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#&     but you’re unholy: you’re not yourself.   »    act iii.
happymetalgirl · 3 years
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October 2020
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Six Feet Under - Nightmares of the Decomposed
I wrote a full-length review of this disaster of an album earlier in the month, and yeah, wow. Between the phoned-in performances from the instrumentalists who have proven themselves far above this joke of a band and the half-assed production this would have been a pretty crappy album even without Chris Barnes’ milk-aged vocals. But he’s here, and he’s managed to actually get worse too, gasping his way through the whole album and littering it with these ludicrous “high” squeals that would make Smeagol sound like a more competent death metal vocalist. It’s the worst thing I’ve heard all year, and what’s worse, I don’t think Six Feet Under is stopping.
1/10
With that out of the way, let’s cleanse the pallet right away with some really good shit.
Greg Puciato - Child Soldier: Creator of God
Ever reliable in his artistically integrity, explosive former Dillinger Escape Plan frontman, Greg Puciato, has been pretty sonically and artistically adventurous since the honorable dissolution of the iconic mathcore outfit, his most notable music project being the ethereal, synth-heavy The Black Queen. This year, however, Puciato has gone fully solo for a full-length project, and something told me to get ready for a wild ride, and boy was I right on that hunch. Borne out of an exponentiated process of songwriting that produced songs Puciato deemed unfitting for any of his current projects, what was planned as a small release to ship these songs out of the writing room eventually spiraled into a full-blown debut solo album clocking in at over an hour. A lot of solo projects play like clearly indulgent amateur hour sessions from an artist whose ego has been boosted pretty well from significant success from their main project, leading them to overconfidently try their hand at music they have no business trying it at. And it’s often approached under the understanding that it is a victory lap, more or less, and a satisfaction of creative impulses for the sake of it. Sometimes the resultant material is clearly inspired and showcases a side of an artist that certainly deserves some spotlight. Other times it feels like being trapped in an awkward situation with an acquaintance where they just show you all their newest pedals and production software and you’re just stuck there watching them fiddle around while you nod along and offer the occasional “wow, that’s pretty crazy” every now and then while they don’t pick up on the obvious cues that you are just waiting for them to finish playing with their toys. While Puciato was open about this album being borne from the very creatively borderless mindset that so often damns solo projects, Child Soldier: Creator of God is an actual realization of the type of grand, genre-spanning album that so many solo artists envision themselves making and set out to create, and it’s hardly a whimsical, amateurish crack at the styles within either. Puciato’s foray into sludge metal, industrial rock, harsh noise, darkwave, synthwave, and shoegaze, (1) makes for a hell of a dynamic and exciting track list, and (2) shows a much deeper than average respect for and relationship with the styles being played here. This isn’t some frontman thinking his charisma can carry him through a whole rap solo album; this is a well-rounded artist (also a hell of a frontman, no denying that) giving the most comprehensive look yet into his creative mind. The album leaps around in patches of different styles, strung together mostly by ambient connective tissue of various types, all with a great attention to detail paid to both texture and progression. We get early patches of smooth ambiance, but also aggressive industrial and sludge metal, eventually moving to more soothing and meditative synthy stuff around the middle, finishing with some serene, Have a Nice Life-esque shoegaze. But really there’s no way to sum up this album stylistically without breaking down every single song on here, and that would just ruin the fun and the experience. You really just have to experience it for yourself.
9/10
DevilDriver - Dealing with Demons I
Embarking on a conceptual double-album, Dez Fafara and DevilDriver’s first installment in the pair is a scoop of the, indeed, slightly above average, but unfortunately still plain and predictable modern groove metal they always offer up. I’ll give the band credit for keeping the pace up and clearly putting substantial energy into the performances on this album, while also trying to squeeze in a few shake-ups to their sound, like the clear Gojira-inspired riffage on the opening track. The album loses steam, unfortunately, as its punches lose their impact as it goes on.
6/10
Anaal Nathrakh - Endarkenment
While certainly cultivating a unique sound, Anaal Nathrakh’s unholy fusion of nasty modern blackened grindcore with sweeter metalcore and melodic death metal elements has its mixed results. And while that might at first sound like a relatively critical assessment of the Brits’ eleventh album, I’d say that there is actually a lot to enjoy and take in for at least the interesting mix of styles, most of which are hits rather than misses as well.
7/10
Enslaved - Utgard
Having been a fan of a good amount of their recent output, especially 2015’s In Times, I came out of Utgard moderately disappointed with how infrequently Enslaved galvanized their potent brand of Viking folky, progressive black metal effectively; the few moments the band do channel their strengths cohesively and purposefully left me wanting more rather than savoring those moments.
6/10
In Cauda Venenum - G.O.H.E.
It’s hard to, and indeed seems kind of in just to, sum up a heaping prog metal serving like G.O.H.E., comprised of two 22-minute halves, in a capsule review, but that is kind of the format my current busy circumstances have forced me into. French outfit In Cauda Venenum made a self-titled debut in similar two-long-track fashion back in 2015, and the band’s gothic and somewhat theatrical brand of atmospheric post-black-metal is continued on their sophomore effort here, drawing the obvious comparisons to Opeth and Katatonia, as well as Der Weg Einer Freiheit, Numenorean, and Sólstafir, and apart from the more frequent sample usage and extra drawn-out songs, there really isn’t that much to differentiate In Cauda Venenum stylistically. The band’s second album, unfortunately, resembles so many others in the field with big aspirations and the same inadequate means of getting there.
5/10
Apparition - Granular Transformation
A much more bite-sized early two-track offering, Apparition’s debut EP offers a more promising glimpse into a heady, atmospheric, yet still visceral manipulation of modern death metal that I would be curious to hear in a more long-form format. In a genre as extreme as death metal in recent years has been, finding artists effective at working with negative space can be difficult, but the two songs on Granular Transformation showcase a formidable dexterity from Apparition that I think can take them places.
6/10
Molasses - Through the Hollow
While indeed marred by some rough performances on songs with sometimes more desert to cross than water to make it there, there’s an undeniable occult hypnotism about the Dio-era-esque doom metal hollow that Molasses ritualize their way through.
7/10
Death Angel - Under Pressure
While certainly an odd choice on the surface, Death Angel’s acoustic EP and cover of the famous Queen song actually comes out pretty alright. The acoustic version of Act III’s “A Room with a View” comes off with the energy of something like Rush whenever they went acoustic, and the original acoustic cut, “Faded Remains” isn’t too bad either. The acoustic format did not, however, mask the drabness of “Revelation Song” from last year’s overall disappointment, Humanicide.
6/10
Necrophobic - Dawn of the Damned
The Swedes’ melodic brand of blackened death metal is nothing if not thorough on the quintet’s ninth full-length, Dawn of the Damned, covering all the ground that their fans expect their style to cover and doing so with more compositional and performative stamina than their average contemporary. While the band’s broader compositional approach is akin to the beating of a dead horse, I can’t deny it produces some tasty motifs in the process.
7/10
Bloodbather - Silence
After coming onto the blossoming metallic hardcore scene in 2018 with a standard, but potent enough 14-minute EP, Pressure, Bloodbather are back with another 14 minutes of similar, yet less promising material, doing little to set themselves apart from or on the same level of the likes of Jesus Piece, Vein, Knocked Loose, or Harm’s Way.
5/10
Infera Bruo - Rites of the Nameless
The Bostonians’ fourth full-length is, at the very least, a rather well-executed forty minutes of modern black metal a la Craft or Watain, but beneath the seams the band’s progressive tendencies twist what would otherwise be a fresh, but standard, slab of black metal into a more head-turning offering of the usual shrieks and blast beats.
7/10
Touché Amoré - Lament
While somewhat shaky in their compositional exploration in their fifth LP, the firmness of their emotive post-hardcore foundation allows for Touché Amoré to build upwards relatively steadily without losing that raw vulnerability that has made them so captivating to begin with.
7/10
Gargoyl - Gargoyl
This is the self-titled debut from Bostonian four-piece Gargoyl; a novel blend of dirty nineties grunge and gothic prog metal, Gargoyl come through with one of the more impressive genre fusions of the year, meeting the lofty sufficiency for dexterity with excessive vocal harmonies in a manner so uncanny that would make habe to Layne Stayley proud. While there is the expected room for improvement on the compositional end that many debut projects come with, Gargoyl have laid the groundwork for themselves fantastically and started off on a good foot.
