#maybe i just suck but this is also a big contributor to me not doing group content aldjd too Scared

[rabbitgardens]

OK ONE LAST POST I NEED TO GET BETTER AT COMBAT. ALSJDJ I NEED TO FIGURE OUT WHY IM DYING ALL THE FUCKING TIME during the group instances in the story i would just keep getting blindsided by boss mechanics that Do Not get explained?? and keep getting hit by aoes that were huge with NO time to dodge them????

[stillness138]

Since there won't be any more expansions (and i'm a chronic procrastinator), i updated my personal top 10 Gwent card arts into a top 20, including the few sets that came since then and shuffling things around a bit.

It's a long one, hence the cut.

Personal top 20 Gwent card arts:

20: Bone Talisman by Bogna Gawrońska It's still the most festive looking thing i like. My beloved blue-and-bright red fidget spinner. I really can't explain my weird attachment to it any other way; i generally tend to like the item arts, maybe it's the collector brain, maybe it's because after Homecoming and most of the expansion sets since later 2019 onwards, these base set trinket adjacent arts became more prominent to me among a lot of new, more dramatic and bleak character and scenery art.

19: Ceremonial Dagger by Katarzyna Bekus The entire set of strategem arts from Merchants of Ofir is honestly packed, but the dagger is the one i found myself putting in my in-game profile the most. Maybe it's the item hoarder brain again, maybe it's the color scheme i find relatable if that makes sense, most likely it's the premium helping a bunch to make that choice too. The background weirdly fascinates me. Does it have anything to do with The Spiral? I have never attempted to really assign any logical meaning to the strategem arts, they're clearly more symbolic than anything, but it still makes you wonder.

18: Ard Gaeth by Katarzyna Bekus Somewhat related, here's another piece of wonky multiverse lore. And once again, it's the color that first grabs attention; the contrast of teal and this dusty red. Then one starts realizing the implied size and scope, the birds help with that, apart from being a cute composition detail. The shattery effect makes it look volatile, unstable, dangerous. Ominous. Which ultimately makes it fit with the rest of the Wild Hunt archetype in more than just lore.

17: Coup de Grâce by Lorenzo Mastroianni There are two wolves in me, one loves bright colors, the other actually enjoys a lot of the bleaker scenes. Although to be fair, Lorenzo Mastroianni is a big contributor to that. And it's no wonder, when he casually drops stuff like this. It's almost symbolic, lot less than strategems but certainly more than other, straightforward "war sucks" Gwent art. How do you visually represent something sad in a way that makes it hard to look away not just because of the tragedy but because of the beauty put into making that image? You ask Lorenzo Mastroianni, the modern classical artist, to do it.

16: Viper Witcher by Valeriy Vegera I once described Valeriy's art as "where Lorenzo uses a tight color palette, he uses every pencil in the case". This one is perhaps not as obvious an example, the whole piece has a very unified atmosphere especially from afar, but still, there are so many colors especially in textiles and skin. They're harder to register sometimes but it's how Valeriy does texture and shading. And somehow, he bridges the bleak and the colorful world too. Admittedly, this card also had to be here because mr. Viper is my son, and the voicelines are done by an actor with the nicest, smoothest bass i've heard since Peter Steele.

15: Naglfar's Crew by Anton Nazarenko I was surprised by how much i ended up liking this one. It's the implications, i think; enchanted to laboriously upkeep this monster of a ship, this 'and if you see it emerge from a breach in the sky, you know you're fucked' symbol of death and decay. It's dark in a way i find compelling, i guess.

14: Serpent Trap by Marta Dettlaff Back to the bright ones, i liked this art ever since i discovered it as Nature's Gift in post-Midwinter beta. The card saw play in Scoia'tael spell decks, and to me it became linked to Francesca Findabair for their shared spectral snake thing. But that all aside, the art is just so pretty. Vibrant, yet not oversaturated. And like the item arts, needed to balance out the cool and badass and the dramatic and tragic. Looking at it now, another point comes to mind; it's still grounded? The way Gwent art at large is grounded compared to other card games. Like it's not trying so hard (both this piece and the game's art in general). That's refreshing.

13: Chort by Bartłomiej Gaweł It reminds me of the first game's main menu. The Witcher 1 main menu is, to me, one of the most accurate representations of this universe, its atmosphere. Even if the "you kill cows, you get ambushed by the fucking baphomet" is a meme game mechanic, something about it is...witchery. Superstition, folk legends, and ultimately, monsters. Or that's my takeaway, anyway. But the Chort art, beside being on the more rare side in-game, has always weirdly drawn me in.

12. Oneiromancy by Lorenzo Mastroianni This was the Novigrad expansion key art before they turned it into a card, and i sure am glad they did. Lorenzo can get a bit weird, as a treat, someone said. Are they Condwiramurs and Corinne? Possibly! But i'll abstain from the schizo theories now. It's a gorgeous, well composed and executed surrealist piece. Inception if it had strong palpable atmosphere.

Denis Villeneuve > Christopher Nolan. but Lorenzo beats both

11: Funeral Boat by, you guessed it, Lorenzo Mastroianni One final yippee for the last card set. And my god it's beautiful. Tight composition can get surprisingly hard to coordinate and make decisions for, but this is so well-balanced. The left end of the boat is closer to the frame, but right side has the most noticeable color, the character's face, and of course the bird to even it out. As if to defend the title i gave him earlier, Lorenzo references Isle of the Dead in a way that, even if symbolic, fits into the universe perfectly. Someone stop me before i start rambling about similar concepts in different mythologies.

10: Dana Méadbh (now the token spawned by Call of Harmony) by Anna Podedworna The most famous Gwent artist enters the list. With a piece made around two, when you think about it very bold choices. The goddess of nature and life, glowing with inhuman light in a black and barren forest. Obscured by thin, bare tree trunks. But to make her emerge and stand out, that was necessary. And it's working wonders. A lot of the Scoia'tael faction is obviously green, all kinds of green, but even a simple choice like making it pop out of black makes the card art stand out among others.

9: Circle of Life by Oleksandr Kozachenko It has everything i usually look for in Gwent art; nature, color, atmosphere. A certain tranquility, perhaps. A little bit of story - the orange badge is the Kerack coat of arms. It's that environmental storytelling thing gamers keep talking about, complementing the character and faction drama of the rest of its card set.

There's a slightly changed, extended version, too, and somehow it's even better.

8: Gezras of Leyda by Bogdan Rezunenko As much as i tend to dunk on Bogdan for having played Blasphemous once and making it his entire personality, Gezras is easily the best school founder card art of the set. Once again, the choice to have these prominent arts on the more symbolic side paid off, and the result is a stalking nocturnal animal out for revenge, backed by a giant image of what simultaneously did him irrepairable harm and gave him the means to defend himself. The premium doesn't disappoint either.

7: Rioghan the Undying by Daniel Valaisis To nobody's surprise, the atmosphere, once again, got me hooked. I love the cold color, the dramatic flow, the big imposing silhouette of a ship in the background. Poor boy is the picture of misery. It's pure melancholy (something not that common in the Skellige faction by the way, which is a point in favor of Funeral Boat too), that i, of course, am inevitably drawn to.

he's just like me fr...

6: Witches' Sabbath by Michal Lisowski Did i craft this card already or not? The realist's complaint towards near-greyscale card art. I share this sentiment, if only for the comedy of it, but with a few notable exceptions, and this piece is the main one. The Robert Eggers comparisons were made already i'm sure, but it really is a take on the last good Witcher 3 quest with a dramatic, more dreamy, or you could say cinematic quality ramped up to 11. Gone is the fanservice present in the game and the unnecessarily grotesque depictions of fatness of other parts of this card set, and what remains is a beautiful, ominous callback to folklore and classical art.

5: Tinboy by Valeriy Vegera This is a baroque painting. The drama. Tinboy doesn't take that scarf off, ever. And here this poor soul is, their last will to live dragging it off him. On purpose? On accident? Probably both. The pattern marking Tinboy as a gang member staining with blood of a victim, something something symbolism. All in Valeriy's signature 'which pencil should i pick up next' style. Underrated piece.

4: Lara Dorren by Toni Muntean They finally got our girl. And once again, despite heartbreak, it's gorgeous. Soft, sweet colors with a necessary hint of melancholy (the lighting suggests it's sunset?), and a pure, painted quality without the need for texture assets. A scene like this is better left a comparatively simple and laid back tribute. Beyond the technicalities, i also really, really applaud Toni for the outfit design. This is the Aen Elle princess, dressed well but for the weather. And the fact her mostly blue clothes with yellow sleeves mirror Cregennan's yellow jerkin with blue details, and her red brooch above the heart might, beside contrasting with the blue, very well reflect his fatal wounds... well. As much as death on card art isn't always done the best, Lara is represented together with that which mattered to her the most. Despite being categorized among the Wild Hunt, she remains herself.

3: Lydia van Bredervoort by Igor Klymenko The joy i felt when this was the art of Lydia they managed to get into the game. It's easily one of the best contest pieces and on par with the best Gwent has to offer - it has mood, and that ever present air of groundedness, realism, and in that, unfortunate tragedy. But similarly to Lara, it shows Lydia being her own person; doing what she loved and was good at without sight of Vilgefortz despite her being known as his ever loyal assistant. Likewise, it doesn't sensantionalize her condition, but references it in a subtle, tasteful, and even clever way. I also love her dress and the overall color palette. Igor understood.

2: Eldain by Anna Podedworna Couldn't help it, this asshole has me in chokehold and he's enjoying it. In my defense, this piece highlights everything Anna is known for, because she's damn good at it. Incredibly sharp main subject of the piece contrasted against a blurry background, which allows for insane details like the strings extending from the top of the lute. To add more fun to it, Eldain isn't even in the absolute foreground, but the piece is still composed smart, so he remains the main focus. His silly red collar on mostly green helps. On top of all that, the art tells a little story, something Anna often does too, and in this case it delightfully sums Eldain up. It's also the best premium in the game.

look at his little red ears from sitting against the sun aww

Honorable mention: Lake Guardian by Anton Nazarenko Like the following #1, this card has sentimental value to me as my second card reveal and artwork i made my best emote of. It was a perfect match, bird gals and all. It's a Sirin, bringing in a more obscure but not unwelcome mythology reference to the universe. And I love her vibrant, marble-like eyes.

1: Dol Blathanna Sentry by Lorenzo Mastroianni ...remains my favourite card art since that fateful day sometime in January 2018. I was just discovering what there was to know about Witcher, downloading Gwent in the first place out of need for more content as i was slowly reading through the first book. Gwent has done a lot to explore and build on this universe, and it has helped me contextualize a lot of things early on. I remember scrolling through the deckbuilder, seeing this art, and being struck by its mood, this aura of secret and wonder. "Oh, so this is what Dol Blathanna looks like..." It's quintessential older Lorenzo. Very much admitted brush work, fog, tight color palette. The little specks of blue in flowers and face paint work just right. Maybe it's a reference to Arthurian myth and Avalon, maybe to Greek myth and Hades, or maybe, as is often the case and was the case later (or earlier in this list), both. It spoke to me and my sense of wonder back then. It speaks to me when i search for comfort now.

now, time to tear Karol Bem to shreds in the top 20 least favourites xd

[jayflrt]

Yoiiiiiiii! Great minds think alike😙

But I’ve actually been wanting to talk about this for a couple of days. I recently saw a YouTube Short that listed the most hated trainees in survival shows. Seon represented for I-Land, but K and Ni-ki were mentioned in the comments. A LOT. And I saw one comment that didn’t have any replies, so I couldn’t fact check it quite well (it’s been so long since I watched I-Land and I didn’t know if what EJ said has been outside of I-Land so—), but it made the comparison of Ni-ki being the most hated because of what he did to Taki and EJ because of what he did to Daniel. I was very scared that this is going to be true but like I said, I could not fact check it exactly. But now that I know that it’s true, I have very complicated feelings.

I started to watch I-Land a long time ago, after I became a fan of ENHYPEN, and I’m honestly so fucking glad I did. I don’t know if I would be as big of an ENGENE if I watched the show first. Ik that a big contributor of that would’ve been M Snake’s evil editing and that they were just desperate kids fighting a life or death situation, but I still have so much trouble separating the two.

I didn’t even finish the show. I can’t remember exactly to what point I stopped watching. An episode or two after the second part started?

This is why I… strongly disliked (?) K for a very long time. I could not, for the life of me, get over the DNA unit and how he treated Ni-ki (it was especially bad since Ni-ki was pretty much my bias and I had grown to really love him). So even when &TEAM debuted, I could not look at him the same way (mind you, I didn’t watch &AUDITION at the time either. But I did start to watch it maybe a couple of months ago but then I stopped watching it🙃). But then I did end up giving him a second chance (and it was really strange).

But now finding out what Euijoo did is really messing with me and now I can’t look at HIM the same way😩 And it sucks because I loved him a lot— I LOVE him a lot… idk.

It’s honestly so crazy how this talk started on your account while this was happening in my brain lol.

I’m sorry for the long ass message, but I’ve been DYING to talk about this. It’s fr been eating me up😭😭😭😭 ENHYPEN and &TEAM are like my top two groups but I really really really wish I was blissfully ignorant of what they did in I-Land🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠

omg yeah :(( tbh riki had much different intentions and voted taki out because he felt like taki could improve first and then come back to iland, and he communicated that perfectly to taki too. so i don't get the riki hate for that reason because everyone had to vote four people out anyways and it's hard to gauge to be faced with something like that right off the bat 🥲 ej's intentions with voting daniel out were .. interesting LMFAOO but it was also a decision they were making as children who just were competing to debut so i guess he was looking out for himself :') sometimes u gotta put yourself first !! tbh the final 12 were all people who were very proactive about putting themselves out there and had the survival show mentality while still being able to bond and not see each other as threats, which is why i do think more trainees needed to be a lot more forward 😔

yeah im glad i watched the show after they debuted too !! mostly because of the voting stuff bc honestly i didn't know the members too well before i watched the show LOL so i was genuinely surprised when k didn't make it since he seemed to be a producer favorite for a while 😵‍💫 but yeah that whole thing between him and riki reeeeally put me off for dna and i think he got even worse for flicker unit :/ he redeemed himself a little later in that episode and from then on but im glad you like k now ! yeah it's probably way different seeing him in a fixed group where he's secure instead of on a survival show where he's fighting to debut 🥲 i think since he was oldest out of the final 12 it felt more bittersweet when he was eliminated 🚶‍♂️

i get why it bothers you !! but im sure for ej's case i don't think any of them took the voting to heart or anything :') daniel was still suuuper happy for ej once he got to go back to iland even though he was sent to ground !! and ej was hugging daniel when he made it into the final 12 so the voting is definitely dramatized to feel worse than it is

[oficmag]

Contributor Spotlight: Paulette

Now that Issue #1 is live, we at OFIC Mag are excited to shine a light on some of the amazing contributors from our inaugural issue. We hope you all love them as much as we do!

Today’s spotlight is on Paulette | @GrannyRocko, who wrote “Refrigerate After Opening” for Issue #1.

Tell us a bit about yourself!

I'm queer as a three dollar bill and in love with the whole gamut of books and film. Highbrow, lowbrow, and everything in between—I refuse to choose a side because life is too short and my "to be read" and "to be watched" lists are too long lol. I think being a writer is sort of like being a sub: you're in ecstasy and pain in equal measure, and getting the most out of your experience is just a matter of figuring out what kind of torture you like best. Is that too gauche to say?! As a kinky queer weirdo, I'm saying it because I think it's true. For better or worse, novels and novel-length fanfics are my preferred form of writing torture. :)

How did you find fandom?

For years, I had a tumblr that I rarely touched. But in 2016, I watched Bryan Fuller's exquisite Hannibal TV show and opened that beloved trash gremlin of a website, searching the Hannigram tag like my life depended on it. I think the friends who recommended Hannibal to me might have also steered me toward tumblr? I can't remember how it happened, but I went down the rabbit hole and didn't come up for air until my browser was crashing because of my exponentially growing AO3 tabs.

What fandom are you in now and what brought you here?

Currently, I spend most of my fandom time in the Teen Wolf sphere. During the first year of the pandemic, it became the trash TV balm to my depressed soul. I was in the mood to rewatch Buffy for the hundredth time but decided I ultimately wanted something new, and that's how I got sucked in. I even wrote an article about it for Gayly Dreadful, talking about the way it soothed my chest dysphoria and made me contemplate the nuances of my own gender identity.

What’s your favorite book of all time and what do you love about it?

Donna Tartt's The Secret History. I'm sure some people think it gets thrown in "best" categories too much, but it's such a perfect intersection of the things that have fascinated me in fiction throughout my life. Class disparity/tensions, the area where obsession and violence and hedonism meet, queerness, picturesque insular settings where everyone has incestuous friend groups and gossip runs amok, haunting past trauma, pretentious people hiding behind the smokescreen of seemingly grandiose/profound ideas as justification for their behavior, lush, complicated, lyrical prose that somehow never feels too dense, it just... clips along like a beautiful, layered melody. It's also one of those rare books that grows with you. I've read it at various points in my life and gotten different things out of it each time. It never loses its glow; the glow just shimmers a little differently. 

What projects are you working on right now?

I'm working on a novel that deals with the intersection of those aforementioned obsessions (queerness, violence, kink, trauma), and it's been a shift from my first novel because it's much more fast-paced, almost noir-ish in the murder mystery aspect. Plot is one of the things I struggle with the most, and I'm always trying to find some middle ground between "waxing poetic about the woods for a whole page" and "all plot, no waxing." My writing leans literary and descriptive. It's always been that way, and it's something I never want to lose. Merely hone and tame and maybe (hopefully) find a way for it to co-exist with a propulsive plot. I'm also working on a [redacted pairing name lol] fanfic...

What are your aspirations as a writer, big picture or small?

To get books published, either in trad pub or with small presses I admire that are currently putting out really interesting, daring work (Clash Books, Weirdpunk Books, Amphetamine Sulphate, to name a few) and get stories published in lit mags I admire. And just to continue doing work I'm proud of, to always be pushing myself to write about the things I'm scared to write about because otherwise, what's the point? You have to take the risks or you won't grow.

If you could give one piece of advice to beginning writers, what would you tell them?

Write about what you want to write about, the ideas that keep you up at night. Stay true to your instincts and shut out everything that tries to dampen them (worries about perfection, worries about how your work will be perceived, every single worry the publishing aspect of the industry puts in your head). Because at the end of the day, if you're not excited about what you're writing about, why are you doing it? All of those worries can come after drafting, but you need to learn to keep the wolves of doubt at bay if you're ever going to finish a draft. Writing is always going to be difficult and stressful in one way or another, but remember to stay in touch with the spark, the tingles you get when an idea first turns on the light in your brain. And if you think that whatever excites you is too niche, I guarantee there is someone out there who is fascinated/excited by the very same "niche" things and will be happy to see your work. 

Thank you for being a part of the OFIC family, Paulette! We’re so thrilled to share your work with the world.

[superhero--imagines]

Etsy Store Here l Ko-Fi l Commission Info I Instagram I Zine

A/N: Looking for a beta reader for a personal writing piece, let me know if you feel like you're a pretty good editor! Also this has been sitting in my drafts for like 2 months, and IDK maybe I'll do more of them since it's kinda fun.

* Omg this freak is so stupid into the fact that you literally create universes with those godly hands

* I’m not kidding, I think a good 80% of his initial attraction to you was because you’re writing will literally make you immortal

* “You’re going to live forever,” Satoru says slightly breathless as he holds one of your print publications in his hand

* You’re just like ‘wtf’ so he explains-

* “You die twice, once when your body can no longer sustain itself, and the second the last time someone says your name.”

* Ah, so he thinks you’ll live forever in the sense that someone will always reference your work

* “That’s not exactly true though, one day the sun will swallow the earth whole, turning everything we love to dust”

* Satoru thinks you sound just like a writer when you say stuff like that

* “Well, unless we find another planet and have a database there or something”

* Satoru googles ‘how to buy a planet’ and ‘how much would it cost to set up a database in space’

* He’s got no respect for your craft- and by that I mean if you’ve got a deadline you’re trying to meet for a submission period or for your editor whatever, he’s just got no respect for it

* Queue Gojo shenanigans where he’ll hide all the pens in the house, or hide your laptop or something just so he can see you all flustered and panicked

* “I DONT HAVE TIME FOR THIS I ONLY HAVE 12 HOURS TO GET THIS IN!!” You shriek running from one end of your home to the other looking desperately for your laptop charger

* It’s too late in the game to order another one, and you don’t trust leaving Gojo alone in this house

* More than once you’ve left the house to replace whatever Satoru stole only to return to see even more of your things were gone now

* One time he rearranged all the furniture

* “It’s up there,” Gojo says grinning, and you look up to the ceiling fan to see your laptop charger idly hanging off one of the panels

* “I’ll get it down for you if you give me a kiss,” he says cheekily

* There’s sort of a method to the madness

* Part of it is yeah, Gojo loves to laugh, and nothings funnier than you when you’re flustered

* But part of it is you’ve been hunched over your laptop for days now, and you’re starting to be mean to yourself because you’re frustrated

* You need a break

* One he’s more than happy to offer

* And a teeny tiny portion is because he’s lonely

* Whenever you get sucked into a project it’s like you forget about him completely

* So he just wants to remind you he’s here

* And that he loves you

* You sigh, giving him a quick peck, and with a wave of his hand he brings the charger down

* “I expect a better reward when you’re done with your story”

* I think Gojo is probably a pretty big fan of your work

* In fact he’s probably your #1 fan

* But he’s super low-key about it.

