#does this count as comic promotion?

[lazykurocat]

um, yeah...

[tojilvrs]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ FUCK MY EX! (AND HIS BOSS) ceo!toji fushiguro x fem reader (2.7k)

repost from my old blog!!!

⁂ warnings: MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI! toji’s not a bum, reader gets cheated on (not by toji), m receiving oral, pet names, degradation, rough sex, reader’s ex sees them at the end, unprotected sex, creampie, sex as a revenge ploy, some praise, foot on head during doggy (does this have a technical name lol?), also tagging foot fetish JUST IN CASE the last thing counts lol, toji coerces reader, use of the name ‘daddy’ ONCE, spanking, some aftercare, toji steals your panties (and your heart), reader has hair long enough to be pulled

⁂ a/n: this fic literally came out of nowhere i had no plans of writing until i saw twitter porn and a little lightbulb formed above my head. anywho this is not great i wrote and proofread it while i was sleepy so if there’s mistakes don’t tell me i will get embarrassed!!!! THE PACING MIGHT ALSO BE HORRID i was just trying to get my claws on some fictional wiener. k luv u alllll <3

You never thought you could get this low.

You also never thought you’d come home to find your now ex-boyfriend balls deep in his coworker he told you not to worry about.

Way past the stages of hurt and with no more tears left to spill, you found yourself angry. You were pissed at your ex for being unfaithful. Pissed at the woman for fucking around with a man she knew was not available. And pissed at yourself for not figuring it out sooner. Once you got over your sorrows and finally felt able to pull yourself together, you just wanted to rid your apartment of anything that reminded you of him.

That's how you found yourself across the table from that rat bastard's boss. A box full of his old shit perched in your lap and your nails tapping the side of the cardboard. Scanning the room of Mr. Fushiguro's luxurious office and finding yourself filling with rage all over again knowing that the last time you were here, you were helping him get promoted.

"Pleasure seeing you again," you watched as Mr. Fushiguro took a seat in his plush office chair, "though it appears you're here to play the part of 'scorned girlfriend' instead of ‘concerned girlfriend, hm?’ Word travels fast ‘round here.”

"Ex-girlfriend."

"Right," he clasped his hands together over his chest and kicked his feet up onto his desk, knocking over his name plate, “so what're you here for, scorned ex-girlfriend?"

"Just want to give his shit back. Passing it on to you so I won't have to see him and blondie going at it in your breakroom." You watched the man crack a smile before speaking again.

"S'all you’re gonna do?" He knew your answer by the way you tore your eyes off of him and focused them on the box in your lap instead. Slightly slumping down in your chair as if you were a child in trouble trying to evade the scrutinizing gaze of a parent “Oh, don’t tell me you’re just gonna let bygones be bygones and let him get away with it scott free.”

His tone made you feel like your entire situation was almost comical. You looked back up and narrowed your eyes at the man. Scanning his face and watching the scar on his lip twitch when the corner turned up in a smirk.

“Mr. Fushiguro-“

“Don’t have to be all formal now, call me Toji.”

“Okay, what exactly are you implying, Toji?” he sighed before standing up from his desk and fixing his name plate, smirk never falling from his lips and eyes never leaving yours.

“I know he is my employee, but i’m not really… fond of him either. And you’re too pretty of a girl to just let him get away with cheating. It’d make you feel better to hurt ‘em a little bit. Get a little revenge.”

You broke away eye contact from him again to look around his office. Taking note of how sparsely decorated the area was as you pondered and tried to avoid his eyes. It wasn’t the most mature or logical decision, but he was right. It would make you feel better to make him hurt just a little bit. “And how exactly might I go about that?”

Toji laughed a little as he walked around the desk, taking the box out of your lap and placing it on the floor before settling himself behind you. The sweet tobacco scent of his cologne invaded your nostrils as he got closer to you, making his presence feel almost suffocating.

“Y’know what would really get him?” His voice sounded as if it were laced with a honeyed sweetness. The sound surrounding you and ringing around in your ears. He shifted his feet, but you still felt the heat radiating off of him and onto your back.

“What?”You felt him grow closer. Leaning down behind you. So close that you could feel his breath fan against your skin.

“Fuckin’ his boss.”

The lewd suggestion tickled the shell of your ear. Your eyes widening and mouth going dry once you realized exactly what he was proposing to you. You opened your mouth to protest. To tell him how absolutely ridiculous that was, but your words fell short. Closing your mouth again to look down and stare at the indentions the corners of the cardboard box had left in your skin.

You couldn’t say that you hadn’t let your eyes linger a little too long at Toji Fushiguro. Always noticing how easy he was on the eyes when your ex would make you tag along to work events. How his suits would perfectly contour to his body. Showing off his bulging muscles through the fabric. How he seemed to tower over you and everyone else with his height and domineering presence. How your gazes would linger a little too long on each other and how his fingertips would “accidentally” graze your hips when passing you.

You were taken away from your thoughts by the feeling of his fingers slowly caressing up and down your jaw. His touch soft, contrasting the rough calluses that lined his fingers. You also realized he had now moved directly in front of you and you were eye-level with his crotch.

“What’ll it be, sweetness?” The tip of his thumb travelled up to your bottom lip, smearing some of your lipgloss. “Y’gonna let me help you get back at him?”

You slowly looked up at him and nodded your head, still not trusting any words to come out of your mouth. He smiled down at you, removing the hand on your chin to pet your head and using his other to unbutton his slacks.

“Gonna make you feel so good, you’ll forget allllll about your little ex-boyfriend.”

You were still looking up at him dumbly as he freed heavy cock from the confines of his pants, subconsciously parting your lips and slightly sticking out your tongue at the sight of him. Relishing in the way he looked at you and the noises he made once his cock makes contact with your awaiting tongue.

“Already so good and fuckin’ obedient. Did he teach you that?” You shake your head and he cackles. Easing his way into your throat. “So you’re just naturally a whore, huh?” He lightly slaps your cheek, not even hard enough to sting, and moves from petting your head to gripping your hair once you take him all the way into your mouth. Testing your limits and pushing his way past the tight ring of muscle in the back of your throat, loving the way you choke and sputter around him. “Takin’ me so good. Bet that motherfucker couldn’t properly stuff your throat.”

Toji’s right- he couldn’t. He also isn’t quite as big as Toji is either, in both length and girth. It also seems that the man in front of you didn’t learn to fuck from porn like your ex did. Only pushing your limits a little bit at a time and not throatfucking you from the get-go. Also making sure you’re not suffocating on him for too long.

You began to move your tongue over the vein that ran on the underside of his cock, watching in satisfaction as he throws his head back and groans. Doing it again and again and watching his face contort in pleasure.

“Shit, baby, got the sweetest fuckin’ mouth.” His voice is huskier now, almost breathy. You watch as sweat begins to lightly bead across his forehead and his hands come off of you to loosen his tie around his collar. The air becoming too thick and hot for him. You suck him off with much more passion as you get used to his size. Bobbing your head up and down his length and occasionally pulling yourself off to lick on the sensitive skin around his balls. Not paying much mind to the spit that has run from your mouth and covered the bottom half of your face.

“That’s it- hah- fuck yeah… that’s it. Gonna cum down that pretty fuckin’ throat” You kept up your ministrations, using your hand to lightly squeeze his balls as you took his full length down your throat once more. Listening as Toji’s pants became progressively more and more uneven. Only taking a few more short moments before his abs tighten and he takes in a deep inhale as he shoots his load down your throat. His leg twitching as the coil in his belly snaps. Pulling off of him to stick out your tongue and show him that you swallowed it all.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl, aren’t you?” He gripped your chin tightly and you nodded your head dumbly, fiddling with the hem of your skirt. He smiled and gestured for you to walk over to the plush, black couch he kept in his office. A guiding hand resting on your lower back as he layed you down on your stomach. He took his time running his hands from your calves all the way up to your ass, like he was trying to memorize every dip in your skin. Once he reached the hem of your skirt, he flipped it up. Gently running the palms of his hands over the smooth skin and giving the right cheek a harsh slap and soothing the sting with the very same hand that inflicted it.

“Suckin’ dick make you this wet?” Your slick had soiled your panties, smearing onto your thighs. His fingers lightly ran across the soaked fabric. You felt the couch dip under his weight as he settled behind you, feeling the fabric of his haphazardly pulled down pants and the heat of whatever skin that was exposed press into you.

“Sucking yours does.” you gasp as he pushes your panties to the side to make contact with your swollen clit. The cool air of his office hitting your soaked center makes you shiver. “You’re gentler than I thought you’d be.”

“Oh baby,” He pauses, taking his hands off of you to maneuver himself around, “you haven’t had the worst yet.”

You’re comfused until you feel the tip of his cock prodding your entrance and begin to push in. Your walls greedily sucking him in even though it felt as if he was splitting you in two.

“Tight as a fuckin’ virgin, y’gotta open up for me, girl.” His fingers rub tight circles on your clit. Using that to his advantage to thrust his cock deeper and deeper into you until he’s bottomed out. Your hips arching into him as any remnants of pain begin to wash away and are overtaken with white-hot pleasure. His hands find purchase on your hips as his thrusts begin to speed up. Going harder into you and somehow hitting you deeper each time, causing tears to spring in corners of your eyes.

“Already cryin’ on my cock and we’ve barely even started? Slut can’t handle it?” He slaps your ass again, not caring if it stings. You furiously shake your head as moans and whimpers spill from your lips. Trying your hardest to match his brutal pace with your own hips. “Oh, you think you can take control now, huh? I’d watch it, little girl.”

At first you think he pushes your face into the couch with his hand. That’s until you realize that both his hands are still on your hips and it’s actually his foot that’s found its place on the back of your head as he continues to fuck the memory of your ex out of you. Your pussy clenching down on him at the mere thought of the position.

“Like being treated like a whore don’t you? Shitty man couldn’t do it like I can.” You couldn’t respond back even if you tried. Too caught up in the feeling of being stuffed full by the most skilled man you’ve ever fucked and biggest cock you’ve ever taken. Writhing under him as the pleasure of his tip repeatedly hitting your spot over and over again was becoming almost too much.

Toji must’ve felt the way your pussy began to tighten around him or how your moans were so loud the couch wasn’t muffling them well anymore. His hand snaked around your hip and back down to your clit to rub shapes on it, bringing your closer to your peak.

“That’s right, cum on this cock baby. Hah- cum all over my fuckin’ cock.” He spoke to you through gritted teeth and the sound went straight to your core. It wasn’t long after that your back slipped into a deeper arch and your cunt clenched down on him even harder. A white ring of cream forming around the base of his dick as he worked you through your orgasm and worked himself closer to his.

“Such a good girl. You’re gonna take my cum, yeah? Gonna let me fill you up?” You nodded a quick yes, pussy still quaking from your orgasm. the only thing keeping your hips from collapsing into the couch being the vice grip of his strong hands.

The foot pressed into your head was removed and replaced by his right hand gripping your hair and pulling you up to meet his face. Looking him in the eyes for the first time since he started fucking you and seeing the beast of a man he’s become. Pupils blown, hair messy, and face sweaty as his grunts get louder, more aggressive.

“So pretty baby. You’re my good, pretty girl, right? C’mon, daddy a kiss when he cums. You’ve been so. fucking. good.” The last of his words were punctuated by rough thrusts into your heat. His heavy balls slapping against your clit so hard it was making you jump. You craned your head back even more for your lips to meet his in a sloppy, lust-filled kiss as he lets out a final rough grunt into your mouth. The familiar warmth flooding your pussy as his thrusts begin to let up.

He’s gentle with you for the first time in a while, gently resting your head back down to the couch before slowly pulling his softening dick out, tucking it back into his underwear, and smoothing your skirt back down. Rubbing a hand over the arch of your back and letting you rest on his couch as he pulls off your soiled panties and pockets them for himself. Also noticing a patch of your slick that has soiled the front of his pants and smiling as a mix of both of your releases begin to trickle out of your spent hole. Using two of his fingers to push it back in. The room is quiet for the first time in a long while. Only sound being the oscillating box fan in the corner of the room. It says quiet for a while, until you break the silence.

“Don’t even think I can remember the fucker’s name anymore.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You turn over onto your back to face him, watching closely as he fixes his suit to the best of his ability. “Wouldn’t mind seeing you again, if you’d like.”

He turns to face you, smirking again, “Can’t say I’d hate that.”

It’s your turn to smirk at him before letting your head roll over and rest again. Consumed with the thoughts of how that was definitely the best revenge plan you ever participated in.

You’re almost drifting off until that same thought wakes you up again. Sitting up to look at Toji.

“Wait, how was any of that a revenge ploy if he didn’t even see it?” Toji smirks, fixing his tie. Not even a second later you hear a knock on his door before Toji gives the visitor permission to enter.

“You wanted to see m-“ Your ex stops mid-sentence once he sees you lounging on his employer’s couch with his cum leaking out of you. “Wait, what is she doing here?”

“Baby brought your shit by.” Toji kicks the box towards him as he pulls your panties out of his back pocket and swinging them around his index finger. “Anything else you need? Or do you just wanna watch me fuck your ex-girl again?”

[venus-haze]

You're My Best Friend (Homelander x Reader)

Summary: Homelander was a test tube baby, raised in isolation in a cold, clinical lab. But that doesn’t inspire America, does it? Vought tasks you with creating the idyllic backstory for its hero, and what starts as a limited comic run spirals out of control when Homelander himself demands your help in making the story a reality.