7/10
Crippled Black Phoenix - Ellengæst
Through creative gothic flair and full-bodied guest vocal contributions that bolster the somber atmosphere beyond the typical post-metal album, the UK band’s most recent offering of “endtime ballads”, despite its few low points that undo its otherwise immersive atmosphere, serves as one of the more engaging releases under the broader post-metal umbrella of the past year.
7/10
Wayfarer - A Romance with Violence
The Denver-based quartet follow up 2018’s strong emotive case for the potential for evoking cathartic power of the atmospheric black metal which has so saturated the American scene to the point of numbness, their Americana-tinged third LP, World’s Blood, unfortunately, with a fourth LP whose compositional homogeneity and mere few intermittent bursts of enthralling atmospheric instrumentation more represent, rather than advocate the merit of, the saturation of the American atmospheric black metal scene.
6/10
Armored Saint - Punching the Sky
Though I think the structural homogeneity and John Bush’s similarly limited vocal delivery holds it back, with crunchy bangers like “Do Wrong to None” and “My Jurisdiction” alongside more tempered tracks the clearly grunge-influenced “Lone Wolf”, Bush and company provide a relatively stylistically diverse traditional heavy metal album for an age that could use more contemporary representation of classic styles (beyond the entire stoner metal genre LARPing as Black Sabbath too).
7/10
Spirit Adrift - Enlightened in Eternity
But it's not just the old guard representing their era of classic heavy metal robustly; a year and a half after their energetically melodic third album, Divided by Darkness, which took a triumphant melodic approach to classic heavy metal and doom metal similar to that of Khemmis on their excellent third album, Spirit Adrift ease up a bit on the hyper-soulful approach to guitar melody that had led me (and others I'm sure) to draw the comparison to Khemmis, and instead dive deeper into the headspace of the genre's earliest progenitors to achieve that unabashedly glorious rallying cry that is evoked by the very front cover of Enlightened in Eternity. While I am personally pretty partial to the very vulnerable and heartfelt melodic approach that characterized Divided by Darkness, the effectiveness with which Spirit Adrift are able to wield the sometimes Maiden-esque, sometimes Testament-esque sounds of the 80’s on this album is undeniably impressive.
8/10
Fever 333 - Wrong Generation
Providing the correction to this generation’s answer to Rage Against the Machine (after Prophets of Rage’s insufficient attempted revival) Fever 333 follow up last year’s debut of heavy, fired-up and modern take on rapcore with another 14 minutes of righteous anti-racist hardcore anger that’s attuned to the issues to a level that I wish more artists would at least express in their art. While the EP is 18 minutes long, the last two songs, “The Last Time” and “Supremacy”, don’t match the sonic energy of the first six tracks. The somber piano-led snippet-length ballad, “The Last Time”, should have been the conclusion of the album, but the closing track, “Supremacy”, while as conscious as the tracks before it, is basically a late-stage formulaic Linkin Park track that flatters neither of the two bands. Despite botching the landing though, Wrong Generation is a ripping batch of songs that well represent the current unrest and provide a positive hypothetical idea of what it might be like if Rage Against the Machine were in their prime and active today.
7/10
Mörk Gryning - Hinsides Vrede
The Swedes return from their 15-year disillusioned absence from the studio with a concise and clearly renewed enthusiasm for the energetic black metal that they put forth on Hinsides Vrede. Dynamically bolstered by folk-metal compositional tendencies and more than a dash of that famed Gothenburg melodicism (I know they’re from Stockholm and in fact their melodic approach often does heaven to that of their close neighbors from Uppsala, Watain), Mörk Gryning’s seamless return to music finds them jumping into the modern black metal scene’s advanced compositional rubric with relative ease.
7/10
Zeal & Ardor - Wake of a Nation
Having covered their output since their debut and being a big fan of Manuel Gagneux’ project, it pains me to say, especially given the noble pretext and occasional momentary flashes of sobering messaging, that this six-song mini release really doesn’t capture the unique sonic pallet that has made Zeal & Ardor such an interesting act to listen to for the past few years in the most flattering light. The title track is possibly the least of the offenders here, but all the songs here function by taking a little snippet of sound that samples Zeal & Ardor’s broader stylistic range, and drawing it out across these short, but all too minimally composed tracks in such a way that they lose their momentum very quickly. Like I said, I wholeheartedly appreciate, sympathize with, and support what Manuel Gagneux is doing to lend his band’s platform to the addressing of the dire issue of today’s racism through musical means with this project, and when its social motivation is at the forefront, it’s at its most potent, but musically, unfortunately, it’s just desperately underwritten in a way that doesn’t fairly represent how accomplished Zeal & Ardor really are with their sound.
5/10
Sevendust - Blood & Stone
The flashes of crushing grooves reminiscent of their earlier work on Blood & Stone that highlight how well Sevendust can harness nu/alternative metal to execute pummeling attacks with the right crunchy guitar tone, unfortunately, don’t come frequently enough on their twelfth LP to mirage the exhaustion that has come of the band’s writing process after such frequent, unrelenting output and the all too apparent desperate need for a recalibrating, refreshing break, which they certainly deserve for their tenacity.
5/10
Undeath - Lesions of a Different Kind
In one of those cases where the ridiculously gratuitous album cover actually represents the album’s sound quite well, Rochester, New York five-piece, Undeath mince neither words nor sounds on their debut LP in their 100% upfront, no-nonsense, and wonderfully nasty delivery of death metal. Eschewing even the slightest sense of snobbery or pretense for aimless ambition, the band simply compile the genre’s tried and true elements of bellowing growls, filthy riffs, mean-ass down-tuned chugging, and blood-pumping double-bass with blast beats into an addictive slab of raw, uncured death metal that serves as a testament to the merit of not overthinking shit.
8/10
Griffon - Ὸ Θεός Ὸ Βασιλεύς
On their sophomore LP, Parisian quintet Griffon channel the world innovative ethos that has become rather prominent in their scene into a somewhat short, but definitely sweet offering of modestly ambitious black metal that captures much more effectively than most albums of similar style and lesser imagination, the divine grandeur that the genre so often tries and fails to embody.
8/10
Bring Me the Horizon - Post-Human: Survival Horror
After taking the hard left into current pop music trends very transparently on their controversial, which was at least partially intentional on their part, and ultimately really patchy, but not wholly awful, 2019 album, amo, Oli Sykes and co. walk it back substantially for this smaller release here, back to That's the Spirit, even Sempiternal, a prospect that might get a lot of the band's more long-time, metalcore-centric fans excited, but I would suggest those fans temper their expectations of Post-Human: Survival Horror. The band reunite with the anthemic metalcore/deathcore that put them on the map for a good chunk of this album, and the intro track, "Dear Diary,", might even give some false hope of the prodigal sons returning home. But songs like the cookie-cutter single, "Teardrops", provide strong evidence that, while the band have re-embraced their old aesthetic, they have not kicked the pop vocal or compositional habits. And the project really does run out of energy in its final third because of this compositional homogeneity. I do want to highlight the song, "Kingslayer", which features a very in-form Babymetal (I loved their album last year), because their fun, not-so-serious approach to the crossing of J-pop and metal music in their feature on this track among the other songs around it provides a contrast to the more formulaic, disinterested radio pop swagger that Bring Me the Horizon have been trying to jam into their sound that could perhaps inform Bring Me the Horizon's artistic approach to integrating pop music if they really are so hellbent on doing so. Ultimately though, as much as they want to move into newer territory, this trajectory-revising release shows just how much more solid Bring Me the Horizon are in their metalcore territory than they were on amo. It had its predictable hiccups, but this thing wasn't too bad.
7/10
Pallbearer - Forgotten Days
With the slow, sludgy, down-tuned riffing of the menacing opening title track and the similar chug of “Vengeance & Ruination” being the sole exceptions, the remainder of Pallbearer’s fouth full-length largely sees them operating in the same niche they have in their three previous albums. And while this could invoke accusations of playing it safe, the brimming heartfelt sorrow and resistance to succumbing to despair across Forgotten Days is enough to wave that away, as Pallbearer showcase just how emotive doom metal can be.
8/10
Bleeding Out - Lifelong Death Fantasy
The very new act and fresh Profound Lore signing, Bleeding Out, certainly display more dynamic capability than your average local grindcore scene’s biggest names here on their 18-minute debut for the label, but as of now it is still just a glimpse of potential for more effective future implementation. It’s a good start, though, and I’ll be looking forward to a more long-form project from these guys.
