mineta was shaking in tears knowing Davion was glaring with a evil smirk.

"True. Lets show him......" he said as the two looks to him that Mineta was crying.

"W..wait, wait we can talk about this! I'll be good! I won't do it again!! Please don't kill me!" he begs.

"Oh? Well, everyone has given you a chance Mineta..and you blew it so..maybe you need a more harder lesson.......but don't worry...it will hurt for a while.." Jaron said as Mineta tries to get away from the two but he got grabbed by them.

"W..wait No no NO! NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" His scream was echoing through the area to signal he got caught by both Jaron and Davion while he received the worse beating of his life. Even worse than the ones he's gotten so far.

Seems the thief was caught.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hours later, everyone was meeting up with each other. Even with the Six claws, the fractions wondering what happened. It seems both Davion and Jaron found him but Jaron gave him the punishment. However during that time, Melinda came back from her look around while she was tired after getting a call from Mouse to come back.

"Mouse, I just got your message. Did you guys have any luck finding him?" she asked but she looks up. Mouse saw but sighed.

"Well no but it seems Davion and Jaron found him." she said.

"Oh? Did they? But where.." she asked for Mouse to point. In the kitchen, everyone was speechless seeing Mineta shaking in fear while cleaning up and behaving for once. He was being watched by Jaron who was showing a smile.

"See? It was not too bad was it?" he said having a hand on his shoulder even if he was gripping it, scaring Mineta even more.

"N..N..N..No s..s...sir. Nope. It was fine. All fine!" he said crying even if he also looked like a mess. Mineta got some burns on him from Davion, a few bruises, a swollen eye, blood was seen but cleaned up and he looked just like a mess.

After catching him, Jaron made Mineta give the girls their stolen clothes again well after washing them well so it was like he never took them but he gave them back so the girls can fold them and put them away in carrying bags to take home.

He then was forced to give a full written down sorry to every girl he's stolen from. Even to the ones on a video chat with the fraction girl members in philly, the ones from the jujutsu group, and the ones from New Jersey. Jaron then had asked Davion help with getting another beat down by the boys this time while making him say sorry once more to insure he wouldn't do this again.

Yeah, he made sure Mineta learned his lesson alright. Even the boys in the fractions was shocked not expecting this from Jaron. And he's usually the peace keeper! Though, they seem even he had a breaking point.

".....Ummm..did I miss something?" Melinda asked with a sweatdrop.

"Yeah..you missed a bit but we'll explain later." Mouse said but the guys were nervous to speak seeing Mineta cleaning up like a good boy. She goes to see then noticed.

"Ummm Jaron?" He heard Melinda's voice to look at her but his gentle happy self relaxed seeing his girlfriend.

"Hey Melinda, I'm happy to see you came back. I was wondering where you been to." he said going to happily hug her tight even if she blinks to hug him back.

"Yeah I was..looking for that little thief but it seems you and Davion found him." she said.

"We did but..Melinda, I believe Mineta has something to say to you...don't you Mineta?" Jaron said in a scary yet happy tone making Mineta more scared.

"I..I do.." he said shaking but he looks to Melinda but was bowing his head.

"I..I'm sorry Miss Brooks. I didn't mean t..to steal your panties, bras and uhh...k..kiss you on the cheek. T..that was wrong of me s..so I cleaned them for you a..and...uhhh...been doing some things to help Jaron around! B..but I hope you like the tea and things I made." he said but Melinda blinks.

Wait, he did what now? She looked more shocked seeing he even had her stolen panties and bras clean like he said but they were resting in Jinx's arms to insure he didn't try anything.

"I...Ummm thank you I think.." she mutters even with Mineta going back to cleaning up. She looks to him but then at Jaron who was happy.

"....I get the feeling you really scarred him for life Jaron.." she said.

"Well, you know I'm not the one for violence Melinda but when it comes to you I have to make a little acception. No one won't harm or do anything to you again." he said happily hugging her but she blinks to blush a little even from that. He even pulls back to gently kiss her cheek while she blushed worse.

Before asking, she then saw Christine, Sid, and Layla appear happily licking her face as they tackle her down. Even the baby pup was yipping and resting on her head.

"H..Hey guys wait that tickles!" she said trying to calm them down but Jaron was happy. See all was well again!

"....Note to self, never piss Jaron off. That was fucking scary.." Rust mutters to the DBT males who agreed on that.

"Agreed.." Fin mutters back.

"T..true.." Joshua said.

"...." Rex nods but agreed.

Yeah, they were scared from seeing Jaron that angry but that's what Mineta gets for stealing and kissing Jaron's girlfriend.