Note: Gender neutral reader, but no other descriptors are used. Based on a request by @crash-and-cure as well as a bastardization of one of the sweetest love songs ever written (sorry, John Deacon!) This got kinda meta? Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Emotional manipulation, I guess some gaslighting on Homelander’s part? Do not interact if you’re under 18.

When Vought hired you to create their long-awaited Homelander origin comic series, you were thrilled—until they gave you so little information about his childhood to work with, you weren’t even sure you could come up with one comic, let alone the ten they requested. The details about his childhood were minimal, not even a full printed page—a loving mom and dad, played baseball, did well in school, strong sense of justice from a young age, his friends called him “Johnny.” Your requests to meet with Homelander so you could get some stories from the man himself were constantly denied.

You almost considered dropping the project, until you decided to throw caution to the wind and pull from your own childhood and set it in good ol’ generic suburbia. Some of the storylines were based on your own experiences or things that had happened to people you’d grown up with, though you changed enough names and details to not link it to anyone in particular. Except yourself, of course. Using a pseudonym professionally meant you felt no need to change your own name in the comics. Sure, making your cooler fictionalized self Homelander’s childhood best friend was a bit self-indulgent, but no one would know, really.

To your relief, the editors at Vought loved your ideas, making minor changes before bringing the storylines to their comic artists to bring it to life. The result was Finding Homelander: A Boy’s Journey To Be a Hero. The issues flew off shelves when they were first released, ironically praised for their relatability and authenticity. Vought extended your contract, asking you to produce the cartoon adaptation and another ten issues.

Still, in all of that, you’d never met Homelander. A representative from Vought emailed you to let you know to tune in to his interview on a talk show one day, saying that he’d be talking more about the cartoon project on it. You recognized the host, Tracey, always chipper and having some extravagant giveaway for her audience members. Daytime TV was never your thing, though.

“I think what resonates with so many people is how relatable your childhood is,” Tracey said, holding up a copy of Finding Homelander issue #3, where he saved ‘you’ from getting hit in the face with a baseball at one of his games, catching it with ease. It’d been the happy ending to a short storyline of him struggling to find his place on the team and you encouraging him to not give up. “You and Y/N were pretty close, do you still keep in touch?”

“You know, Tracey, not as much as I’d like, unfortunately. Adulthood can be so busy, you need to cherish those childhood memories,” Homelander said. “I did give them a call when the comics first came out, and wow, the laughs we had over those old antics of ours. Talk about a walk down memory lane!”

You guessed the bullshitting was all part of the promotional circuit for Homelander. Knowing this childhood of his was your own fabrication, you couldn’t help but wonder what else about him was fake. Maybe he wanted to maintain his privacy, you could certainly understand that. You couldn’t shake the voice in the back of your mind that said it wasn’t so simple, that the narrative Vought pushed was a cover to hide something in Homelander’s past.

“Now, I’ve heard rumors of a cartoon show based on the comics in the making, is this true?”

“It is! I’m excited for this project, getting back to my ‘roots’ so to speak. I’ll be voicing myself, of course, but it’s funny you’d bring up Y/N, because they’ve agreed to voice themself, too.”

“How fun!” Tracey exclaimed over the roar of the talk show crowd’s applause and cheers. “I guess this is the hopeless romantic in me, but I hope this reconnection leads to something a little more. I’m just a sucker for childhood sweethearts!” 

Homelander laughed along with the host’s giggles, “Well, you never know.”

You balked at the television, mouth agape. Surely he couldn’t be talking about you. ‘Y/N’ could be anyone with your same features. Vought had probably hired a professional voice actor for the role and were pushing the authenticity angle. The whole situation felt odd. 

When you checked your work email again on your phone, you nearly dropped it on the floor. 

SUBJECT: Meeting with Homelander This Week

The email contained a list of days and times throughout the week wherein Homelander would be free, apparently wanting to meet you to thank you for the success of the comic series and discuss upcoming work. Yeah. That last part you sure as hell wanted to discuss too. You responded with the soonest time available, in a meeting room in Vought Tower the following evening. As soon as you hit ‘send’, you wondered what exactly you were getting yourself into.

Anticipation filled your gut as you went about your day leading up to meeting the supe himself. What would he be like, really be like? Was there even a version of Homelander that wasn’t hopelessly manufactured for the masses? You knew then that his upbringing was a lie, and thus stood the probability that so much else was, too. 

When you stepped into that meeting room, you hadn’t been expecting his face to light up at the sight of you. 

“Homelander, hi, it’s great to—“

“No need to be so formal, Y/N! You can call me Johnny, just like old times,” he said cheerfully, in on a joke you clearly hadn’t been aware of.

“Sorry, Johnny,” you said, playing along. “It’s great to see you again.”

He pulled you in for an unexpected hug that you returned. “Figured we should catch up before things really start getting crazy, don’t you think?”

You nodded, your nose brushing against him as you did so. Just as your lips parted to offer an apology, he smiled, shooing away the assistant who’d accompanied him out of the room. 

He sat down, motioning for you to do the same.

“Gotta say, I’m a fan of your work,” he said.

“Thank you,” you said. “I’m not sure I understand exactly what’s going on, though.”

“What’s there to understand? I’m not allowed to know more about my best friend, our lives together growing up?”

“How did you know it was me?”

“Wasn’t hard for me to put two and two together, but considering everyone else around here has their head up their asses, they have no idea,” he said, before lowering his voice conspiratorially and giving you a charming smile. “I haven’t told anyone. What’s a secret between friends?”

You nodded, overwhelmed by the intensity of his attention on you. “What do you want to know?”

He sighed, resting his head on his hand. “Everything.”

So you told him. Not quite everything, of course, but enough to abate his curiosity. At least for the time being. His interviews were sharper, more specific with details rather than rattling off whatever had been in the comics. You watched in shock as convincing photos of his Little League days were posted to his social media accounts, anecdotes provided by his increasingly frequent conversations–or more like interrogation sessions–with you, but in his style, of course. It was almost scary what the graphic design team at Vought could accomplish, not that you’d ever know how, exactly, as they were all under the same strict NDA that you were.

He started spending more time with you, too, and after a while, it did seem like you were old friends. Part of you flinched whenever you called him Johnny, because Johnny wasn’t even real, but with your complacency, this fabrication was slowly morphing into a strikingly tangible memory. With each conversation, he drew you deeper into the world you’d been paid to create for him until you found yourself slipping up.

You’d been showing him a goofy stuffed monkey on your desk, a cute little thing with big sparkling eyes. A prize for getting two out of three at the ring toss. Probably spent more money winning it than it was actually worth, but it was about the effort, the memories made.

“You remember, don’t you? You won it for me at the county fair,” you said without thinking.

He laughed in agreement, as if he actually had. Except he hadn’t. Your high school boyfriend won it for you a week before graduation. Sensing the mood shift, he set down your prize and looked at you with the same intensity he had when you first met.

“It’s been a while since we were there, huh?” he said. “Why don’t we go back?”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Go where?”

“Home.”

With a strong arm around your waist, he took off for your hometown. You could hardly tell which way was up or down, he was flying so high, but he didn’t seem to mind the way you clung to him at all. When he finally landed, you recognized the community baseball field where all of his fictional games were set. 

“Geez, it’s like nothing’s changed,” he said cheerfully.

You looked at him in disbelief. How long was he going to expect you to go along with it? Or maybe the question you should have been asking was, how long were you going to enable him? The end wasn’t anywhere in sight as he took your hand, and you walked him through your childhood, further enmeshing him in it until you arrived at the house you grew up in. 

The middle of the day, no one was home, and so you let yourselves in like you owned the place. Suddenly, the house seemed too small for a man like Homelander to occupy, but he was engrossed in the details of it. He scanned the kitchen, no doubt inspecting the contents of the fridge and cabinets with his x-ray vision. Moving onto the living room, he stared at photos on the wall, the magazines and DVDs that were strewn on the coffee table, giving away your parents’ taste in entertainment.

“Which one was your room again?” he asked.

You swore you could feel his breath on the back of your neck as you wordlessly led him to your room. Each step down the hall felt dangerous, as if you were about to walk into a trap. Face-to-face with the closed door, you opened it, standing aside while Homelander looked around, from what you had hanging on the walls to the knick-knacks you’d left behind.

An uncomfortable tension settled over the room when Homelander closed the door of your childhood bedroom. An odd blend of hurt and amusement spread across his face as he observed the way you were eyeing him, body ready to fruitlessly run from him the way a rabbit would a hawk.

“C’mon, after how long we’ve been friends, I would never hurt you,” he said, as if reading your mind. “We’ve been through so much together. I mean, we were each other’s first kiss.”

You froze. Issue #9. That was something Vought’s editors had added, claiming a romance angle would make the series appeal to the younger female demographic. You hadn’t thought much of it at the time.

He slyly backed you into the wall, leaning over you as you slinked down the slightest bit.

“Show me how we did it,” he whispered, his hand caressing your cheek. “So clumsy and nervous, I can even feel you…quivering.”

“Homelander, I don’t know what you’re—“

He tsked. “Y/N.”

You let out a shaky breath, “Johnny—“

He hummed in satisfaction. “It’s alright. I know it’s been a while.”

You let him kiss you, sweetly in a way that put your actual first kiss to shame. His lips were soft against yours, his tender movements intentional as he cradled your face, pulling you the slightest bit closer to him when you kissed him back. 

A sense of familiarity settled over you, warm and comforting like pulling a blanket out of the dryer on a chilly evening. Every time it seemed like you were beginning to overthink the situation with Homelander, he drew you back in with the kiss, a more than effective distraction until you pulled away with a dazed smile on your face.

[jinnie-ret]

skz with a 9th member who grew up in england so sometimes they use slang they dont understand or sometimes their british accent gets really strong when theyre tired or drunk and the boys think its funny.

it's a brit thing

stray kids x ninth member!reader (platonic)

genre: fluff

content warnings: swearing, alcohol mentions

word count: 1.2k

summary: the boys find it hard to understand their british member a lot of the time...

Hi! Sorry for such a late response to your ask! Loved writing this one! Love to my fellow British Stays. Also I love a Yorkshire accent, just putting that out there haha...

As always, like, reblog if you enjoyed, and my asks are open for any requests you may have. And let me know if you'd like to be tagged when I post :)

MAIN MASTERLIST

aka five times the real brit in y/n appeared

1) tired

You were tired, so tired. After a long flight back from LA to Seoul, all you wanted to do was get back to the dorms and go to sleep. Just simply get out of the airport, get into the cars, and listen to some music before ultimately entering a calm, unconscious state.

Yet with the experience of the paparazzi and screaming fans awaiting you, your plans were ruined. They swarmed you, and even as you formed your usual chain amongst the rest of the members and your security it didn't stop the flash of the cameras blaring in your face and fans getting too handsy.

Other times it would overwhelm you but this time it was just annoying. You would say you were just agitated, but the boys thought you were grumpy.

"Oh no, she's grumpy," Seungmin teased from beside you as you squeezed into the back between him and Changbin.

"Fucking twats the lot of them," you grunted in English, digging through your backpack for your airpods as your northern British accent came out.

"That wasn't Korean but I'm not entirely sure that was English either..." Changbin said with wide eyes, only vaguely recognising the swear word and nothing else.

"Chan can you translate?" Jeongin asked curiously, watching as you entered a calmer state when you started playing music.

"Basically she's annoyed at the paps and fans," Chan laughed after translating what you said.

"T-twateu?" Jeongin tested out, and your music just happened to go silent before changing to the next song, meaning you heard what he said.

"You what?!?"

2) vlive

It was time for your bimonthly vlive, which Stays managed to guess when you'd go live, getting used to your system of interacting with them.

"There aren't really a lot of British idols out there, are there?" you chatted with the fans, face near the screen as your eyes squinted to read the comments, forgetting to wear your glasses.

"Haha! Yes Han is our honorary British member," you laughed as you read the comments, hand going over your mouth.

"Wait doesn't Jennie from Blackpink speak with a British accent?" you double checked you theory with the fans, letting out a successful cheer when they confirmed your thoughts.

"Yes!!! Up the Brits! There are too many Aussies I swear..."

"Teach us some British phrases? Okay hmmm, what can I teach my Stays?" you wondered, tapping your chin comically.

"You can say 'I'm gutted', which means you're really upset about something, like you're so sad you feel it in your gut. Or, 'I'm knackered', which means you're tired. Or you're 'pissed off', which means you're angry," you explained to the Stays, frowning when they started saying you sweared on vlive, the staff now staring at you awkwardly.

"Ani, ani, no, no," you pointed to the camera, fake scolding the fans, "I don't think it's swearing, right?"

3) drunk

You and the boys had been out drinking, celebrating the promotions for Case 143. And let's just say, you had a few too many, at least you weren't the only one.

"I'm fucking hammered mate," you slurred, stumbling into Minho who wrinkled his nose at your alcohol breath as all 8 of you walked home from the bar.

"Hammered?" Han asked curiously, his doe eyes somehow more apparent in his intoxicated state.

"Like tkk tkk?" Hyunjin tested, pretending to hammer a nail as he recognised the tool name.

"I'm trollied, I'm so out of it, mate," you giggled, facepalming yourself, well, you thought you did and then realised you accidentally smacked Felix in the face, collapsing on the ground in a fit of giggles.

"Y/Nnie, get uppppp," Felix groaned, rubbing his face drunkenly as he tried to pull you up.