6/10
Evildead - United States of Anarchy
Every year we get the resurrection of some long-inactive old-school band who seem to have found that missing spark at last; we’ve seen the return of smaller bands to the studio like Angel Witch or Sorcerer and long-awaited revivals of iconic acts like Possessed. This year, Los Angeles’ Evildead has seen fit to make their commentary on the massive ongoing sociopolitical upheaval. Despite my love for the 80’s thrash scene they were born out of, the combination of the utterly lame band name, logo, and covers for either their ‘89 or ‘91 albums never really made me want to check them out, but seeing the horridly cheesy and incoherent cover of United States of Anarchy (I mean how much more on-the-nose can you get), my morbid curiosity got the best of me. Maybe I’d be wrong to have judged them by their cover, plenty of my favorite 80’s albums have particularly goofy cover art. So what do we get from Evildead in 2020 with this fucking album? Well, it’s not as poorly performed as the past few Anvil albums I’ve had to review have been, but Jesus the lyricism is similarly cheesy 5th-grade-level stuff and smacks of silly political incoherence that essentially boils down to “enlightened centrism” with mix of that good ol’ Illuminati-conspiracy-theory belief that no political thrash album is apparently complete without. I mean there’s just basic acknowledgment of the prominent problems of the day and the fact that both major political parties are bad and that corruption is rampant all throughout DC, but Evildead not only barely scratch the surface, they apply the same level cynicism to the “both sides” they criticize with no substantiation to their criticism despite that mindset being a big reason for our being where we are right now, mixed in with the occasional conspiracy-paranoia about the shadowy underworld running everything, so no real solutions or even proper addressing of these problems. Like, the same level of criticism is levied at right-wingers and communists, like communists are at all why this country has gone to shit. And the generic Anthrax/Megadeth type of thrash instrumentation, while rumbly and mixed well to highlight its bass heaviness, doesn’t exactly make it easy to get past the commentary deficiencies on here.
4/10
Emma Ruth Rundle & Thou - May Our Chambers Be Full
Rounding off their year (at least I think), with a long-teased collaboration with Emma Ruth Rundle, Thou finally present their massive sludge-doom sound in a much more flattering light than the previous cover albums this year did. Thou's original material continues to highlight just why their relatively stiff sound is much more cut out for that, original material, than for trying to bend beyond its flexibility to tribute grunge songs. And while Thou being back in their more effective department, Emma Ruth Rundle's contributions, beyond just her gorgeous and ethereally haunting vocals, to the album's atmosphere, dynamic, and structuring really take the collaboration to the next level. Not to say that Thou are completely overshadowed and relegated to the background on this record or that they don't contribute to a fair share of the legwork here; the workload is shared pretty equally, and both collaborators have their moments of prominence, but Emma Ruth Rundle's ever-present gothic/folky influence really directs the music in a way that plays to Thou's strengths in a way I'm not sure they would have been able to on their own. It's great work from both of them, and I'd be eager to hear Thou find more collaborations like this in the future that push them into doing more interesting things with their crushing doom sound, as opposed to the rather tepid collaborations with The Body.
8/10
Auðn - Vökudraumsins Fangi
Sadly, three albums in, Auðn have only barely exceeded the bare minimum for naturalistic atmospheric black metal, with no signs of significant improvement to be found. The Icelandic band earn points for their earnest delivery, but they never seem to fully make it out of the rut that the genre’s many contemporary acts have dug.
5/10
Botanist - Photosynthesis
The black metal traditionalists might have had to accept that the floodgates to bright ambience and serene shoegaze in the genre have been opened and that there's no going back now, but even as an avid Deafheaven fan, I'm sometimes momentarily surprised at just how heavenly some black metal has gotten lately, and this new album from Botanist is one of those albums. And while it sometimes slips into some of the current wave's typical ruts, the sheer blindingly illuminating aura of this album when it reaches those high points (and it does so frequently) is enough to pull it out from those gutters and high into the cosmos. Yeah, another splendid offering of nature worship from Botanist.
8/10
Mr. Bungle - The Raging Wrath of the Easter Bunny Demo
Making their return after over a decade, Mike Patton recruits both Dave Lombardo and Scott Ian for the long-awaited fourth Mr. Bungle album, which is titled in homage to the first Mr. Bungle demo which it is comprised largely of much clearer re-recordings of. Ever impressive, Mike Patton balances aggression and eccentricity like a tightrope walker on this project too, while his bandmates do the same with thrash metal’s natural adrenaline rush while pushing the genre into new compositional and stylistic territory without sacrificing that crucial whiplash. It’s a great time, and definitely one of the year’s best thrash albums.
8/10
Carcass - Despicable
While they've been much less prolific since their reboot than they were prior, Liverpool's melodic death metal pioneers simply continue to demonstrate their excellence in this seemingly effortless four-track appetizer to next year's Torn Arteries. Anyone familiar with the band's brutal form of melodic death metal will certainly be pleased with the four quite sufficiently pulverizing cuts here; those who may only be familiar with some of the band's many less muscular imitators might be surprised, and pleasantly so, with the Englanders' ability to lay on the infectious guitar melody without sacrificing an ounce of force.
8/10
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neoniverse · 4 years
Text
heal me. | chapter iv
disclaimer: this series is a work of fiction. any businesses, events or incidents are products of my wide imagination. all of the character’s personality does not reflect and has nothing to do in real life.
warnings: smut, angst, usage of strong language, mild violence, mentions of death, alcohol & drugs, degradation, cheating issues and lots of flashbacks
pairings: jung jaehyun x reader
a/n: read at your own risk. unedited.
song association: blinding lights - the weeknd
« CHAPTER III
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“I loved you once
and now I must spend
my whole life explaining why.”
"Stop staring at me."
Jaehyun glances at you after noticing that you have been staring for the whole five minutes of him working over something. You watched his veiny hands flip each page of the paper he was holding before jotting down his signature with black ink.
He stopped for a moment and looked at you with his thin gold-rimmed glasses resting on the bridge of his nose.
"Baby, I'm telling you. Don't provoke me."
"What? Did I do something wrong?" then purposely nudged the pencil holder near him. "Oh, right. Maybe I did."
You immediately kneeled down to pick the pencils up, arching your back more; enough for him to see your ass. Just as you were about to stand up, he suddenly lifted up your body and placed you on top of the desk.
"Jaehyun, what the he—" he shut you up with his index finger pressed to your lips and eyed you down with menacing look.
"Bend over," he orders. "Raise that skirt."
You do exactly what he said and faced the large space of his office while biting your lips as nervousness and excitement build upon your body. The trepidatious heat you're feeling is imparable; knowing that someone might widely open that door and see you both in that very sexual and unusual scene.
He slowly trailed up his cold fingers from the back of your knees to the exposed cheeks of your ass. With no words said, his hand harshly landed to your skin.
"I already told you to stop, didn't I? Why defy me?" he leans closer to your ear. "Use that pretty mouth of yours and answer me."
You shook your head sideways and pursued your lips to remain silent. The raging heat of your body weakened your knees as Jaehyun continued leaning closer. You felt his bulge growing behind you.
"My very own naughty dirty girl. You really, really like seeking attention, aren't you? Just because you know I am capable of doing this?"
"Jae, please."
"Why defy me, baby?"
"I did— I didn't!"
"Mhm, sure. I really don't care."
He pulled your black laced panties down and pushed the hem of the beige skirt to your waist. He even did your hair into a ponytail to pull. "Safe word?"
"Red, sir."
"Alright. Count my thrusts and if you get one wrong, I will absolutely sure you’re limping on your way out, whore."
He pulled you closer to him and positioned his member right to your area. He didn't wait for you to speak as he already get a hold of your waist and hair then pushed his fully erected member inside your wet pussy.
"Oh—holy fuck."
"What did I say? Count."
"O-one."
The whole room was filled with gradually speeding sounds of two bodies skin colliding. His hips harshly slamming against your ass made you release loud whimpers. The unholy grating and roughness of his movements by senselessly fucking you behind diminished your grasp to the table.
"Ah, shit, yes."
"Yeah? Like that?" he whispers to your ear then licked your jawline. "Such a big slut, are we? Your tight and wet pussy take my fucking cock so well."
You were on the peak of climax when you woke up to sense sound of a loud clap in front of your face. Everyone was looking at you, especially Johnny who gave you a what-is-happening-to-you look.
"Earth to Y/N. It's supposed to be a fun and special night yet you're spacing out?" Johnny utters before handing a bottle of cold beer. I massaged my temples as this is the fifth time of zoning out and thinking of things that I left buried in the past.
“Happy birthday, Y/N!"