* Buys all your publications on pre-order (never in large amounts so you don’t notice)

* If you’ve got into a bigger journal/magazine, or have a book at a bookstore will buy a copy every time he passes by one and see’s it

* He keeps one copy of each work on his bookshelf in the living room

* And then stores the rest/extra copies in a velvet storage box in a temperature-controlled area

* He also has another set that he notoriously marks up with notes/annotations

* “This part sounds like the time I brought them food and took them on a spontaneous date” he’ll say, scribbling furiously into the margin

* Gojo see’s your writing as an extension of you- of your soul

* So he does his best to try and figure out where you get inspiration from

* He’s especially delighted if he notices something he did, inspired something you wrote -

* “Ah the villain hid the hero’s laptop charger so they couldn’t turn in their assignment on top,” he says with a sigh

* - Even if it’s not always positive

* Honestly he plays it so cool you think he doesn’t really think anything of your profession until you come over to his place for the first time and see all your works in a neat line on his shelf

* And even then you think he’s just supporting you because he loves you, after all, they’re all in great condition, he probably hasn’t even opened them.

* And then a little further into the relationship, probably when you move in together or something

* You find all those marked-up copies

* Gojo Satoru has never been redder

* You’re genuinely concerned he might combust

* He’s acting like you just found his porn stash or something

* You wait for a few minutes for him to stammer out an excuse or something

* But when he can’t seem to form any words after several minutes you sigh and close the box

* “I didn’t see anything”

* He just nods

* You start giving him copies of your work yourself now that you know he’s so interested

* “O-oh no it’s fine-“

* It’s actually one of the rare times you see Satoru flustered

* “It’s fine, I insist, I’ve got too many contributor copies anyway”

* He takes them in his hand blushing

* He would show up to all of your readings or signing events -

* Disguised Ofc

* “Hey you should be careful, that guy looks super sketchy-“

* You look to where your manager is pointing, to a tall lanky guy wearing a black hair wig, and these tacky thick-rimmed pink glasses and you sigh

* “No need to worry, that’s just my moronic boyfriend”

* “You don’t have to show up in disguise you know”

* “Well what was I supposed to do? You didn’t invite me” he’s doing that thing where he gets all shy, a blush on his face and his fingers tugging a strand of hair

* You sigh

* The dork is oddly lovable

* “Well, from now on you’ve got an open invitation to all my events”

* He smiles so bright you would think you just offered to blow him in the middle of the bookstore

* He’s got his shortcomings

* “SATORU DID YOU HIDE ALL MY REFERENCE BOOKS?!?!”

* But you couldn’t have asked for a more supportive boyfriend

* “Kiss me and maybe I’ll tell you where they’re at”

* Or a better muse

[anika-ann]

Maybe (Honey)

Type: College AU, student!reader, civilian!Steve

Pairing: Andy Barber x reader (temp), Steve Rogers x reader (estab)

Word count: 6600 (here we go again)

Summary:

You and your boyfriend Steve love each other; but money’s tight. You found an unorthodox solution and decide to go through with it. Without Steve’s knowledge.   

Enter a very specific agency and Andy Barber.

A/N: I have no idea what I’m doing, but this fic is meant for donutloverxo’s sugary challenge.

Also, this work of fiction is not meant to judge anyone. I repeat – it is not meant to judge anyone or imply that SD-SB relationships or using your body as a tool is absolutely inacceptable. We respect people’s choices here.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, dub-con, morally grey, mention of cheating, cheating, praise kink, masturbation, bit of cumplay, angst, onset of a panic attack, heavy self-depreciation, eh… ooc Andy(?), rather negative (and totally inaccurate) description of SD agencies and relationships

Your index finger hovered over the button, teeth sinking into your lower lip with anxiety.

This is a terrible idea.

To be fair, Nat, your bestie for better and for worse, agreed. Then again, she had also been the one to suggest you went for it and was chilling in the nearby bed while you filled out the form, knowing what you were doing and not stopping you, so… you guessed it couldn’t be that bad of an idea.

Saying yes to this question however, probably was.

Sexual intercourse (PIV): Yes – Maybe – No

Considering you had a boyfriend, the answer should be straightforward NO.

Then again, Steve was a great part of the reason why you were signing up for this stupid app in the first place.

Ever since the wonderful birthday dinner at your family’s house, you were… not necessarily struggling with finances, but knowing you had three last months before your father cut you off his support made you already save money for the rainier days. It sucked, likely because you were maybe trying too hard. But your dad said you were a big girl now. And as the good father he was, he promised to send you the usual payment for three more months, because such a sudden change to your budget would be brutal.

Especially since you and Steve moved in together a month before that. Steve was finishing his PhD. at the university and you, being a student with only part-time job yourself, weren’t exactly great contributor to your budget.

It wasn’t that you father had been showering you with enough money to lead life in luxury, but it had been enough to get by okay. Now, you and Steve were trying to save for food – which was a horrible idea considering his body built –, for take-away coffee, wearing clothes that had seen better days just so you didn’t have to buy new ones and--- you hated seeing Steve like that. The food part was the worst, the most visible.

The night you learned about your father cutting you off, you took it as a champ, accepting it as a fact and continuing the conversation as if nothing significant happened. Later that night, Steve held you close to comfort you, assuring you it changed nothing about your relationship and that you were his everything. That night you made a silly suggestion.

“…you can’t exactly sell me to put food to your mouth--- well, technically-“

At that time, Steve’s answer was a very harsh no, and you apologized for talking stupid. Two months later, here you were.

Secretly filling out a form for a sugar daddy agency.

Natasha helped you pick, claiming this one was extremely discreet, as she knew from her cousin who had been using it for almost two years and apparently said she didn’t have a reason to complain once. In addition, there was no pressure on signing a contract until the fifth meeting and yet, the men committed themselves to paying certain sum of money for the meetings slash dates alone. No strings attached for you. Kinda.

So. It seemed you were about to become a sugar baby. Not for long; just enough to make some savings, an emergency stash so to speak. You didn’t want to fall down the hole and stay for two years like Yelena – you believed the money would be addictive. And which would be worse, Steve would find out.

Steve could never ever find out. It felt like you were cheating on him already.

You wouldn’t cheat on Steve. Ever. You loved him with all your heart and soul and he was the kindest man you had ever met. Incidentally, he was also the hottest one, smartest one and sweetest one and the second funniest one; in that aspect, he came close after Bucky, his hysterical best friend.

Steve had picture in a damn dictionary next to the words ‘perfect boyfriend’. Which was why you should just click on the damn no, because there was no way you let any other man inside you. The mere idea made you physically sick.

“You’re thinking too loud,” Natasha remarked next to your ear and you jumped in your seat with a startled yelp, your heart nearly giving out.

“Jesus, Nat! What the hell-!“

“Girl. That’s a no. You have Steve. Or can you like… imagine doing it?”

Jesus fuck, how did she know exactly what the train of your thought was?!

“You’re right,” you said, shaking your head instantly, finally settling on no. Moving to another question however, you bit your cheek. “But the chances are higher that someone will pick me, right? If I say yes?”

The silence that fell on the room was solemn, Natasha’s hand reaching out and pushing your shoulder to force you to look at her. Her eyes were wide, concerned, disapproval written all over her face.

“Yes. And it will also mean that they will want you to sleep with them. And I mean sleep with them. Bang you into the damn wall and make you like it, or make you pretend you like it. Is that what you want?”

No. Absolutely not. Your stomach turned over at the idea.

You were all for being fucked into a wall. By your boyfriend. Your amazing, wonderful boyfriend, who would have his heart broken if he ever found out. Which would probably happen, because you wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye and just confessed to him.

And that would be the end of your relationship – you couldn’t have that under any circumstance.

Then again, how long would you even be able to keep this extra part-time job secret anyway? You needed as much as money as you could in a short period of time-

“That’s my girl. Leave the no.“

“But it will get me more money too, right? Faster? I don’t look to make a fortune, Nat, I just--- a few nights to have an extra money for the worst-case scenarios and… then I’ll be done with it,” you explained, trying to convince her as much as yourself.

Maybe… maybe?

“This is an awful idea. It’s fucking terrible, hun. You don’t wanna go down that road,” Nat argued, hiding her anger at you for even considering the option behind a soft frown.

“Others did.”

She sighed. “Yes. But a) you are a sweet loyal person who totally needs a connection to sleep with someone and b) there’s this little detail that you have a damn boyfriend.”

You shook your head and quickly changed your answer to ‘maybe’ at least. Natasha gave a hiss in warning.

“It’s not yes!” you protested, instantly on the defensive. “Maybe I’ll luck out. I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. Except for the fact that I love Steve and watching him ruin himself is--- that’s not gonna work. I’m choosing the maybe for him. For us.”

“I still hate it,” your friend muttered, but yielded. “If this is gonna ruin my OTP, I’m fucking firing you as my best friend.”

You mouth fell open in shock, feeling the mental blow deep in your stomach as if she actually hit you. She would—after you’d-

“Okay, I wouldn’t, I’d be there to give you a shoulder to cry on, ‘cause I’m with you till the end of the line or whatever, but--- just… Steve’s the guy, okay? You have this… puppy love going on. You’re gonna marry him one day and have two little carbon copies of you running around, white picket fence in the suburbs and all that. Don’t mess this up, hun,” Natasha whispered, deadly serious, just a hint of a smile playing in the corner of her mouth. “Don’t forget that his stomach might be protesting, but he’d withstand it for years for you and his heart would be happy. He’s crazy about you.”

You stared at your best friend, few tears forming in your eyes, warmth settling around your heart, because you knew she was telling you the truth. In a really cheesy way, but the truth nevertheless.

“You write those yourself?” you teased her lightly and she playfully slapped your shoulder, rolling her eyes. “Thank you, Nat. Believe me – I can’t lose Steve. And I won’t.”

You should have known you’d be eating your words in less than a week later.

Upon entering the restaurant and having the hostess lead you towards the private room, you were certain this was your punishment.

Because sitting at the table – with white cloth and everything, because this was a high-brow restaurant, you had had to at least try to dress accordingly to that – was Steve. You froze in the doorway, entirely deaf to the what the woman said to you before she left.

Your gut twisted in panic, heart pounding in your chest. This wasn’t happening. How could it--- had Nat told him? Was this a set-up? Or was Steve in the app? Impossible. But then how was this possible?!

Because it was happening. Steve was sitting at the table, expensively looking suit, fluffy hair and beard--- and your lips parted in shock when you looked at him; truly looked at him.

His hair was an inch shorter and a shade darker. He filled the suit well, but his shoulders were a little less square than you were used to; where Steve appeared a bit like a bodybuilder, this man was more like… athletic.

It wasn’t Steve. This man just looked like could as well be his twin.

You had no idea what to do.

On one hand, this was clearly a punishment, an all-night reminder that you had a boyfriend who loved you and currently believed you were having a fun girls’ night with your bestie. On the other hand, maybe you could make this work. Your nerves had been getting the best of you, still were now, but perhaps seeing a familiar face would help?

Fuck, this was so ironic. Maybe you should just leave. Or walk straight towards the table, tell the man you were sorry, but you couldn’t do this. He looked like Steve; surely he was equally nice? Okay, probably not, but at least something of him--

It was the exact moment Steve’s twin raised his gaze from his phone, scanning the room— and spotting you standing in the doorway like a dumbass.

Apparently not concerned by your hesitance, his lips curled in a soft smile and he rose to his feet, approaching you with measured steps. He was slightly shorter than Steve too; and he had a few more lines around his eyes.

“Good evening, miss,” he offered in levelled voice, causing you to gulp and finally unfreeze. You tried to smile and likely failed as you returned the greeting politely.

He had kind eyes; and despite the low-lit intimate setting of the private room, you could tell his irises were also a different shade from Steve’s. Despite the jab of guilt at remembering Steve again, you made a quick choice.

Extending your hand, you introduced yourself – with your previously chosen fake name, obviously.

The man gently grasped your hand, faking a kiss to its back. Oh no. He was being a gentleman. That was… you weren’t certain whether you liked it or not.

“Pleasure to meet you. Call me Andy. Shall we sit?”

And you did. You let him lead you to the table as if you weren’t in control of your body anymore, allowed him to pull the chair out for you and hand you the wine list while he seated himself.

Eyes skimming the list of names you barely ever heard of – with no price quoted –, your gaze flickered over the top of the menu to your companion and swiftly returned as he caught you.

You might as well say you caught him watching you, smiling with one corner of his lips higher, but unlike you, he didn’t shy away from it, quiet confidence and an air of power surrounding him.

You wondered if he knew how out of your element you were.

And you wondered, whether the knot forming in your stomach was guilt or a flicker of excitement.

Listening to Andy talking, you soon realized he also had a different manner of speaking. There was a lilt to his voice, something about the colour you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

You learned things about him. That he was here for a week on a business trip, but also took whatever chance he could get to relax and enjoy the city – you did not miss the meaningful once-over he gave you – that he was an attorney, he came from Boston, enjoyed swimming and always wanted a dog.

Question was, how much of that was true. You weren’t a good liar, but you alternated what you could anyway. Andy now knew what your major was, but was told a fake minor. You picked a city close to your home, but not your hometown and complained about the winters there. Only one of the three hobbies you shared were legit something you enjoyed.

If Andy saw through the lies, he didn’t mention it. Why would he? Hell, he didn’t even know your real name and you probably didn’t know his, not yet at least. God knew if you guessed his age correctly, thinking he was in his late thirties; you didn’t want to think about it.

What you did learn and knew was true was that he had a great taste in restaurants – you legit had a small foodgasm – and that he was flirty. He complimented you several times and every time he did, you felt both pleased and incredibly guilty. During the whole meal, there was a battle raging inside you, gradually calming down as Andy’s resemblance to Steve put you at ease; you were a mediocre liar if even, but you could lie to yourself just fine. Or it could have been the wine.

“Listen, Kendra… I have a room few floors up. Would you like it to move this evening there?”

Your heart stopped in your chest before kicking in in a feverish pace, hammering against your ribcage. Your head was suddenly spinning.

Andy cocked his head to side, studying you, before an inviting smile spread his lips.

“We don’t have to, of course. But rest assured if we go, it will not stay unrewarded.”

You nearly choked on your spit, squeezing your eyes shut. The way he phrased it was almost respectful – but also very telling.

There was no describing the shame settling deep in your gut; then again, this was what you wanted. More money. And if you had to go upstairs for it… well. At least Andy seemed nice enough. He reminded you of Steve – which was both a blessing and a curse – he was relatively young compared to what you had imagined the man you’d be meeting would be. He was undeniably attractive and he clearly didn’t aim to make you feel cheap… not more than strictly necessary.

As far as you were concerned, you had also chosen ‘maybe’ with other questions; for all you knew, this could end up in a blowjob and you thought… maybe that would fly. You could do that, maybe--- forcing your eyes open, you found Andy observing you quietly, patiently waiting for your decision.

He was giving you a choice, which alone was a good sign – he wasn’t an asshole.

Or it could just be an act.

The reality might be that the moment the hotel room door clicked shut, he’d push you against the wall face-first and took whatever he wanted.

As his eyes never left you, patient but shamelessly appreciative of your looks, you took a deep breath and decided that no – Andy wasn’t heartless. He wasn’t some monster. The aura of power and confidence had one more shade to it: protectiveness.

It was ridiculous to think such of a man who was paying you to be here, but… it was the impression you got of him.

“A-alright,” you stuttered awkwardly, earning a wide smile from him, a twinkle of excitement in his irises.

“They’ll add the food and drinks to my bill. Let’s go.”

As the numbers of the floors climbed, you felt your stomach gradually sinking – and you were more and more doubtful about your decision. You weren’t ready for this. At all. Natasha was right – you needed connection… a true connection.

And as nice as Andy was trying to be about this whole thing, you couldn’t— you felt so filthy for just sharing an elevator ride with this stranger.

Entering the room only solidified the ugly feeling in your gut and the moment the room door shut behind you, Andy didn’t slam you against the wall, no. Instead, you turned to him, feeling blood having drained from your face and yet pumping in your temples.

“I’m sorry. I can’t—I should go,” you blurted out, a slight tremble to your voice and to your hands.

It was a mistake, coming up here.

This whole thing was a mistake-

To your shock, no shouting came. No anger, period. Just a disappointed sigh and that little sound made your rising panic settle, curiosity getting the best of you as you eyed the gorgeous man in front of you.

What was he even doing in a sugar daddy agency? It wasn’t like he could have a lack of female attention – or male for that matter – because he was handsome as hell and apparently rich.

“I’m not gonna stop you. I understand. I can imagine first times in such position are hard,” he explained his sentiment, causing your lips to part in surprise and a smudge of shame.

That obvious you were, huh?

“How can you tell?” you asked almost soundlessly, a huge lump growing your throat. All of sudden, you also felt terrible for disappointing him.

He only shrugged in response, a hint of a smile in one corner of his lips, almost concealed by his beard.

“I’m an attorney, honey. I have to be good at reading people.”

For the briefest moment, you acknowledged the flutter in your lower belly at the sugar-sweet endearment rolling off his tongue. Honey. And then it was gone, reality breaking through again along with the fresh guilt.

“I’m sorry. You can—you don’t have to pay the money to the agency-“

“That’s not how this works, honey,” he corrected you with a drop of patronizing, which you found yourself …. not hating. Here it was again… honey.

You wished he’d stop saying it. And that he’d the slow steps towards you as well.

“I--- I don’t know then, how to… like compensate you, I just--- I can’t I’m sorry, I’m-“ you stumbled over your words, the shame grinding deeper and deeper and-

“You have a boyfriend,” he whispered in realization, eyes widening and by some strange game of lights darkening as well, turning into a raging ocean.

“…yes. I’m sorry for all this, I-“

“Oh honey,” Andy shook his head gently as he continued to approach you, voice uncharacteristically soft for a situation you two found yourself in. “Don’t be. He’s a lucky guy, your boyfriend. I wish my ex-wife had been so faithful.”

Your gaze automatically flickered to the empty space on his left hand. Jesus. “Oh. Uhm, sorry.”

That explained a thing or two.

His irises were ablaze, watching your every move, every breath, every involuntary shiver under his undivided attention. And then… then he smiled. Or maybe it was a smirk. You weren’t sure. You just knew it got harder to breathe and he was nothing like Steve--- fuck, Steve, you needed to get the fuck out of here-

“You’re adorable. What a pure soul. Such a good girl.”

The jolt the endearment sent up your spine was impossible to ignore, causing you to shudder. Andy’s smile widened, the gap between you thinning.

“You like that, don’t you?” he queried, gently and yet. Yet it made the coil in your belly swirl and burn, hair stand on end as his aura earned a new tone – a predatory one, but at the same time… tempting. No! That was wrong! You weren’t here of your own will, not really- “You like being a good girl, don’t you?”

You didn’t realize you were backed into a wall until your back literally hit it, leaving no more space for your retreat. Andy lifted his hand, agonizingly slowly – and still, you couldn’t seem to back away from the touch you knew was coming.

Maybe… maybe the attraction wasn’t a bad thing? You still wouldn’t sleep with him, your mind wasn’t that foggy, but— you could still earn some more money and not entirely suffer for it?

The pad of his thumb was warm and soft as it skimmed over your jaw, brushing your lower lip, where it lingered, pulling it down with a minute pressure.

Besides the rise of your chest with your rapid breathing, you couldn’t make yourself to move an inch, hypnotized by the blue of his irises disappearing, the blue that should be having a drop of green in it, because you were Steve’s, you loved Steve and you were doing this for him and for your and his future.

And yet, despite everything, you couldn’t deny that there was a warm slick gathering in your underwear, heat pooling in your core and it had everything to do with the man touching you now.

“Oh honey… so pretty, so good, so… immaculate. Jesus, you have any idea how hot that is, makes me want to drag you through the mud I am…”

His free hand fell to your hip, squeezing lightly as if to examine your reaction. Swallowing against the sudden dry sensation in your throat, you allowed yourself to sink into the heat of his palm rather than avoid the touch.

A small whimper escaped your lips as his chest pressed against yours next, effectively trapping you; not necessarily forcefully, but enough to make it count. Enough to make you want more; and enough to make you want to flee.