"She's speaking nonsense," Jeongin said with wide eyes.

"Not until you can understand me," you poked Felix in the chest with each word.

"Yah, you're so touchy tonight, Y/N," Changbin laughed at your slow yet somehow affectionate movements as he and Chan lifted you up, you clinging onto their arms for balance.

"That makes me sound so noncey," it was your turn to wrinkle your nose.

"No one can understand you right now, and we are fluent in English," Chan laughed as he supported most of your weight and gestured to Felix next to him.

"I'm too wankered," you groan, now feeling the headache set in and just wanting to be in bed.

"Woah, what did she say?" Seungmin pulled a confused face, his features scrunching up.

"She's uncontrollable," Minho said bemusedly.

4) school memories

In a new episode of SKZ Code, they were all back to school, dressed in different school uniforms.

"Why is Y/N's uniform so different?" Han pointed out.

"It's cute, though," Hyunjin cooed.

"This is what we'd wear," you do a cute spin in your dark green checkered dress, white socks, dolly shoes and bows in your hair. Of course, you wore a green cardigan with it, representing the colour of the uniform designated by your primary school.

Then you went onto other school experiences, and the boys were interested to hear about how yours differed.

"And then, around Easter time, we'd sing a song like this. 'One mother hen sat on four little eggs'," you began singing, doing actions alongside that you remember being taught by your teachers.

"'Keeping them warm in her little egg nest, then one day she heard a crack!'" you widened your eyes as you mimicked the egg cracking with your hands, the boys giggled at this.

"'And a little voice said as the egg was hatched... I'm a spring chicken! I'm yellow and small...'" you sang the song, the mood becoming more joyful as the boys clapped in time for you and you stood doing the actions.

"'Chicken, I'm a chicken! And I'm having a ball!'" you excitedly finished, a big grin present on your face as you flapped your 'wings'.

"Wahh, that's too cute, surely?" Changbin thought it was adorable, copying the last line.

"Maybe Y/N should replace Bbokari!" Lee Know smirked.

"No!" Felix yelled out laughing, hand over his heart.

You carried on reflecting on your experiences.

"Or at our schools we'd be sorted into different coloured houses," you informed everyone.

"Harry Potter! Harry Potter!" Seungmin cheered.

"Woah, so you went to Hogwarts?" Jeongin gasped, a playful look on his face.

"No, I was in yellow house," you I formed, folding your arms.

"Hufflepuff!" Chan pointed at you.

"Noooo," you shook your head, gosh, how did you deal with them on a daily basis?

5) accent

Y/N was on the phone, talking to her friends from back home.

"The British accent really is... woah," Felix whispered to Hyunjin who nodded.

"So pretty," he added on.

"It's kinda, sexy?" Han wiggled his eyebrows, trying to copy what you were saying.

Ah yes, the Y/N simp line, back at it again.

This was all caught on a SKZ talker, and British stays had a field day with it in the comments.

Why is it so funny that the boys think a broad Yorkshire accent is sexy

The boys think it sounds pretty? I'm flying to Seoul rn brb or maybe not

I just googled how to be Y/N

Y/N got bitches but no one here notices me and we literally sound the same lmao, tough times

tagged: @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @hannahhbahng @backintomykpopphaseagain

[artzychic27]

I was bored a while back and made the MLB characters using the Black OC maker on Picrew

Marinette: Proud to be Blasian, still tense when she gets weird looks/Dyed her hair because she wanted to be Coraline for Halloween, now she just likes the color

Adrien: Black mom, white dad, identity crisis/Gabriel’s still a dick and wants Adrien to be a “Good Black.”/Usually always on the receiving end of light skin jokes

Alya: The same, just with bigger hair/The Queen of Hoop Earrings/One TikTok account for general stuff, the other just to post videos of her and her friends dancing and stepping

Nino: Undoing Gabriel’s influence on his bro and helping him embrace his blackness/You did NOT hear him listening to Robin Thicke/Starts every Shabooya Roll Call

Chloé: Bad and bougie/Identity crisis on a count of she was adopted as a baby to make her white parents look good/Will only let Marc and Juleka style her hair

Sabrina: Only knows English because she listens to Megan Thee Stallion religiously/Scarily good at break dancing

Juleka: So goth, she was born black/Favorite movies in order: Get Out, Candyman, The Blackening, Us, Karen, and Ma/A pro at doing hair

Rose: Will punt you if you make a “Not Black enough” comment/Not fond of how hospitals treat black patients. She’s had first-hand experience, and it wasn’t great/Excited for the Tiana series

Luka: Doesn’t say much, but when he does, it’s insightful as hell/He can’t see, but it adds to the mystery, so he keeps his hair like that/Imagine Johan from Black-ish

Nathaniel: Black Panther, Storm, Spider Man, Cyborg, Vixen, Bumble Bee, and Static Shock comics lining his shelves/The definition of Blerd/Surprisingly good at stepping

Alix: “Scar twins!” “But your scar is-“ “Shut up! Scar twins!”/Classroom solidarity by shielding her from others when her hijab slips off/She and Nath tag the city by putting stickers with images of historical women of color everywhere

Marc: He’s the one braiding his classmates’ hair/Hates how black people are written in most shows and movies/Scarily good at rapping. Do NOT try to challenge him to a rap battle, you will be humiliated

Kim: Always swimming, so he constantly has his hair braided or in twists/“Yes, I’m black and I can swim.”/Worships Beyoncé in his spare time

Max: The same, but with vitiligo and a fancy tie/Not selling the patents for any of his inventions. He’s not risking any companies purposely leaving out that he’s the brilliant mind behind any of them

Lila: She will never lie about Oprah. That’s where she crosses the line/Competing for Alya's title as Queen of Hoop Earrings

Ivan: You know those videos where the white baby leans over to see what the black guy is watching on his phone and then holds his hand? He’s the black guy/Worried about looking too "threatening"

Myléne: Constantly promoting black-owned businesses on her socials/Most likely to lead a protest/HATES Rachel Dolezal… Actually, they all hate her

[scarlet--wiccan]

I'm still so baffled that people talk about Pietro like he's never in comics any more, and somehow that's the m c u's fault for killing him off in Age of Ultron. Like, I hate the movies and I hate what they did to the Maximoffs, but to claim that this, specifically, is how Pietro was impacted by synergy is just not true. Pietro was consistently booked in the 2010s and didn't start falling off until 2019/2020 when both the Avengers and X-Men lines were going through hard relaunches. Prior to that he was in multiple runs of Uncanny Avengers and had a solo miniseries! The problem is that UA was Pietro's main gig but Krakoa killedit, on top of the fact that the Aaron run of Avengers had a whack premise, whack roster, and went on for way too long. And surprise, surprise, now that both of those things are over and Wanda has a solo series he can guest in, he's started showing up more! I don't understand what's so difficult to grasp here!

Anyway I just got worked up bc i saw someone on twt saying Pietro is "irrelevant now" and their pfp is literally from last month's issue of Scarlet Witch. Y'know the series that relaunched in the middle just to put his name in the title? The series that just wrapped an 8-issue storyline that upgraded his powers and finally promoted him to the same level of cosmological importance as Wanda, which fans have been demanding for years? Or does that not count because there weren't enough "feats" for you?

[hiddencitydweller]

Kingdom Dance

Pairing: Donnie x GN!Reader

(Reader is wearing a skirt, so take that as you will)

Absolute fluff!

Summary: You somehow managed to convince your tech-loving boyfriend to attend a ren faire with you, where you find yourselves caught up in a dance.

(Basically Tangled meets Turtles)

Warnings: Does poor writing count? With the structure of this fic, I wanted it to be a little more from Donnie's perspective rather than the reader, which was considerably harder than I thought it would be rip.

Word Count: 3k

Song Referenced: Dulámán

A/N: You know in Tangled, that scene where Rapunzel and Flynn are in the town square and he is just watching her dance with this besotted look on his face? And then he joins in and it's the most electric and romantic thing in cinematic history? Well, this is that but with some minor tweaks.

For all the people who long for someone to look at them like Flynn looks at Rapunzel, this one's for you.

-----------------------------------------------------

Let's make one thing clear—Donnie did not want to be here.

At least, that's what he kept saying.

Wooden shops lined the dirt road you traversed, uniquely dressed owners promoting their equally unique wares in their doorways. In some of the many open air booths, you could see countless novelties one would sooner find in Witch Town than your beloved New York City. Crystals, wands, leather armor, chainmail, and countless other fantasy-related items could be seen anywhere you looked—and not just in the shops.

Everyone around you was intricately dressed in some fantasy or medieval fashion. No two people looked alike. You were surrounded by elves, royalty, warriors, and even the occasional time-traveler or two. Even with Donnie's experience in the Hidden City and his grumbling at being here, he had to admit it all came together to create one fantastical sight.

When you had suggested the gang go to the local Renaissance Faire, Donnie had been more than skeptical. Of course Leo and Mikey were immediately in, going as far as planning their outfits and characters right on the spot. Raph took a little more convincing, but once you assured him how safe it really was (and that they could keep their weapons on hand without looking out of place) he caved into the younger brothers' excitement.

Your tech-loving boyfriend, however, took some more convincing.

To put it plainly, ren faires just weren't his scene. For starters, technology was bluntly discouraged, to which Donnie took personal offense. Then there was the fantasy element, which simply made no sense to him. His history with magic wielders had left nothing but a bad taste in his mouth, and he couldn't imagine why anyone would actively want to seek out that sort of experience, fake or otherwise. Not to mention the clear and unparalleled superiority of science to the nonsensical magic.

However, as you repeatedly brought up in your own arguments, you had gone to countless Comic-Cons, Galaxy-Cons and whatever other Sci-Fi conventions he and his brothers were able to drag you to over the years. It was only fair for them to return the favor.

"Besides, you may find you enjoy having a little more non-mystic fantasy in your life," you had said with a sly grin and wink.

And that's how he had landed here, clutching a wooden bo-staff as he trailed behind your near-bouncing form.

He had to admit, he was enjoying himself far more than he would ever openly say. While, true to form, there was very little tech to be found, there were plenty of other little intricacies that called his attention. From other faire-goers' costumes to the effects at the shows, there was plenty for his mind to dissect and look at. And there was you of course. He couldn't help but smile softly to himself as he watched you flit from stall to stall, gawking at the unique wares and happily chatting with other guests. You were as excited as he was whenever he finished a new project, and seeing you brimming with joy was just as intoxicating.

"Come on Dee! If we don't hurry, we'll miss the performance!" you whined as you continued to nearly drag him through the crowd towards a stout building that looked to be an open air pub. The two of you had just split from the rest of the group, choosing to visit some more shops and see some musical performances while the others went to watch the sword fights and jousting tournament (which Leo was determined to sneak his way into, much to Raph's dismay).

"There's only so fast I can go in this getup!" he shot back, but he still made an effort to pick up the pace. His usual gear had been replaced with a plain white linen shirt, brown pants, and an alchemist's apron with bottles of "chemical compounds" and "ingredients" strapped on. Heavy brown gloves, boots, and his signature goggles finished out the look.

"Are you kidding me?" you had said this morning when he came out of his lab, decked out in his alchemist gear.

"What? Alchemy is commonly used in fantasy and historical fiction, plus it's science! It's a win-win!"

Really you shouldn't have been surprised by his choice of costume, this was Donnie after all. He may have agreed to go along with this idea, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to bring science into it anyway he could.

Speaking of science...

"Based on the open structure of the building, the number of people, and the location of the stage, this table should have the optimal acoustics and volume for listening to the performance," Donnie rattled on, leading you to said table as he frantically typed calculations on his tech gauntlet which he had cleverly hidden underneath his glove.

"Really Donnie? Couldn't go one day without it?" you respond in mock exasperation. Honestly you were surprised that was the only piece of tech he had managed to smuggle in.

"Hey, it helped didn't it? Couldn't have found the best seats in the house without a little bit of, say it with me now, science!" he sang out, striking a pose and pulling some jazz hands. It had the desired effect as you laughed at his antics before softly pushing him down on the bench at the, apparently, best table in the house.

"Okay, okay, you got me there wise guy." You joined him on the bench but couldn't seem to stop moving with excitement. Donnie smiled as he felt your bouncing legs jostle him slightly, your eyes already trained on the stage where the musicians were setting up.

"So what exactly are we about to listen to? I'm assuming I shouldn't get my hopes too high for my usual?" Donnie had heard you talking about the group when you were discussing plans with everyone else, but he never picked up on what kind of music they actually played. Nevertheless, he was pretty sure techno and EDM were out of the question.

"Hardy har har, nice try. I think you'd be pretty hard-pressed to find anything off of your playlists here. This group does a mix of fantasy-based and traditional folk music. Every show they do is completely different, so you never really know what you're going to get. It'll probably be some more mainstream fantasy soundtracks and some of the folksy stuff. Ooo we may even get some sea shanties!" you practically squealed, your legs speeding up in their bouncing as you considered the possibilities. You couldn't help it. Even though your life was quite literally a living, breathing sci-fi movie, fantasy was your thing! You never felt more powerful than when you had a sword or bow in your hand or a corset wrapped around your waist.

Donnie let out chuckle at your antics, knowing full well how much all of this meant to you. While he couldn't exactly understand it, he found that he didn't really need to. Anything that made you this giddy was clearly something to be acknowledged, regardless of how confusing it appeared to him sometimes.