It has been exactly five days ever since I moved out from the project for Neocity Incorporation. I didn’t want to settle in that decision but what are the odds anyway? He wanted me out of his sight just like how he wanted me before; to love and heal him.
You celebrated your not-so-fun birthday in your condominium unit with Johnny, Rosé, and Seolhee. Taeyong was also supposed to be there but he said he’s not available for he’s busy about something important. But he didn't just left you in the air like that for he dropped by earlier to give his very special and extravagant gift to you.
“Come on, just at least have fun,” Rosé spoke while munching on her fried chicken. “And the food tastes so damn good!”
“Rosie, that’s because you’re already finishing the box all by yourself.” Seolhee replies. Rosé gave her a deadly glare before taking another bite to the drumstick she's holding.
I trickled off the rivulet of cold beer on my throat before going out to the balcony to breathe in fresh air. As soon as the sliding door opened, cold breeze of wind embraced my body; making me cross my arms over my chest. I walked towards the metal handrail and placed my arms above it. Then wandered my eyes to the marvelous view. The skycrapers, busy highways of Seoul, and the gradient dark blue to black color sky of shining stars lured my despondent soul in.
I started tearing up as my heart felt a striding thump. "Oh, god. Why am I crying," I let out a small chuckle and wiped the tears that fell down my cheeks and from escaping my eyes.
"You're such a crybaby, just so you know."
The taunting dominant voice from my back halted me from moving. As I turn around, I saw him there, standing before me with a bottle of beer on his right hand. My breath hitched when his chocolate eyes meet mine, especially when that playful smirk is plastered on his lips.
"What are you doing here?" I shot back, giving emphasis to 'you'.
He walked towards my place and stood beside me as if he doesn't feel any tension between us. I rolled my eyes in annoyance. "You told me to stay away, now you're here to mess things up."
"I don't think I should even explain myself, Y/N."
What?
I let out a sarcastic scoff. "Wow, Mr. Jung. Did I step on your ego?" Jaehyun just looked at me as if trying to read me and my feelings. "I just wanted to say sorry, okay? I was intoxicated by alcohol that night."
"You feel sorry for being what, an asshole?” I ask, only to see his smile fade. “Where do you put alcohol, anyway? Down your annoying ass?"
That's for you, fucking jerk.
He chugged down the beer and slumped himself on the floor, his back leaning on the glass pane. I hate him. I really hate his guts. He’s arrogant, who act like my fucking boss, and act like he knows shit.
“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Jaehyun spoke. Sadness poisons his voice. “I mean it. Truly.”
I remained my eyes down at him, his chocolate like eyes gleam but sad. Is it bad if I feel remorseful? Even for once? I open my mouth to answer him, but nothing comes out. My anger and hate for him is tempered by coldness. I turn around to leave him alone but a warm embrace halted and encaged my body in.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, too low to hear. Something jostles my arms. “For what I did. I’m sorry. I know it’s not that easy to forgive but atleast let me prove myself to you—again.” His voice almost breaks.
With all my might and can, I detached his grip to mine. You are only apologetic whenever you feel like to do so.
“If you're sorry, you should’ve leave me alone,” I stare at him. “What does it feel like to be pushed away? You— you always confuse me.”
The thing with love is, no matter how hard you try to save and fix it, no matter how the two of you sacrifice, it always, in the end, becomes too much. Jaehyun and you was like two shadows playing with fire. No one was capable of winning, no one was capable of losing.
I went back inside and locked myself to my room. My heart fell into a pit of sneer razors, thin and sharp. I fear of being alone more than anything else before. But it was always better to be by oneself.
In the past few days, I’ve kept myself busy with the new project given by the boss. My exhaustion is bone-deep and my heart is another wound entirely, still bleeding from taking all pain and failure.
“Engineer? You have a visitor at the office.”
My brows immediately furrowed to the worker but I just gave him a nod. He then walked away afterwards. I wasn't expecting any visitor for today but maybe it's a surprise?
Right after I swung the door open, Jaehyun in his office attire and my co-worker, Jun, was talking about something. Jaehyun stood up when he saw me enter the room. I gave Jun a notice to go out for a meantime but instead, he gave me a wink and goodluck sign before leaving.
"I just came by to invite you," Jaehyun started. "It's just a party and I assure you I will bring you home after."
In short, a party and his date.
"And that is for what?" I answered. "I'm one of your least concerns, Mr. Jung. I don't think I should comply to that."
He licked his lower lip. "I don't have any one to go with me. So Y/N, please, just this one night?"
You don't know what force pulled you to hell just so you can agree and join him to the said party. You just found yourself wearing a black plunging neckline dress that you saw on your closet earlier. And partnered up with beige heels. A sexy clothing like this wasn't in your thoughts at all, but you wanted to grab Jaehyun's limelight at the party.
"You look so gorgeous tonight."
And that was his cue before sliding his hand to your waist while you both are making your way to the red carpeted hallway.
"Thanks, I guess?" You answered. Jaehyun gave you a sincere smile that revealed his two sets of deep dimples.
When the two of you entered the ballroom, you both were welcomed by media and the other guests that overwhelmed your whole being. Laughter and chattering resonated inside the palatial ballroom and the glimmering theme laced the party, having some resemblance to a renaissance painting.
“Mr. Jung! Good to see you here!”
An old man in black suit approached and shook hands with him. He looked at you surprisingly. “Oh, the great Miss Y/N! How could I forget?”
You replied to him with a smile and polite bow before grabbing a champagne flute from a waiter. Jaehyun ended his talk with the man and proceeded walking with you to the reserved table.
Many people was intrigued to as why you and him, were together in the event; especially the media who even interviewed you two regarding it. I’m just his date for tonight. That was your answer. By the whole time moving, you just got bored and more bored for social gatherings wasn’t really your thing.
“Come with me, I’ll show you something.”
Jaehyun handed you his hand before pulling you to run away from the ballroom. You giggled when you almost tripped on your feet while running to your way out.
“If this isn’t something good, swear to heaven’s saints and angels, I will fucking kick your balls!” You playfully taunt him.
He drove to the airport as soon as the car left the basement parking. The butterflies inside your stomach fluttered when both of you walked towards a private jet at the airport ramp. Your heart raced when you got inside and saw Mark standing at the cockpit.
“Where are we going?” You ask, but instead, he just shot his brow up at you.
The whole flight lasted for 12 hours and you still have zero idea to where Jaehyun is bringing you. Butterflies that flutter inside your stomach grew wild with anticipation when the plane landed safely—sending notice that you have arrived at your destination.
"Good evening. This is Captain Lee, your Pilot for the night. We have safely landed in Rome-Fiumicino Airport. Yo, Jaehyun Jung, use protection later!"
Mark vulgarly announced to the whole craft, making your cheeks flush. Jaehyun just laughed it off as if it's not awkward for him.
"You brought me to Rome freaking Italy?" You exasperated said, eyes widen, to the person beside you. "I already told you before, I will make myself up."
"I hope you know that I am sorry for everything, Y/N."
-
The soft knocks on your hotel room door woke your senses up. You rubbed your eyes before grabbing the silk robe you bought at a nearby boutique last night before you and Jaehyun check-in at a obviously luxurious hotel.
It's already 9 AM.
You opened the door and saw Jaehyun standing there, wearing a simple white shirt, tucked in his washed blue jeans. He eyed you up and down before greeting.
"Hi."
"Hey."
Silence.
One.
Two.
Three.
"You ready? We're going to our first tourist spot."
When we arrived at the Colosseum— which was my ever since wish, my jaw dropped as to see the beauty. Jaehyun, who is standing beside me kept looking at the old building.
"What's the use of your film camera if you won't open it?" I mocking asked before snatching it from him. "Go there, I'll take a picture of you."
He hesitated first before following your demand. You took two shots of him, standing in front of the beautifully created structure. You were doing boomerangs for your Instagram story when Jaehyun pulled you.
"Mi scusi, puoi farci una foto?" He politely asked to a passerby and gave her his phone. The old lady smiled and took it.
Jaehyun suddenly wrapped his arm on your shoulders, making your heart jump for a second. The woman counted before clicking the shutter of his phone camera.
"You, two, look nice together! Good couple!" She created a heart shaped sign then left us alone. Jaehyun beside you just laughed while you were standing there, dumbfounded.
He took your wrist and pulled you so the both of you started walking again. You also posted an IG story of Jaehyun's back that left a bombarding dm's from Rosé, Seolhee, Johnny, and Mark.
@parkrosies: please bring home some food!