Shit, everything was so confusing and your heart was wild in your ribcage and you couldn’t tell anymore if it raced because Andy was a ridiculously attractive man showing very evident interest, his warmth seeping into you, his cologne making your head swim--- or if it was fear, the knot you felt tighten in your belly urging you to run before this got to places he wouldn’t let you escape from.

“Stop me, honey,” he whispered, voice low and husky, hot breath fanning over your face, the only true warning you got.

And then his face was so close you couldn’t bear looking at him anymore, letting your eyelids flutter shut. His lips were slightly chapped as they brushed yours, testing the waters before pushing further. He smelled different than you were used to – but the rough sensation of his beard against your skin was familiar; painfully so.

You didn’t stop him. You didn’t back out. You didn’t respond to his advances right away either, torn—because you found yourself liking this. And that was terribly, terribly wrong. Wasn’t it?

Your breath caught in your throat as the surprisingly hard lines of his body pressed against your yours, pushing you into the wall. You felt the rumble in his chest as he hummed and it finally made you act. Breathing him in, you forced yourself to kiss back.

His response was immediate. His hand ran up your waist, fingers squeezing your ribs just under your breasts, drawing a startled sound from your lips, one he instantly swallowed, seizing the opportunity to push past the seam of your lips. You felt your fingertips tingle as his tongue met yours, swirling and caressing you expertly, your thighs squeezing on instinct as you felt the hot pulse in your core.

“Atta girl,” he praised you softly, giving you a second to breathe before he dived back in, hips grinding into yours and offering you a taste of what was he hiding in those dress pants of his. You gasped as you felt him hard against your thigh, startled and much to your dismay, aroused.

Before you could decide which was winning, he wedged his knee between yours, the defined muscles of thigh pressing against your core, one of his hands gripping your hip to lead your movement. Your head spun as he guided you to grind against him, the friction delicious as was his taste on your tongue.

His other hand cupped your breast over the thin fabric of your dress and bra, dextrous fingers finding your hard nipple to roll it between them. An involuntary moan escaped you, your hips bucking of their own volition. Distantly, you were aware of the smile against your throat as your lips were set free, his assault on your senses continued above the crook of your neck.

“Wanna see you come, pretty girl,“ he muttered, teeth playfully nipping on your skin and you gasped, the words and the slightly unfamiliar voice saying them like a bucket of ice-cold water, instantly clearing the fog of arousal.

You flattened your hands against his chest – when had they gripped his suit jacket? – pushing as you shook your head, eyes snapping open.

“No- I--- I can’t, I-“

Andy moved back an inch, giving you a minute room to breathe, dark eyes boring into yours as you left tears of shame, confusion and frustration pooling in them.

His index finger cut off your protests as it landed on your lips and for the first time tonight, you truly felt fear. He was built – he was much stronger than you. If he pleased, he could have you if any way he wanted and to him, even if you tried to resist, it would be like you never put up a fight. His eyes were hungry, want, need written all over his face and you felt your knees give out.

He caught you; not with brutal force to trap you, but to support you, that damn finger on your lips stroking the kiss-swollen flesh.

“Shh…” he hushed you, moving his fingers to tuck a few loose strands of hair behind your ear. “Shhhh, not like that, honey, I can see you wouldn’t let me.”

You shivered, confusion peaking as he kept observing you as if he was drinking you in; every detail, the no doubt messed up make-up, glassy eyes, the single tear running down your cheek. You felt physically ill and yet—you couldn’t deny the arousal smouldering somewhere inside you, waiting to be revived.

“I don’t--- I don’t understand-“ you whispered, the sound pathetic to your own ears.

Andy closed his eyes, clenching his jaw, the hands on you curling into fists. For a moment, he looked like he was in pain – and few seconds later, his eyes seemed even darker as they drilled into yours.

“So sweet, Christ, I could eat you up…” he sighed and you had no doubt in your mind that he could. “I have an offer, honey. Listening?”

Hesitating for a few breaths, you nodded. A smirk curled Andy’s lips, the pads of his fingers stroking the hollow of your throat, chasing the fear away and stoking the fire inside you instead.

“You’re gonna get on that ridiculously expensive bed and spread your legs, pretty girl.” Where did all the oxygen go, Jesus Christ? “You’ll let me see all of you, maybe touch a bit, within limits. And you’re gonna give me a real nice show. How does that sound? Can you be a good girl and come on your fingers?”

It only took you moments to weight your options – as far as you were concerned, this one was the most plausible way to satisfy you both. The cleanest way.

“Yes. Yes, I can.”

“That’s my girl.”

Except you weren’t. You were another man’s girl, but as he led you to the bed, tugging impatiently at your hand and yet not manhandling you, it was so easy to give in.

“Let me,” he hushed you as you reached for the back zipper of your dress and you obediently let your hands fall, reminding yourself to breathe when he brushed your hair out of the way, pulling as the zipper and tugging it open only half way, pushing one of the straps down your shoulder to reveal your bra – leaving you only half exposed. “Colour suits you. Leave in on like this.”

Nodding automatically, you earned a kiss to your bare shoulder, a muttered praise which dampened your underwear.

“Lie down, honey.”

And you did, suddenly excited fingers tucking the tight skirt up your legs of their own volition, revealing your lacy panties, drawing a guttural moan from Andy.

He was watching you, intense gaze never leaving the flimsy piece of fabric as he undid his belt.

The clank of the buckle startled you, because he had said he wouldn’t--- but he explained before you could question it and back out.

“Gotta take advantage of buying tickets to the front row,” he remarked suggestively, the reminder of relatively easy money making you spring into action and swallow the shame that climbed up your throat.  

Biting down on your lip, you hooked your fingers in your underwear and shuffled it down your legs just as he pulled out his cock – and your core clenched around nothing at the intimidating and tempting sight. He was big. Like, really big, but also kinda magnificent, the angry red tip with a glistening drops of precum sending fresh surge of arousal between your legs.

His lips parted as he stroked himself, leaving you helpless to do anything but feast your eyes. No matter the circumstance, there was no denying this man was insanely attractive and seeing him give himself some needed attention was an erotic sight. It was familiar too – he really was painfully reminding you of Steve.

“Touch yourself, honey.”

Closing your eyes and dipping your middle finger into your slick, yours legs jolted a bit – you craved to release the building tension more than you were willing to admit. Drawing a line up to your aching clit, a soft moan escaped you. It felt so good. And until the mattress next to you sunk, it was easy to forget you were being watched – but upon that reminder, a light brush of hand on your thigh, your hips only bucked as the coil in your belly tightened.

“That’s a good girl. Show me how sensitive you are, how much you need it, honey,” he whispered to your ear, the unmistakable rustle of fabric and the lilt of his voice telling you he was enjoying the view indeed.

It was so easy to get lost in the sensations, your own hand working you up, bigger hand occasionally skimming over your breasts, other times squeezing whenever it could reach – except for where your own hand was and it was both welcomed and driving you crazy with need. He guided your hand at some point, giving you direction to speed up, to sink deeper, “use at least two fingers, honey, to make up for one of mine”, to play with your clit.

With three fingers sunk deep in your cunt, speeding up your movements, the squelchy sounds both embarrassing and insanely erotic, you could hear him tip over the edge, few drops of his seed painting your thigh, his breaths harsh and quick, a guttural moan escaping his lips.

“So fucking pretty, honey, doing so good,” he praised you breathlessly and despite yourself, your gaze found him, his fingers still wrapped around his cock, stroking to drag his pleasure out. “Come, for me, honey. Soak your fingers and gimme a taste.”

All air was punched out of your lungs at his words and you felt the coil in your belly snap, sending you into a spiral of pleasure, your hips grinding on your fingers as the familiar intense heat flooded your veins, making your head swim.

“Gorgeous.”

The single word reached from distance as you were coming from your high, temples pulsing with the blissful rush. As you ceased your movements, body turning limp, he snatched your hand wet with your juices--- the next thing you felt was the tip of his tongue swirling around your fingers, humming appreciatively at your taste.

It was when the reality set in and your hand automatically curled into a lose fist, weakly trying to earn freedom. He licked a few more times before he let go, giving enough time to your panic to settle in.

Oh fuck this just happened. You just--- you- oh no. Oh fuck.

“You did wonderful, honey. Worth every fucking penny…”

Feeling tears gathering in your eyes, the bliss disappearing as quickly as it came, you felt your stomach turn as you tried to find your voice. “A-Andy, please, I-“

His arm pulled you to him, loosely embracing you and all you could do was to let him, too busy focusing on your breathing, tears uncontrollably rolling down your cheeks, soothed by a rough scratch of his beard and soft kiss to your jaw.  

“Hush, honey, none of that,” he whispered, probably to coax you. It had zero effect as your shoulders shook with the effort to supress your sobs. “You did so good. Seeing you fall apart, even if it wasn’t entirely for me… what a fucking pretty sight. Now give me one more kiss and I’ll take you home.”

“Uhm, dorms, I’m not-“ you babbled illogically, feeling his smile against our skin.

“Right. Dorms. Now be a good girl, kiss me like you mean it.”

He didn’t ask permission or requested it, taking your mouth mercilessly, forcing your own taste into your mouth. His fingers sunk into the cooling drops on top of your thigh, gathering his spent and swiftly pushing the pad of his forefinger past your entrance. He groaned in response to your gasp at the intrusion, your hips moving on instinct despite the sensitivity and his perverted actions.

“Oh, honey, the things I’d do to you…”

“N-no, please-“ you whimpered pathetically, fighting your body reaction as fresh tears gathered in your eyes.

His finger disappeared with a telling wet sound and he pecked your lips. “I know, honey. I know. Maybe next time you’ll let me. Maybe next time…”

He rose to his feet, materializing a packet of tissues from god knew where, wordlessly saying to clean yourself up. You did. Gratefully. His words echoed in your skull; a wish, a promise.

Maybe. Next time.

“I’ll take you home now,” he announced and dropped a kiss to your hairline.

All you could do was take the affection and nod, strange numbness sneaking up your veins from your fingertips, up your limbs and finally reaching your chest and head.

Once you cleaned up, you redressed on autopilot, feeling something stir inside you as put on the wet panties – and the flicker of emotion was nothing pleasant. Fortunately, it died quickly; replaced by the blissful static short-circuiting your brain and cutting it off from any emotion.

You welcomed that Andy didn’t talk in the car. You could tell he was watching you as the city lights blurred behind the windshield, causing your eyes to burn; but he stayed quiet. Not even a radio was on; or maybe you just tuned it out, you weren’t sure.

You just knew that his hand brushed yours as he dropped you off with gentle, almost concerned goodbye which you half-heartedly returned, the one word surprisingly hard to push up your throat with the lump that was forming there ever since you climbed into his car.

Natasha was awake to welcome you; you didn’t even have to ring her to unlock the room for you. She just opened the door and took one look at you--- and she pulled you inside, the door clicking shut just a second before your knees buckled and you leaned onto the wall, choking on a sob.

True to her word, Nat coaxed you into getting to bed and then gave you the promised shoulder to cry on. And fuck did you cry. Rivers. Your breaths were coming out short, tightness in your chest and nausea rising up your throat as the sobs shook your body, trembling hands gripping Natasha’s t-shirt like a lifeline. She didn’t speak besides uttering few empty comforting words.

Eventually, it lulled to restless sleep.

It didn’t take long for you to wake up with a startle, pillow damp from your tears, your pyjama – not that you remembered Natasha forcing you to change – soaked in your sweat. The ugly feeling was still sitting in your stomach, constricting your ribcage and you knew there was only one way out; even if it was the way deeper to the pit.

Reaching out for your phone on the nightstand, you dialled the only number that could be your salvation. Your heart pounded in your chest painfully in anticipation as your wordlessly prayed he picked up.

“Sweetheart?” Steve’s voice reached your ears; rough from sleep, the endearment more confusion than anything else.

It washed over you like a tide wave, calming – and covering you like a heavy blanket, weighting you down as it quickly felt yourself sinking into it and drowning in it instead.

You sputtered a noise, scratchy in your throat, something resembling a sob and a whine and Steve’s concerned voice called your name, demanding what was going on.

Fresh tears streaming down your cheeks and you covered your mouth just in case another of those horrible sounds were about spill from your lips.

“Sweetheart? Please, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

Everything. I am. I was so so wrong. I was so bad.

Blinking away your tears as you blindly stared on the dark ceiling, you coaxed yourself into taking a deep breath, feeling your lower lip wobbling – as if you were a damn child.

Then again, with how unable you had been to see how today would turn out, you might as well be. A child. Inexperienced. Pure soul, so immaculate, Andy’s voice echoed in your brain and it made you feel everything but that.

You felt filthy; dragged through the mud your potential sugar daddy claimed he was, but that wasn’t on him. That was on you.

And you never had been more disgusted with yourself.

Steve kept asking what happened, begging you to talk to him and finally, you managed to form words.

“I—Steve,” your voice broke on his name and you had to take a breath again so you wouldn’t just go back to the unstoppable sobbing. “I did so-something ter-terrible.” You sobbed anyway as the idea of your next words being true sent you into a spiral of despair, because fuck, you couldn’t lose him. “And I’m--- scared that you’ll n-n-never f-for-forgive me.”

“Sweetheart?”

Wiping at your nose and biting your cheek at his fearful tone, you shuddered before continuing. The ominous silence stretched.

“I’m so s-sorry. I- I did it for us. I… I swear that I did--- did it for us.”

Maybe if you said it enough times, you’d make up for the fact that for a moment, it felt really good to fall apart in front of another man in much sweeter way than you were falling apart now.

Maybe.

But for now, after you told Steve everything, the dial tone as the call disconnected was all you had. You clutched the pillow soaked in your own tears, choking on a sob and prayed to all saints and Gods you knew that Steve’s kind heart had enough forgiveness for your stupid ass. If there was one person on this whole damn planet who could forgive for what you did, you thought it would be him.

…maybe.

Steve Rogers masterlist

Mics characters masterlist

Lovely divider by whimsicalrogers​

So… my first fic where I kinda hate the reader? Or at least I’m a lot like WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! I don’t know. Cheat fics are… yeah, cheating is a big BIG no-no for me, so I’m not sure where this came from and if it turned out okay.

Bet you didn’t expect that much angst. I like to think she never met Andy again and that they figured stuff out with Steve – they went through a rough patch, but made it work. But hey, if you want, you can imagine entirely something else.  *smirk smirk*

Also, FYI, I lost one night’s sleep, because of the moral hangover I felt with the reader. So I hope it was worth it and at least one person liked this.

Anyway. Thank you for reading!

P.S. sorry for those who feel baited by the sneak peek with Steve’s gif. That was my imaginary Steve finding out about Andy Barber, plotting murder with Bucky, because someone touched his girl. Fuck the circumstance.

[btxtreads]

Silver Nights

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: EVER EVER AFTER

↳ Pairing: Choi Beomgyu x Reader

↳ word count: 1.3k words

↳ rating: G

↳ genre: fluff

Inside a decrepit cafe in the middle of the night on new year’s eve, Y/N found herself with her forehead pressed on the table as she waited and waited and waited.

“Hey, honey,” her father came from the kitchen, a hand resting on the top of her head. “aren’t Soobin and Kai supposed to be here.”

“Well, they said they were going to come.” Y/N sighed straightening up. “They’re not here yet.”

“What time are they supposed to come?”

The girl sucked in a short breath, checking her phone.

11:50.

“One hour ago.” Y/N sighed, standing up. “They probably got held up, I don’t know.”

Her father frowned, checking the time and sighing.

“Well, if you aren’t going to spend the night with the boys—you can spend it with me.” Her father smiled softly, placing a kiss on her forehead.

“Yeah, but maybe deal with your customers for now,” The girl giggled, gently urging her father to tend to his customers.

The man gave her an endearing smile before leaving her alone. Y/N sighed softly, checking her phone for any more messages from Soobin or Kai. Seeing none, she stands up and turns—about to enter the kitchen to try and make herself another cup of iced coffee when she heard a soft thud against the cafe’s glass panels behind her. Choosing to ignore it, the girl gathered her things—when another thump sounded out.

The girl swiftly turned around, eyes in a sharp glare expecting to see Kai and Soobin messing around—only to find Beomgyu standing there with a smile on his face. He was holding a snowball in his hands, aiming over at the glass and shooting it once more—giggling when Y/N flinched at the ball scattering against the glass. Y/N cleared her throat and grabbed her coat, exiting the cafe to meet the King outside.

“Gyuu—I mean King Beomgyu.” Y/N gasped, blinking. “How—Wha—How?”

“How else?” Beomgyu snorted, pocketing his hands. “I rode an airplane.”

The girl slowly nodded, growing even more confused.

“Okay?” She replied softly, tilting her head. “Why are you here, then? Don’t you have some kingly things to do?”

“Define kingly.” Beomgyu snorted, grabbing her hands. “You left too early—I never got to say bye.”

“I had to leave.” Y/N explained, letting Beomgyu fiddle with her hands. “I can’t stay there anymore, knowing everything I did—what I did to you. I hurt you.”

“Just leaving abruptly hurt me more, you know.”

“Staying would hurt you more, Beomgyu.” Y/N retorted. “I can’t do that.”

“Gyuu.” Beomgyu replied firmly. “Call me Gyuu or I swear to god I’m ripping my hair out.”

The girl chuckled, shaking her head and turning her palm so she can intertwine her fingers with the king’s. She smiled softly, running her hands through his hair.

“I’m sorry. For what I did.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Beomgyu sighed, eyes closed. “It was time I knew, anyway.”

“Still.”

There was a moment of silence. Beomgyu shifted, pulling out his phone from his back pocket. He fiddled with the device a little before presenting the girl with a web page pulled out.

“This was you, right?”

Y/N took the phone gingerly, eyes scanning over the big news site. On it was a long news article—a feature—written by her as a contributor. It was about Beomgyu, and her time with him. It spoke about how he truly was, and what actually happened unlike what everybody assumed.

“How’d you find out?” Y/N asked quietly.

“Haneul,” Beomgyu chuckled as he tucked his phone away. “She’s pretty crafty and resourceful when she needs to be.”

Y/N smiled softly, sighing.

“I miss Haneul, you know.” Y/N mumbled, looking up at the freshly falling snow.

Beomgyu nodded.

“She misses you, too.” Beomgyu said, hestitating before continuing. “I miss you.”

Y/N turned over to him, a frown on her face as she pulled her hands from him.

“I miss you, too,” Y/N replied. “but you’re a king now, and I’m nothing but a screw-up journalist who was at the wrong place at the wrong time. You don’t deserve this.”

Beomgyu furrowed his eyebrows as the girl bit her lip. He stepped forward and cupped her face in his hands, thumbs brushing over her cheeks.

“I—You know, the palace is too big and cold.” He started. “I could use someone there with me.”

“You have Jun, Tae, Haneul and your mom—you also have staff.” Y/N pointed out, making Beomgyu shake his head in amusement.

“I was thinking someone like a queen.”

“Oh,” Y/N mumbled quietly, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Beomgyu only smiled, chuckling softly as he released the girl. He reached back into his pockets—pulling out a red velvet box and he fell to his knee. Y/N blinked in confusion as Beomgyu popped open the box to reveal a diamond ring.

“Gyuu?”

“Marry me.” Beomgyu grinned.

“But,” Y/N replied, wide-eyed. “But I can’t just leave? I can’t leave Soobin and Kai—“

“They’re actually willing to move to Argenti as I’ve promised them secure jobs on the palace’s publicity teams.” Beomgyu laughed. “There’s no one else I trust to handle my—our—reputation.”

Beomgyu looked over at the girl expectantly as her eyes darted around.

“But what about my dad—the cafe?”

“I’ll get him his own cafe there, we can just bring this one there—I’ll find a way.” Beomgyu pleaded. “Please, just marry me.”

“I-I—“

“If there’s anything I’m not willing to lose, it’s you, Y/N.” Beomgyu mumbled. “I really do love you, and I’m willing to give you everything if it means you’ll be mine forever.”

Y/N shook her head, making Beomgyu frown.

“A king shouldn’t be on his knees for too long.” The girl mumbled, dusting his coat off.

“Well?” Beomgyu asked. “You’re—You won’t marry me, won’t you?”

Y/N reached out to his hands, interlocking their hands.

“You don’t know me at all.”

“But I do, you’re the kindest, bravest, most beautiful person I know.” Beomgyu replied, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “That’s more than enough for me to fall in love with you.”

“Are you sure about this, Beomgyu?”

10, 9,

“I’ve never been surer of anything at all in my entire life.” Beomgyu shook his head.

8, 7

“Look, what happened between you and me, it doesn’t just happen out of the blue. It’s special. And I know you think I’m sort of jumping the gun here, but Y/N, I really do—“

The girl smiled, cutting off his rambling as she leaped forward and connected her lips with hers—cutting off his words with a fierce kiss. Beomgyu smiled against her lips, leaning his head down and clutching her waist as her arms snaked around his neck. The king then pulled away, leaning his forehead on hers.