He turned his gaze from you and considered the stage, trying to see if he could analyze the instruments and predict any of the songs that might soon fill the space. Sure, it may not be exactly his taste, but he wasn't exactly unknowledgeable of this type of music. After all, you had shown him plenty of your own playlists. Maybe he should have spent more time listening to them and learning the music for this event. That was something he'd have to rectify for the future. Perhaps he could have S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. compile most of the songs so that he could...

"Hey Dee?"

He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't notice you had stopped your excited leg bouncing and were now looking at him with a slightly abashed expression. He hummed in response, mind still whirring through instrument combinations and crossing off songs in a mental list.

"Thank you for doing this," you said in a small earnest voice. That had him finally turning his full attention back to you, a slight furrow between his brows. "Dressing up, leaving most of your tech behind, humoring me and my weird fascination with all this," you gestured at the faire around you, "I'm just... really happy to share it with you and am grateful you've let me. And I know it's not your cup of tea, and we can definitely go check out the weapons displays and everything or whatever else you may—" your ramblings were cut off by a soft kiss on your cheek.

You stared at him, eye wide and mouth in a small O. Donnie was never one for PDA, but you were finding there were occasionally some exceptions to the rule.

"I'm grateful that you want to share this part of you with me. I want to know every part of you, even if it's not technically my thing. Goodness knows you've dealt with enough techno-talk to last a life time," he said softly, smile still playing across his lips. Seeing you so concerned about including him in this precious part of your world had his chest filling with warmth he wasn't quite sure what to do with.

That seemed to be your specialty, completely rocking his known universe with a single line and a smile.

You huffed a laugh and leaned forward the extra few inches to rest your forehead against his, your own smile broadening. "I happen to like your techno-talks thank you very much."

"How could you not? They are chock full of brilliance!" he smirked as you laughed, leaning back far enough to playfully shove at his arm.

It's then that you both heard the first few notes float from the stage as the music group made their entrance and introductions. You quickly swiveled yourself away from Donnie and towards the stage. Donnie chuckled at your immediate response, watching your face light up before he turns as well.

True to what you said, the group did perform a variety of music, none of which matched up with the list Donnie had conjured in his head earlier, much to his chagrin. (He would definitely need to connect with S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. about it when he got home.)

The flitting notes and boisterous chords were quite a contrast to his usual tastes, but he still found himself nodding and stomping along to the thick beats and steady rhythm. He could feel the sound reverberate around him, creating an almost electric energy throughout the space that left him in excited awe. At one point, the group played a popular sea shanty that even he knew. The two of you sang and stomped along to the song, bumping each and smiling the whole way through.

After what felt like only minutes but was really closer to an hour, the group announced it was time for their final song. You sighed and leaned into Donnie's arm, content written across your features. He smiled softly down at you, perfectly content himself at your expression. The close proximity allowed him to feel more than hear your slight gasp as the final song started. His smile turned quizzical at your reaction, but your slowly widening eyes remained trained on the stage, leaving his question unanswered.

A repetitive, steady drumbeat rang out and was soon joined by low voices singing in a layered harmony intertwining with the solid beat. Donnie furrowed his brow as he listened. He couldn't quite pick up what they were singing, but he was sure it wasn't English. His hypothesis was confirmed when the lead singer, an ethereal looking woman with bright red hair, stepped to the mic and began to sing an upbeat and lilting melody. Her voice seemed to skip across the base created by the drums and other voices like a stone on a pond, creating an intricate blend of sound and lyrics that Donnie just couldn't understand.

Not one to leave the unknown alone, he shifted his arm and pulled up his tech gauntlet once again. He quickly used the audio feature to search up the song and analyze its mysterious language. Victorious in his endeavor, he turned back towards you to once again prove science's superiority, but he froze when his gaze fell on you.

In his quest to understand the song, he hadn't noticed your clear recognition of it. Or that you had started singing along.

"Bróga breaca dubha are an dúlamán gaelach..."

Your voice was soft, filling only the air around the two of you. Much like the lead singer, the notes flitted around the space, seeming content to fly through the air and never land. The Gaelic, as his tech claimed the language to be, rolled off your tongue as if it was made specifically for you.

"Tá bearéad agus triús are an dúlamán maorach..."

His gaze seemed locked on you, entranced by the sight. With an absent flick of his wrist, the now forgotten screen turned off, taking with it the typed out lyrics and their translation. Donnie suddenly no longer had the urge to dissect the song and its meaning. He was perfectly content to interpret it through your eyes and voice alone.

Completely unaware of your captive audience, you continued to sing. You felt the words take form on your lips as they had dozens of times before. Your eyes shone bright and your smile took on a dreamy nature. You couldn't help but move with the song, shifting your head along with the melody and even going so far as to bring your hands up to your chest on particularly powerful lines. You were completely lost in the melody and the story it held.

And Donnie was lost in you.

Donnie prided himself on his mental clarity, his ability to analyze and think through any and everything he came across. But in that moment, his brain came to a complete stop. The single-minded focus that had time and time again helped him create so many incredible and life-saving inventions was now solely on you and the wonderous scene you had unwittingly created.

And if that wasn't enough to make him fall in love with you all over again, you then began to dance.

The song hit a mild break, with the drums and backup vocals taking over for the lead singer. The base of the song still rumbling on, she stood at the mic and encouraged anyone who wanted to to come to the open space in the middle of the pub and dance.

Seemingly without a second thought, you shot up and joined the few other people who had taken the singer up on the offer. Donnie jolted backwards at your quick movements, so lost in your song he hadn't even noticed what the lead singer had said. Still, his eyes tracked you as you hastily made your way to the center of the pub.

With the thumping rhythm of the drums as your background, you danced like nothing in the world could stop you. Shoes long ago abandoned, your bare feet slid and stomped on the floor. You spun, causing your layered skirts to flare out in a moment of untouched beauty and passion. A laugh sprung from your lips as you continued to twist around and fling your shirts haphazardly. Nothing had ever felt so freeing, so magical.

If Donnie had thought he was mesmerized before, he couldn't begin to comprehend what he was now. There was absolutely nothing that could take his eyes off of your constantly moving and shifting form. Your face was lit up in such pure and unadulterated joy as you continued to spin and twist and stomp along to the music. It was as if you were a fire finally set free, and Donnie would gladly burn to see but an ounce of your passion.

The lead singer joined back into the song, bringing it to its full intricate beauty once again. At the shift, you turned, eyes locking on Donnie's. Somehow, your smile widened as you nearly floated back to his side, hands outstretched in invitation.

"Come on, they don't call you Booty Shaker for nothing, do they?" you asked cheekily. Chest heaving and face already pink from exhilaration, you looked radiant in your bliss.

Donnie couldn't contain his laugh as he accepted your hands. "Let's find out, shall we?"

Hand in hand, you led him back to the where you had been dancing. He instantly took the lead, pushing you away from him and then back in with a flourishing spin. The two of you swept across the floor, stepping towards and away from each other as you dodged other couples and guests. Donnie felt light as air. Nothing had ever felt so natural as twisting and turning you around the space. He caught sight of your smile once more, a beaming look created by and for him and him alone, and his heart completely melted. There was nothing more freeing, more right than this.

The song built to its crescendo, and so did your movements. You both continued to blaze a path as you dipped and twirled your way to the center of the floor. Just as the song flourished to its conclusion, you ended up tucked into each others' arms, trying to catch your breaths as you came face to face with the other's matching grin. Around you, the gathered crowd cheered. Even the music group applauded your efforts. But it all might as well have been background noise. Donnie heard and saw nothing but you, breath heaving and laughter on your lips. It was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Shifting his hands from their hold on your frame, he reached up and cupped your cheeks, gently pulling you into a passionate kiss. You melted into him, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer. When you finally pulled away, you didn't go far. Resting your foreheads together, you looked into each others' eyes and couldn't help the laughter that bubbled up.

Maybe he could get into this ren faire thing after all.

[kamikotorayama391]

Kamiko's commissions (summer 2023)

HELLO~ BEAUTIES AND GENTLEBEAUTIES~ I'm opening some comm slots. How many? I don't really know. When I have enough for me to work in 2-3 maybe 4 weeks, I'll close it. If you want to commission me something, text me in DM or my Discord (torayama_kamiko or Kamiko391#0846)

I draw: - fandom-based characters (anime and manga, animation, TV series, books, comics, and so on); - original characters; - fan characters; - animals, anthro; - blood, some wounds

I DON'T draw: - any politics-themed art: - fetish art (any kind of it); - ecchi/hentai; - NSFW (if you still really want to - +50% to the price tag); - Mecha (I’m bad at it) - pony.

General requirements:

A detailed description of the desired result (poses, expressions, and so on). I will write if further explanations are needed.

3 or 4 character references. I might need more (We’ll specify when placing an order)

If the background (if it will be) is a certain place – 1-2 background references

If there are any time limits – warn me in advance

If you do not live by Moscow time, please, tell me your current time and what time is the most convenient for you to talk

Additional characters: 1-3 additional characters +50% 4-6 additional characters +100%

About work time - depends on the complexity of the commission. If there is a deadline, please let me know in advance. The set time may change for various reasons; in case of an unexpected situation, I will notify.

Working process:

1) After placing an order, I start working on a quick sketch that will roughly show what the result will be. Once the sketch is approved, a 50% prepayment is made.

2) In the process of working on the commission, I will send the results of each stage

3) Before finishing the artwork, I send you the commission in reduced quality and with a watermark. If you are satisfied with the result, you pay the rest of the price. As soon as the money arrives, I send the result in high quality.

If you decide to cancel the commission, I keep 30% of the total cost with me as a refund for the work already done. The rest will be returned to you (even if it may be difficult for me, since, uh, I don’t have an international wallet right now….)

The finished artwork may be posted on my blog as a way of self-promotion as an artist. If you’d rather keep it private, please, notify me in advance.

All prices are in USD

Payment method: via Boosty (more information in this video ) Payment in USD is available now, so you don't need to ask me to re-count the sum in my currency

Some rules to avoid copyright conflicts: 1) If something does not suit you in the commission, don't be shy to tell me so that I can definitely fix it in no time. Until the result satisfies you by 85-100 percent, and the full payment has not been made, I will polish and change the drawing to suit your wishes. 2) Do not request me to redo someone else's work if you are not satisfied with the result provided to you by your other artist. I don't want any conflicts with other creators, I just want to do my job in peace and do what I love. In case of any copyright problems, I will be the first one who has to deal up with the mess, not you. So please don’t. 3) I allow to use my art as references or even a base for your work, but try to avoid direct copying or tracing. Wait at least a month before trying something of this. Try not to use any commissioned artworks for these purposes (if it's not a commissioned reference image or a reference list of course).

[chiscribbs]

When you say you don't write fics, does that mean you don't have a main comic fic too, like, per say, Cass Apocalyptic Series? Because I've seen you do comic snippets and they look really good, and I wasn't able to find any links to a main comic, so I was wondering if there was anywhere I could read a comic or anything at all or if its just an AU with comics for different scenarios and stuff. Btw, love the grown apart drawings! Thank you and have a good day!

Firstly - thank you very much! I'm glad you're enjoying the content I'm making for this AU ❤

Secondly - all that little disclaimer means is that I wouldn't expect a written fic for any of the AUs featured here. I don't personally consider myself a particularly skilled writer, not in the traditional sense - not enough to write a whole fic, at least. I can do a scene or two but I'm much better with a visual medium.

It is not referring to comics, and I do actually have plans to make comics for a couple of my AUs - Grown Apart included. (I've been more-or-less treating this comp as a way to promote the AU and get my feet wet with comic-style storytelling before diving right into starting one.)

While my original intention - for this specific AU - was to just do a string of short storyboard-style comic panels, illustrating the major story beats and giving the overall plot without delving into too much detail, I'm open to the idea of just expanding it into a full comic.

Perhaps if the AU generates a good deal of interest during and after the competition, I'll seriously consider it! :0

(...and with that last line, I guess this technically counts as @tmntaucompetition propaganda now. So, uhhhh...vote for GA if you want to see it get a comic, I guess! LOL)

[plethora-of-imagines]

Empty Headed

AN: In response to a prompt in the BG3Kinktober23 collection.

This is probably going to be the only fic I write for Gale. The promot was just too good to not be filled!

Prompt:

Dumbification with soft dom Gale and Tav. Tav doesn't need to think. Thinking is for smart people, and Gale can do enough thinking for the both of them. He just wants her to keep letting all her thoughts leak out, and he'll worry about everything else. Besides, she's so much cuter when she's just a clueless little toy. I saw this on the dirty bg3 confessions tumblr and I need it as a full-length fic.

Word Count: 1,406

Warnings: smut/lemon, proper use of mage hand, light bondage, light sub/dom, oral sex, oral fixation, edging, subspace, light dumbification

Description:

Gale loves to bring his cleaver lover, Tav into a state where her mind is gone. Not a single thought in her cleaver head as he does all the work to make her feel good. Tav lets him.

Dozens of scented candles surrounded you in the soft haze of candle light, and the scent of your lover. Barely able to see past the warm nest of well worn- to the point of being soft- sheets. Glittering book titles- in beautiful golds and silvers could be faintly seen along the walls. Your skin soft and clean from the “luxurious stay in the bath” that Gale had insisted on. Squirming as the mage hands he had summoned rubbed scented oils into every inch of your skin. It was your favorite scent. He had put a lot of thought into this, all for you. Wanting you to relax fully. To let him take care of everything. You had been rather relaxed, until the several sets of hands had started working on you. They were being very sensual, but frustratingly those hands were also avoiding anywhere too sensual.