@l_seolhee: NOW I KNOW WHY YOU'RE ABSENT
@seo.johnny: Use protection! ;)
@mark.lee: Have fun, Y/N! I hope you guys will go home with a baby.
Mark's message made you laugh then you closed your phone. The trip in Colosseum ended by eating at a near restaurant that was again, high-end and fancy. Jaehyun insisted walking to a park before going back to the hotel.
"Did you enjoy?" He asked while sipping on his iced americano.
You nodded slowly. "Hmm, I really did."
"We're just here for three days so we should go to a lot more places tomorrow." Your poor heart fell on your stomach as to his word.
"Three days will be enough, then," Jaehyun glanced at you. "I hope it's enough for us."
When the both of you arrived in front of each other's hotel doors, he gave you a small smile and mouthed, 'tomorrow' before going inside his room.
The next day, you woke up late because you slept late for contemplating over things. Jaehyun brought you to the center and major tourist attraction, St. Peter's Basilica. Then to the Pantheon and to a museum. Until the day after next, last day. It was Trevi Fountain; one of the places you wanted to travel to before.
"So this is the end?"
Jaehyun stared deep into your eyes as if enthralling. You nodded slowly when you felt a small pang in your heart. "Jaehyun."
He cocked his head to the side. "Yeah?"
"I'm forgiving you," l stated with a genuine smile on my lips. "And I also mean it. No lies."
"Wait, shit, for real?" He was suddenly jubilant.
The immaculate twinkle in his eyes made your heart even more flutter. He bit his lower lip when he felt his heart pounding in ebullience. Maybe three days were enough to understand and love something good about him.
"Thank you, Y/N. Tha—"
You gave him a smack on the lips before running back to your hotel room. Jaehyun was left there, in his room, still in shocked position. As soon as you closed the door, you leaned back to it and placed your hand to the chest.
You knew what it was.
With your heart into pieces, you try to heal it alone. Not knowing it was him the whole time.
You fell, again.
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wrestledwiththegods · 4 years
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I absolutely love your writing! I saw the post you made for Papa Nihil with a chronicially ill/fatigued s/o and I was wondering if you could do headcannons for the rest of the Papas and Copia for the same thing. Thank you so so much!
No problem babe!
Papa Nihil can be found (here).
If you had any interest in "alternative medicine" Papa I is fucking amazing with it. He doesn't at all think of himself as more knowledgeable than your doctors, mind you, not at all! In fact he would want to work with them to see if certain combinations of herbal remedies would be helpful alongside your medication. If it's a balm or something to be applied topically, he has no problem rolling up his sleeves to put it on you himself in a light massage. He's very hands on in being… helpful? Sometimes you might need to verbalize that he needs to reel it in and stop acting like a caretaker. It's not because he wants to be controlling or in your business in any way, it's a way of showing his love. But it could definitely be overwhelming at some points depending on your issues. Just tell him and he will be there in the way *you* need him to be. Will remind you not to push yourself when he sees you straining. He has a VERY comfortable set up in his office when you are having a low energy day. That way you can still have company and light conversation with him and not feel isolated.
In more intimate moments, his voice is soft to tell you how much he cares about you, how important you are, things that let you know he doesn't see you as just this condition. It's just a part of you. It is not your defining characteristic.
Papa ii is attentive but stern about it. This man will get you the best doctors available at his disposal for your condition. Yes, they make house calls now, especially if it's a strain for you to go to certain appointments. He gives you complete privacy and doesn't hover over your doctors in any way other than to say he will cover all medical expenses and treatments you choose. He doesn't in any way want you to feel as though you lose your independence with him. He'd like if you told him about things, as he finds it important, but he won't pressure you to do so. Papa II will maintain a cool and strong facade for you every step of the way- but should there be a moment you were in serious pain or danger, that would break. He worries. Of course he does, he cares for you. He would spend sleepless nights kissing your hand by your bedside until you felt better. That being said, not in a mean or malicious way, but he will scold you if you aren't taking care of yourself at home. Gentle chiding with a kiss. Don't lift a finger, he has ghouls for that. When/if you have trouble getting around with your condition, he sets it up for you to have your "favourites" around. Whether it's a comfort food you like, music, movie, book or all of the above, he makes sure you are handled. Particularly if he can't be present because of his own duties (but he has been known to sometimes skip when it comes to you.)
If anyone ever gave you shit or implied you were lesser than because of your condition(s), unholy hell he will tear them a new one and wish they had never even thought of speaking to you.
Papa iii is the one who its possibly the most foreign concept. He still feels and acts like a young man. Sure, hes *known* people with these issues but hasn't been personally intimate with them. Expect him to google/research/ask around a lot. What's it called? How do the symptoms effect you? Just give him a hot minute and he'll catch up. Hes so used to seeing you "strong", sometimes you'll need to give him a small nudge when you're not doing well and need a break. The longer you're together, the better he becomes at knowing your little tells. With him being incredibly charismatic and charming, he tends to talk your way out of non-important obligations when he sees the signs. You have a problem saying no because you feel bad? Hahaha, he doesn't. He doesn't try to shove you in front of lines anywhere, but if he will show up to every appointment where you need moral support. Even if that's all of them. He holds your hand. Waits playing candy crush on his phone the entire time you're in there. Has you both chauffeured back to the church (if its outside the grounds) so he can cuddle with you in the back (if you are okay with that and not in sensory overload or pain.)
Side note: If you think any of this makes you less desirable and he doesn't enjoy the new challenge of figuring out how to unwind you specifically with needs in mind, you are ding-dong wrong, my friend.
Copia is a worrywart under all that. Through and through. This will not change because the condition is chronic. He wants to know what you need at all times. If he's not available for you, he makes sure the church nurses or ghouls are. When hes on tour, he needs to have contact with you, so expect phone calls and video chatting where he is WAY too close to the camera because hes awful at it. It's the same for doctor's appointments because there will be a lot of times he can't come with you- just send him text updates that you're okay. If he suspects you aren't getting good enough care, he has no problem with a "private chat" with your healthcare provider. Or just replacing them entirely. It's simple for him, like signing a document. When it comes to you, it's not even a question. It's almost funny, he is constantly fatigued because of how hard he works himself, yet he's telling you how you need to rest and take care! Convince him it's okay to take a quick nap with you. He'll hold you softly and kiss your forehead until the both of you knock out. It's okay just this once, he says.
He likes leaving you letters and notes when he knows you aren't feeling well and he has to take care of things. He'll see you sleeping peacefully, write it and leave it next to you. They are usually such a level of emotional you *will* want to cry. In a good way. That rat just loves you so damn much.
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headcanons-ghost-bc · 5 years
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I know he doesn’t seem like it but how would yandre Papa I be with his s/o. I just really love how you write the Papas in all the headcanons you’ve done:).
Thank you very much for the compliment!
(WARNING: Yandereness, Stalking, Obsession, Controlling Behavior, Manipulation-Seriously though, this is not the criteria for a healthy relationship. If you somehow do find yourself in a situation like this, please seek help) 
The thing about this man is, he a very well composed type of yandere. He won’t react much to your “transgressions”, but that doesn’t mean you are off the hook at all.
If anything, this makes him all the more dangerous. With Papas II and III and Copia as well, at least you know how they react.
He won’t actively try and get you pregnant, but if you do, he’s not complaining.
Have you ever heard of those religious types that tell you that God is always watching you? Papa I tells you that you must always act as if Satan is always watching.
Any “worldly” possessions you ever had are taken away from you and disposed of.
He enforces an “unholy” lifestyle upon you.
His go to punishment for any transgression is always the same: You are whipped with a yardstick until you bleed.
When there are times you have to be away from him, One of his ghouls oversees that you fulfill the task that required your time away from him exactly as you promised. If his ghoul says something different from what you said, you’re in huge trouble.
Your diet when you’re with him is devoid of any sort of protein.
He also works you to the bone with no time for breaks.
Any sibling of sin in his circle guilt trips you if you ever voice a word of your displeasure.
Privacy is a luxury, yes, even when you’re dressing and undressing
Eventually, these methods start breaking your mind down and you start liking the things that he does to you, and you start loving him back.
I know that these are pretty tame, but that’s pretty much how I see Papa I as a yandere.
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Fragile, handle with care
i) The first time your heart breaks, you're eighteen, young and stupid and naive and you'll wonder why no one ever warned you that something so delicate could so easily shatter into a hundred pieces but wait, maybe they did and you just didn't listen.
I bet he told you he loved you as he stripped you down and laid you bare and you spilled your secrets in the middle of the night to the devil who begged you to and the best thing he could do was pretend to listen.