"Yeah...he's scary when pissed off. Even more than me." Bakugo admits that even the six claws were shocked hearing that from him! Though, they didn't question it. But it goes to show, never mess with someone's girlfriend but thanks to the Jackal and Dragon, the days of the mokkori thief has come to a close. So all was well.

[world-of-stones-and-colors]

Hey Larry, what do you think about your position as both a gym leader and a member of the elite four? Like what are your thoughts and feelings about having to fill both of those positions?

Larry was silent for several, long minutes, the only indication on his otherwise expressionless face to show that he'd even acknowledged the question being the slight knit of his brow. What was he supposed to say? That both positions were solely because he was involved with Area Zero? That he only knew about what was going on because he'd read documents he wasn't supposed to after realizing something shifty was going on at the league offices? It had been just a simple office job in the beginning; boring, predictable, and then he'd got curious, and rightly so, by the Hell he was now involved in. Geeta hadn't been happy, of course, when he'd confronted her about what was going on down there, that old rebellious streak from his youth still guiding him when it came to other, innocent people's safety.

What kind of League put their people in danger like this? Ai, time travel, Pokemon that shouldn't be here; he was angry, still is angry, but Geeta had offered him a compromise in exchange for not spilling what he'd found out: He could help stop it. Work for her, not in the offices, but directly under her as both an Elite Four and Gym Leader, and he could personally keep innocent people out of danger.

Of course, he'd accepted without hesitation.

He knew what she as doing, piling all this on him as some sort of revenge or punishment for snooping around, but he didn't care. Battling was fun, it being a nice break from pushing papers all day and night, a break that he hadn't let himself had since...

It didn't matter, it was his job to keep people safe, to be boring normal old Larry so that no one would expect that his placement in Medali was purposeful. He liked the town, he really did, but it hadn't been his choice to live there. It had been his choice to stay, however. He wasn't bound here, Geeta had made that clear. He hadn't done anything to land him in any big trouble, reading a few 'misplaced' documents to 'try and figure out who they belonged to' hardly justified any serious consequences, so long as he kept his mouth shut, he wouldn't be brought into any legal troubles about 'defamation of the Pokemon League' with accusations he couldn't prove. Staying, becoming a part of this conspiracy, it allowed him to put himself between people and the danger hidden just around the corner. If more people knew, they would go down there. For now, things were under control, there was no need to bring in any stronger people high up the ladder to subdue what the professor had done. So long as he did his job perfectly, kept all of that shit in that hole, they could hopefully find a way to fix this as time went on.

But he doesn't say any of that, it staying firmly locked behind his teeth as it should be. No, instead he just gives a shrug, like you'd just asked him his opinion about the weather. "I think it beats sitting in a cubicle all day. That's reserved for Friday's."

[gothicknightz]

prey upon the youth — jerome valeska

notes: will become a series, the reader is female, punchline reference if you squint

warnings: mentions of cheating

Like a virus spreading throughout the body, Gotham was destined to destroy and fail its youth. There was no hope for the children and teens whose tired feet and defeated demeanor ran amok in the alleyways. They were weapons of mass destruction to anyone who encountered them, always looking for a higher level of class in the streets.

Most children of filthy youth turned to drugs or crime to keep them occupied or stable, with a percentage of them being orphaned or lost in one way or another. 

The driving force in their reasonings and actions was crazy enough to make someone go mad.

Especially the ones in Arkham Asylum. They could be the real threats to the metropolis.

As she slammed the baseball bat repeatedly into the car’s hood, an angry glare juxtaposed the wide grin on her face; she was having fun. 

Given the current state of affairs, she had caught her boyfriend partying, surrounded by dozens of pretty Gotham elite girls, despite telling her that he was ‘sick.’ 

But that wasn’t even the worse part.

He took one of the girls back to their once-shared apartment, the said girl being her best friend.

“Alexis?” She had asked after coming across her in the hallway.

“Look, (y/n), it’s not what it looks like.” Alexis had tried to defend herself, putting her hands up.

“It’s definitely what it looks like. You slept with my boyfriend.”

“It wasn’t on purpose, I swear!”

“Get out.”

“(y/n), I’m telling you- I didn’t mean to!”

“Get out!”

The memories and intrusive thoughts replayed in her mind, further progressing the strength of her rage-fueled destruction. 

“I hope daddy’s money can pay for that, you son of a-”

She stopped in her tracks as she heard a police siren pierce her ears, giving her no time to react as the car rolled right in front of her.

“And what exactly are you doing, young lady?”

“None of your business, officer.” The girl scoffed as she brushed the man off and went back to smashing the car, raising the bat before the officer spoke once more.

“Try this one.” He said before tossing her a metal bat.