Every attempt to take matters into your own hands- to provide some relief to this constant growing need- was met with disapproving gestures and restrained hands. It had been comical at first, when the hands only kept yours down for a moment. But not anymore when you needed them to either touch you, or let you touch yourself. The blue glowing extensions of your lover’s will were growing frustrated with your now constant efforts as well. It had been an hour of this. An hour of thinking that at any moment Gale would saunter in and finally give you what you needed. Your most recent attempts to pleasure yourself were met with silk ribbons being skillfully tied around your wrists, threaded through the spindles of the headboard. Groaning as you let your head fall back into the soft cushion beneath your head.

A more firm- more real feeling hand- rubbed soothing circles against your ankle. Massaging your foot as all of the hands stopped playing with your skin in favor of helping lift up your head. You melted into them at the sight of Gale. The past hour had stolen most of your ability to think clearly. Of course it was Gale at the foot of your bed. No one else could get into your home- into his tower.

“Now all this moving about tells me someone still has far too many thoughts running about in their head. Isn’t that right, Tav?”

“Gale, please I need something, anything!”

You arms ached as you were lifted higher so that Gale could press a kiss to your forehead.

“I do believe that was far too many words out of your cleaver mouth. I promised that my name would be the only word that you would manage to slur out, and I intend to keep my promise.”

Falling back with a huff, as Gale dispelled the mage hands. Bouncing on the bed.

“Gale-”

“Shh,” his own hands softly brushed away strands of hair that had been covering your face. Still damp and trying to stick to your skin. “Let me do all the thinking for you.”

Deeply kissing you to catch your next words before they could leave your lips. Humming in satisfaction as he softly took over control. Nipping your chin as he worked his way down. Pressing lingering kisses to your throat. Little sighs leaving you as your skin tingled from his clear devotion.

“As pretty as your voice is, love, I do like you speechless in our bed.”

With a last indulgent kiss to your throat he continued on his path down your body. Completely ignoring your chest, passing with dozens of kisses down the valley of your breasts. Reaching your clit, letting out a pleased exhale before his tongue pressed flat against your clit. Warm and wet. He didn’t dignify your whimper with a response. Focusing all his attention on using the mouth that was so skilled in spell casting to cast a different type of spell over you through his devouring of your clit.

The only thing you could focus on was how good he was making you feel. He knew your poor body too well, bringing you so close to complete bliss- only to halt long enough to let it fade away. Moans and wordless cries filled the air in every moment the sound of his sloppy sucking and licking paused for him to breathe.

“There we go,” he smiled against your soaked cunt. “There is my pretty Tav, not a thought in her head. Just need for me to let her over the edge, but you can take more. I know you can, you’re such a good empty headed thing, aren’t you love.”

“Hngg.”

“Beautiful.”

Tears pooled in your eyes as another and another orgasm was denied. How were you to survive such an onslaught of pleasure and need. Your tears spilled as his mouth pulled away from your body. Hiccuping sobs stealing what little breath you did have.

“Let those pesky tears dry, love,” Gale peppered your face with kisses. Turning your sobs into giggles as your overwhelmed emotions were soothed away.

Your mind floated away in his grasp, happy and warm. Still needy, oh so needy. But your Gale would take good care of you. He always knew what to do, especially when it came to what to do to you.

Fingers brushed against your lips, willingly they parted. Taking his warm fingers into your even warmer mouth.

“Huh, not exactly what I had in mind, but I suppose if it makes you happy. Have at it, get my fingers ready to open you up, Tav.”

You barely understood what he was saying, but there was permission to continue somewhere in those words. So your mouth continued to suck and lick at his fingers. His other hand deftly undid the ties surrounding your wrists. Fingers not currently entertaining your mouth, tangling with yours. Too content, body only working on instinct to even gather a spark of thought to try and move your hands away from where they still felt bound. Making a happy, content sound against the fingers in your mouth at the feeling of holding his hand.

Whining at him when he pulled his fingers away from your hand and mouth.

“Can you say Gale?”

“Ga-hal,” your mouth refused to form the sounds. Unable to do more than remain slightly parted in lust.

“Close enough,” he teased.

Two fingers soon enough found their way into your soaked entrance, thumb rubbing teasingly against your clit. A scream of pleasure used every drop of air in your lungs, back arched so far off the bed that you could feel every inch of Gale’s skin against yours. Before collapsing boneless, panting heavily. Greedily taking every bit of air your lungs could hold. Pitiful noises continuing to fall out of you as his fingers scissored. Pressing against every wall to explore you with the attention that Gale often only gave the weave. The weave and you.

Stretched open and prepared- thoroughly- he removed his fingers in favor of his cock. So full, feeling so right, so complete. Laying limp as each thrust made you see stars. It wasn’t long until you were filled with orgasmic pleasure, clenching around his cock to milk every drop of cum. Little circles being rubbed into your hips, as your mind returned enough to once again recognize sensation.

“Feeling alright, Tav? Back with me again?”

“Mhmmm.”

Laughing lightly at your state, Gale couldn’t help but continue to tease.

“I see that the power of speech is still beyond your reach then. Amazing what my cocky nature- as you would say- can do to you. And you would claim it isn’t well earned ego!”

Yanking your unresponsive body upright in the bed with care. He was quickly surrounding you with a fortress of pillows when you couldn’t muster the strength to keep yourself upright and almost fell over completely.

“Be right back, love.”

Soft hands lightly patted you awake.

“Drink.”

The glass was pressed gently against your lips. Water slowly pouring into your parted mouth.

“There we go, small sips.”

With Gale’s encouragement you drained the whole glass before yawning. He crawled into bed with you, lifting your dead weight and struggling a small amount to pull your body into his arms. Finally regaining the ability to move you helped by shuffling yourself into his embrace.

“Now I do believe that we have plenty of time for a little nap, to regain your strength. So close those eyes and get some shut eye.”

You didn’t have the energy to argue against that.

[vikenticomeshome]

Cyberchase Character Discussion (for your local Cyberchase trivia quiz) - #2: Matt

I made a post while back talking about archiving material from the Cyberchase website, including the now-removed character bios. I made a post about Inez, intending it to be the first in a series, and then I put it aside. Now I'm getting back to it.

#2: Matt

So, let's start with his character bio in "Meet the Cybersquad". This was released in 2001, before the series started airing in 2002. I don't know how much of this is still canon, given how much time has passed.

We learn that Matt, like Jackie, is 11 years old. He is presented as Cyber-detective, which is interesting. All of the kids engage in problem-solving. I never really thought Matt was into detective stuff specifically. He is big on the use of his yo-yo when thinking, and he does come prepared with tools in his backpack.

His favorite color is green, which makes sense, as he wears a green turtleneck in almost every episode. He enjoys pizza and pancakes. He enjoys Brian Jacques's "Redwall" books, so we know he isn't squeamish. I love that his favorite is "anything by Will Smith". This bio really is a product of its time. His favorite movie is "Star Wars". He might be referring to "Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope" back when it was titled just "Star Wars", or he could be referring to the franchise as a whole. I wonder if he canonically liked "The Phantom Menace", which would have been the only movie from the Star Wars prequel trilogy out at the time.

His listed pet peeve is waiting (for anything). That part is definitely still canon, though he has gotten less impulsive and more patient as the series has progressed.

He also has a ton of pets, and this isn't even counting any livestock his family owns on the farm. He has:

A Bearded Dragon named Boomerang

An Armadillo named Spike

An African Water Frog named Sharky

An African Water Frog named Fins

A dog (mixed Golden Retriever and Yellow Lab) named Obi Won Kadoggie

I didn't even know pet Armadillos were a thing.

That's it for the "Meet the Cybersquad" page. I'm a little surprised that they didn't mention that Matt lives on a farm with his family. They also didn't mention his love for Greek Mythology.

We can also look at his introduction from the official Cyberchase prequel web comic, "How It All Started: Episode 3", for this information.

Narration: Matt lives on a farm with his family, and dreams of being the homerun champ. Little does he know he'll soon be a hero of a different kind.

Narration: Matt is into Greek Mythology big time!

Here is Matt's official Cyberchase trading card.

His favorite line, as listed here is "OK, what do we know?". I thought that was actually one of Jackie's common lines, right next to "Let's get organized". I would have used "Touchdown!" here. It also talks about him being interested in magic. I don't remember that interest coming up, even in the Shari Spotter episodes. He's great at skateboarding, yo-yo tricks, milking cows, and trying new things.

He can also be ruthless, like that time he threatened to destroy The Hacker's Grim Wreaker ship.

We can talk about his impulsiveness and recklessness, like in Season 2 Episode 8: "Whale of a Tale". He saw a steam-filled death pit, where he couldn't see the other side, and tried to jump over it. He thought it was only one meter, due to a partially-obscured sign.

It wasn't one meter.

This is not good! This is not good at all!

Off topic, I love how expressive they made Inez in this episode.

And of course, he wants to try again.

He was also at the center of the Cybersquad's disastrous attempt to promote Motherboard's re-election campaign against The Hacker in Season 2 Episode 4 "True Colors". He accused The Hacker of lying about his good deeds without any proof, and it turned out that The Hacker was telling the truth about them after all. Matt's efforts to bring up The Hacker's prior crimes were also seen as mud-slinging.

I'm not here to bash him as a character. I like Matt, flaws and all. He's a member of the Cybersquad. All three of these actual children have been in way over their heads since the start.

Even in these two instances, the show is careful to show that he learns his lesson. In the incident with "Whale of a Tale", he is one who has Glowla re-check her work and catch her addition mistake when she is computing Spout's new shutdown code.

In the incident with "True Colors", Matt admits that he was wrong in his emotional accusation against The Hacker. Then, he corners The Hacker with the question about curing the virus, which forces The Hacker to lie about the cure. Finally, the Cybersquad as a whole catches The Hacker in the lie about the triangle-based cure. I really need to do a full post on that episode, as it was brilliant.

Let's look at something else. Matt is quite strong. Here he is in Season 2 Episode 6 "Mother's Day" with Inez standing on his head, while Digit stands on Inez's head.

And here's Matt effortlessly lifting the "Good Vibration" artifact, which is bigger than him, from Season 2 Episode 9 "Double Trouble". Even Jackie and Inez are fleeing from his power. Okay, so they were probably fleeing from The Hacker, who was off-screen, but still.

What else can we say about Matt? Well, he was originally going to be called Kyle, who had a different haircut and smaller feet. Apparently, Kyle wasn't considered a good name for a farm boy.

No disrespect to whoever made Kyle, but I prefer Matt's final design. We have the Who's Who document. It does give us a few nire pieces of information. For example, he loves jokes and puns, which I don't remember coming up much in the show. It also confirms that his favorite cybersite is Radopolis.

I swear that I read some source that claimed he was the "leader" of the Cybersquad. However, I cannot find it now. I didn't think this team structure had a true leader, since all the kids here equal partners.

That's about all I can think to say about him for now.

EDIT: I forgot that Matt had a bio on the Nelvana website as well. I thought only Jackie got one, since I found one for her. I never found one for Inez, Dr. Marbles, Motherboard, The Hacker, Buzz, or Delete. It doesn't help that they used a picture of Jackie on Matt's bio.

I like the line about him inventing trial and error. If he can collect royalties off that, then he is set for life. It talks about his hands-on learning style, which was a major point in the episode "Problem Solving in Sangri-la". This bio emphasizes him charging forward without a plan, which is a well-known character flaw.

[maksimasz]

Okay I know that their are very few messages for fans among the IG community and even less of the Gadgetxclaw ship. So...in your AU...*Pulls out microphone.*

How did they finally tell each other?

How does Penny feel about the relationship?

How does Claw get around the fact that he's a villain and Gadgets an inspector?

How do they date for the same reason.

Also the big question, what would Claw do if someone were to go after Penny? Does he think of her familiarly?