6,5

“That’s a yes, then?”

“Of course, you doofus.” Y/N laughed, tears in her eyes as Beomgyu reached for her hand.

4, 3

She felt the new weight of the diamond ring on her finger. She marvelled at the way the diamond glinted in the moonlight when she held her hand up slightly. But, no matter how bright the diamond was, nothing beats the sparkle in Beomgyu’s brown as as she looked back up and kissed him again.

2, 1

There were sudden loud booms—and multi-colored lights lit up the sky as the world greeted another year. Along with the bright lights of the fireworks in the sky were loud hoots and hollers from Taehyun, Yeonjun, Kai, and Soobin—who actually hid somewhere at the sides to film the whole thing without Y/N knowing.

She can see Yeonjun’s phone up—flashes and flashes shining out of the corners of their eyes as he kept taking photos while bickering with the three younger boys beside him. She didn’t care—she was there with her friends, with her prince. She was in bliss. She finally lived her ever ever after.

[wrathandgreed]

Hi! Hope you're having a good day.

For your ask game may I ask 🎨& ⚡?

Okay, so Tumblr ate my first response when I was alt-tabbing between this and Docs. Thanks, Tumblr! But thank you for the prompt, @evierena !

🎨 - Show us a WIP

From “Horn Maintenance” (short fic, fluff, Asmo x reader)

“Hey!” You boop him on the nose with the flat end of the file. “Let me work here.”

A great sigh. “But darling, you’re right here in front of me, and you’re cute enough to nibble on!”

You almost give in. But you want to see if you can bring Other Asmo back. So you settle yourself down in his lap and give him a kiss - not one of passion, but one of gentleness. Then you kiss the tip of his nose and smile right into his eyes. “Azzy, just let me just be affectionate for awhile. Let me take care of you a little.”

“Affec -“ For the briefest of moments, Asmo looks confused and it makes you really sad. You wonder if anyone’s ever asked to ‘take care of him’ without it being a sexual reference. You give him another kiss simply because you can’t stand seeing that look on his face. And then, without looking at him again, you turn back to his horn splinter and get to work.

From “The Seven Brothers Detective Agency” ( I did some googling into the “hard boiled detective” genre, and it’s fascinating. Apparently, in the early 1900s, it’s not that there was a lot of police corruption, it’s that the basic job of the police was enforcing things FOR the mob and/or politicians (basically the same thing back then). In the 1920’s, thanks to Prohibition, the mob began having so much money and power on their own that they didn’t need the cops anymore, and the alliance began to fracture. Enter, now, stories about this schism - people wanted justice, and they wanted stories about people to defend them from organized crime - AND from the cops (again, basically the same thing). So we wind up with the noir detective, usually a cop who disagreed with corruption, and is now jaded and cynical about their fall from the organization. Usually also dealing with shell-shock from WWI. )

(These are currently more like notes than full-on HCs)

Lucifer (The Boss)

Son of Old Money

Served in the Great War, very much against his father’s wishes. Men of their status do not sit in trenches and eat canned muck and get shot by German snipers.

Almost died more than once, saw some Major Shit.

Had a lot of trouble adjusting when he came home. Beds were too soft, everything glittered and sparkled and was too wide-open.

Also too boring. He spent two years facing life and death, and sitting back at his father’s desk with a cigar felt too simple.

So he decided to become a policeman. One of the **good** ones. He truly wanted to make a difference.

The day he enrolled, his father disowned him. Lucifer still had money left to him by his mother, but everything from his old man, including controlling interest in the company, was given to….someone else.

And for the first time, Lucifer felt free.

Rose in the ranks, thanks to charisma and intelligence.

Knew about the corruption, refused to participate, but felt he was too junior still to do anything about it.

By the time he was a senior detective, he’d gotten used to it. He wasn’t tempted by bribes himself, since he had more money than he would ever need. 

If he was actually going to help people, he needed to stay on the force. To stay on the force, he had to turn a blind eye.

At least until the murder.

A young Black singer, the daughter of one of his father’s servants. 

He’d grown up with her, their servant’s kids were as much his siblings as his actual sister. 

This girl was younger than him by a few years, but her voice had been heavenly. 

She sang in speakeasies, throaty voice singing the blues.

And now she was dead - brutalized and strangled for telling a rich white kid “no”.

The bastard was caught with blood quite literally on his hands. He fucking confessed.

But the boy’s father was a major contributor of the Chief’s - so her death was ruled an unsolved homicide.

Enraged, Lucifer did what he swore he would never do - he fought the system.

And lost.

And those who supported him - whatever their reasons - were kicked out of the force right alongside him.

So, with too much money on his hands, too much grief in his heart, and too many junior officers looking to him for leadership, Lucifer starts the Seven Brothers Detective Agency.

He saw his juniors - his friends, his **brothers** - and realized that, for most of them, they hadn’t just lost a job, they’d lost a reason to get up in the morning. So he gave them one.

He’ll never admit that he needed a reason to get up even more than they did.

At this point, he’s low key a functioning alcoholic.

He uses big-money cases in order to fund helping the disenfranchised.

Will always help people in real trouble, even if they can’t pay at all.

He spends most of his time on paperwork in the office, and occasionally bailing his juniors out of jail. 

Or paying off their mob debts.

Kind of the same thing, anyway.

When he does go out into the field, though, he’s formidable. 

He seems to have this otherworldly charm, and people find themselves talking to him, telling him things they maybe shouldn’t.

He’s an expert at questioning someone around in circles until they don’t even know what they’re saying.

He’s also an expert at asking such direct questions that people become uncomfortable. You can learn a lot from someone’s discomfort.

⚡️ - Biggest fear

What really scares me is uncertainty and insecurity. I grew up pretty poor. Not like super poverty, but the type of poor where you start working off the books at 11 and you eat dinner at your grandparents house for a few weeks because your own parents can’t afford groceries because something happened that sucked up available funds. Also, my mom was sick most of my childhood, so I wound up being her caretaker and between that and the whole getting-a-job-at-11 thing, I didn’t really have a childhood or teenage-hood. I’m a lot older now, and I’m in a pretty secure financial place, but I’m still desperately afraid of that one accident or emergency that will send me back into eating at other people’s houses or having to borrow money from my parents to afford to fix my car.

I’ve also got some of my mom’s conditions - plus a few mental illnesses - so part of my fear of uncertainty is what’s going to happen to me in the future. By the time she was my age, my mom was going blind and suffering mini-strokes. I’ve managed to avoid all of that, but for how long? We survive on my salary, so if I become unable to work, we’re screwed. Not to mention I can only be as healthy as I am because my job provides top-tier health insurance. What happens if I lose it? I’m not having children, so how will I be looked after if I actually live to be old?

So, short answer, I guess, is just “the future” - I’m always afraid of things taking a sharp downturn, because my childhood was nothing BUT thinking things were fine and then everything exploding in your face.

[gra-sonas]

It feels weird for me to give any insights because I don't have formal training, nor do I even feel like I know what I'm doing. I will say: johnaugust.com is how I learned how to write. Any time I had a question or had no idea how to format a specific scene, I'd research it there.

For me, I'm a big believer in writing what excites you. At the end of the day, a script should be fun. That doesn't mean it can't cover serious subject matter or tear your heart out, but it should keep you flipping the pages. If you enjoy reading it, someone else probably will. But like… be honest with yourself :)

A strong title! I'm not sure this actually matters, but I believe it does. So many of my ideas start with a title I love. From there, I build the world.

Make the script your own. Bold, underline, highlight, write a poem on the title page, write inside jokes to the reader, WHATEVER. If you want to do it, do it. There's no "right" way, as long as your script is formatted properly and is telling the story you want to tell (see: SCREEN DIRECTION 101).

Grammar! Do your best to make sure there are zero typos. If I read a script that has typos, I wonder how much pride the writer actually has in their material. I know it sounds anal, but I think, if you're going to write something, it should be to the best of your ability. Otherwise, what's the point? Just fix the typos.

Write about something you can relate to. That doesn't mean you have to relate to all the characters or the story or whatever, but relate to SOMETHING! Maybe the character is driven to have a baby, and you freaking hate babies. Well, I bet there's something similar in your life that you want as badly as that character wants a baby. Take your feelings and apply them to your characters.

Just fucking write. Who cares if it sucks? Write and write and write, and if you have writer's block? Write.

Write a thorough outline. It’s a nightmare, but you gotta do it.

I always do an in-depth beat sheet – laying out every single scene. So, when it comes to actually writing the script, all you're doing is improvising details – the structure is already there. Improvising on the page, finding things in the story you didn’t expect, that’s the best part in my opinion. And you can’t do that if you don’t know what’s going on in the story overall.

As for reps, nobody wants to rep you. Ever. Reps don't even seem to want to rep the people they're already repping. Sooooo, make them want to rep you. Do something so great that people have to pay attention. And then do it again.

Also, getting repped doesn't mean shit. They take 10% of your earnings for a reason. YOU are the CEO. YOU are in the driver's seat. Don’t ever forget that.

Public Film School is a project organized by RNM writer Eva McKenna. The website’s aim is to “answer every question you have about being a working screenwriter” because “not everyone can afford film school”. 

The site just launched but more content will be added over time. Website contributors include RNM showrunner Chris Hollier, former RNM showrunner Carina MacKenzie, and actor and screenwriter Michael Vlamis - who wrote the above article.

Check out the site at ➡️publicfilmschool.org

[forgottenluck]

So I am finally caught up on Arise. I’ll admit, going into it I was apprehensive, and I know very little about how the game actually plays so i can’t judge it on a gameplay point....

So what follows is my Personal opinion on it, and if you don’t like it, then that’s your fault. I’ll post it under a readmore, but i’ll try to avoid spoilers...will still tag it as spoilery though, since i know many haven’t finished the game.

Beware, this got a lot longer than I expected.

I personally believe that Arise is one of the weakest of the tales games. I can’t say much for the mobile games, and i”ve heard good things about them so i may go and try to look into them....but from the games that I’m familiar with, Arise has the weakest plotline.

I’ll start with what I liked about the game though.

It’s story had genuine moments that surprised me. They were well written moments, that stood out in a positive way. I think some of the characters have extremely good character growth, and very real situations. One of the most surprising was Dohalim. I’m genuinely impressed by how he grows through the game, and the ending result. They handled him extremely well, and he’s by far my favorite character. 

There were also a few moments in the story that actually caught me off guard. Like I knew there would be a twist, but the twist that actually does happen is...not what I expected, and is done in a really interesting and integrative way.

The villains were well thought out, at least Lords wise.

....but that’s...about where my praises end.

It’s hard to put into words just everything that....disappointed me about Arise, but i’m going to try.

My first biggest issue is the first few hours of the game. I know i’m not the only one who does this, but I try to connect with the Main Character, in as many ways as I can....but it’s incredibly hard when the character only has a vague personality and literally no face. This was a cause of great unease, and disconnect for me, which put me off the game almost immediately. I’ll admit, i grew even more critical of the game after spending almost 3 hours watching a character I couldn’t connect with interact with a character who made it impossible to like right off the bat. And I do understand why they did things this way....but it was a huge turn off for me.

The characters themselves felt flat and forced, the motions didn’t exactly link up with their emotions, and felt stiff. I’ll go over these in detail, trying to avoid spoilers as much as I can.

Alphen is a character that...well, I actually like the least. He’s supposed to be the main character, but I honestly don’t really care for him that much. I feel he’s a lot of wasted potential, but at the same time, extremely overbearing. He has no rhyme or reason for his sense of purpose and justice.....other than “slavery bad. need to free.” That’s literally what his personality boils down too for the majority of the game. When he does get his memory back, it’s all of a sudden “omg i’m a horrible person” which is entirely contradiction to his character building up until that point. Granted this was meant to represent a mental breakdown, but it just....wasn’t handled well. I’ll admit he gets more tolerable around the ending but all of his speeches were the clique of clique. I get that nothing’s really unique anymore...but it just takes the cake on how clique you can get. 

Shionne is....a complicated mess. She’s supposed to be prickly, and unlikable at the beginning. I realized this and didn’t pass judgement until a good ways in to the story, to give her time to develop. I do like what they tried to do with her. But I don’t think they managed to get what they wanted across. She’s very unlikable at the beginning, and only gets a little better by the middle of the game. She only truly develops towards the point of the Last Lord, and a little after. Especially towards the final battle, when she finally opens up....but even that feels...forced. A lot of the characters final growth feel extremely forced and rushed, like they accept everything at that moment only because the plot forces them too. Shionne is no exception, though her situation is the least jarring. (On the topic of Shionne though, I will admit that the romance plot between them is one of the more natural ones in the Tales series, it does develop over time, but I think the ending is still very much rushed.)

Rinwell is my next big issue. She would be my favorite character by far if it wasn’t for the major fault in her personality: her racism. It bothered me a lot, and it felt so very forced. Of course, Rinwell has plenty of reason to hate, but there was just so much of it in that tiny little body that it didn’t come across as natural. And she doesn’t get better through the game, even when traveling with two Renans for a while. She has a very real and understandable trauma, however it felt unrealistic especially when it was revealed her past. The only time she gets better is towards the end, when it’s like a sudden revelation hits her and she’s suddenly nice and happy. It was a dramatic shift to me that didn’t seem to fit with her personality.

Law is a character...I actually don’t have a lot of issues with. My main issue is how he was sort of forced upon the player out of nowhere. He’s a good, well balanced character, that really doesn’t need a lot of growth to him. Sure he has a lot of hate built up in him, but he does his job; which is the comic relief. he’s the natural born airhead, and he does a good job at it. There are a few out of character deep moments, but his tendency to just say whatever comes to him is what moves the plot along at times. I just hate how he was kind of forced upon us in the early game due to what happens with his father.

(Zepher is a character i am very conflicted about because on one hand I really liked his character, it was one of the best ones in the game in my opinion, but his speech during the second Lord’s domain was super forced in my opinion. I felt what happened with him just was very forced and quickened to make the plot go further.)

Dohalim is by far my favorite character. I actually don’t have a lot to say negatively about him. I feel like he’s the best, well written character of the group. His wants, needs are very realistic, and his desires and actions compliment that. If anything I think he takes the ‘atone for my sins’ thing a little too far at times, but he’s the character that has the most realistic growth of them all.

Kisara....I don’t have a lot to say about. It’s not that I didn’t like her. I did. She was a good, motherly character to the group, who keeps them in line for the most part. But...that’s it. I feel like she got past her anger and hate too quickly, accepting what had happened as if it was just daily life and moving on. It didn’t feel natural, but I assume she’s just the type of character to keep her worries and feelings to herself so that she doesn’t worry those around her. Which matches her motherly character.

Those are my feelings on the main characters. I won’t go into the villains for obvious reasons, but I will admit i found that the villains were well written for the short amount of time they were on screen.

I’ve seen a lot of praise for the story line.....but I don’t....really see what’s praiseworthy about it. I realize i went in extremely biased and critical, but there wasn’t a lot I could do about it.

I’m not exactly a fan of how Bandai has ‘reworked’ the Tales formula. I was extremely put off with no buildup to the first baddie, I felt like I had no way of knowing what the character that was in front of me was like. Not only did he have no face, but he felt so flat, mold-able....that it was off putting. To be thrown directly into the heart of a dark, devastating world was jarring enough to me to make me think.....which normally wouldn’t have been a bad thing, but with the combination of the lack of connection with the main character, I was just....lost. I wasn’t exactly interested in the story at that point. Which to me is a failure in writing. The first few hours of a game are critical in keeping someone interested enough to keep playing. If there’s a lack of connection, a lack of understanding, and a general sense of unease, followed by no real interesting reason for the characters to be doing what they’re doing that doesn’t boil down to “slave bad must free”, players are likely to put the game down. And I’ll admit, this put me off the game real fast. (But again, this is my opinion, please keep that in mind.)

As the story goes on, and we meet more characters, I did start to get interested, but it was then I noticed a lot of glaring flaws in the story itself. The first thing was that it was extremely predictable. I predicted what happens to Zeypher really fast....like only a few minutes after he was introduced. I figured out what was wrong with Shionne and her motives relatively quick. I figured out what Alphen was, or possibly was within the first boss fight. Things like this kept happening, i kept being able to predict the next big event in the game and....that sucked the interest out of me. If i can predict the game, what’s the point of me keeping going? I will admit, there were moments that I didn’t predict, like what happens in Menecia. and within the Valley of the Four Winds. But for the most part, the game was so predictable that I just felt bored more than half of the time. Tales games are usually masters of storytelling, able to put twists and turns, and turn your predictions on their heads to an extent. Of course, I understand that no story is going to be unique....but i just feel appalled that no one looked at the script and said “maybe this is a bit too predictable?”.

The second thing I noticed was that parts of the story felt extremely forced. Like it was rushed, unnaturally so. Cyslodia was a main contributor to this, the whole time was extremely forced and rushed, especially with Zeypher and Law. Later, the whole issue with Shionne and her Thorns just....bam, suddenly it’s ‘lets talk’ and it was just....not good. A lot of the skits felt like this as well. Rinwell and Law’s skits were usually not too terribly forced, but a lot of Alphen and Shionne’s skits felt forced and unnatural, mainly because of Shionne’s character flaw of not opening up. they felt awkward and again, unnatural.

By the end of the game, I realized something big, as well. Now, I understand, as I’ve said, that no story now is going to be unique.....however I feel like this story line takes the cake on a whole new level of ‘rehash’. The similarities to Vesperia and Graces are uncanny. Arise took the “planet eating world ending entity, with a child heralding the end of times (estelle, child of the full moon)” of Vesperia and the “There’s a whole nother planet out there and oh, by the way it wants to kill us, along with an entity made of energy that just wants to live” of Graces and combined it into one story. And it’s not even that well done in my opinion. Sure, it threw in a few curve balls like Renans, Dhanans, and the Heganquil.....but....at the end of the day, it’s just....a cross over of the two series with new characters? At least that’s what it felt like to me. Taking the two major plot points of previous games, one of which was recently re-released, and putting them together in one game? I wouldn’t call it lazy, but it’s definitely not the best decision i’ve seen.

Finally, I’ll talk about the ending.....while trying to avoid as many spoilers as I can. Tales games have been known for their clique “good conquers all, everyone wins in a heartfelt tearjerky way”....but it seems like that Arise took all that they could, all the cliques in the book, and put them in their ending. As well as doing things in a completely unrealistic unreasonable way. Sure it’s a good ending for the game, and it’s a happy one, but it leaves a LOT of unanswered questions. Mainly my question is ‘how the fuck is everyone still alive after that?’. (if you haven’t beaten the game, wait until you have, you’ll know what I mean then). It’s just....a confusing clusterfuck if you think about it, and have finished the game and know what I’m talking about. Most Tales games end with at least a definitive ending, that answers the questions of the game....but this one just felt so out of left field to me that it was unnatural and jarring.

Please keep in mind that these are my opinions after analyzing the story and characters, and watching an in depth play-through. You likely will have different opinions if you’ve played/watched the game yourself. I admit again, I probably was overcritical of the game, but this is the first Tales game since Abyss that i did not enjoy for the most part. It definitely has it’s good points, the characters are well designed, even if their personalities and stuff fall flat. It genuinely surprised me at times, which is a good thing. I just feel like the cons of the game outweigh the pros, in a serious way. It’s not a great game, it’s not a bad game, it’s simply....mediocre in my eyes, which is something that very few Tales games can be ranked for me. This is just my honest opinion on the game, and if you like it and disagree with me, that’s fine! I’m not gonna force my opinion on you in any way!

And that doesn’t mean I will not roleplay with characters from Arise! I want to see how people change, improve and characterize these characters! Everyone will see them as something different, and I can’t wait to see how people play them, because I felt that while there were definite issues with the characters, they were definitely the strongest part of the game.

[a-crimson-lion]

Reboots: A Perspective

[Warning // Nonsensical ramblings follow; might be hard to keep track of. Keep that in mind.]

Oh no, not me talking about something I'm barely familiar with oxhwodhwkn-

But in all seriousness...

I feel like a big reason that most modern day reboots are awful isn't just because most of them thinly veiled cash grabs.

It's also because most of them rely on pre-established (and usually complete) stories in order to somehow guarantee a bottom line.

Which, depending on the execution, has a chance of tarnishing the story's previous legacy, if it doesn't outright bastardize the original so bad that the fandom straight up cancels the reboot altogether.

The thing about reboots is you're not just taking something that probably made bank in its heyday. Companies recognize something about the sentimental value of a property, and think they can turn it into bank by virtue of that alone. And admittedly, reboots CAN be a good idea. They're already established thanks to the old story, and can guarantee some support so the idea isn't immediately gutted. It repackages the original story, and if it can stay true to its roots while also adding some new engaging elements, be they huge or small in scale, they can end up creating something enjoyable for both new and old audiences.

...the thing is, most studios don't do that.