I bet he told you that you were the most beautiful thing he ever laid eyes on and he spun you soft promises that would later turn into sharp lies and all the while, his mind wandered to unholy places that would damn your innocence to hell.
I can guess that he took that little heart of yours and scratched his name into it and he'd play with it night after night, toying, teasing, dangling it just out of your reach as you tried to playfully tug it out of his hands and he'd only dangle it higher and higher, each time just inches from the tips of your fingers. You'd laugh in exquisite ignorance at this game you're both playing but only one of you is winning and it's not you but you've forgotten the rules and you don't care if he's breaking them.
And I can bet my life that one night, as you bathed in his glorious, undivided attention, not noticing a thing amiss, he just...let it drop. It slipped as he loosened his vice-like grip, tired (bored?) of the game that he can now proudly call his own and you were too slow to catch it.
You'll wonder why God never gifted you that delicate little thing in a box wrapped in gold paper, tied with a shiny red bow and a label saying "fragile, handle with care", but if He had, would you have listened? Would he? See, the devil was never one for listening.
It will slowly crack, straight down the middle and that sound will resonate with deafening silence as you splinter from the inside out. You will feel, deep in your bones, the echoes of the fragments as they explode into nothing and you are suddenly wracked with a pain so intense, you wonder why the world hasn't stopped to mourn your undoing, why the clocks are not standing still until you piece yourself together when all you know is the imprint of your cheek against the cool tiles of the bathroom wall where the running shower drowns out your stifled sobs as you dig your nails in, hard, trying to tear the devil out from under your skin.
You learn the hard way to never again hand it over to the devil who comes to you wearing another face.
ii) No one ever told you that the world could break you more than the devil ever could.
Sixteen is sweet because candied dreams and the beginnings of life make you dizzy with undiluted happiness. "The world is your oyster" they tell you but what they don't tell you is that you're living on borrowed time and before you can blink the oyster snaps shut, trapping with it the hopes you had painted in gold dust. With time, it'll start to filter out, clinging to the air with nostalgia and painful longing.
You're high on the promise of a world always on your side, of a universe always conspiring for you and not against you, of winds that sway the sails to the promised land but then the drug drains out of your system and your weary body will hate the world and question the universe and curse the winds that keep knocking you off your feet.
Your bones will rattle with the constant ache of regrets and lost chances and the doors that slam shut time and time again. You can't escape the gnawing suspicion that this is it. That you are living in a haunted house that feeds on the fear of lost time and is filled with the trinkets of empty promises, crushed dreams and failures that are stacked up like old books on a broken bookshelf.
Do what you love, love what you do was a myth absent from your childhood. Fairytales became nightmares and the soft caress of lullabies became the dull thunk of nails in the coffin as you put your dreams to rest. RIP.
You swallow the bitter pill of defeat as you act out the scenes of the life they have penned for you but what on earth happened to writing your own chapters - I guess the skill of your own hand doesn't count for much.
The biting temptation to crown your selfish happiness itches beneath your skin but you struggle to liberate it while figures of authority are stuffing their supposed wisdom down the back of your throat and you are paying the price.
You are exhausted from sweeping the shards of your soul under the carpet as the illusions of the life you dream of, collide and shatter and there isn't enough patience or strength to go around and so that steady organ that breathes life into you, slows and starves of resilience.
Broken wings are harder to heal than broken hearts.
iii) Some days, your knees will buckle and hit the ground and you will know that the world has you beat.
You are tired of entertaining the people who waltz in and out of your life at liberty, singing their promises composed from tuneless sincerity and sugar-coated proclamations of love that turn to acid.
The people you handpick to reside in your home can only dig their claws into you and suck you dry; that home chills you to the bone as the cold winds blow into the little pockets now slowly collecting dust, that have been inhabited and cleared out by the dwellers who either slowly chip away at the reflection you no longer recognise when you look in the mirror, or who force your hand when they fill you with poison, so you kick them out, promising yourself that you'll bolt the front door and hide away the key.
But you forget and leave it open anyway. The door swings madly, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, and it drives you crazy but you still can't bring yourself to slam it shut.
Don't you see? The world is only as cold and disappointing as the people in it.
iv) It's 3:42am. The breeze is whispering through my open window and my room is painted by the subdued glow of the faint twilight hues filtering through the quiet darkness that has been listening to my desperate prayers. Just as it's done the night before, and the night before that, and the night before that.
I wonder if it's tired of hearing my silent cries. I wonder if it senses the void that has me hollowed out from the inside, like calling to like. I wonder if it tires of breathing in my turmoil, lifting it into nothingness as if it weighs as little as air.
Because in the deepest hour of the darkest night, I feel myself fraying at the edges, literally breaking into pieces and I am cradling the glass splinters in my bloodied hand and I wonder if it's always been like this.
If my heartbeats tally the minutes in which I am bleeding out searching for...something.
I feel it sometimes. In the stillness of the night it's almost tangible. As my whispers ascend from the ground to the seven heavens, I find it.
It almost makes the breaking worth it.
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pinkiepiebones · 7 years
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Writing prompt: Papa III gets a bit intimate with the reader
You aren’t sure what to expect when the leader of your devil worshipping sect of choice invites you to join him in his private chambers.
It feels like he has a whole wing of the expansive church all to himself. You walk slowly down the hall, led by a single Nameless Ghoul carrying a single candle. You try to look around at the black stone columns and faded paintings and frown. You’re no design expert, but would it really insult the devil if someone installed some hall lights? Or at least lined the hall with the little soft lights they use at movie theaters? Surely Satan didn’t want His deciples stumbling foolishly in the dark.
You’re shaken from your mental critques when you hear a loud creak; the Ghoul opens a great wooden door in front of you. They look at you, then nod towards the open door. “You’re not coming?” It’s a question that falls out of your mouth more like a statement. The Ghoul shuts the door behind you.
Papa’s chambers are bigger than your home, or close to it. There’s electric lights in here, thank Him below, as well as candelabras. You look at the opulent rolltop desk and you notice the wallspace around it is decorated with pictures and letters from fans. Aww. The floor is covered in several not carefully arranged rugs, as well as t-shirts and a few dolls- perhaps also gifts from fans. It’s oddly sweet to see that the aged Unholy Father not only keeps mementos, but that he doesn’t keep entirely tidy. He’s human after all. That makes you grin.
 The bed is as you always expected- not that you think about his bed a lot- large and covered with velvety red blankets. It has a canopy with sheer black curtains tied back with gold rope, and gold fringe lines it all. You find yourself moving towards it and notice black petals spread over it.
“Ah, I did not hear you enter.” Papa emerges from another area of the enormous space. He’s in what has come to be known as his casual suit. But he’s not wearing his usual white gloves. The sight of his bare hands makes you blush and you feel foolish. They’re just hands.
You tell him a Ghoul led you to the door and didn’t knock. Papa smiles, pearly teeth framed by black painted lips. “Yes, they enjoy sneaking up on me sometimes.” He makes a lavish gesture towards the bed. “Come, my dear, sit a moment.”
You hesitantly move to sit on the bed but realise there are a couple of plush armchairs at the foot of the bed, and you fall into one. The bed is behind you, and in front of you the wall is not a wall, but an enormous bookcase. There are some magazines, comic books, and vinyl records in amongst the ancient tomes. A record player sits on the table between the armchairs. It’s adorable.
Papa comes back from the voluminous space- there must be a kitchen off this main room because he’s carrying a tray with a teapot and cups and a closed box. Everything looks delicate and ornate and, of course, slightly evil. He clicks his tongue when he realise the record player is where he wants to set down his tray, but before you can move it he’s pulling an ottoman over by hooking his foot to a leg and dragging it closer. He carefully sets the tray on if and gives you a sheepish grin. “Perhaps I need to invest in a coffee table at some point.”
You let him pour you a cup of tea and watch as he opens the box and piles a plate with cookies for you. They are made to look like little ram heads. You chuckle as he drops sugar cubes into his own tea. Isn’t he allegedy centuries old? This display doesn’t mesh with how you thought Papa would act at all.
Papa munches on a cookie and sips his tea before addressing you. “Now, I am sure you have to be experiencing confusion for why I summoned you here.” You nod. “Don’t think I do not notice you in the crowd, my dear. I see everyone. And you-” he pauses very obviously for dramatic effect- “stand out to me.”
Your blush deepens. Papa’s words, his laid back appearance, the petals on the bed, everything clicks in to place in your head. Your mouth goes dry and you take a nervous sip of tea to combat it. Papa’s thick painted brows knit and he asks, “what is wrong? You seem worried.”