What great questions! 🤍 And it's true, there's very little with this couple, so I want to promote them to the masses ~~ Maybe I'll decide somehow and make a comic with them :} Oh, regarding the questions) * moved closer to the microphone*:

This AU was created jointly with my beloved person for a role-playing forum, so everything comes from the plot of the rolka, and in this plot we came up with a new villain - a wannabe Doctor Claw.We named him Dr. Spike. I'll show you a sketch of the Spike below) So, Dr. Spike stole important formulas of the MAD alloy, and this alloy was invented by the Claw and, no matter how ironic it may sound, most of the cyber body of the Gadget was created from this alloy. Dr. Ship has created a weapon against this alloy that can corrode it, which, in fact, he did with the Gadget. Spike's agents wounded Gadget in the arm with this weapon. And the Claw has been in love with the Gadget for two years, and watching the Gadget, he saw how the inspector was wounded. The Gadget's condition gradually deteriorated, until eventually the Claw decided to "steal" the inspector in order to cure him, because the Gadget's body was created from its alloy. He told the gadget that he wanted to cooperate with him to catch Dr. Ship, a kind of hiring an excellent detective, but the Claw had other plans :} And so, cooperating, they gradually began to have feelings) Not immediately, but surely)

If we talk about their already formed relationship, say, Claw and Gadget have been together for a month or two, then Penny is just happy for her uncle) According to her observation, the gadget began to smile more often, almost glowed with happiness, because for the first time in his life, her uncle really felt loved by someone) Not counting the Pennies, of course, but it's still different) Of course, at first, both Gadget, Penny, and Brain were distrustful of the good deeds of the Claw, because this… Dr. Claw is a criminal authority and terrifying to the whole world! But later, the whole Gadget family realized that the Claw was really sincere in his feelings, and it was true)

Oooh, you can't imagine how hard it was for Claw to accept the fact that he fell head over heels in love with his main enemy! He suffered for two years, until he finally reached the condition of accepting himself) Came up with a plan to make sure that he did not put him in the electric chair and at the same time be free and stay close to the Gadget, and this plan worked perfectly)

Everything depended on the Claw * spread his hands* because the Gadget would never have started an affair with a person who is connected with crime xx The Claw needed to understand and solve for itself: Is it worth giving up your life as a criminal or choosing the one you love? I think it's clear where the choice of the Claw fell) You know, it's funny that initially, while they were cooperating, the Claw and the Gadget often swore, sarcastically and almost fought, but only later, when reciprocity came, this love became pure and bright ~~ Like Rose and Jack from the Titanic - You jump, I'll jump too TT

Ohhhh… Ohhhh! This situation was in our AU and became a key one in the Gadget and Claw relationship) Scene: The Gadget was immobilized by Spike's agents. Other agents wanted to kill Penny in front of the Gadget, and if it hadn't been for Claw, who was in place at the time, Penny would have died in front of uncle xx In this situation, Claw was injured. They aimed at Penny, but Claw put his shoulder up, which saved the baby) God, and then how the Nut on shoulder cried with happiness (on a healthy shoulder x)) Claw, while hugging Penny :} For Claw, both Gadget and Penny became the very family he had always dreamed of) So yes, the Claw treats Penny well, especially since they are both geniuses, there is something to chat about)

A sketch of Dr. Ship):

[narutorarepairweek]

Prompt List 2023

As previously decided through popular vote, this event will take place in July-August of this year. The exact dates will be July 30th - August 5th (Sunday-Saturday). Each day will have two different prompts to choose from - as always, please keep in mind the following about the prompts and the event in general:

You can choose one prompt or both per day, or you can skip a day. There is no minimum or maximum participation requirement

You can take the prompts as literally or as loosely as you like

This is a tumblr event. We will not be making an AO3 collection, nor will we be on any other platform. You are, however, more than welcome to host your content on other platforms and share a link on tumblr for us to promote.

Please review our rules and regulations post

Feel free to look at our FAQ

No bashing of any kind, of ships, content, or people. Don’t be a fucking bully, you’ll get your ass banned and blocked so fast

Please review the unqualified ships list for this year before you start creating

Tagging rules will be below the prompt list, under a cut. Please remember to tag your content properly. The mod team is small, and the way we reblog/tag content is clicking OPs tags to quick add them - there is no way we could properly tag our reblogs otherwise.

By tags, we mean the actual tag section of a tumblr post. Putting everything at the top of your post is amazing and wonderful, and a practice we do commend, but it does not count in this regard. Use the actual tags section, or we will not reblog your content. If anyone has any questions about this, our inbox and DMs are open - we are here to help and want to promote your content.

Sunday 30th: Pride | Promises

Monday 31st: Meet Cute Wheel | Modern Ninja AU

Tuesday 1st: Time Travel | The ties that bind us

Wednesday 2nd: When the knife twists | Era swap

Thursday 3rd: AU Roulette | Hal Quote*

Friday 4th: Found Family | Veronica Quote**

Saturday 5th: Free day | Alternate ending***

Quotes, as well as tag rules breakdown, below the cut

* Hal Borland - "No winter lasts forever; no spring skips its turn."

** Veronica Roth - "I could never hurt him enough to make his betrayal stop hurting. And it hurts, in every part of my body."

*** This could be an alternate ending to an arch, the whole story, or to one of your own comics/fics.

Tagging rules

Tag which prompt you are using as it appears in the prompt list. Please tag the quotes as Hal Quote and Veronica Quote respectively. You do not have to put which specific prompt from the either the Meet Cute Wheel or AU Roulette - please just tag them as they're shown in the prompt list.

Mods will Not be putting the content creator’s name in our tags when we reblog this year.

[applesandbannas747]

does pacat rlly not care about fence anymore 😭 i feel like it’s much better than dark rise and could be better than captive prince too…it’s been a year since i last consumed anything fence-related and i really don’t understand what’s going on with the series?? but anyways i like ur fics a lot & agree with ur reviews of srb’s novels, which also could have had so much potential but ended up kind of sucking in a lot of ways.

Pacat is a mystery to me. Personally, I believe Dark Rise is his best work--it shows much better pacing than Captive Prince and gets the same impact and feel without going to such extreme and explicit horrors, which shows a lot of skill (I know CP is his most beloved series but he's improved a lot since writing it haha). What gets me is that Fence STARTED really strong and I counted it as his best work for sure. There were fun tropes and dynamics, interesting characters with a central relationship promising contention, fighting, and tension, and some fun elements in the mystery of Jesse and potential in the reveal of Nick's lineage. And you could tell there was passion in the project...but even by the later issues of the original 12-issue run, Pacat's social media reflected a large disinterest in Fence, and that disinterest has shown in the story as Fence continues to progress.

I try to logic and rationalize and analyze everything Fence related and literally every time I do I get met with 'it's not that deep' from the actual canon lmfao but I'm going to offer my rationalization anyway lmao the only reason I can think to justify Pacat's lack of interaction with Fence on Twitter besides not caring about it much is that it doesn't fit his brand. Which is only defined by two other series, but it's very much a high fantasy/historical fantasy dark romance with stomach-churning undertones and much darker themes than Fence. So I gave him that excuse for a long time. Fence doesn't fit within that brand at all, so from a marketing standpoint, it makes some amount of sense to focus more on the other franchises. However, I think this strategic thinking is giving too much credit--Fence has always had really shit marketing so either Pacat has no mind for marketing or he doesn't care to market Fence, which both get us back to the only real reason being he just doesn't care about it as much as his other things.

Do I expect Pacat to be hanging out in the Twitter FENCEtag? No. But I do think it's strange that he'll post tweets saying happy birthday to other people's books the day they come out, but literally didn't ever make a Fence Redemption announcement or say anything on the release day. The most he's done is retweet a couple things from BOOM! and 2 other outside sources. And this is regular behavior--he didn't do announcements for RIVALS or RISE either and didn't promote them at all. Yet Dark Rise gets announcements all the way along--title announcement, release date announcement, cover reveal, etc etc etc. He also posts and retweets fanart for his other 2 books really regularly, yet he didn't even retweet all of Jo's (the co-creator and illustrator of Fence) pieces for the Fence event Jo hosted in April, let alone bother with much fanart of it. There's just no reason for the vast gap in involvement and enthusiasm other than him very strongly preferring his other projects and not bothering with the effort of interacting with Fence. He'll occasionally ask culture questions (like if Americans say 'coz' for cousin or how to say something in French) but that's legitimately the best argument there is for his interest or care in the project.

And lastly, his lack of interest shows in the story. He handed his story off to someone else to write novels for and simply let her go wild without regard for how it impacted the comics or the fans. Further, Pacat lost track of his own story and characters between Volume 3 & 4 in a way that I cannot excuse as anything other than inconsistent characterization. And I know I'm biased there, but I make so many people in real life read Fence that I don't jabber at about it/pull into the fandom (so they have no knowledge of my takes), and all of them have commented on the 180 the characters made between the volumes. And, listen, if I wouldn't accept that kind of inconsistency in characterization when grading my 12-year-olds' narrative writing projects, why am I still sitting here trying to excuse the lazy/poor writing in a published and successful author? The pacing is also telling--a lot of conflict was skipped over 'off screen' between the volumes (which, say it with me folks, is lazy writing). Nick's resentment toward Seiji turned into full admiration sans any ill feelings or acknowledgment that even if he IS hot shit, he was still a major asshole in his initial conception, and Seiji apparently agreed to drop his thing about Jesse (you know, the thing that had them in a fist fight approximately 40 pages of comic before). There was no build-up to their relationship or resolution of the conflict that made it unhealthy (expect to have Nick 'admit' Seiji was right to treat him like shit...) These things push the story along a lot faster; rivals to lovers moves really fast if you skip all the tedious development of the characters getting to know, respect, tolerate, and then like each other. Pacat loves rivals/enemies to lovers and (to be blunt) mean/cold bottoms, so it is so fucking bizarre to me that he'd speedrun the relationship and change the characterization so much when it's directly moving away from his preferences (see: Captive Prince, Dark Rise). I don’t know how it happened from anything other than sheer laziness or from not caring about Fence so deeply that he let SRB overwrite the characters and romance he'd originally created.

Last, there are just SO many inconsistencies and copyedit-level mistakes. And I get it that typos happen, but it happens so much that it's like,,, are you even rereading the scripts before you throw them at your publisher? And the continuity errors are massive at this point. Seiji's year in France, which was apparently the result of his loss to Jesse, is only possible if time travel exists and also timelines exist simultaneously. How do you fuck up so big when constructing a story you care about? At least by the time it gets published, you should be sure it's READY to be published. It's like he's writing issue-by-issue as he goes with no plan and can't be bothered to skim through the previous issues to check for things.

I just can't come up with a reality where Pacat actually loves Fence when this is all the care he gives it. We are so so so lucky to have Jo--she is literally the most amazing and gives so much love and care to Fence, and it shows...I just wish Pacat's writing didn't affect her contribution to the comic too. But she at least loves Fence even if Pacat doesn't seem to tell her all that much more than he tells the rest of us LMFAO

This turned into a WHOLE messy essay, I just have a lot of thoughts and they've been brewing for years so sorry to go off on my mad ravings and thanks for tuning in XD and also!!! I'm so happy you like my fics TT.TT <33 and also that you see my point about the novels uwu

[5eraphim]

Do you have any video games you would consider "overrated" or "underrated"?

i gotta say as a MAJOR survival horror fan, i can't for the life of me understand the love for Rule of Rose.

Almost anytime I hear people talking about it, everyone's calling it some underground hidden gem of a game, but it's really not that obscure? like at all?

i heard from sooo many the game was a classic, and really went into the game expecting to like it. like i said, i love survival horror games, and aesthetically the game looks stellar, but after a half-hour or so, i wondered when the game would start getting good. and by 2 hours, i realized this wasn't exactly the game i thought it would be.

i think the reason people are so quick to call it a "hidden gem" is bc of the infamous story of this game getting banned in parts of the world (i believe it was some parts of europe/australia? but i could be way off on that) for allegedly "promoting child abuse," which even as someone who doesn't like this game, that claim is entirely bogus. RoR got a bad reputation, and it never quite garnered the popularity to shed this preconceived notion. which- yeah, that's unfortunate, but cmon now, does that really warrant calling this thing a "hidden classic" ??

personally i always hated the horror trope of "evil/creepy kids" and while I like the fact the kids in the game are just straight up terrible people, rather than them secretly being possessed by demons of being ghosts or something, i feel like there were too many antagonists bc aside from Diana, the other bullies felt very one dimensional. kids can be cruel for no reason like adults can, but the bullies/their bullying was so over the top, and the animal cruelty felt so gratuitous i couldn't take anything that happened to Jennifer seriously.

the combat/controls are comically awful, and i can't count how many times i just ran by enemies bc trying to fight off any of the monsters was such a chore.

there were a few things i liked though! i thought the character designs were very pretty/fit well with the era of the 20s/30s (especially loved Jennifer, Diana, Meg and Eleanore's outfits!) the music wasn't bad. and i like how all the antagonists had respective animal motifs, it was a nice subtle way to distinguish the bullies. i also don't know if this was intentional, but Diana looks like she was modeled after Kirsten Dunst (who i LOVE) and like, idk that felt very meta in a good way!

[hwaightme]

Curiosity

⚫ pairing: editor!yeosang x ...who knows? ⚫ genre: sci-fi, speculative fiction, noir, dystopia, mystery, angst ⚫ summary: What does it take to be the perfect citizen? This dream is just a pill away, giving the employee - opportunity, and society - efficiency, precision, and profit. But as Kang Yeosang, an editor working a dead end job, stumbles across a dissident manuscript, he cannot help but give into dangerous curiosity. ⚫ wordcount: 15.9k ⚫ warnings/tags: language, pg16?, political drabble, faking emotion, discussion of death and su!cide, mass psychosis, control the population, mention of food/eating, woo is a pothead, family drama, explicit discussion of medication/drugs, dark futurism, people living like automatons, propaganda, fake it 'til you make it, yeosang hiding true self, hints at a storm to come, 1984 energy ⚫ a/n: Hello <3 this is a total experiment. Love all feedback, asks, reblogs, notes and wishing you the best time of day <3 Big hugs!

Get up at four in the morning. Automatically shave and brush teeth. Get dressed into the regular grey on white on grey combo. Drink some water and ingest a few bites of stale break. Drive to work.

The office is already busy – as usual. Most colleagues who he had said goodbye and wished a good night to were in the same places they had been. It seemed that even their eyes had not moved a single time. Completely trained on their computers, papers, holographic projectors… Yesterday’s meetings were still in progress in the glass cabinets.

Log onto the system. Get handed a stack of work. Plow through it. Go home. Collapse.

And the routine began again the next day. This was how Yeosang’s last few years of life after university had been. Working for the same company and never getting promoted. His health getting progressively worse. But no worries about that; he had his whole existence insured!