Usually, it's about the paycheck. I'm not saying all reboots/continuations are like this. I mean, we live in a world where DuckTales (2017) and Invader Zim: Enter the Florpus exist. But then you got people like Disney with their flurry of "eh ok" to "WTF WHY" remakes. And apparently those only exist to extend their copyright, which... makes some sense, but still sucks.

And for this to make any sense, yes this is about the Powerpuff Girls reboot. I still don't know how to feel about it at the moment, but it's easy to see some of the stacking points against it.

I) Theming

Serious gritty stories, campy fun stories, and everything in between all have their place in the world. Each one has a right to exist. On top of the previously mentioned "touching a sentimental property" bit I brought up earlier, the new PPG CW reboot takes a sometimes serious but overall fun and high energy series, and submerges it with the typical subset of adolescent/adult angst. I have a very flimsy connection with PPG myself, but as a majority of the fans have stated: "Who asked for it?"

Unfortunately you can't say "No one asked for it," because someone did apparently ask for it: the handful of executives who allowed the pilot to go into production.

II) Presentation

I'm not a big fan of the "cartoons are for kids" stigma, nor am I a big fan of the "making a cartoon live action" trend, usually because it's taking the cartoon and making it "more mature" or whatever. In regards to the former, the eventual stigma could probably be traced back to the introduction of the home tv, which is a whole 'nother topic. Now, I'm happy for the influx of adult animation, even if I myself rarely partake. And maybe this is just wishful thinking, but if the PPG reboot wasn't live action, I feel like that could have tempered the initial backlash just a smidge. Not by much, bit it could have made the response a bit softer.

III) Source Material

I feel like a broken record at this point. I say again, reboots rely on previously established material to guarantee support, and sometimes the stories they tell are wildly off center from the originals. I feel like with the PPG reboot, the story of 20-something disillusioned former child superheroes is not inherently a bad idea. The fact that it's to the PPG lore and that Blossom, Bubbles, amd Buttercup are those disillusioned former heroes is what sets people off. The thing is, even if you take inspiration or just straight up use an old property, if tou wanted to put in the elbow grease, you could make an entirely new property that's original enough to not be considered a reboot. Sure it's more work, but it's original, and in this day and age where we're practically neck deep in reboots, we could use more original.

I'll say it again: the basic premise of the PPG is not a bad one for an overall story.

Bojack Horseman is the story of a washed up child actor, and it's received plenty of praise. Steven Universe Future is essentially the same plot, and people enjoyed that as well.

Maybe "disillusioned child star/superhero" isn't the best approach for a story like PPG. But if you wanted to put in the effort, it could be a great original story. It might not spawn an entire fandom, but it could have its own moment in the spotlight and remain fondly remembered in the memories of others, instead of regarded with scorn as "that trash reboot."

And the thing about original ideas: they have to rely on themselves.

There's no shiny critically acclaimed property to fall back on, no blinding spotlight to hideaway the cracks and disfigurements. Maybe that's another contributor to the awful reboots: people are so focused on the star power that they don't stop to think, "Does this actually work?" With an original idea, it makes or breaks on its own merit.

And if a great original idea/pilot isn't picked up because the execs are getting too cushy with their money printers? Well maybe it's about time we roll up our sleeves and raise our expectations. Times are changing, and going back to the old without doing everything new or enjoyable can only last so long...

-Crimson Lion (12 April 2021)

[randomrosewrites]

H. A. W. K. S.

“There’s a certain kind of pain that follows denying your pleasures in life.”

A brief abstract piece on Hawks as a character. 

Words: 2179

Rating: Mature 

Read it on ao3

// Possible manga spoilers. No events in the manga are mentioned outright, but some things and aspects of Hawk’s past are alluded to. 

Warnings: Blood + killing mention. 

Enjoy. 

                                                     H. A. W. K. S.

                                                    Act 1: Heights.

It’s raining tonight. 

He’s always liked the rain. Maybe it made sense, with his quirk and all, but something about water streaming from the heavens soothed him. 

He’s crouched on an arm of a crane, at the top right where the hook hangs 50 meters below him. His wings are hunched up, rain cascading down them like they’re made of glass, his coat and hair are lightly misted with a thin layer of water. Cupped between his gloved hands is a room-temperature can of instant coffee. He takes sips from it whenever he remembers to.

It’s a quiet night on patrol. The city has, graciously, decided it was going to be quiet for the night. He gazes out over the world, city lights flaring against the plastic of his visor. He pushes it up onto his hair. Rubs his eyes. Blinks. Drinks some coffee. 

Nights like these were what he - in theory - enjoyed. Quiet. Serene. No one around to disturb or ask him anything. Perched at the top of the world, weightless and free.

But every time those graveyard shifts rolled around, without fail, an extreme sense of disappointment settled in.  

He knows he should be happy. He should be savoring the precious moments of peace whenever he could, as they were such a rarity. But he couldn’t help but feel a sense of emptiness, a hole where he was expecting joy to fill it. Instead of feeling free, he just felt tethered to the ground, an invisible chain wrapped around his ankle. 

He stares up in the air, being met with pitch blackness. He can’t tell the difference between cloud and sky. 

Being alone meant there was...nothing. Nothing to do. No one to talk to. Nothing he had to be. He didn’t have to be anything - no one but himself.

Himself… who even is that person, if they even exist? The line between his hero persona and who he truly is blurs with every passing day that now he thinks - fears - there’s no difference. It’s just one blur, like the clouds in the night sky. 

After the curtains shut (if they ever shut at all…) and he takes his final bow as Hawks, who is he?

He gazes out over the city, burying the multitude of thoughts he doesn’t have answers for far away from his mind.

                                                    Act 2: Apathy.

He never wanted to be in the top ten. But as most things in his life, fate had a different plan for him. 

He doesn’t understand why he’s so popular. Ok, well, that’s a lie, he does partly. But he doesn’t understand what makes him good enough for the top of the pyramid. He’s not like All-might or Endeavor, who became famous for their pure strength. His wings are powerful, sure, but not that powerful. 

If he had to take a guess, he’d bet the appearance of his feathered appendages were a big contributor to his fame. That and a mix between his speech and his looks (don’t even ASK him what his fans see in him, he has no idea. ) But in the end, the why isn’t important, but how he handles that fame. 

He smiles politely at the people crowded around him. Sign this for him. Nod at that person. Take a photo with her. Thank this person. Laugh at this one’s joke. Let the kids tug on his wings.  It’s all standard stuff he’s been trained to know how to do. Simple. 

The hardest part is figuring out what people want. How much effort to invest in the conversations, how much he has to smile to make them satisfied, but not enough for them to get too confident. People and their emotions are easy things to figure out. It’s a formula.  A pattern. Once you know what they like, it’s just a matter of providing that euphoria again and again. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a person who wriggles through the crowd, coming close to him. They appear nervous, maybe hopeful, wringing their hands out in front of them. 

“Excuse me?” They ask. 

Hawks finishes up signing something for a kid and turns to them.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“I…” As they pause, Hawk’s eyes trail lower. A red feathered charm hangs from a metal chain around their neck, resembling the feathers on his back. 

He recognizes it. It’s one of his merch products from the latest jewelry line that came out. He showed it off in a recent photo shoot he did. The necklaces have been very popular, from what he’s heard. 

The fan clears their throat and finds their voice. “I just wanted to say thank you for all that you do. I love you so much and I think you’re amazing.”

A confession? He feels like laughing. Wow. It’s not the first time he’s had one of those, and it certainly won’t be the last. 

He smiles good-naturedly at them. “Thanks! I’m grateful for all the support my fans give me.” 

They flush, just happy to be able to talk to him. He wishes he could feel bad. Or feel anything for all these people fawning over him.

But he doesn’t. He feels nothing.

You don’t love me, he thinks, you love the idea of me.

                                                      Act 3: Wings.

“What a great quirk you have! I bet you’ll be able to become a super-strong hero with it!”

“You’re so lucky to have a powerful quirk!”

“I’m so jealous of you!”

“Wow...look at them!”

...things like that were what people told him all the time as a kid. How lucky he was, how blessed he was, blah blah blah.

He’s lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling of his apartment. He’s shooed most of the feathers out of his wings, leaving just little whisps on his back. It’s still a bit uncomfortable and feels a tad annoying when they press against the sheets of his bed, but he doesn’t mind. Sometimes that ache is good. 

The rest of his feathers flit about the room. Some stick to the walls or ceilings, others hover around, suspended in midair. A few zoom around, disturbing the others, but most just kinda lay around. 

Mighty wings. That’s the name they gave his quirk. A more accurate term would be mighty feathers, but it’s not like he cares about the technicalities.  

He rubs a dead one between his fingers. The barbs are frayed and the edges are bunched together. 

It was always his quirk that got him attention. It was always the wings that people noticed and remembered - not the man who controlled them. Without them, would anyone even recognize him? Or was he just a pretty face that went along with them? 

He glares at the feather in hand, crushing it carelessly between his fingers. The crack of the stem as it breaks echoes through the room. 

So yes, what a great quirk he was born with! It was so good, they decided his life for him.

                                                      Act 4: Kill.

His wings always felt heavier when wet. Sadly, he found out it didn’t need to always be because of water. Blood also weighed them down. 

It was his first time in a mock battle. Back when he was...7...8? Something like that. 

Well, anyway, he’d been up against an opponent that was a lot stronger than he was in terms of physical strength. It wasn’t an important fight, it was just a casual sparing match. But they’d both fought like their lives were at stake. At the time, his feathers weren’t as strong or large as they are now, so he didn’t have much to work with. 

During some point in the fight, though, he remembers getting a nice cut on his opponent. Right along the arm on the meaty part of the tricep. The feather jerked through the skin, cutting a jagged, wobbly line into the muscle. 

When he felt it, he shivered.

Afterwards, he cleaned himself up in the bathroom, washing away his own blood from the cuts and scrapes he gained. When it came time to do his feathers, he’d thrown away the bloodied one, taking an hour to carefully preen and scrub the rest of his dirtied feathers. 

Back then, it felt easy to get the blood off of him.

Now, things are much different. 

How long do you have to wash your hands before the blood goes away entirely? He ponders to himself one night. Does it really ever go away? Or does some of it stay behind permanently in microscopic percentages?

He stands over his sink, shoulders hunched, head hanging. The faucet is on, sending a gush of water down the sink. Wasteful, he chastises himself. 

Blood trickles from his nose in slow, steady drops, twirling down the drain. He’d gotten careless, a bit too sloppy, and the consequence had been him landing face-first into the ground. It wasn’t broken, thankfully, it just hurt like hell. 

He stares at his hands, gripping the edges of the sink. They’re spotless - not a drop of blood or a spec of dirt on them. He’d worn gloves after all. It made cleanup easier. 

The wings on his back twitch. They’re red. Even though he can tell when there’s blood on them (it’s always just a bit darker) who knows for certain if they’re entirely clean? Maybe the blood just stains them, slowly changing the colour of them, layer by layer. 

He stands there for a minute, before pumping a few squirts of soap into his hands, and viciously scrubbing them together. 

No guilt. Just the need to be clean. Though he knows that it’s pointless to think he’ll ever be it.

                                                    Act 5: Sorrow. 

There’s a certain kind of pain that follows denying your pleasures in life. It’s not a sharp pain but a slow scrape, like someone is tearing your heart apart tissue by tissue, leaving behind nothing but a cold pit. It creeps up on you, seeping into your body, sucking the life out of you.

Most people hated Mondays. They're the first day of the business week, always the hardest to come back from after celebrating the weekend. For Hawks, it’s always the opposite. Fridays are the hardest for him.

All around him, he sees people living their lives. Excited students going for karaoke, exhausted business owners going for a relaxing night in, clusters of friend groups going out to eat at a restaurant.

Everyone is having fun, they’re existing, relishing in the pleasures of life.

But for Hawks, those weren’t things he could take part in. He’s always busy, tied up with one thing or another that the higher ups needed to be done. An endless, to-do-list that only lengthens the faster he tries to go. 

Sometimes he wants to scream. Or cry. Or slam his fists into the ground. Rip his throat raw until he can't speak. He felt the need to do something to ground himself, something to treasure himself that he was alive. Because half of the time, he feels like he’s not really living. 

Every day is the same. Different day, sure, and different tasks, but the same routine. Like a loop. He gets up, works, goes to bed exhausted, wakes up exhausted, and repeat.

Over and over and over. 

And what is the point of it all? He’s only...what, twenty-two? And yet, he feels like he’s lived enough for a lifetime and not long enough simultaneously. 

He wants to go out and see the world. He wants to curl back up in bed and sleep for a solid three months. How can two oxymorons both be true? 

He tears his gaze away from the window and the people walking in the streets of Tokyo, shutting the blinds and taking a seat at his desk. 

Even on his darkest days, even when he feels like he can’t handle being himself for another second, he always calms down. Without fail, he always picks himself back up, piece by broken piece, and looks forward to the future. 

It’s the only thing he can do. 

                                                      H. A. W. K. S.

He’s barreling forward in life, flying faster than his wings can take him. 

One of these days, he’s going to trip and fall. Maybe he’ll slip further than he can catch his mistakes, or maybe he’ll reach his nonexistent limit and throw in the towel, but inevitably, one of these days he’s going to come down.

“Hawks.” A woman in a plain black suit and dark sunglasses says to him. “The meeting is starting now. Are you fully prepared?”  

When that does happen, there’s no doubt it’ll be painful and ugly and hurt like all hell. He’ll fall through the sky, crashing and burning, hurtling towards the ground where he’ll collapse in a trembling, pathetic mess. 

But until that point, he’ll keep flying on. Because it’s the only thing he knows how to do. 

He smiles, ready to compromise himself over and over again.

“Yup.” 

Hawks. A man who’s too fast for his own good. 

[thenoammonster]

“A Fresh Start” Part I

So I’ve been a long time lurker, very occasional contributor to the Inuyasha fandom for the last zillion years, and due to the whole ‘may never get to leave my apartment again’ thing, I thought it might be fun to try writing again. 

Enter this little fic. It’s a modern AU that’s been rolling around in my head forever. Going to aim for a weekly update, but no promises. Enjoy!

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

Part I

‘It’s got to be around here somewhere… Maybe I missed the turn?’ 

Confused grey eyes squinted out the windshield, trying desperately to spot something familiar in the looming twilight. An agitated hand lifted from the battered leather of the steering wheel to drag through messy dark bangs as the young woman grew steadily more frustrated with her situation. Reaching the next narrow intersection, Kagome gave an impatient huff, finally admitting defeat before pulling over to park her small, beat up hatchback on the side of the road. It had been nothing but open countryside and woodland, broken up by the occasional lonely house, for at least 5 or so miles now. She knew she shouldn’t have allowed her mother to talk her into staying for lunch before heading out to her new town two hours out of the city. At this rate she would be moving her things in the late summer heat, getting eaten alive by mosquitos. 

``Hopefully Sango doesn’t mind…”

She sighed, reaching down into the cup holder to her right to grab her phone. She absently turned down the radio as the line began to ring. Halfway through the first ring, her friend’s voice cut through the buzzing. 

“Kagome? Oh I was just about to call you! It’s almost 8 o’clock, where the hell are you? We were supposed to meet at the clinic at 6!”

Sango’s uncanny ability to always know when she needed her pulled a wry smile to Kagome’s lips as she replied. 

“I’m so so sorry Sango. I had a late start driving out and with it starting to get dark I’m having trouble recognizing anything and I… kinda got lost. Data reception sucks out here, by the way.” 

“Yeah, well get used to it girl. You’re not living in the big city any more! Now, where are you? Can you at least describe the area a bit?”

“Uh, sure. I can see…” Kagome trailed off, leaning forward to better take in her surroundings, “... trees?” She heard Sango huff on the line, “ And… a little house with a pick up truck? The last street sign I could read was ‘Oak’ I think. And I passed the main shopping strip like… 10 minutes ago?”

“Hmm, sounds like you might have gone too far before turning. The clinic is supposed to be off Main street and then Maple, not Oak. That being said, I’m still not sure where you are. Can you try sending me a pin?”

“Yeah okay, hold on.” 

Pulling the phone away from her ear, Kagome began fiddling with her texting app, hitting the ‘send your location’ option and staring hopefully at the screen as it tried to send. She was so focused on the sending attempt, the abrupt knock at her window had her jumping a foot into the air, flinging her phone into the passenger seat. 

Whipping around to face the driver side window, Kagome stared wide-eyed at the silhouette that was leaning over to peer in at her. Spooked within an inch of her life, suddenly seeing flashes of the mutilated bodies of every woman from every crime show she’d ever watch in her mind, she reached to roll down the window an inch, just enough to address the shadowed form. There was an awkward silence for a moment while the figure stared in at her, during which Kagome’s panic continued to rise..

“H-Hey, you lost?” a gruff voice finally asked.

“ I-I’m uh…” While her mind whirled with panic, Sango’s screaming into the phone eventually penetrated her daze. Kagome scrambled to pick the phone back up off the seat.

“Kagome? Kagome what happened? Are you there?” 

Leaning away from the imposing figure still waiting by her door, Kagome replied, “Sango, I’m here. Sorry I dropped the phone. There’s someone here, a guy I –”

“Guy? What guy? This town’s small, I know everyone.”

“I-I don’t know. I haven’t really –”

“Put him on the phone.” This had Kagome’s jaw dropping in horror.

“What? But he-he could be a serial killer or a–”

“Kagome, I already told you. I know everyone. Now put the guy on the PHONE.”

Biting her lip in concern, but cowing under her friend’s demands, Kagome rolled the window down a bit more, reaching out to offer her phone to the shadow looming above her car. 

“My friend wants to talk to you,” she admitted bashfully. After a brief hesitation, a large hand reached out to take the phone. Again, that rough voice sounded, this time talking into the receiver. 

“Hello? Sango?” Kagome felt a strong shot of relief to hear the recognition in his voice upon speaking to her friend.  “Yeah, yeah it’s Inuyasha. Yeah. Oh, uhuh. Okay. Yeah I’ll take her. Yeah. Okay. We’ll meet you.” Handing the phone back, he waited for her to finish up the call. Again, she lifted the phone to her ear.

“Sango?”

“Kagome, that’s Inuyasha, he’s a friend of Miroku’s. He’s going to show you how to get to the clinic. You somehow managed to get yourself to the other side of town. I’m going to meet you guys there.”

“Okay, sounds good. See you there,” hanging up, Kagome leaned out of her window a bit to address Inuyasha. “I spoke to Sango. Thanks so much for your help. Do you want to hop in?”

He avoided looking at her as he answered, “Nah, I was gonna head into town anyway. Just lemme get my truck and you can follow me.” With that, he turned back into the now complete dark. Turning slightly in her seat, Kagome was able to make out his form as he moved towards the lonely little house she’d spotted earlier, disappearing inside for a moment before emerging once more. Seconds later headlights bloomed to her right and then his pickup truck pulled in front of her, leading the way back into town.

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

Fifteen minutes later Kagome was pulling into the long familiar gravel drive behind the clinic, parking behind the pickup she’d followed there. The site of her quaint new home squelched the last of the unease she’d been feeling since Inuyasha’s shadow first appeared beside her car. The place was perfect, a small, 4 exam room clinic in the storefront of the building at ground level, with two little apartments above. The apartments were accessed via the wraparound back porch, which was currently illuminated by the hanging lights on the eaves of the building. The one to the west side of the building belonged to the head doctor of the practice, Kaede, but the east facing one was all hers. 

As the cars pulled in, the door to Kaede’s place burst open and Sango came rushing down from the porch to meet her friend, her husband and boss following at a more sedate pace. Spotting her, Kagome burst from the car as well, embracing her friend around her slightly rounded midsection. Inuyasha also emerged from his car, leaning against the hood awkwardly while the women became reacquainted, looking anywhere but at the young woman he’d rescued. 

Sango poked her head out from the hug to call over, “Thanks so much for finding her Inuyasah!” Before turning back to her shorter friend, “Trust you to show up almost three hours late to your own move-in party.” 

“Yeah well it was dark. And I’m not used to driving, especially in settings like this.” Kagome argued, smiling goodnaturedly, as they came apart.

“Aaand whose fault is it that you’re getting here after dark anyways?”

“Mama’s! She’s the one who held me up earlier, getting me to stay for lunch, trying to convince me to bring Sota along to help with the heavy lifting.”

While the women chatted, Kaede paused by the stairs, and Miroku wandered over to lean against the pick up next to Inuyasha, slapping his friend on the shoulder in greeting. He received a grunted “Hey,”  in response. 

Kaede smiled gently at all the youthful excitement, sliding her one good eye over to observe Inuyasha’s expression. She had to admit that she pitied the boy a bit, as she herself had been a little startled the first time she had met Kagome, even with fair warning from Sango. The initial resemblance was uncanny. Hopefully the boy wouldn’t be disturbed too much. 

Miroku’s voice as he addressed his wife cut through the old woman’s musings.  “Sango my dearest, while I am happy to be your pack mule, can we get moving? It’s been a long day, you need rest.”