A confused look on her face spread instantly as usually, she’d be in cuffs by now.

Removing the hat, a grin was plastered on the man’s face.

“The name’s Jerome.”

[anhxdonia]

MAHARTH PRASAD CHANDRASEKHAR. “ i must know. ”

[ SENDHIL RAMAMURTHY, 50, CIS MAN, HE/HIM ] Welcome to Antioch, MAHARTH PRASAD CHANDRASEKHAR ! Local sources report that you’ve been in town for 2 WEEKS and are known to be CHARMING yet EVASIVE. Others have dredged up rumors that you’re involved in THE VAMPIRE OF ANTIOCH as a SUSPECT, but most know you for your work as the new PROFESSOR OF COMPARATIVE RELIGIONS at ANTIOCH UNIVERSITY.

Character Name. Danish Maharth Prasad Chandrasekhar / ದಾನೀಶ ಮಹಾರ್ಥ ಪ್ರಸಾದ ಚಂದ್ರಶೇಖರ್ Nickname(s). Danu, Som, Maha Face Claim. Sendhil Ramamurthy   Birthday.  October 27, 1974 Place of birth. Mysuru, Karnataka State, India Sexuality. Fluid Zodiac. Scorpio (Western), Tula/Libra (Vedic), Mīna (Rasi), Purva-Bhadrapada (Nakshatra) MBTI.  ESTP-A Moral Alignment. True Neutral Occupation. Professor of Comparative Religions, Adjunct Lecturer on Social Anthropology and Folklore Place of work. Antioch University Subplot affiliation. The Vampire of Antioch  3 positive traits. Affable, Passionate, Social 3 negative traits. Inquisitive, Distractable, Mercurial  Languages. Kannada, Tamil, Hindi, and English in his everyday life. Latin, Aramaic, Hebrew, Arabic, and Koine Greek for academic studies. Love language. Expressing — gift-giving, words of affirmation; Receiving — physical touch, words of affirmation

BIOGRAPHY.

! TW: death, religious intolerance, political assassination, references to violence, discrimination.

The fifth child and youngest son of a prominent Mysuru politician and cabinet member, he was born Danish Prasad Chandrasekhar—a proud expression of his Kannadiga and Tamil heritage and his family's Muslim upbringing. Days were filled with the scent of old, well-loved books and fine tea, a quiet peace shared by the big family. The Chandrasekhars were well-off, surrounded by art and culture. They had everything, no, more than everything they needed and never looked outward. Therefore, they were, in essence, cut off from the world around them. Foolishly, Danish believed their way of living would be eternal.

Therefore, the Chandrasekhars never noticed the warning signs. Figuratively spritzed perfume over the smoke that came in the form of angry letters stuffed in mailboxes. And on a hot night in April, when Danish was away at a youth camp, his family and home were all lost to a raging fire set by a fringe group of dissidents following a contested election. Days after the tragedy, the six-year-old was taken in by an aunt on his mother's side. She was a Classics professor at Bangalore University and a practicing Hindu, and she legally changed his name to Maharth in her misguided idea of 'protection.'

Confused about the warring wills of his beloved nation and nursing a trauma he could not understand as a child, Maharth grew up in a religious household but socially became secular as he delved into learning about the various belief systems around him. He'd been gifted as a child, not only in learning languages but also in the connections of his birth, and his acceptance into the University of Oxford was all but guaranteed.

Maharth was a definite scholar, embracing academia with a matchless love that his peers, many talented beyond their years but still impetuous with youth, couldn't understand. Stranger still was Maharth's proclivities. Upon achieving his Master's in Comparative Theology at Oxford and bearing the unofficial title of an academic darling of the presses bearing the acclaimed name of his education, the newly minted professor chose fellowships in schools far from the eyes of the elite. Maybe he'd give a lecture at York or a semester at Harvard, but Maharth was more than content with setting up an office in the backwoods of America one day and the steppes of Siberia the next.

As years passed, Professor Chandrasekhar's disappearances and reappearances became part of his mystery, an appealing asterisk on the famous educator's magnetic persona. So no eyebrows were raised, and questions caught at the helm of one's throat when the eccentric intelligentsia took up a residency at Antioch University in southern Oregon. A man as odd as Maharth would be a perfect fit with a place as infamously strange as Antioch, they thought, oblivious to how correct they'd be in their assumptions.

& THE VAMPIRE OF ANTIOCH.

The victims of the case have been past and present students of Maharth's classes. This information is not public knowledge.