Anything to keep him at his desk for as long as possible. Perhaps if the perks offered by this organisation had been in place a few decades earlier, it would have had the highest competition for employment. But in this day and age, it was comically mediocre. The offering of health insurance was a given now that ‘the pill’ was about as commonly used as a smartphone. Moreover, each business, that could afford it, had paramedics on site constantly.

Yeosang was not sure whether it was for the diligent employees or for people like him. Perhaps it was all a front and there was no support network. It could be that the only reason why he made it this far was because of some odd form of luck and not the services. Sounded about right. Why would the bosses waste resources on the likes of him? He should have died out with the others of his ‘kind’ a long time ago.

To be frank, he had nearly cracked on multiple occasions; he had even bought the godforsaken pills once. Had the packet lying on his coffee table, had stared at it, counted and recounted the drug. Read the description and warnings included. But he was above that nonsense. He added that packet to the rest he had acquired over the years, now beginning to pile in the depths of that one cupboard above the fridge.

Perhaps he was paranoid. That possibility could not be excluded. Look at the millions surrounding him, all benefitting from the very thing he was afraid of taking! With its help, they could achieve great things. Discover, innovate, and create. Better than any artificial intelligence could. One might say that this was the counterattack by humans against their own creations. Establishing who was the master. Both could work tirelessly, but only one had the higher conscious.

At this point, Yeosang was not sure which was more human. Whenever he tried to engage in small talk with the others, they just shot him a blank stare and mumbled a ‘huh is that so’ or a ‘oh that is interesting isn’t it’ on a good day. At least with a robot he could discuss anything, from the local council elections to the weather in Kathmandu. So that was how his coffee breaks went. He spent exactly two minutes chatting to the shiny barista – just enough time to finish his rich espresso and get back to his desk without being reprimanded. That was the most ‘real’ interaction at work.

It was his fault that he felt bored. He could be like everybody else and not feel the need for simple pleasures. But something inside of him, a tiny, barely audible voice in his head, cried out that he was better than that. He managed to go all the way from primary school to university and even get a job without relying on energy stimulants, so why begin now?

Was the ‘Workaholic Movement’ finally getting to him? After seeing its propaganda plastered on almost every wall, on public transport, in stores and advertised by anybody and everybody who wanted their thirty seconds of fame… he would have to be deaf and blind to not be affected. Even then, even if his senses would act as his saving grace for a time, the conglomerate of organisations that had banded together for this work revolution would find a way to tattoo the message inside of his head. Egging him on. Take it, take it, take it…

If being braindead was what the people wanted, Yeosang could give it to them alright. He had perfected the glossed over fisheyes and the mindless typing away at his computer. It required a ridiculous amount of strain and drained him to almost nothing by the end of the day, but ‘adapt or die’, right? He had gotten so good at faking, in fact, that even his managers stopped caring about his lack of community spirit. They just assumed the pill worked on him a slightly different way. And that was that. Don’t bother the guy, and he will not bother you.

After four hours of editing yet another non-fiction manuscript that talked about the wonders of modern society now that everybody was focusing on work, work, and more work, Yeosang was beginning to lose his faith in humanity, again. It was the fifth one of this type he had to look at this week – and it was only Tuesday. Tragic where society had ended up. He clicked on the period symbol and the spacebar with particular frustration and leaned back into his office chair. He stifled a yawn and blinked away hints of midmorning fatigue. Time to get some coffee and greet Teo – a play on the Korean pronunciation of the word computer, taking its ending syllable. Yes, he gave the barista a name, and no, he was not fond of personification. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

He put his suit jacket, which was hanging off the chair, back on to not attract more attention than required– everybody else somehow managed to look pristine like expensive cars at a showroom. Some had outfits so impeccable, they looked glued on and ironed out on the individual. Not that they would care or take the compliment, they had no basic needs.

Taking a leisurely stroll down the large office corridors was one of Yeosang’s favourite pastimes, albeit he could not dedicate more than a few seconds to it. People watching was a strange activity in the modern world. Everybody’s lives were supposed to be similar enough that there should be no need to see how others function. That was what made it enjoyable for the young editor – a sort of taboo, a dirty little secret he had with himself.

Mina from the software engineering team was pushing on her forty seventh hour now. The timer she had at her desk was ticking away. Then she would give herself an hour break and start the cycle again with a fresh new pill.  Those were the people that got promotions, not Yeosang. Of course, her outfit was more professional than his too. Why do they try so hard to look good when they are out of it for the majority of the time?

“Good morning, Teo. How are you today?”

“Good morning, Yeosang. I am fine, thank you. Would you like your usual espresso?”

“You know it. Tell me, am I fashionable?” he stood and crossed his arms, watching the robot begin preparing his drink.

“I am afraid I am not qualified to assess human qualities.” Teo cleaned the drip another time for good measure before setting the cup down.

“Oh, come on. This is a super easy, bland, and superficial thing. Go on, hit me with the sad truth.” The barista did not respond straight away. Instead, it gave the illusion of giving its full focus to the coffee machine. Yeosang rocked on his feet, waiting. He was genuinely curious.

“I am going to have to disappoint you there,” Yeosang raised his eyebrows and his lip twitched 

“Oh, come on, man, you are no fun! Ah, well, at least you make damn good coffee.”

“I am, indeed, no fun. I am a barista. And thank you.”

That was the extent of the conversation Yeosang managed to get out of the poor android before his drink was ready. Usually, when he was not working, the robot remained on idle mode, thus returning to a mute state. It was just Yeosang and his own thoughts now. He took a sip of the espresso – utter perfection. He had to give it to technological innovation; the scientists knew how to teach a metal can to make coffee alright.

He checked his wristwatch. There was just under a minute before he had to quit lazing around and go back to work. Nobody else in his team had gotten up once. In record time Yeosang finished his drink and disposed of the cup by throwing it into the automatic dishwasher ‘tunnel’. Really it was a transportation system for dirty kitchenware, and not the most efficient, considering that on his floor it was almost always only Yeosang keeping it in operation, but whatever makes the company look more important…

It was a race against the clock. When passing by the printers, Yeosang took a few pieces of blank paper to make it seem like he walked out with real productive intention, and not to indulge in a hit of caffeine. It is not like anybody would stop him to check what was in his hands. A colleague walked past him, carrying at least ten folders that were filled to the brim but not showing any signs of struggle – Yeosang refrained from asking if they needed any help; it was obvious they could handle it themselves, and were an independent worker.

Even when the break was long forgotten and yet another section of a new bureaucratic ass-kissing manuscript had been edited, Yeosang was still uneasy. A general feeling of being let down, but how could that have arisen? He regurgitated nonsense editing feedback without thinking. It was all the same anyway. The same mistakes, the same weak arguments being made in favour of the Workaholic Movement, the magical medicinal substance that could quench an individual’s thirst, satisfy their nutritional needs, maximise their functionality and diminish their time dedicated to nothingness to null. Nobody was sure as to who exactly, why, and how had invented the ‘workaholic’ pill – a term coined by the media that now became a common phrase. But the market for this piece of scientific magic sure looked promising. Skyrocketing sales, insane demand, and equally unexpectedly insane supply.

That’s right – the reality that Yeosang found himself in, made him uneasy. He had grown up in a world where people no longer relied on their own strength to achieve things – they had chemicals do the hard things for them. His classmates, instead of spending eight hours sleeping, did extracurricular activities and gained work experience that Yeosang could only dream of. They were on it night and day. Always writing, reading, number-crunching… Only those who wanted to break into the acting world could sit down to rest – if their roles required them to.

His co-workers were exactly the same. Their whole lives were only in this office. Well, who was Yeosang to judge their ‘lack of a life’ when he was not exactly a representative of the enviable life. At least those colleagues of his did not have an awareness of how painfully average they were. He had to stare at himself and his averageness each morning, and notice just how pallid he had become, and how he was slowly fading into the tiled walls of his bathroom. If he were to become a wall his quality of life would probably get better. Already blended in, and always doing his job. Finally, mom and dad would be proud.

His parents were astonishingly fast and efficient workers at their prime. They had raised the sales of the company they worked for to impossible heights, singlehandedly. That was when they had been awarded the honourable title of ‘Distinguished Workaholic’s. Something millions dream of getting. All while, ironically, not allowing their own son to micro-dose to power through middle school. Yeosang had felt slightly betrayed – his parents, at the forefront of the movement, loyal to the message of the government and the goal of the drug, and yet they were denying him that very same thing. His father would constantly tell him that he did not need that pill at such a young age, that he was strong enough. They would sit for hours on end each evening, working through homework and projects together. His father would much rather spend that much time grinding through impossibly boring tasks instead of just giving in and handing his son the quick and easy solution.

It was then when Yeosang had started to suspect that not everything was ‘sunshine and rainbows’ with that pill.

The International United Workers Organisation, along with the International Heath Fund and a myriad of research institutes, both private and public, had joined forces to create the solution to problems that did not seem to exist. They had, after years of silence and secrecy, shaken the world. In most countries, there had been hints in the press at an innovation unlike any other. People were buzzing, so when the news had finally been released, there was a metaphorical explosion that covered the planet. These organisations, these developers whose names shall never be known, had made history. Every form of media was broadcasting the news to anybody who was alive to listen. This pill would solve the ‘inefficiency crisis’ – so they called it.

Suddenly, people with the right finances began searching for this chemical miracle. An operation of this scale must mean that this is a real problem, right? Everybody had begun to question themselves, whether they were giving their all and living to the fullest. It became a craze, an epidemic which had singlehandedly taken control of the entirety of the human race. It was almost as if the advertisements had hypnotic properties; or perhaps, it was merely a clever manipulation of natural curiosity, leading to an addictive trap.

Yeosang had been three years old when KALIN-X went into widespread commercial production – two years after the official release. His parents had already been fairly frequent users by that time due to his mother’s professional affiliation with the IUWO. With more and more workers giving their lives to being under the pill, his parents began taking them more often. The majority of his early childhood had been spent with a drugged up nanny who seemed to never need sleep. When his parents did visit – never more than an hour, he could barely recognise them. Their faces were not as friendly and as loving as they had once been. By age six, Yeosang had stopped calling the two ‘mother’ and father’. They had turned into Missus and Mister Kang. And this was considered to be a resounding success and a result deserving celebration.

Primary school had passed rapidly; it was barely even a memory now. The majority of kids were just like Yeosang – abandoned, but still ‘loved’. It was normal to refer to the homeroom teacher as the parental figure, and some kids even stayed at the facility overnight. But most importantly, the children ‘micro-dosing’ was still a tiny minority. Without any definite evidence that the drug did not have any adverse side effects in young kids, even the heavily using parents did not dare to subject their precious sons and daughters to the life of a walking experiment.

Yet, as the years went on, so did the percentage of micro-dosing peers in Yeosang’s life. By middle school, the tables had turned, and he was in a small group silenced sufferers. They had found in one another support and reassurance. Until new findings came in and promoted KALIN-X for students. Then, Yeosang was left alone. No matter how much he begged his parents to just let him be, he had used the argument that they were ‘never there’, he was denied the easy way out. His mother and father were adamant on him finding his way through school using his own brain power. At that same time, both of them had received the ‘Distinguished Workaholic’ award. They had even made an appearance in the local news – the district of the city the Kang family was registered in had been joyous. The community reputation was now one of the best. They were congratulated by all, except their own son.

Needless to say, it was perplexing that two Distinguished Workaholics put prohibitions on their child in terms of pill use. Instead they began to talk and work with him more. Power through challenges together. Anything so that he would not fall victim. Was he isolated? Was he over protected? Yeosang had no answers for that. But what his parents’ actions did, was, on the one hand, they made him think for himself. He had the opportunity to see a world beyond KALIN-X, understand the past and appreciate to what heights society had evolved. On the other hand, he ended up not knowing how to view himself. At best he was mediocre. There was nothing that he could possibly stand out in. That might as well be his special skill. Being nobody. He could appear and disappear without a trace, be forgotten in a matter of seconds.

His situation would make anybody assume that he would have an inflated ego; a high sense of self and a tendency to see himself as superior. Well, that was impossible. Just being able to say ‘I don’t need drugs to get me through high school and university’ was not enough. Yeosang could guarantee that his class and course mates could all do that too. It was just they wanted everything to be done efficiently, and since the opportunity was there, they took it. He was holding the others up constantly. He was the problem.

University had been a particularly dark time. Being from a small school, nothing could have prepared him for the sheer size of the community and the invisibility he was going to have. If he was transparent before, now he was formless and equivalent to air. The majority of people that were in that same place, learning and living their dream he would never get to know. So many faces he would never see.

He would have ‘talked to somebody’ about his worries, but the counselling service ceased operating as soon as the percentage of micro-dosing members of the student body had reached ninety percent. It was hopeless. He fell and fell. Deeper into a realm he had been on the border of. It was all he knew for the duration of the study. He was used to solitude, but the change after change had done it. He cracked. After that, there was darkness.

Yeosang did not remember then he bought the packet, but he woke up with it in his hands. He was lying on the floor of his tiny single dorm, curled up, with his simultaneous release and demise in an iron grip. What was he doing? He checked the number of pills; one missing. This was a problem. A giant problem. What had happened?

 He had stumbled out of his room like a bear after hibernation. Staggering, stumbling from left to right, he grabbed onto the walls. Fellow students peeked out and stared at him, wide-eyed. Yeosang was lost. Stopping at the door of one of the people in his course, he knocked violently and loudly. It creaked open, revealing a timid figure. He could not remember what this guy’s name was for the life of him, so he just asked:

“What… happened?” since when was his voice so rough and croaky? It only made the listener terrified for his life. Yeosang’s eyes were bloodshot, face almost grey, lips dry cracked and bleeding, hair a mess. He wanted answers, desperately. “I said, what happened?” his voice had now turned into a shout, and he had his hand on the door ready to force it open if his peer decided that he had enough.