“Not to mention the hour is growing late for these old bones,” Kaede chimed in.

“Right! Oh, Kaede, it’s so good to see you!” The enthusiastic girl bounded over to wrap the older woman in a quick embrace before turning to pop the trunk of her hatchback and get to unloading. She and Sango would have all day tomorrow to catch up. 

“I just wanted to see that you had arrived safely, dear girl. I’m afraid I won’t be much help in the moving.”

“Oh, that’s alright Kaede! Why don’t you go on up and relax! We’ll be fine down here,” Kagome insisted as she rummaged around in her trunk. 

“Yeah, the boys will be more than enough help!” Sango agreed, eyeing the two men evil.

“Why don’t I go up and make some tea for everyone while you work?” Kaede offered, already heading towards the stairs.

“Thank you!” the girls chorused after her. 

Miroku turned to Inuyasha, pausing in his move to help Kagome gather her things . “So, Inuyasha, would you mind helping us out or are you needed elsewhere this evening?”

This had Kagome stopping mid step on her way towards the stairs, carrying a box labelled ‘kitchen’. “Oh I don’t want to put him out, Miroku. I’ve already inconvenienced him enough by having him show me how to get here. Really, Inuyasha, don’t feel like you have to stick around for our sakes. I only brought a few things anyway.” This was true, he was surprised to note that the only boxes she seemed to have with her were in the little car she’d driven.

“Still,” Miroku insisted, “ It might be fun to -”

“I-I can’t stay. Gotta be somewhere; I’m late as it is.” Inuyasha admitted, sticking his hands in his pockets to avoid fidgeting under Miroku and Sango’s inquisitive gaze.

“What? You have – Oh, it’s Friday night, isn’t it?” Miroku replied knowingly. Sango rolled her eyes, muttering to her husband to leave his friend alone.

Inuyasha growled at the smug look Miroku gave him, choosing not to say anything. 

“Oh, see Miroku? He’s busy!” Kagome dropped the box she was carrying on the first step of the porch, dusting her hands on her jeans before sticking it out for him to shake. “Thanks so much for all your help. It was really nice meeting you, Inuyasha.” 

Approaching him finally allowed her to get a decent look at the guy in the dark lighting. He was staring down at her hand like she’d offered him something dead, but after a glance in Miroku’s smug direction, he finally extended his own. When their palms met, Kagome was taken aback by the heat of his skin. She followed the large hand that enveloped her own up a toned arm to broad shoulders, high cheekbones framed by long dark tresses pulled back in a low tail. She couldn’t make out the color of his eyes in the inconsistent light of their combined headlights, but she could tell his jaw was strong and his lips full. Realizing she’d been staring, she swallowed hard, and turned to retrieve her box. “Thanks again! And have a great night!” She managed to squeak out before dashing the rest of the way up the stairs. Inuyasha and Miroku blinked after her, before the former cleared his throat, turned to utter a final goodbye to Miroku and Sango. “Tell the old woman I left,” he muttered, before sliding into his truck and backing out the drive. 

Once he was gone Kagome peaked out the door, before trotting out to grab more boxes, completely ignoring Sango’s comment of “Smooth” as she went about emptying her car with her friends’ help. When they reached the porch, Kaede had emerged with a tray of tea and some sliced melon for the 20-somethings to munch on as they worked.

It didn’t take long to finish unloading the car and start putting the apartment to rights, even with Sango only being able to help with the lighter stuff. By 11 o’clock Kaede had long since left them for bed, and Miroku was just managing to drag Sango over the threshold. The apartment had come fully furnished, but Sango was insisting she help Kagome unpack as well. The latter woman refused, assuring them she just needed to finish up putting everything away, and wait for the few odds and ends she’d ordered to be delivered. 

Sango tried to convince Kagome to come stay with them for the night when she realized the girl still didn’t have a mattress, but Kagome refused. She was excited to spend her first night here, in the place that she was very excited to call home now. 

After finally bidding Sango and Miroku a goodnight and safe drive home with a promise to call the former come morning, Kagome stood in the entry of her little apartment, taking the space in. Her’s was the smaller apartment, not that she minded. It was a little studio, with old miss matched windows and well worn, gleaming hardwood floors. From her spot Kagome could see the bathroom door to her right, all the way to the kitchenette, which occupied the middle of the apartment, and the large bookshelf that blocked the view of the bedframe she hoped would soon be accompanied by a mattress. It wasn’t big or fancy, but it was all hers. After 28 years of living with others; first at home with her family, then with friends throughout medical school and residency, it felt so so good to finally be free and independent. 

Smiling quietly to herself, Kagome pulled out her pocket knife to slice open the box labelled ‘linens’ and dug around for some sheets. She was thankful it was too warm for real blankets, as by this point she was too tired to bother locating one. Forgoing a change into any real sleep attire, she pulled off her jeans, tossed her bra onto a pile of boxes, and curled up on the couch for the night.

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

Inuyasha collapsed back against the pillows at his back and threw an arm over his dampened brow to block out the light from Yura’s bedside lamp. The local hairdresser giggled a bit,  stretching from her position straddling his lap. She leaned down to leave yet another lipstick stain on his check, then heaved herself off of him, dragging her long red fingernails through his sidelock as she went. As she sashayed across the dark-stained hardwood, still wearing nothing but that ever-present half smirk, she called over her shoulder, “I’m gonna pop in the shower to clean up.”

At the sound of the black-painted bathroom door shutting behind her, Inuyasha sat up, gingerly pulling the condom off of himself and reaching for the box of tissues on her nightstand to wipe down. He took extra care to avoid sullying her stupid silky sheets, knowing Yura would pitch a fit if he did. Tossing his mess into a nearby waste basket, he tried to decide what to do with himself. Yura would be half expecting him to join her in the shower for round two, but he really wasn’t into it tonight. 

Starting this casual thing with the owner of the only hair salon in town had seemed like an okay idea all those months ago, but Inuyasha was beginning to doubt that choice. Sure, she had a great body, all the attention was a welcome distraction from the montomy of his days, and the whole hair fixation wasn’t that off putting but it didn’t feel right. Inuyasha had never been one for casual relationships, part of why he’d had so few in his life. This one was beginning to take its toll. He and Yura were both adults and neither one of them seemed to have any delusions about what they were to each other. There weren’t all that many people in there little town, and the sex was good. That was all. There was no warmth to their relationship – if you could even call it that – just the heat of the act itself which extinguished into nothing the second it was over. He was starting to miss having more. He shook himself at the thought, wondering what had him feeling so sentimental all of a sudden.

“Aw fuck it,” he muttered to himself, finally rising from the bed to pull on his jeans and boxers from off the floor. He tried to tell himself the ghost he’d met earlier had nothing to do with his weird mood. She was just some friend of Sango’s, no one he need concern himself with. He approached the bathroom door as he ripped his shirt over his head, pulling the door open to tell Yura he was going to be heading home. 

“Oh okay then, Sugar. See you later,” she called back to him over the pounding of water on tile. 

He heaved a big sigh as he shut the door of Yura’s apartment and started down the stairs to get to his truck. Pleasant as their encounters were, he hated Yura’s apartment. All the stark, black, white and red decor made him feel like he couldn’t touch anything, and the dim lighting was a little too theatrical for his taste. The place looked like something out of a fashion district apartment in a big city, not like anything that belonged in a tiny town in upstate nowhere. Leaving there always felt a bit like re-entering reality from someplace surreal and far away. Still, he’d rather have to meet her at her place than let anyone over to his. He didn’t want his meetups with Yura tainting the quiet spaces he’d once shared with her. 

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

[pilot-boi]

Missing In Action: Chapter Five

Grace Is Wasted

Take all the courage you have left, and waste it on fixing all the problems in your own head.

AO3 LINK

It’s day three. Or four, maybe. It’s the third time he’d woken up, at any rate. It was hard to tell how much time had passed without windows, and Commando and his lackeys would punish him if he asked any questions. 

That didn’t stop him from asking. The lack of information was driving him crazy. Although the fact that the torture wasn’t slowing down was probably also a major contributor to that. Not that they were any closer to getting answers out of him.

Every muscle ached. He’d had more trips to the Tub than he could count, and he was becoming concerningly used to the feeling of water in his lungs, and of waking up in places he didn’t remember traveling to. The lack of autonomy wasn’t helping things, but his legs weren’t really working properly. He couldn’t focus as well as he should be able to, and the general fuzziness in his brain was affecting his coordination.

That was probably the lack of food’s fault.

Jaune’s stomach rumbled in response, as if sensing that he was thinking about it. He glared down at it, silently willing it to shut up. Not that he could really see it, his cell was  pitch black after all.

The food was messing with his perception of time as well. Jaune wasn’t too proud to admit that his life was regimented into time before a meal, and time after a meal. He was a growing boy, food was a must. A requirement. And the lack of it was taking him out of the real world more than he’d like to admit.

The first day or so he’d been able to tell how much time was passing by when his stomach would grumble and protest or ache from lack of food, but now all of him ached and he was always hungry. So that was no help anymore.

Commando at least was providing him with water. Sour, mildewed water, but water nonetheless. So he was unlikely to die anytime soon. Just suffer. And wasn’t that just dandy?

Light peeked into the room as the door creaked open. Jaune squinted into it, wincing after the hours of darkness. “Is it morning already?” Jaune rasped, trying to sound casual. “I thought you guys might’ve forgotten about me.”

The tall man didn’t respond, he never did, but his companion chuckled darkly. That was all the response he ever got out of these two. Fear of Commando kept them from saying anything more to him. Honestly Jaune couldn’t blame them, he’d be scared of Commando, too.

Not that he was scared of the man. Nope. Not at all. And it wasn’t like he was likely to have a meaningful conversation with Rando and Blondie, but he was starving for human interaction. It was just another thing they were depriving him of.

Jaune had taken to talking to himself, if only to make sure that he still could talk. He was certain that that was perfectly fine. Nothing to worry about there.

Rando unlocked the chain from the wall and let Jaune drop onto the ground. Every time he’d see it coming, and he’d try his hardest to catch himself, but after who knew how many hours not using his arms… Well it would be easier to compare his arms to limp noodles than to actual arms. 

“Aw come on guys,” Jaune groaned, attempting to push himself back up off the floor, “Didja have to drop me? Every gods damned time.” Rando hefted him up from the floor and yanked him towards the door, perhaps more roughly than he normally would’ve done. 

The barely healing bruises and scrapes on his wrists flared with pain. His shoulder wasn’t pleased either, and was telling him so through a morse code message of lightning bolts and pain and throbbing. Fun stuff! Good stuff. “Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed today,” Jaune grumbled, and got clubbed in the side of the head for his trouble.

Blondie led the way down the hallway, twirling the keys on his finger and whistling merrily. Jaune glanced around the dark hall, trying to see if there was some sign posted to explain why Blondie seemed to cheery. Maybe it was the man’s birthday. Well too bad, Blondie, you weren’t gonna be getting a present from him, no-sir-ee bob.

Jaune belatedly realized that he was muttering this all under his breath when Blondie chuckled again. Dammit Jaune, keep it together. Can’t crack this early, he had a responsibility to everyone to keep it together. 

Tensing against his will as they approached the now too-familiar door in front of the room with the Tub, Jaune dug in his heels, anything to stop them from going in the room. And then they were passing by the door. Jaune sagged in relief, feet stumbling over themselves when Rando yanked the chain to get him moving again.

A new torture then? Jaune dreaded to think of what Commando could’ve come up with now. Lasers? Sharks? Laser sharks?! The possibilities were endless. 

Blondie was coming to a halt by a door now, and pulling it open to let Rando drag him in. Jaune followed cautiously, eyes roving the new space for any way to escape, or for any hint of what was coming.

It was a small room. Concrete walls, not a crack to be seen, and a single chair. The chair looked like one of those ones he’d seen in the hairdressers his mom and then his sisters would drag him to, the ones with the big globe thingies over them. This one looked far less welcoming though.

The straps on the arms, legs, and headrest would do that. Fat black wires were running to it from a metal rectangle of a machine in the corner. Commando was standing by the machine, fiddling with dials, flipping switches, pressing buttons. 

Jaune tried not to think of how much this set up looked like the vault in Beacon. He wouldn’t be able to help anyone if his mind got sucked back into the past.

Rando shoved him into the chair, and got one of the manacles locked over Jaune’s arm before he could jump up. Blondie got the other arm locked in, and then fastened the ones around his chest. “So, Boss Man, what’s the plan for today?” Jaune called over to the man, doing his best to ignore what the two men were doing.

He couldn’t move again. Great. Just dandy. 

“Tsk, tsk, Jauney,” Commando chided him from the controls, “What have we gone over about asking questions?” The helmet thing was lowered around Jaune’s head, where it sat menacingly. Or as menacingly as a helmet thingy could sit. 

“And the nicknames, those have gotta end, kid.” He pressed a button and a pair of somethings detached from inside the helmet and spiked into the skin at his temples with a sharp sting of pain. They...They actually broke through the skin! How the hell did they do that? What happened to his Aura?! “Insubordination is a big no-no around here.”

Commando pressed a button on his console, and sparks of electricity arced from the machine directly into Jaune’s scalp. 

Now, Jaune had been electrocuted before. He’d been an idiot teenager, and zapped his fingers with batteries. Once one of his younger sisters turned the lights back on while he was changing them and he fell off a ladder from the shock. And with being on a team with Nora the human lightning bolt, electrocution was an occupational hazard.

This was nothing like that.

He jumped as the electricity seemed to short circuit the neurons in his brain. His muscles spasmed and contracted involuntarily, receiving too many signals and too few signals simultaneously. And he could feel the skin around the electrodes burning and blistering. 

Jaune was used to passing, accidental charges. He was in no way prepared for a focused shock, meant to stun and hurt.

The shock only lasted a second, but even that was one second too long. Jaune sagged against his restraints, glaring up at Commando when the man chuckled. “Yeah that stings a bit doesn’t it, boy?” Commando took up the now familiar spot in front of Jaune and the shorter of the two henchmen took his place at the controls.

Jaune pulled against the restraints experimentally, but he couldn’t budge them an inch. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew what was coming now. Question time.

“Let’s begin,” Commando said, standing at attention before him and crossing his arms behind his back. “Where is the Relic of Knowledge?”

“Like I’d tell you that,” Jaune scoffed, and strained against his bonds when a jolt of energy shot through him, frying his nerve endings.

“What have I said about back talk, kid?” the man tsked, and nodded to Blondie at the controls. Blondie changed something, and the machine he was strapped into hummed a little louder. Jaune grimaced nervously and glanced over at the man. “Don’t worry about him, worry about me,” Commando interrupted, snapping his fingers. “Now, where is the Relic of Knowledge?”

“I don’t know-” he started, getting cut off by a longer, and somewhat stronger jolt of electricity. Jaune yelped in pain, biting his tongue to keep from crying out more, his muscles going rigid and his head pounding. His eyes were wide open, and he couldn’t close them if he wanted to. After a second that lasted an eternity, the pain stopped and he slumped against his bonds.

“Don’t lie to me.” Commando was speaking before the aftershocks even got out of his system. The machine hummed a little louder, and Jaune shifted in his restraints as well as he could. He squeezed his eyes shut, relying on years of doing that and having his headaches lessen. It didn’t help this time, but it had been worth a try. “Let’s try this again: Where is the Relic of Knowledge?” 

Jaune just shook his head, not trusting himself to not mouth off again. Commando must have given the signal, because his world exploded in pain again. Behind his closed eyelids, Jaune could swear he could see bolts of lightning shooting across his vision.

His mind was on fire, too many thoughts shooting along his neurons. Somebody was screaming, it might even be him. In an effort to stop, he bit down on his tongue until the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth, decided that he would rather lose his vocal chords than his tongue, and went right back to screaming.

“Okay, that’s gonna start to hurt pretty soon” Jaune stuttered, the aftershocks of electricity making the words feel sharp and pointed in his mouth.Or maybe that was from all the yelling. Who’s to say.

An image of the lamp sprang unbidden into Jaune’s mind. He could see it now. Intricate twirling gold framework like lace holding a softly glowing blue lamp. It would be on the table in the living room, or hung swinging from Ruby or Oscar’s belt. 

Jaune hesitated, pain pulsing in his head like a jackhammer. It would be so easy to just say where it was.

But he couldn’t. If they knew where the lamp was, they would know where his friends were. And he couldn’t risk their safety for anything.

“Go to hell,” he spat as defiantly as he could while strapped into an electric chair, delighting in the way that smile finally vanished from Commando’s face.

The two electrodes pressed into his temples and all thoughts fled his mind as the pain in his head increased a thousand-fold. Next thing he knew, he was screaming. His world blotted out, and all he could feel was the tormenting feel of mind-numbing agony. It hurt, oh gods it hurt. Stop. Stop it. Please just end it!

He’d answer any question they gave him now. Anything at all just to get out of this.They were still asking him things, he could see their mouths moving, but he couldn’t hear a thing over the world-ending mind-shattering pain. The knight couldn’t even bring himself to stop screaming long enough to beg for them to stop.

Jaune was dying. He was already dead. He’d always hoped that death was painless, but there was no way this much pain could exist in the living world.

Unable to bear the pain any longer, Jaune’s world went dark.

Commando stopped his line of questions when the boy went limp in the harness. Hm. How typical. But they’d found the upper limit of the boy’s pain tolerance at least. That would prove useful in the coming days, if the boy even lasted that long.

He had to admit, the boy had lasted longer than he’d expected, and had refused to give them any answers to boot. But no matter. He would break in time, they all did.

Jaune woke up again in his cell, chained to the wall. It was definitely colder than it had been before, his breath was fogging up in the darkness in front of him. His muscles were stiff with disuse, and his stomach ached with hunger.

The last thing he could remember was his insides singing.

His eyes were barely blinking open before he was being dragged back out of his cell. Jaune’s feet didn’t want to cooperate with him, but he did at least manage to stay upright.

Then he was back in the Chair. And it all started again. He managed to last a little long this time, because he knew it was coming, but eventually darkness covered his vision again.

The next time he woke up, he was already being dragged down the hallway. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get his legs to support his weight. His vision was blurred, and hunger was stabbing at his insides like hot knives. Or maybe that was just the after effects of the shocks.

And then the shock treatment again.The session ended sooner than usual that day. He mustered up the strength to throw a couple stinging insults back in Commando’s face. The man did not like that..

The third time he woke up already in the Chair. Maybe it was the next day, maybe it was still the same session. Jaune had no way of knowing, and what was the difference either way? The end result would be the same, none of it mattered.

Gods he was so tired. The weight of his hunger and exhaustion weighed down on his bones like a lead blanket.

Jaune learned pretty quickly that speaking out would only get him more pain. Nicknames would get him smacked hard enough that stars would blink into existence in front of his eyes. 

A few sessions in the Chair and many repetitions had him realizing that it was better for everyone if he just kept his mouth shut. Wasn’t like he was going to answer their questions anyway. Giving in and calling Commando “Sir” earned him the meal they’d been denying him, even if it turned his stomach to show that man anything even approaching respect. 

Didn’t help him at all that he wolfed down the food so fast that his starving body immediately rejected it. 

It became a routine. Wake up in his cell or already in one of the other rooms, pain and questioning, passing out, questioning and pain, and then back to his cell. And if he was especially good, then he’d get a scrap of food. Like a dog.

A poorly treated, blatantly abused, grossly underfed dog, but a dog nonetheless.

[antis-delete-your-blogs-pls-thx]

Mouse’s Reclist (#1/?)

Okay, it is time. Time to get working on the incredibly frustrating (but rewarding) task of putting together a fic reclist (the EDM one is next). No, none of my own are going to be on here, I literally know antis would accuse me of doing that for clout. If you want my own fics, DM me :). They probably suck, most of them are really self-indulgent, and I have an update schedule that embodies the slow feeling of trying to download free porn from a dial-up connection in 1997. And your mother is picking up the phone when you’re at the last megabyte and makes you start over. Or something.

I’m going to put a hotlink on the title and probably the author, if that’ll work super easy in a format transfer. Then I’ll post the fandom, pairing, and fic summary in italics, and uh, possibly a small review with some warnings. Keep in mind I can’t be as thorough as the authors themselves, if they’ve chosen to tag at all, because while I do reread these often, I can’t remember every exact trigger. Some of these are fluffy, and some of these are FUCKED UP. Capital F, capital U. Let’s get started. Not organised by fandom or by alphabetical order or by length because my ADHD just says “ONTO THE NEXT LINK GOGOGOGOGOGO” every five seconds. Google docs,,,, stop yelling at my grammar and let me do this thing. There should be about 30 or so under the cut. (Maybe I’ll do more?)

Obviously the first is Three Missing Girls in Madison, Wisconsin by lapsi. This is the Mindhunter Bill/Holden rec that I posted, like, four days ago, and what inspired me to post my own little oneshot drabble. You can check for that in my recs tag for a more detailed description. Let’s just say it’s fucking gorgeous. Everything by lapsi is gorgeous.