You blurt out something about the petals. You are not smooth. Papa glances at his bed, then to you, then he chuckles. “Oh, well, you see, a while ago I heard a proverb that I have taken to heart- ‘treat yo self.’ I try to live by that notion. And I like to treat myself the way I like to treat lovers, so to speak.” You falter. You clarify- the petals on the bed are for him? He nods, then laughs softly. “I suppose it looks as though I was planning on seducing you, doesn’t it.”
You admit you were sure that’s why you were summoned.
“Why do you think that?” His voice and face are hard to read. You set your tea down on the tray on the ottoman and repeat his assertion that you stand out to him. “Yes, you do,” he confirms. “You seem really cool and I enjoy the hanging out with cool people, and, apparently, I am terrible at going about asking people to hang out.”
There’s a weird mix of relief and disappointment stirring in you. That Papa wants to be your friend is amazing, but that he apparently doesn’t find you worthy of seduction is... Well.
You feel a hand on your knee and look up to find your eyes locking with Papa’s. This close you notice his left eye isn’t really white like you always thought. It’s a very light blue. The other eye is a mossy green. Both eyes are intensely gazing into yours as he leans closer and brushes his painted lips against yours.
“I can feel the thunder breaking in your heart” he murmurs against your lips. You’re too stunned to laugh at him quoting his own song at you.
 He moves back just a bit. “You would like this, to be more than friends, yes?”
You nod.
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argorpg-blog · 5 years
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CONGRATULATIONS and welcome to the crew of the Argo II, KAEL! The Gods have spoken: welcome aboard ANASFALEIA, known as VIRGIL VELASCO, with a faceclaim of JAMES REID. Please take a look at our checklist, and send in your account in the next 24 hours.
ADMIN NOTES: Reading your app, Kael, you took us by surprise. Virgil is not how we ever pictured Anasfaleia - and yet, we like it better this way! Your writing is so beautiful, and he is heartbreaking in the best possible way. We were particularly in love with the way you wove temptation into your app, posing Gaea as a very real (and personal) threat. Your extra plot arcs have the potential to bring a lot of depth to this group and our future plot, and we’re excited to see what else Virgil can bring! 
NAME/ALIAS: Kael
AGE, TIMEZONE, PRONOUNS: 20, GMT+8:00, He/him/his
ACTIVITY  & EXTRAS:  Between a thesis and my course, I might post around once to twice a week, as much as possible, but be real active on the Discord chat! Oh, and I’m down for all and any plots so you know,, ,, , , , wig.
IN CHARACTER
DESIRED SKELETON: Anasfaleia
CHARACTER NAME: Virgil Andres Velasco
AGE & GENDER: 22, Cisgender male
FACECLAIM: James Reid, Brandon Perea, Lee Jong-suk (Name subject to change)
BIOGRAPHY:
ACT I: MORTAL.
You are no demigod.
Demigods are cloaked in legend, their fame or infamy written across the night skies as a testament to their greatness. There are songs and hymns of their deeds, written in stone for time to weather and grow. But from the whispers that follow you, it feels like the ichor in your veins was nothing more than water, the godhead in you merely a wilting flower, doomed to die at an early age. ( Hear them: dulled blade, tarnished silver, unwanted son. )
From the moment you were placed at your father’s doorstep, you became a liability, a fissure in the perfect mold of a marriage that he strived to keep—the duct tape and hot glue of his efforts finally breaking as you were brought to your home. He left, not even giving you a second thought, the mistake that he’d made a year ago a sight too harsh to bear. So you lived with your step-mother, who took you in all the same, and a half-brother that loved you as if nothing had ever mattered. Love was all you had known, but you knew you were different, a problem child in the family, only destined to break everything you’d ever known.
You were sent to a private Catholic school, where you’d learned about God and his love for humanity, where you couldn’t understand the words on holy text, where you thought you’d been cursed with stupidity your whole life. It was a disaster, you think, as you sat, making doodles on notebooks and looking at words floating off pages, not even bothering to make an effort anymore. Viciousness was a language you quickly understood, their words cutting you down as you failed quiz after quiz, the doodles on your notebook erased just as fast as they had appeared. You were never picked for anything, not as a date, not as a friend, not as anything but the facade of a boy as a laughingstock. Virgin Mother and Holy Father above, you prayed, as all sinners were wont to do, for guidance with all your heart. The nuns said that the Lord never heard selfish prayers, that he only dabbled in altruism, but you know you had to try and They had to listen—They owed you that much.
Burning passion never worked, so maybe reverence did—you got on your knees and prayed, prayed for blessings, to not be a disappointment, chanted Hail Marys and Our Fathers until your throat went dry. God was supposed to look at all Their creation as if it was good, so maybe he wasn’t part of Their plan, maybe he was a smudge, an unholy stain that would leave if bleached far enough. But you wouldn’t, you won’t. You will shake the heavens, and make God hear him, if you had to.
ACT II: DIVINE.
It was October, you remembered, that you were being followed. You were sure it was a stalker, someone who saw you as an easy mark, ready to stab you and take you wallet. The gaping maw that greeted you told you that you were definitely wrong. Death was a sure thing, with the flurry of claws and fangs greeting you, but you pushed, and you found only yellow dust on the palms of your hands. You told your step-mother, when you came home limping, fear and worry in her eyes. You grinned and laughed it off, the nonchalance on your face standing firm, as if the claw marks on your arm hadn’t faded yet. ( Hear it: godling boy, divine morsel, golden blood. )
The next day, your father came home.
Maybe that wasn’t right. It was another man, with a crisp tie and a purpose when he walked, far from the sullen man and dead eyes that seemed to greet you during visitation. Pack your things, he said, we leave in an hour. You looked to your mother—step-mother, and she only could give you a smile, and a pat on your cheek. Be brave, bunso. You can do this.
It wasn’t long before you had your things: a leather jacket gifted to you on your fifteenth birthday, a pair of boots from your brother, a silver ring from your mother, a picture of your family during Christmas, baubles of no real value to anyone but you. Maybe the place where they’d stick you was going to be comfortable, with a padded cell instead of cold rock. Maybe you could call Dante, your brother, once in a while after you were all better. Maybe it was going to be a surprise family trip, somewhere warm and sunny with lounges and tanning lotion. The world was full of maybes, and it seemed like you were going to find out what they were.
You counted twelve hours, from the flight to the cab ride. You asked where the two of you were going. Long Island. A campgrounds full of people. Somewhere safe. So you thought of the two of you in a tent, living off s’mores and hot dogs, looking up at the stars. It was a childish dream, foolish for someone of your age, but you didn’t have many things left to you but your hope, and you were going to be damned if someone took that away from you.
In your dreams, there is a woman, as beautiful as the day is bright. She looks at you with curiosity, a cracked chalice in her hands. There is an eternity in her eyes that you cannot comprehend; maybe it was weariness, maybe it was sadness. She does not speak to you when you talk, nor can she hear you, her radiant form flickering in and out as you try and reach out to her. You can hear her voice almost, barely above a whisper, but clear. Be safe, Virgil. Be safe.
ACT III: DEMIGOD
You are a demigod. But you’re not so sure.
Greek myths walk the halls, children with divine blood walking down the campgrounds with bows and blades alike. You are nothing like them, with only perfect skin and wounds that knit faster than they open. They are your family, Chiron said, and you will grow to love them. But you walk into the Hermes cabin, with bodies packed into each other, and you can see no love, only desperation. Desperate voices crying out for parents, for a place to stay, for anyone to hear their prayers. ( Hear yourself: I am worth more than this. I am. I am. I am. )
The other campers laugh at you, the way a foot stumbles during practice, or the way arrows miss the mark in front of you, but you wipe your tears  in secret and try again. You are born from divine blood, Olympian blood, and you are more than what they say. You learn the art of bravado and biting insults, accompanied by thick skin to defy their insults. For years, you burn your meals, giving reverence to the gods, and begging them to claim you. You talk to Eros, to Aphrodite, to every Charity and Season and Muse that they would choose you first and claim you in front of the camp. Maybe then, you would have the chance to prove yourself for all you’re worth, to prove them wrong with a triumphant smile on your face.
And you got your wish.
It wasn’t long before your mother claimed you, youthbringer to the gods, a flash of a wine-glass above your head and everyone thought they knew who you were. A child of a minor goddess, with no talents or traits to give him any notoriety, given too late when the best of them had fallen to the Titans. He was a Band-aid to a problem that the gods made themselves, only serving to further the interests of a dying goddess, and the immortals around her. He was cannon fodder, a fourteenth wheel. He was going to let them all down. He was a snake, a traitor in waiting for the Earth Mother. He was useless, unwanted, unworthy.