MISC. HEADCANONS.

enjoys fine teas and has shipped in his personal cupboard filled with porcelain teacups and mugs, has a sweet tooth but only indulges on thursdays, is a vegetarian and a half-decent cook but opts for leftovers, currently resides in a short-term rental villa at verdant hills thanks to a generous friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend-slash-benefactor, annotates all of his books with pen (and thus can never donate them to a library or give them away), and checks his astrology readings weekly.

WANTED CONNECTION. ( ASSAM. ) ANTAGONISTIC/ROMANTIC.

VIBES: Hannibal-lite, cat-and-mouse games, visitations without a warrant, pet names uttered between sips of tea.

[ Though Maharth is the supposed newcomer in town, he has a surprising wealth of knowledge about Antioch, specifically the case of the Vampire of Antioch. Though on the surface, there doesn't seem to be a connection between the professor and the case victims, upon closer inspection, there's something that doesn't add up... your muse decides to investigate — blatantly? covertly? — and Maharth is very willing to cooperate. After all, the pursuit of knowledge is key to one's self-discovery and enlightenment. ]

MID 40s+, catered to anyone interested in the vampire of antioch case. the romance angle is up to chemistry, but the underlying antagonism is the bedrock of this dynamic! — (2/2)

KANG KAI SOO; @kcngkai

ELINAM IKHLAS MANSARAY; @c1andest1ne

WANTED CONNECTION. ( DARJEELING. ) PLATONIC/MENTORSHIP.

VIBES: The Secret History, dark academia, midnight readings of sacred texts on the university lawns.

[ The new professor in town is making waves at Antioch University, with his classes reaching max capacity already in the first week of enrollment. His lectures are a hit with the youth, and some are even vying to be selected for the Professor's exclusive after-hour labs for hands-on, experiential learning. However, it is Maharth who ultimately decides, and whoever he accepts must meet some pre-requisites. ]

21+, students or auditors at Antioch University. — (0/4)

WANTED CONNECTION. ( KAHWAH. ) ANTAGONISTIC.

VIBES: The Departed (2006), sicko-to-sicko communication, laying dead flowers on the grave of your worstie, a chaste kiss on the side of a gun's barrel.

[ Whether it's a historical event or a chance encounter, both your muse and Maharth are aware of each other's secrets, which could shake up the town's status quo if revealed. However, the two are at a standstill since they are both firmly established in their roles, and their social circles only partially overlap. So even if they like to subtly hint at a revelation to the journalist or make a veiled threat, they know they won't get away with it without the other exacting swift vengeance. ]

35+, for anyone into wacky-zany toxicity of mutually assured destruction. — (0/1)

WANTED CONNECTION. ( NOON. ) FLIRTATIONSHIP.

VIBES: All of Us Strangers (2023), memories of the one who got away, finding fractions of the one in other people, tip-toeing dotted boundary lines.

[ It's said that "hurt people hurt hurt people," but can hurt people heal hurt people? Your muse and Maharth hit it off, and neither of them says why, though they know it reminds them of what love could've been. Part maladaptive coping mechanism and part feeling understood and seen for the first time, your muse and Maharth casually date and flirt, seeking escape and comfort with no strings attached. Although ignorance is bliss, and both are willfully ignorant, the town around them refuses to let them bury their heads in the sand. ]

MID 40s+, a doomed relationship considering what happens in this small town. — (1/1)

JOHN WEAVER; @godsunderfoot

WANTED CONNECTION. ( MASALA. ) PLATONIC/FAMILIAL.

VIBES: "wdyn uncle maharth is suspected of being a serial killer??? he got me tix to universal studios in orlando" :((((

[ Your muse has always known Uncle Maharth as a gregarious friend who spoiled you with gifts and praise. In town, Maharth is as friendly as ever, always there to listen to your troubles over sweets and tea. Your muse is aware of rumors going around, and while they doubt their veracity, it's hard to deny that Uncle Maharth is odd—weirder than what you remember as a child. Your muse starts to question if they truly know the man or if nostalgia is tinting their perception. ]

ANY AGE under 35, those who could be related to the Chandrasekhars, or have family in academia who are friends with Maharth. — (1/2?)

RESHIKA NIVANT DIVEKAR; @fatedghosts

PARALLELS & TROPES.

Hannibal (NBC Hannibal), Lestat de Lioncourt (Interview with a Vampire), Iago (Othello), Chase Young (Xiaolin Showdown, yes I am for real), Ryuk (Death Note). Affably Evil, Soft Spoken Sadist, The Corruptor.

MEMES.

! TW: nsfw humor, mentions of blood

[ mun note: as someone who is not of kannadiga or tamil heritage, i have relied on information from online resources. if anyone from these communities has constructive criticism for my portrayal of this character, please let me know. i am always open to learning! please note that any portrayals of dark content are not reflective of endorsements of the author. thank you! ]