Revalations by Anonymous - MCU/Starker/WIP - “I still don’t get it,” Ned says. “How you just... keep being ordinary in spite of all the craziness you’ve lived through. You were in space. You helped Iron Man save the universe. And nobody knows it was you.” His tone softens, becomes almost sad. As though he realizes that what he’s saying is so completely alien to him that he will never be able to understand this part of Peter’s life. “Peter, don’t you want people to know you for who you are?”//An AU where they get the Gauntlet off of Thanos that first time, on Titan. - This is a sort of supremely fucked up but also absolutely beautiful Starker fic with aged up!Peter. By, like, three years, and he’s still essentially Tony’s sugar baby, but whatever. It’s literally an absolute amazing ride.

the spaces between the stars by indigostohelit - Generation Kill/Bradnate - Lieutenant Nathaniel Fick of the USS Devil Dog is returning to Earth with the weight of the world on his shoulders: his captain is incompetent, his crew is half in mutiny, and the mission to a distant star may have been more of a failure than anyone could have comprehended. But on the journey back, something in the ship goes terribly wrong—and Nate may have to bear far more than the weight of the world if he's going to keep his men safe. - Okay, what fandom ancients still remember Generation Kill? Warnings in and of itself for just the general nature of camaraderie on that show. I’m usually a Bradray sucker (remind me to get to those next time), but this was fucking fantastic. Sci-fi mystery AU is my absolute FAVOURITE genre, hands down, all time, ever. And indigo has written a veritable basketload of my fav fics besides, so I can always trust in them.

All of Astolat’s MegOp fic - Transformers/MegOp - ‘Nuff said. She’s the founder of the goddamn site. You’re damn straight I’m going to fawn over her fic. Also it’s fucking good, founding the site aside. I cried. I cried so fucking much. I dripped tears like a sponge.

The White Road by perverse_idyll - Harry Potter/Snarry - One day, comfortably set up in the afterlife, Lily Evans Potter switches on the telly and gets hooked on the Harry Potter show. - Okay, first, this is the only time I’ve literally ever seen one-sided Snily where Lily was the one pining. Anyway, the summary explains the premise, but doesn’t do it justice. Lily watches down on the many possible universes that contain her son’s future from a comfy spot in the afterlife. The relationship between literally everyone in the fic and Severus is… exquisitely-detailed and heart-wrenchingly painful. I’d die for this fic, so I could read a million versions of it in the afterlife.

Rapture by mia_ugly - Harry Potter/Snarry - Snape sees the man, for the first time, on his twenty-fifth birthday. - I fucking bawled my eyes out the first time I read this. And the second. And the third. Dumbledore gives Harry a time-travelling watch for his birthday. A watch that travels to a young Severus, who Harry gets to know. On a pretense, of course. And then he falls in love with him. They both do. It’s absolutely agonising angst, but it has a happy ending. It will fucking pack a punch though, so get the tissues ready. This one is perhaps my favourite Snarry fic of all time. Period. Please don’t pass it up. The writing is so fucking amazingly-crafted. I would sell my soul to write like this.

Shell Game by forthegreatergood - DCU/Superbat - Batman wants Superman. Superman wants Batman. Eventually they'll get it sorted out. - An absolutely spot-on identity porn fic. As cheesy as the summary sounds, this fic hits hard. And it has sex pollen. Who can resist sex pollen? Pun intended, maybe.

Every Superbat fic by Susiecarter. - DCU/Superbat - Susie is a friend of mine (fucking,,, don’t know how I managed that one, apparently I write good enough fic for them to read,,, astonishing), and one of Superbat fandom’s greatest contributors. One of DCEU fandom’s greatest contributors, in fact. Everything they’ve written is a masterpiece. But the ultimate fav? as to which may be the true. Hands down. IDENTITY PORN GALORE.

The Long Hangover by CoffioCake - DCU/Superbat - Clark knows he should take a break: His powers are on the fritz, he feels like shit, and Batman’s treating him like a liability. But Gotham's villains seem to have it in for Metropolis' Big Blue Boy Scout and Clark won't just wait around for answers. Batman might be the world’s greatest detective, but Clark Kent is one of the Daily Planet’s most tenacious reporters.//This is definitely a job for Superman. - Okay, I can’t promise another Superbat won’t show up on this list. I’m a sucker for it. I’m also a sucker for case fic. Which is this. It’s so good. So good.

No Glory (and everything else in the HP fandom) by ObsidianPen - Harry Potter/Tomarry/WIP - The Dark Lord divines what Harry Potter is in the Forbidden Forest, and revelations lead to incomprehensible consequences. Lord Voldemort has won... and the dystopia is damning.//A tale of a fallen hero, dark desires, and a Dark Lord's obsession with something he has lost and finds himself unwillingly lusting after: a soul. - This is a Voldemort wins!AU. A fucking delicious one. If only my own Tomarry could aspire, by god. The imagery in this is so vivid I could swear it was painted on my eyelids. The concept of soul magic and interpretations on Horcruxes is unique and perfectly-executed. Honestly, everything Obsidian has ever written for HP is perfectly-executed. I would probably consider this the definitive Tomarry/Harrymort fic. Seriously.

It Cages a Demon by TripleX_Tyrant - Rick & Morty/C137cest/WIP - When Rick captures a powerful being from a demonic dimension - a demon with the ability to devour thoughts - Morty's consciousness is pulled into the demon's cage. Rick must go in after him before Morty's consciousness is completely consumed. But this isn't what the inside of the cage should look like. And if Rick wants to save Morty, he'll have to survive in a place where paths are unclear and monsters manifest.//Rick knew his own mind was complex. But he wasn't ready for this. - A goddamn Silent Hill-style horror mystery AU??????? FOR RICKMORTY? Yep, you heard me. And every second of it is liquid gold. It’s also gory as all fuck and pants-shittingly terrifying at times, so read at your own risk. But if you can risk it, please do. It’s honestly the best execution of C137cest I’ve seen outside of Harmon’s own damn writing lmao.

The Book of Secrets by Are - Downton Abbey/Thommy - With a war of words and wills, Jimmy Kent and Thomas Barrow embark on a strange romance. Set Post Christmas Special. - Thommy is another rare-ish (now, post-2016) pairing that I would die for. And everything Are has ever written for the pairing could kill me and I would thank it. But TBS is the best. Jimmy finds Thomas’ diary (and poetry book), which was also the diary (and sketchbook) of Courtenay before his passing, and learns more about his past and his innermost thoughts. It’s the most haunting, heartbreaking, poignant fic in the pairing. It ends well, but the journey you’ll take from the first chapter is one I would pay money to experience for the first time again. I literally couldn’t even breathe for a while after this. Lapsi’s fic has the same effect, so if you’ve worked through that one by now, be prepared.

Mad Man by griseldajane - MCU/Thorki - In all the years they spent together, it never occurred to Loki that there might be a time when Thor would not be available to him. The god of mischief conceals himself, coming and going as he pleases, doing what he wants.//That Thor might one day do the same never crossed his mind. - All the mindfuckery a Convinced-You-Were-in-an-Insane-Asylum-the-Whole-Time!fic entails and more. If you have issues with dissociating from reality, this is probably a bit much, because it absolutely nails everything about derealisation, delusional thinking, and paranoia. GOD, if you’re willing to let your mind take that battering, though, it’s a damn work of art.

Switch by Ceres_Libera - Star Trek/McKirk - The life and times of Leonard H. McCoy MD/PhD … If Leonard McCoy's life could get any fucking weirder, it would be … Jesus, he didn't even want to think what that could possibly mean, because it's already been too fucking weird to make any kind of rational sense.//A Starfleet Academy story, set in the ST:XI universe. - The ultimate McKirk fic imho. We’ll get to my ultimate Spirk fic in a second. Please do read this. It’s everything you could want out of an Academy!fic. Especially a roommates/UST!fic. 

Black Mirror by DarthNickels - Star Wars/Gen - The Ghost crew returns to the Lothal when they hear the Empire is investigating the Jedi Temple there. They learn Vader is alone and decide to take him out-- but what they find could change the course of Galactic history. - What, you think I don’t read Gen? I read Gen!!!! Look at all this Gen I read. Put simply, Dad!Vader redemption arc set in the Rebels era. FUCKING,,, what more could I ask for,,, literally. What more?????????? Sci-fi mystery??? ASKING FOR MORE WHOMMMMMST’VE????

The Lotus Eaters by aldora89 - Star Trek/Spirk - Stranded on the planet Sigma Nox while searching for a missing away team, Spock and Kirk find themselves pitted against a disturbing native life form. With the captain out of commission on a regular basis and Spock struggling to preserve his stoicism, staying alive is difficult enough – but when a slim chance for escape surfaces, their resolve is truly put to the test. Together they must fight for survival in the heart of an alien jungle, and in the process, uncover the mystery of the planet’s past. Slow build K/S. - Here’s that aforementioned ultimate Spirk fic. Okay, what, it’s sci-fi mystery again. Give me a break. You just heard how much I would absolutely die for it. Seriously, there is no Spirk fic I adore more than this. I mean, I adore an absolute shittonne of Spirk fics, but this one is my raison d’etre.

In Good Company by weialala - Naruto/Sasunaru - This will sound a little ridiculous, no matter how Sasuke phrases it. I see dead people is embarrassingly tacky, and I'm half-spirit seems like something Sakura might say when she's stoned sky high. So he settles for a shrug. - Sasuke sees dead people. Sasuke bonds with the goddamn fae. Kuchiyose no Jutsu taken to the fucking max. An epic that does what The Last pretty much couldn’t. Shippuden who???

The Boy Who Died A Lot by starcrossedgirl - Harry Potter/Snarry - Harry’s always been known as The Boy Who Lived. Only Severus knows that this is a lie. (Or: a portrait of Severus Snape, in seven acts.) - Oh, there’s Snarry again. Bite me. This is my second (third? Tied with the White Road?) favourite Snarry fic. Time travel, almost Groundhog Day style. Severus has to go back and fix every mistake Harry makes that leads to his untimely death throughout the seven books. I honestly could believe this is what really happened, and we just don’t know otherwise because Rowling hasn’t deigned to make this shit up and put a woke spin on it yet.

Kisses Cursed by The_Fictionist - Harry Potter/Tomarry - Fairytale AU. Loosely inspired by Beauty and the Beast.//Some said he was once a man, cursed, and some that he sold his soul to demons and became one in turn. Others said that such evil as he could never have been human. That he was instead a nightmare, left lingering upon the earth a very long time ago.//Harry just knew it wasn't safe to walk near the Riddle House after dark. - Not just a fairytale AU, but a MYSTERY(!!!!) fairytale!AU. Okay, who’s gotten that I love mystery by now? This one is amazing, no matter how many puzzle pieces have slotted into place. The ride is a wild one and a great one. My second favourite Tomarry fic. I’d rank more of The_Fictionist’s higher, but they’ve deleted a lot of their old stuff, despite me absolutely adoring it.

United States v. Barnes, 617 F. Supp. 2d 143 (D.D.C. 2015) by fallingvoices & radialarch - MCU/Stucky - The Associated Press @AP//Winter Soldier set to stand trial for Washington D.C. massacre and treason apne.ws/1og6SWE - Both an epistolary/media fic and a case fic? Sign me tf up. Came out mere seconds (I exaggerate a little) after TWS, which I instantly fell in love with in theatres (still my fav MCU movie, folks). Details what a trial would be like for James Buchanan Barnes, should the MCU function more like real life, all in newspaper/tweet/blog form. Best way I’ve seen epistolary!fic formatted, tbh. Only on the AO3, huh?

The Mirror by cloudyjenn - Supernatural/Destiel - When Dean touches a strange mirror, he's whisked away to one alternate reality after another and it doesn't take him long to realize the universe is trying to tell him something. - I love dimension hopping. And it’s for my first ever hardcore fandom (besides Pokemon), too! I usually see dimension hopping more in sci-fi and superhero fandoms, so it was nice to see it in fantasy, too. A million alternate dimensions where Dean and Cas are in love. It’s definitely a message. :eyes emoji:

Stay With Me (home is where your mind is.) by sara_holmes - Marvel/Stony - Where Steve doesn’t quite die, ends up stranded in the multiverse and would quite like to know how the hell so many versions of himself ended up sleeping with Tony Stark. Well, that’s going to make things a tad awkward when he gets home. - Speaking of dimension hopping in superhero fandoms. This is honestly the most interesting way I’ve seen dimension hopping played out. Or rather, dimension consolidating. Steve ends up in a purgatory-style void populated only by other versions of himself from throughout the Multiverse. Like the Mirror, there’s definitely a message being sent here about how many versions of him are doing the do with a certain genius playboy billionaire philanthropist. 

Thicker than Water by StarkatHeart - Marvel/Stony/Superfamily - Neither of them would admit it, but blood does count for something.//When Peter Parker discovers his biological father is actually none other than Tony Stark, it's not exactly news that's well received. By either party. But they're Avengers. They're teammates. They'll just have to work through it. ...Or maybe just ignore it. - On a completely different note from Starker, or not-so-different, depending on how depraved you like your fic to be flavoured, Peter as Tony’s biological son. This is pure Superfamily, not a hint of fucked up incest to be found. Though if anyone has any fucked up incest recs, I’m down to get my dirty paws on them.

the undiscovered country by indigostohelit - Shakespeare/Hamratio - It's 1959, and the mayor of Chicago is dead. - Remember how I said indigo had written some of my fav fics before? Yeah, 1950’s Americana!AU Hamlet, with added Hamratio. It is as good as it sounds.

All of astolat’s GoT and Thor works TBH. But please don’t pass up her Thorki, especially not Chaos War and Revelations. 

Reaching as I Fall by apokteino - Supernatural/Destiel - “Service to God was the meaning of existence; service to Michael is nothing but slavery.” Castiel is part of an underground network helping angels fall, in resistance to heaven. At the same time that a fallen angel by the name of Dean Winchester turns up, some of those in the network are murdered by Michael’s forces – there’s a spy. What does Dean have to do with it? Who is Dean? And why are they hunting him so fiercely?//A story about love, family, and choice. - Let me introduce you to my favourite AU concept from all of SPN fandom. No, I won’t spoil it. Needless to say, I’ve tried to write it myself a thousand times, and only succeeded in a thousand false starts. Maybe one day I’ll get around to it. Plus, I always disagree with these authors, anyway. Dean is totally a bottom. ;P

I Got a Soul but I’m Not a Soldier by starandrea - Supernatural/Destiel - AU: Castiel is on the road (saving people, helping things) when he meets Dean and realizes that his soul is different - and not just because he's the pastor's son. - Here it is again, my favourite trope (well, I’d call it a trope, if there were more than a dozen or so fics for it). If you haven’t read RAIF, I’m wondering if you’ve caught on yet. ;P.

Chosen Man by Sineala - The Eagle/Marcus x Esca - The son of the man who lost the Eagle of the Ninth would never be allowed a first command of his very own fort, would he?//Marcus is posted not to Isca Dumnoniorum, but to a wretched and run-down garrison north of the Wall. There he finds that he is the new centurion of a group of scouts and spies, all of them British. He has few supplies and no experience. His men distrust him. His superiors despise him. His second-in-command is an incompetent drunkard. And the local tribes are determined to kill all of them.//But the worst thing of all is one of Marcus' soldiers. He is an enigmatic, dangerous, and insubordinate man by the name of Esca, who makes Marcus yearn for terrifying things he has never before wanted and can never, ever let himself have… - Sine pretty much engineered the Eagle fandom. 

I followed them from the Eagle and into all their other ventures, too, and when they started writing for Stony I practically screamed in excitement. PLEASE read their Stony, if it’s the only Stony you ever read.

The Leonardo Effect by Phoenike - Assassin’s Creed/EzioLeo - To Ezio’s best knowledge, Leonardo's idea of debauchery was staying up until morning with a bottle of wine and too many sketching supplies. But why would the gondolier have lied? It was a heavy accusation. In both Firenze and Venezia, mere allegations of unnatural conduct had condemned men to be pilloried or hanged. - My favourite EzioLeo fic of all time. Everything Phoe has ever written is a gem, but this one takes the cake. Have I said that already? A lot of cake is being taken. Please read. It’s the epitome of what makes EzioLeo good.

Naked to Mine Enemies by mundungus42 - Pirates of the Caribbean/Sparrington - The Pirate Code doesn't expressly command its adherents to repay debts that bridge life and death, but the Code is more of a set of guidelines, anyway. Sparrow/Norrington, set after At World's End, ignores all films released thereafter. - A classic fic for a classic ship. My ship pun both is and isn’t intended. I’d read this one over and over. Okay, I already do. Whenever I go back to Sparrington, I go back to this.

The Persistence of Iron by Sylvia - Marvel/X-Men Cinematic Universe/Cherik - Waking up in a lab with no memories and a blue-eyed stranger calling him by someone else's name is only the beginning of Erik's problems.- Sci-fi mystery. You don’t need to ask me to clarify at this point, do you? Cloning tech? CLONING TECH? DE-AGING CLONING TECH? So many favourite tropes.

Take the Heat Out of Me by quipquipquip - DCU/Jaydick - Lost Days!Jason trolls Officer Grayson!Dick in Blüdhaven. Dick counter-trolls with the power of love. (It's super effective.) - A classic Jaydick fic. I think it was quip’s last foray into fic. Under that name, at least. What a bang to go out with.

Don’t Quote Me by TKodami - DCU/Superbat/WIP - Bruce Wayne has weathered scandal before, and Wayne Enterprises can handle another publicity crisis. What Bruce can’t handle is one crashing up against his plans to infiltrate Lex’s estate. Set during Batman v. Superman. - There’s that more Superbat. I’m sure… one day… the author will finish it. It’s a goddamn sex tape scandal!fic. Glorious.

Speaking of, every Superbat fic by Liodain. 

In This White Wave I Am Sinking by queeniegalore - Generation Kill/Bradray - He felt like he wasn’t really living, like he was in an in-between state, something that came between war and real life, something like purgatory. - The atmosphere for this is consistently beautiful and bittersweet. 

Okay, that’s about it for now. Save for an honourable mention to one of the fics that I started off with in the SPN fandom. I’d honour some more, but most everything’s been purged at this point. Come on, 2012!fandom, stop hiding behind how “cringe” you think shit was. I want my fic back.

Pull Me Under by AwesomeDistractions -- a Destiel handprint!kink WIP.

And finally, the most honourable mention, the first slash fic I ever read, from the Pokemon fandom, of all places. Originalshipping horror/mystery!AU. Wow, my tastes have always been, well, my tastes. Believe it or not, best place I can find it is a Waybackmachine archive of a creepypasta uploading site that went defunct a while back. I never found out the original author. But here it is, Missing, the first ever slash fic I stumbled across.

If you guys want more, I can definitely provide more. I have thousands of bookmarks. These are just my very, very favourites. What ones are still remaining on AO3, anyway. This is why I save most in PDFs. Though there are a few completely lost to time, and I’m pretty sure the OTW says fuck you to Waybackmachine, which. Uhghgh. Please. I want my nostalgia rush back.

[geek-patient-zero]

Prologue (Part 2)

Or: Your Clan Sucks

Blood War: Masquerade of the Red Dead Trilogy Volume 1

Father Naples claims that the Methuselahs were the ones who instituted the Masquerade. Not really true in canon, but let’s go with it for now. The Kindred realized that if humanity continued knowing that they existed, they’ll overwhelm them with sheer numbers and wipe them out. Under the Masquerade, Kindred had to hide their true natures and the existence of vampires in general from humans, on penalty of death. And it worked. Despite being fed on by them for over two thousand years, humanity forgot the existence of vampires after a few centuries, remembering them only as myths and legends. Now relatively safe, the Methuselahs sired more vampires, who sired more and so on, and in secret, apparently gained control of the world from the shadows.

Since one vampire could in theory create infinite more vampires, Reuben asks why, if all this is true, the earth isn’t overrun with vampires. Father Naples tells him about the Six Traditions, which the Masquerade is one of. He doesn’t go into detail, so here’s a link if you’re curious. The relevant Tradition is the third one, which says a vampire can’t sire another vampire unless daddy an elder vampire gives permission. If you played Bloodlines, this may sound familiar. Father Naples claims that the elder vampires keep the number of vampires low. Apparently the rule is one vampire for “tens of thousands of humans.” Given the different vampire factions this probably isn’t followed exactly worldwide. The point is vampires control their populations so they don’t overpopulate and wipe out their main food source. Keeping populations low also means that newer kindred generations can’t grow more numerous than the older ones and, well, you know. That’s left unsaid by the third Tradition.

Reuben’s next question is how kindred maintain their influence over the world when they can’t do anything when the sun’s up. Father Naples explains ghouls to him, and here there might be some divergence from modern canon. 