Did Achilles not beat his chest, nor did Atalanta call for men to best her? Demigods were called to rise above, so why shouldn’t you? This was a challenge in wait—your first quest, prophesied to bring greatness to all who partake in it, and you will master yourself and come out on top. The Earth Mother may look down upon you, as the Greek demigods do, but you will prove yourself, you will be better than any of them.
However, a voice creeps into your head as you board the Argo II: ruin, ruined, ruination. The worthless child of a worthless immortal, able to do not even the least of what his companions can do. The bravado you had built begins to give way, as you watch them all, heroes in their own right, embarking on a quest to save the world. A few days in, you turn into a silent observer, dealing with minor things: polishing Celestial bronze when you are wont to do, and leaving food for pegasi that return.
You will be better than any of them, the first of the Greeks, you whisper under your breath, a promise, a prayer.
But the voice whispers back: Perhaps. The first to turn. The first to leave. The first to fall to the Earth Mother.
FATAL FLAW/DEFINING CHARACTERISTIC: ανασφάλεια
The gripping insecurity at the back of his mind never stops, hounding him as he walks the Argo II. Virgil has always felt out of place, almost a beat behind other demigods in terms of his skill and experience, always striving to catch up, but always just a ways behind. Trying hard comes as second nature to him, and so does his hypercritical eye, whenever he fails at something spectacularly, his thoughts growing black as he tries to redo and replay scenes of failure over at his head as he hides behind his well-constructed facade. Perfection is an absolute that he’s learned to love and loathe, never being enough to reach it, but always tasting the slightest drop when he comes close every time.
EXTRAS:
POWER BREAKDOWN
THE GENERAL:
Virgil can alter appearances at will, but he can do it to himself better. For himself, it’s usually a few minutes of concentration to alter minor features, such as add or subtract crow’s feet or a few freckles on his face. It takes longer to alter important things, such as eye and hair color, or even the whole face on himself. For other people, he can do it as long as he focuses really hard, and thinks about it well. It takes around an hour to fully transform someone’s face to the exact specifications, but portraits or references significantly reduce
Changes usually are irreversible, which make it harder for him to maintain a semblance of identity, but are usually helped by using prior pictures of the subject.
Unknown to him, he can change the age of someone he comes into contact with, partially or fully, sapping or retrieving their youth. This is a sort of healing that being a child of Hebe does, but he adds a few hours, or years, depending on the length of contact, while shortening his own. This presents itself as mild to severe exhaustion, depending on the length of time he has with the afflicted.
THE PHYSICAL:
As a child of Hebe, the goddess of youth, Virgil is blessed with a wellspring of youth wherever he goes, being resistant to both sickness and the detriments of age, since his cells are in a state of perpetual health. While he does have the ability to heal faster than the average demigod, enough hits will send him to a state of rapid degeneration, deteriorating quicker than the average demigod. Sufficient ambrosia or nectar will always restart his systems and get him to rapidly heal, after some rest.
Whenever he “heals,” he actively shortens his lifespan, transferring whatever energy he has left into a certain body. This manifests in dark circles and a loss of pallor every time he transfers some of his youth to a patient. Massive transference of youth gives him a few wrinkles, and permanent loss of melanin in the hair, and may result in lasting long-term effects, though he’s never tried it, nor learned to do it before.
HEADCANONS
i. godhead
You have a brother. Mortal, vulnerable, but better than any demigod you’ve come across—Greek or otherwise. You would give your godhead up for him, the endless sheen on your skin, to protect the frayed edges of a grey sweater and the wrinkles on his godawful suit. It is a shame that he wasn’t a demigod, you think, that a flickering flame can have an immortal mother instead of a star burning bright, but there is no use in wondering. You know you will defend him, leave him the last burning vestiges of your godhood so that he will live far longer than you will. It will be your last wish, a final protection. You may prove to be useless to everyone else, but not to him. Not ever.
ii. prayers.
Once, you thought Aphrodite was your mother. It came up, a question during visitation, when you asked your father what your mother looked like. Beautiful, he said, like a model in one of those runways. So you prayed, and prayed, and prayed, until you came across doves that wouldn’t even look at your way and roses that seemed to close whenever you passed by. But you learned, through portents and prayer and a prophecy, that you were not the child of an Olympian, but rather a forgotten goddess, a cupbearer in the corner of the skies. You know your mother now, and you love her as a child does, but you could not help but think of what could have been if she weren’t.
iii. better.
There is an uncertainty in every demigod unclaimed in the Hermes cabin, unknown children and the children of esoteric gods that dot the halls, and you know them all. Children of Nemesis and the weighing of their scales, children of Thanatos and their peaceful eeriness, even the children of Deimos, with their shark grins and pointed teeth. You know their names and their stories, when the twelve cabins stay blind to all of you in the rafters of the Hermes cabin. There is a righteous anger sometimes, whenever shame does not come to visit, burning inside your chest. You hate the gods, your fellow campers, as you watch everyone scoff and laugh at the group—you are demigods too, and you all deserve better than scraps of acknowledgement and backhanded compliments.
TIDBITS: will kill for dark chocolate but has an itchy throat a lot because of it. knows all disney songs up until the new ones because he hasn’t learned them yet. has a pair of boots and a leather jacket as a present from his brother always on hand. knows english, tagalog, fifth grade mexican and some vague ilocano. good with his hands, but better with a shortsword or a dagger. hates long range fighting after being nailed overhead by a water balloon by an apollo camper. loves the word soliloquy, since it looks and sounds ridiculous to him. modeled once for some bulgarian line of clothing, but refuses to talk about it.
AESTHETIC: the greyness of rainy days hidden by lights in the living room. looking at the mirror, seeing only imperfections where there are none. lipstick stains on skin, rubbed off from a mistake you’d made. heat in a leather jacket, and the stubbornness of not taking it off. sweat pooling on your brow, from hard work and exhaustion. louder whispers in the back of your mind. the lingering heat of body warmth and the emptiness that comes with its absence. a promise, a prayer, a proposal. an eternal photograph, never fading.
TRAITS:
(+) thick-skinned, determined, amiable, observant
(-) guarded, deceptive, critical, blunt
CONNECTIONS
i. pthonos — the motivation
You are a lightning rod for their ire, more often than not and you bear it better than most. Perhaps it was the years of insults and mockery that helped you cope with their anger towards you, towards the world, towards Ares. Backing down was never an option back then, not from the way they laughed at you or their vicious tongue, and it sure wasn’t right now. You exchange words like sparring partners, and leave like embittered enemies. Their hate fuels you, and you just know that the first moment you get, you’re going to show them how wrong they are.
ii. amarus — the righteous
The anger that they feel towards the gods strikes true, and has caught your attention—no demigod would ever say it out loud, but you know that they are right. Between petty grievances, blood feuds, and the way that they treat others like pawns in their celestial games, it’s a wonder that the gods haven’t torn themselves asunder. You’re never one to discount a good idea, and you’re keen on hearing what they have to say, Roman or not.
iii. cynici — the question
Children of Aphrodite, or of Venus, always leave you with a copper taste in your mouth. They talk to you about beauty, about manipulation, about bending wills with the bat of an eye, and you could only wish you could have the power that they have. But they’re cut from a different cloth, all hard lines and cold gazes, as if love has done them a personal offense. Maybe it’s because they’re Roman, all about order and structure, but you want to ask them what’s made them so disenchanted.
PLOT POINTS
i. guidance of the earth mother.
I’d like an arc where the Earth Mother tries to wear him down by her whispers, telling him that all of their effort is futile, and to join her in bringing down the gods of Olympus. It would be fun to see, since the Greeks aren’t exactly on the best terms with the Romans, and to solidify the thoughts of him not being enough for this quest. The fallout would be amazing as well, since a fracture between the groups would be an unimaginable wrench in their plans.
ii. legacy of the legion.
Roman demigods put stock in work and dedication, he thinks, not the way your blood is made, not whose god you’re sired from, and to Virgil, that makes him envious of what they have in Camp Jupiter. From the lives they built inside New Rome to the praetors that walk the halls, he feels like there, he would be taken seriously. I’d like to see him try and connect with the Romans, in a way that would at least make him use his grit and dedication. Don’t trust Romans, but he’s sure he can make some exceptions.
PINTEREST BOARD
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