You know Renfield from Dracula? A ghoul’s basically that. They’re humans that a vampire regularly feeds their own blood to, but whose blood isn’t drained out first so they don’t turn into vampires themselves. They stop aging and gets some enhanced strength, survivability, and other goodies as long as they get their fix. In exchange for their free will, that is. A ghoul becomes utterly devoted to their master, doing anything for them even if the ghoul hates their master, like an unholy combination of a stalker, junkie, and slave. It’s a really shitty thing to do to someone.

Father Naples doesn’t mention that bit about losing their free will. He just thinks they’re traitors and devil worshipers. Thing is, I don’t think it’s just Naples being an unreliable narrator. Throughout the book, except for maybe one instance, it isn’t brought up, and ghouls come across more like regular people who just knowingly work for vampires in exchange for their blood. There’s some mention of possession, like his ghoul or her ghoul, but if they’re still stalker-junkie-slaves in this story it doesn’t come across. The writing is very expository even after the prologue, so believe me, you’d notice if that was how ghouls were supposed to work here.

Reuben then asks about the Camarilla and the Sabbat. Now we get to talk about everyone’s favorite V:TM subject: factions and clans. First he discusses the Camarilla, and the seven clans (at the time) that makes up the bulk of it. Father Naples seems to define the sects more by their opinion on the Antediluvians as a threat than their structure or how they operate.

“The Camarilla believe that the Antediluvians met the Final Death when the Second City was destroyed. They feel that the basic threat to the Kindred comes from the possibility that mankind someday might learn that vampires are real. The Masquerade governs their actions. They are the traditionalists among Caine’s decendants.”

He goes on to define the clans in the Camarilla.

“The Ventrue are power mongers, the unofficial leaders of the sect.”

Eat the rich before the rich eat you. Naples summed it up well enough: they’re old money aristocratic fucks who believe they’re meant to be leaders of vampirekind, and thus are most likely to be Princes, the guys in charge of a city. They’re famous for the Dominate discipline, a group of powers that allow them to force others to obey their commands.

One interesting thing about the Ventrue that doesn’t get covered in this book is their clan curse. They can only drink the blood of certain kinds of people. In Bloodlines, this translated to a Ventrue character being unable to feed from hobos and prostitutes without barfing it back up half the time. Think of some snooty rich New Englander turning his nose up at a Happy Meal. In the tabletop, this preference tends to be more specific. Sometimes very specific, like that same snooty rich New Englander absolutely loving Burger King but not being able to eat anything else. Sometimes, a little too specific.

There’s this Ventrue guy in the lore, Jan Pieterzoon... I’m probably gonna get shit for this since he’s a character in the popular Clan Wars novels. Janny Boy here can only drink the blood of rape victims.

Uh huh. Wasn’t kidding when I said that this franchise can get try-hard edgy.

TVtropes’ V:TM character page lists Jan as a Nice Guy, but also mentions under Kick the Dog that he once had to arrange for someone to get raped in order to survive. This might be more on TVtropes being full of fucked up contributors, but still. In the recent V5 of the tabletop, a change was made that Ventrue can feed from people other than their preference, though they won’t get as much “nourishment” from it. Sounds like it helps avoid situations like Jan. Who’s dead now, by the way. Final Death dead. That helps.

“The Toreador are involved in the arts.”

Father Naples doesn’t seem to be all that interested in the Toreador as that’s all he says about them. Commonly rich socialite types, if the Prince of a city isn’t a Ventrue, chances are they’re a Toreador.  They’re big into art, yeah, but they’re also the clan that works the closest with humans and are obsessed with beauty. So obsessed that they can be distracted by something they find beautiful, ignoring anything else until they can either muster the willpower to tear their eyes away or, more likely, one of their friends drags their pretty ass away from the shiny thing.

Their art, by the way? Fucking sucks. Toreador are terrible artists. There’s a neat reason for this; when they’re Embraced, become vampires, they’re said to lose much of their passion and creative spark. That, and they’re emotionally and artistically stunted to the era they were Embraced in no matter how long they live; something that’s apparently inspired by Anne Rice vampires. Their love and obsession with what they find beautiful is a way for them to hold on to their humanity, and art is in service to that. It’s beautifully tragic. 

Not that your character is going to care when they have to deal with Vampire Squidward showing off Bold and Brash Belongs in the Trash. You can’t say anything about it either, because that Toreador is probably powerful enough that they can have either you or someone you love killed. You’re not even safe if you’re playing a Toreador because even Toreador don’t like other Toreador art. As with humans, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and what’s considered beautiful varies from one Toreador to another. So they shit on each other’s work and call each other poseurs.

There’s maybe three Toreador in the book, and they’re all background characters. Only one of them gets a line or two of dialogue. I get the feeling Robert Weinberg wasn’t a big Toreador fan.

“The Tremere are a line of vampire wizards...”

Insert What We Do In the Shadows quote here.

“...who rose to prominence in the Middle Ages.”

Unlike the most of the other clans, the Tremere didn’t originate from an Antediluvian. The original ones were mages, members of the now technically extinct House Tremere led by Lord Tremere, who turned themselves into vampires with magic in order to obtain immortality. They lost all their cool powers in the change, so they had to invent blood magic, which they call Thaumatergy. It’s both a specific Discipline (vampire power) and a general term for blood magic.

You might be wondering, if they became vampires via magic and didn’t come from an Antediluvian, wouldn’t that mean there are fourteen clans, not thirteen? Well, one of he original thirteen clans were the Salubri. They were the healer class among vampires and were dedicated to finding a certain kind of enlightenment. Y’know, to make the Tremere look like extra big pricks for what they’re about to do to them. Lord Tremere, now a vampire, finds and diablerizes (more on that another time) the Salubri Antediluvian, and then Clan Tremere wiped out most of the Salubri. So now they’re one of the thirteen clans.

While they never wiped out another clan, this screwing over of the Salubri was part of a trend with the Tremere. The magic potion, spell, or whatever they used that turned them into vampires in the first place? Made by experimenting on vampires. They also created Gargoyles by performing blood magic rituals on unwilling vampires from other clans. So, despite a propaganda campaign advertising that no, really, the Salubri had it coming, and the fact that they gained legitimacy as a clan and became a part of the Camarilla, other vampires generally hate the shit out of the Tremere and don’t trust them even remotely.

We’ll be seeing the Tremere in more depth later in the story, including this book’s interpetation of the ritual that turned them into vampires.

“The Nosferatu are monstrously ugly because their leader was cursed by Caine. A few of their fourth-generation progeny are rumored to be grotesque monsters, known as the Nictuku.”

Ah, the Nosferatu. Everyone loves the Nosferatu. Like Father Naples says, they’re all horribly deformed; so ugly that even being seen by humans risks breaking the Masquerade since they’re obviously not human. That curse Naples mentioned? The Nosferatu Antediluvian was a vain pretty boy to rival a Toreador, so for his part in killing the Second Generation and destroying Enoch, Caine cursed him and all future Nosferatu generations with ugliness. 

(He actually cursed all thirteen Antediluvians for what they did, hence the clan curses.)

Why does everyone love the Nosferatu? Couple of reasons from what I’ve seen. They’re ugly as hell and generally have to live in the sewers, and while they’ve learned to live with that they’re not really happy about it. On top of that other clans find them repulsive and don’t like being around them. Loneliness, pathos, angst; this is crack to fandom. 

I imagine they’re also fun to design. The standard look for them is Orlok-like, but lore says that each Nosferatu’s deformity is unique. I haven’t tried designing one, but as a wannabe artist I can see the appeal. Just don’t wuss out and make “hot” Nosferatu. 

Speaking of, there’s the monster fuckers in fandom. In this post-Shape of Water world, it’ll take more than looking like Count Orlok and a few lumps to make someone unfuckably ugly. And even if they are, I’ve seen people lust over werewolves, the deathclaws from the Fallout games, all kinds of weird crap. There’s surely someone out there for your lonely Nosferatu.

Oh, and they’re the smart guy of the vampire clans. You know how when people talk about playing Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles or Ghostbusters on the playground as kids, and which characters they’d play as? And how there’s always those people who’d say they always picked Donatello or Egon because they were the smart gadget guys who made all their toyetic gear, unlike their dumber friends who stuck with boring old Leonardo and Venkman? That’s the Nosferatu. They don’t really invent anything, but some of them are hackers. They’re also spymasters, using their hacker skills and Obfuscate discipline (turning invisible, mostly) to obtain information others can’t, making them an indispensible part of the Camarilla, or whatever group a Nosferatu is part of.

Finally, as a culture, Nosferatu are the most likely to stick together and look out for each other, united by their shared experiences of having to hide in the shadows and pisswater in order to not break the masquerade and being direspected by the other clans. Nosferatu can scheme and plot like every other vampire in the setting, but at least for survival’s sake, if you’re playing a Nosferatu, you don’t have to worry about your fellow uglies stabbing you in the back (most of the time). Outside the clan, I imagine this trait can easily transfer over to a coterie (V:TM’s word for party) or an OC’s friends.

Yeah, Nosferatu are these angsty, fun to draw, unconventional looking but bangable hackermen that know the Meaning of Friendship and who you can feel sorry for. But there’s another side to the Nosferatu. Fandom looks at these appealing traits, maybe a bit too shallowly, and risk over-glorifying them and missing out on their darker side.

Like I’ve said several times, Nosferatu are ugly, deformed. A lot of them develop a complex over this, along with a strong hatred and jealousy of beautiful people. One thing Nosferatu like to do is find mortals who are stuck up and egotistical about their looks, turn them into Nosferatu, and let their newly grotesque appearance serve as an eternal karmic life lesson. Whether the formerly pretty person was actually a stuck up jerk guilty of vanity or if their sire imagined it is a matter of opinion. Hell, some don’t care about teaching a lesson, embracing beautiful people purely out of jealousy and spite. They have a word for these victims: Cleopatras, named after the villain from Freaks, not the Egyptian queen. It’s like their version of “Chad”, except as the name implies, these poor newly deformed people are usually women.

Am I implying what I think I’m implying? Yep! Your favorite clan is made up partly of proto-incels!

On a lighter note, their differing opinions on beauty make the Nosferatu and Toreador natural enemies... if they’re NPCs. Player characters will be BFFs.

“The Malkavians are tricksters, seemingly mad, but probably more cunning than most imagine.”

The V:TM fandom’s other favorite clan. I don’t have to explain Malkavians to you, do I? Even if you’ve never played Bloodlines I bet you’ve heard people talking about the Malkavian playthrough of the game. At least the part where you can yell at a stop sign?

Malkavians are the “crazy” clan. Said in a more respectful way, they’re the clan whose embrace gives them a form of mental illness, either a real one or a more supernatural one, if they didn’t have one already. These guys are probably the hardest to roleplay well, because there’s a thin line between a respectful portrayal of a mentally ill person living their unlife the best they can and a character Jhonen Vasquez would create if he was phoning it in. You’d better do your homework if you want to roleplay a Malkavian or else you’re gonna annoy your friends and look like an insensitive dick.

There’s a term for a Malkavian character who acts in an early 2000′s monkey cheese lol random humor way, but c’mon, you already know what it is. That’s it for Malkavians for now. There’s only one Malkavian side character in this book so I don’t feel like going too in depth with them. Besides, I already wasted too many words on the incels. Just keep the “more cunning than most imagine” bit in mind. Oh, and they have a power that can make people around them go mad, usually in the Malkavian’s favor. That’s pretty rad.

Now that the fan favorites are out of the way, let’s get to the boring clans.

“The Brujah are rebellious in nature...”

That’s all Naples says about the Brujah. Even the writer can’t think of anything interesting to say about them.

Alright, seriously, Brujah tend to be rebels and activists, very passionate about their beliefs and strive for social change. I’m not sure whether becoming vampires makes them that way. The White Wolf wiki says that they’re compelled to go against the status quo, but I’ve heard people argue that’s just the kind of person a Brujah tends to embrace. Either way, they do develop very short tempers. Gameplay-wise in both the tabletop and Bloodlines, they tend to “frenzy” more easily than other clans, meaning they lose control of their vampiric urges and try to kill/drain the closest person available, masquerade and consequences be damned.

I feel a little bad about calling the Brujah boring. Especially nowadays with fascism on the rise and climate change about to kill us all, it’s easy to empathize with rebellious activist characters and find them relatable, even if they aren’t as flashy as the pretty people, the ugly people, and the crazy people. It’s their powers that’re a little dull. Ventrue have Dominate. Nosferatu have Obfuscate. Tremere have blood fucking magic. But despite their clan name, Brujah aren’t magic. Their powers just enhance their physical abilities, allowing them to boost their strength and move faster. You know that RPG joke about how wizards get more god-like power when they level up but warriors just hit harder? That’s the Brujah. Okay, they also have Presence, which makes them more charismatic, scarier, more convincing, and other things that helps with roleplaying a street justice dispensing rebel. And one other power I can mention, but we’ll leave that for later...

In a way, the Brujah are the closest V:TM has to a default clan. If you’re playing a game where you have no choice of which clan your character belonged to, you’d likely be a Brujah. Luckily, unlike the Ultramarines over in Warhammer 40K, the Brujah don’t really steal any of the spotlight from the other clans, so they’re not intolerable.

“...while the Gangrel, master shapechangers, maintain close ties with the gypsies and werewolves,”

Wolverine from X-Men, you know him? Give him shapeshifting powers and that’s a Gangrel. This Clan is for those who want to roleplay a werewolf but aren’t playing Werewolf: The Apocalypse for some reason. Their biggest claim to fame is that Beckett, one of the most popular recurring characters in the franchise, is one. Problem is, he’s supposed to be a subversion of how one of them typically acts, a wandering scholar instead of some guy who hangs with his pack in the woods, so he’s not doing them much favors. There's only one minor Gangrel character in Blood War, so I apologize for glossing over them.

You probably want me to talk about a certain word Naples just said here. I could say that it’s characterization, that since Naples is some old European prick he’s prejudiced against Roma and calls them whatever he wants. More of that unrelialbe narratorness. He also said Gangrel are close with werewolves when werewolves will attack them on sight like any other vampire, which helps with that interpretation. But this is the early 90′s, and V:TM had an entire clan that was based on negative Roma stereotypes.  So...

Reuben sipped his Coke and said nothing. He had come to listen, not to comment.

I’m pointing this quote out because he comments two paragraphs later. Father Naples moves onto the Sabbat.

“The Sabbat are the rebels of the Kindred.  My Order considers them the more dangerous of the two sects. Two major clans, the Lasombra and the Tzimisce rule the order. Most other clans are represented by small groups of rebels known as Antitribu.”

The franchise likes to point out that the Camarilla aren’t the “vampire good guys”, but the Sabbat are undoubtedly vampire bad guys. They believe that vampires shouldn’t have to hide behind a masquerade, that they should be the masters of the world with humans as their cattle and slaves. They usually ignore the Masquerade, and use big obvious Masquerade breaking as a tactic against the Camarilla, who have to clean up after their mess. Since the Masquerade exists because humans will curb stomp them if they ever found out they existed, this also makes the Sabbat the stupid sect in this case.

The Lasombra are like eviler Ventrue, but with cool shadow powers, a fetish for Catholic symbolism, and being the only clan to do the “having no reflections” thing. Oh, and they’re social darwinists. One of their methods for picking out potential new Lasombras is to utterly ruin a prospect’s life. Make their business fail, kill their family, frame them for something terrible, cancel their favorite shows. If they don’t break down after all that, congratulations, you’re now a vampire! If they’re not an utter sociopath and do, then the Lasombra just leave them in the ruins of their life without them ever knowing why the hell any of that happened. So yeah, they’re jerks.

And the Tzimisce? Quick, whose your favorite comic book villain? If you said “mid-2000′s Black Mask”, then congratulations! You’re a teenage boy, and also a potential Tzimisce player.

There is one “redeeming” thing about the Sabbat. While the Camarilla deny the existence and threat of the Antidiluvians...

“Leaders of the Sabbat firmly maintain that the third generation lives and that they are secretly manipulating their descendants for reasons of their own.” The priest’s voice sank very low. “They fear an approaching Armageddon that they call Gehenna. A time when the Antediluvians will rise to take control of the Kindred. The Sabbot suspect that the third generation plan to devour their descendants.”

Gehenna is an important part of the setting. It’s another thing I’ll explain more about later, but the Sabbat are right to worry about it. It almost makes up for their dumbass social policies and the whole “chaotic evil” thing.

Reuben comments (told you) about how the longer a vampire lives, the more potent the blood they drink has to be. Third and fourth generation Kindred would only be able to feed on other Kindred. This backs up the “third generation’s gonna wake up and eat everyone” theory. After Naples’ confirmation about this, Reuben immediately changes the subject and asks about the four remaining independent clans.

“There are the Ravnos, a society of outcasts and drifters,”

These guys are the Roma stereotypes I mentioned earlier. Their clan weakness is that they’re addicted to crime! Or at least some personal vice. Someone at White Wolf must have figured out how this looked, so they fixed it by, um, having their Antediluvian wake up and kill all but about a hundred of them... I mean, it worked for the Squats over in Warhammer 40K, but...

“Then the Assamites, an Order of Assassins, much feared even among their own kind, [sic] The Followers of Set worship a long-dormant third-generation Egyptian horror, the embodiment of that land’s ancient evil.”

I don’t know much about these two clans. There’s a couple of Assamite characters in this book, but no one from the Followers of Set.

“And last, we must not forget the Giovanni, another fairly new clan, who are preoccupied with two subjects - death and money.”

The Giovanni have a big part in this story so we’ll get to them when they show up. Also, wow, they sure made these last four the ethnic stereotype clans.

Satisfied with this new info on the Clans, though “unsure about their interactions”, Reuben moves on.

The young man’s bright blue eyes burned with an intense inner fire. “What is the Jyhad?” he asked.

Father Naples was feeling very strange. Yet he felt that he had to answer. It was extremely important to himself and the Society of Leopold that he answer Reuben’s every question. Extremely important.

Reuben may not be a vampire, but it looks like he pulled some sort of mind whammy on Father Naples. Not sure why he had to, though. I can’t think of a reason why Naples’ would explain all the other stuff of his own free will but not this subject.

The Jyhad’s a legend among Kindred, that the fourth generation is manipulating their descendants as pawns in a game where they play against each other for complete control of the world. Some say that the fourth generation is actually being manipulated by the Antediluvians, the true players of the game. The nature of Kindred society and politics makes finding the truth difficult.

“The world of the Kindred is filled with treachery and deceit. Remember, Lucifer (here he goes with the devil stuff again), their patron, is the Father of Lies. Wheels spin within wheels within wheels. None other than the Antediluvians, if they actually survive, know the truth.”

“On that subject,” said Reuben, “you might be mistaken.”

Signaling for the check, Reuben asks if there’s anything else he should know about the Kindred, such as “the Inconnu” and “the recent disturbances in Russia and Peru.” Father Naples doesn’t know about any of that, and when asked why he asks, Reuben says he was “Just confirming a few of [his] own suspicions.” Father Naples has told him everything he wanted to know, so Reuben pays the waiter and prepares to leave. Time for the prologue’s big finish.

“The young man rose to his feet. ‘No need to get up. I can see myself to the door. Thank you, for your time, Father Naples. I appreciate the information you have given me, though I think your views concerning the devil tint your narration slightly. That’s always been a problem with the Inquisition. You worry too much about demons and too little about evil. I’m sorry, but you can’t be permitted to describe our conversation to anyone. Especially to your superiors in the Society of Leopold. May God grant you peace.’

None of the five Society of Leopold agents stationed in the restaurant noticed Reuben leave. Nor could they remember anything at all about his appearance. When rewound, the audiotape from the directional microphone was found to be completely blank. And none of the technicians working the post could recall a word of the conversation they supposedly recorded.

Father Naples remained unmoving at the table until fifteen minutes passed and a curious waiter came over to see if anything was wrong. To his horror, he discovered that the priest was dead.

According to a secret report prepared by a team of investigators, Father Naples had died from a massive heart attack. One suffered by the priest a few minutes after sitting down at noon. No one could explain, nor even attempt to answer, how a dead man managed to drink two bottles of wine. The black attache case found beneath the table was empty.”

I hope Reuben at least didn’t take back the money he payed his bill with. Reality warping or no, he still ate there and should pay them.

Seriously though, this was a great prologue. It explains enough about the setting to help you follow along with the rest of the story, but doesn’t explain everything and ends on a great mystery. Rereading this helped me remember why I liked the setting so much as a kid, even if I poke fun at it now. Vampire societies might not seem like the most original idea, but back then when I thought of vampire stories, I thought of a single vampire with a cape and widow’s peak sneaking into peoples homes to drink their blood, and the closest thing to mystery, court intrigue, and games of thrones were the humans trying to figure out how to stop that one vampire. V:TM introduced me to a type of story and concepts I’d never read before, and not just about fictional monsters. That’s more a credit to the original tabletop than just Bloodwar, but this book was still my gateway to the setting. Sometimes even schlock can have meaning to someone, I guess.