Thankfully, there was no need for tackling and the guy gave in.

“You… took it…”

“Took what? Don’t babble! What did I take?”

“The pill… KALIN-X… you… you took it…” that was enough. Yeosang was mortified.

“For how long was I out?” he was barely emitting a whisper, a huge contrast that kept everyone observing on their toes.

“About… three days…” Yeosang did not want to hear anymore. He took out the pills from his pocket and shoved them in the general direction of his acquaintance. It ended up right against the other’s chest. Yeosang was looking down. Waiting for the other to take it. When he didn’t, Yeosang let his anger take the better of him.

“ISN’T THIS WHAT YOU WANT? YOU LIVE FOR THIS AND I AM GIVING IT TO YOU! TAKE IT! TAKE IT, YOU BASTARD!” He threw it into the young man’s room and slammed the door shut. As he turned around, he saw all doors close quickly, and heard them being locked. Hilarious. These manic addicts being scared of the one kid who wasn’t. Not a pretty sight, huh? Who cares?

Yeosang went back into his room and almost immediately fell asleep.

He slept on and off for two days. According to his personal tutor, he had done all of his coursework for the next month so he could skip a few days no problem. He had also completed a few exams early so that was set. Such a fool… how did he allow himself to do this? His parents would notice. They would be disappointed in him. The one thing they had told Yeosang not to do, he had done. But he was in a place where there was no other option, except, perhaps, ending everything altogether. But he was too young, so he chose the next ‘best’ thing.

That was Yeosang’s first and last experience with KALIN-X. He had found that one dose resulted in cravings for more and more, and he had to physically restrain himself to not burn the dorms to the ground in a search for a fix. It was unbearable, but he had to be silent. Nobody should be aware of his moment of weakness. It was a misstep that he should not have made. He had no recollection of what he had done. His real self was far from whatever he was doing. It did not exist. If he were to be asked about any piece of coursework he had done in that three day time period, his mind would draw a blank. Even though he had attained a much higher grade than his average.

Return to average. That was what he needed. He had to come down from this despicable high and dissolve back into the crowd. So that is exactly what he did. Finished university without any more events or hiccups, took up a generic job, and for the last few years had dedicated himself to not be different. It was safer that way. Now he knew that when people were on KALIN-X they were not rational. They were as close to machines as humans could get. Functioning not because they had the choice, but because they were being dragged by invisible strings. Millions, billions of puppets surrounding Yeosang. So, what was the rational thing to do? Pretend to be one himself.

His managers seemed to like it. They let him get on with his work without being constantly monitored, a luxury not given to those who were open about not using the pill. There were also The Tainted; a completely different class of human, in the eyes of the directors and CEOs they were a wholly distant breed. Both types were quickly disposed of. They were seen as a stain that the company wanted to wipe away, to not ruin their image of having the hardest and most loyal workers – born, living and dying while being the perfect tool. How could they have people who were non progressive? Worse, what if rumours began to spread that they were employing Tainteds? That would lead to a bad name, and imminent closure.

Yeosang had a colleague who was a Tainted once – only for a month. He was not sure how she passed the screening process, but she ended up working in his team. Very diligent and ambitious. Willing to do anything. She could edit just as well as any of the druggies, if not better. Somehow, she managed to make lifeless texts fresher, and gave the author an emotive voice; like they were actually fascinated by what they were writing about. That was what made our boss suspicious. She was not dispassionate and passive enough. He had been the one to appeal to Human Resources to check her profile in more depth, including old medical records and more… As soon as the results came in and her (according to them) dark secret was revealed, she flew out just as suddenly as she had joined. She had been given the mark of a Tainted by a series of certified professionals; doctors specialising in worker health. She was an individual ‘immune’ to the effects of KALIN-X. The dosage did not alter the lack of reaction in her, either. It was as neutral as water. She was completely unreactive, and thus, uncontrollable. No business needs people who could not be controlled when they so desire. So, she was erased from the world. Yeosang did not see her ever again after that.

Another thing that Yeosang had noticed was that it was not difficult to command people under the medication. If one was eloquent enough, they could merely convince the subject that whatever they want done is a matter of life and death. And off they go. So, all those years ago at university, Yeosang had put himself in that much danger without realising! He thought the so-called Tainted to be lucky. She could not be subdued. Could be herself to the fullest. It was awe-inspiring. Not so in the eyes of the law and industry, of course, but it had struck Yeosang with more force than any pill propaganda could. So, he vowed to live without a single tablet or pill of that poison.

He wondered if what had happened was unfair. In the past, before KALIN-X had existed, this would have been considered to be discrimination, lack of opportunity… and many more reasons. But now, in a near ideal equal society, what was this? Was this meant to be? Did it have to be accepted? Yeosang had no idea. It was obvious that the higher ups were afraid of having a person like that lady in the workplace. In their minds, she could be a bad influence. An agitator. She had nothing to lose, so why not try to ruin a system from the inside? Logical fears, and yet, she had proven to be so dedicated that it was odd to have her fired. They probably found it strange that a regular person not under influence was finding this job fun. That was why they left Yeosang alone – he had mastered the ‘I do not care a single bit about what I am doing but I am doing it because I totally adore this nation and the idea of working’ look. It had taken him a few years to master and adapt it for various unique events, but so far he had never fallen under suspicion.

In addition, they would be disappointed to find nothing on him being a potential Tainted, since he knew from first-hand experience that he was part of the average majority, who do not need to up their dose, who do not need supervision, who simply get knocked out and become little busy bees. Just like everybody else; a little mousier, outwardly dour. He had chosen to evolve with the time, like a plant growing taller and taller to reach the sun. He had wanted to have at least a little bit of it, even if it meant constantly wearing a mask.

Yeosang was scrolling through the second manuscript for the day – barely any variation from the first, when his thoughts drifted, and he remembered that ‘Tainted’. How many years had it been? One? Two? Yes, he was confident it was two. Where had she ended up after her dismissal? He could only guess. The majority of Tainteds, even those with spectacular higher education and spotless backgrounds went into manual labour, often going out of the city to farms or factories. Somewhere where there was no image. Where they were employed without a contract, paid a minimum wage on a good day, and extremely exploited. He hoped that that was not her fate. She had presented far too delicate, too metropolitan an appearance to allow for the mind to even imagine here out there. It would be better if she had moved to a less strict country and found a life there. Even an activist, or any career that was against the government suited her more. It was a little fantasy of his to pretend like he might have come across someone like a revolutionary in his life. Her eyes had possessed a twinkle the first time she walked in. Ready to tackle any challenge and move on to the next one with success after success. Who said she could not embrace it?

If only Yeosang could allow himself to be like that, then maybe he could see himself as more than an empty space. But it was safer to be air than a scalding hot fire. It was tempting to send everything and everyone to hell and to embrace his true nature, but his survival instincts and rigorous self-training would never allow such a thing to happen. KALIN-X now ruled the world, so he had to accept his role as a mere peasant and plough his metaphorical field – editing non-fiction books about this king, every day until he stopped breathing. What a horrifying fate he had selected for himself.

Hours went by. He intentionally skipped lunch to please his boss, who had been going in and out of meetings, therefore passing by Yeosang’s desk far too many times for comfort. Luckily, leaving the office was no problem at all. There was a routine test fire alarm two hours after the usual end of the workday, so after filing out he could slip away unnoticed.

As soon as he managed to get himself into the nearly empty metro, he sighed deeply. Exhaustion climbed onto his shoulders and pulled him into a short anxious slumber, vanishing on instinct right before his stop.

It was easy to locate the apartment building where Wooyoung lived. Shabby and run down, it was in one of the poorer districts, and even there it stood out like a sore thumb due to its dirtiness and air of having been neglected for many decades. This building could be said to accurately describe those who lived in it – abandoned by society and left to their own devices. Most had turned to small crime, unregistered or illegal manual labour, or burying oneself and hiding behind thin walls. A human rat, barely living to scurry around, only sustenance being the glow of the street through shabby, dusty blinds.

The main entrance had a permanent leak from an exposed rusted pipe, prevented from leaking by a kindly donated blue bucket, while the elevator had been turned into a combination of a pigsty and a public restroom. If one wanted to use the indoor stairwell, they would have to watch out for forgotten bin bags, contents rotting away, and puddles of viscous liquid within cracks in the stone chipped with age. Bannisters crooked and handrails covered in splinters, one could see multiple attempts to mask the misery with cheap white paint, which had never been able to properly dry in this rancid, humid chamber that had not seen the light of day. Sticky patches of it had formed droplets on the sides, mixing with mould and hanging like miniature ornaments. This place was poetically revolting. It suited Wooyoung just fine.

Yeosang’s friend of many years had never aspired to become anybody. Without even the tiniest goal, he rolled along with the current like a pebble on the riverbed. The only things he felt strongly about was non-conformism, passive activism and demanding that employment be a choice. The two young men were similar, in a sense. It was just that Yeosang hid his contempt for societal structure terribly well, while Wooyoung took a toddler’s approach and threw tantrums whenever possible.

Wrapping his trench coat tighter around him and holding the edge of the collar to his nose, Yeosang made his way up the emergency stairs – now being used as the regular point of entry. The metal beneath his feet creaked and rattled, displeased at the efforts it had to go through to stay upright and working. About time for it to retire, but who had the finances to save a building that should have been demolished years ago? Definitely not the residents.

There was no reason for him to be there, except to check that his friend still had a pulse. Their dynamic was rather habitual as of late – before, they were connected by university life; same group of friends, same stories circling around… nowadays it was a fear of ending up alone that kept Yeosang attached to this layabout. That was right – Wooyoung, a hard worker’s closest friend, was a ‘good for nothing’ in the eyes of the community. He did not want to participate in the hustle and bustle, claiming that any form of work was not for him. He insisted that KALIN-X only gave him a headache and avoided the majority of widely supported community and service plans. Radically opposite from Yeosang, who did everything in his power not to stand out.

The unemployed fake philosophy and conspiracy theory enthusiast liked the sound of his own voice, and could spend hours circulating on and on through the same topics – society being trash, innocent and naïve citizens being brainwashed by the evil people in suits and with heaps of money in their pockets, how unfairly he was being treated and how he totally deserved better, how we had a lot of talent but there was nowhere where he could use it… it continued pretty much the same, only with slight variations to vocabulary and excuses growing more creative each time. But Yeosang did not mind listening to this. He treated it just like white noise on television. At first it was jarring and unbearable, but once it faded into the background it turned into a form of ambiance and an element of a routine for unwinding. Meditation through listening to nonsense to take a break from other nonsense. Logical enough.

Door number thirty-nine, using the third stairwell. The building had sixty identical apartments, split into blocks with fifteen flats each. Wooyoung lived in the third one. The door was barely distinguishable from the walls, having never been cleaned. So thickly coated with dirt that its white colour had been forgotten, replaced by a brownish grey. All the rage, from what it seemed. Almost all entrances were like that, some carelessly lined by miscellaneous objects – a broken bike, an armless doll with its face and body scarred with a black marker. Its eyes were rolled back; even objects had no desire to associate themselves with this place.

Wooyoung had a basket for umbrellas standing outside of his apartment. It was screwed to the floor and to the wall – if it were not, it would have disappeared within a few hours of being brought there. For that same reason it always remained empty, since those who visited were experienced enough to know better. This was not a neighbourhood where people left their doors unlocked and greeted one another with wide smiles, watering the flowers on their balconies. Could not be further from it.

After knocking three times, five times, Yeosang decided that it was alright to enter. His friend was either off his face or could not be bothered to answer the door – usual things, really. It turned out to be former, as the stench of marijuana reached Yeosang’s nostrils within seconds of entering. He could practically see the clouds of smoke piling and dancing at the ceiling. It was as if Wooyoung’s pad had accumulated all of the city’s fog.

“Hey, you in there?” Yeosang asked, squinting and looking around. He could not stand the smell and coughed. Waving his free hand, while the other was gripping onto a standard black leather briefcase, he crept forwards to the centre of the studio. He had to cross the whole room to get to the big window.

“Hey man…” his friend trailed off, obviously just back from another dimension.

“How many time did I tell you, if you are going to be smoking that stuff at least open the bloody window!” he chided, rushing to let some air in. It was not much cleaner, but less drugged up.

“Okay, mom.” Wooyoung drew out the vowels, his head falling to one side and glossed over eyes staring in the approximate direction of the window.

Yeosang sighed and massaged his temples with one hand. He loosened his plain grey tie and ruffled his dark hair. Why did he come here again? Oh yes, to ‘relax’. Somehow, babying his friend around was more enjoyable than staying at work. He took out a wet tissue and wiped the windowsill – it was just about the cleanest part of the apartment, and only because Yeosang needed to leave his briefcase somewhere, and ended up choosing the one his friend would never bother with. The documents and manuscripts in there needed to survive another day without being rolled up into a joint; or whatever Wooyoung would want to do with them.

He had not eaten, that was for sure. With minimal skills for independent living, Wooyoung relied on store-bought meals to sustain himself. His cupboards were stuffed with convenience store quantities of instant food: ramen packets, crisps… anything that could survive an apocalypse if need be. There was also a flimsy drawer with plastic cutlery and napkins from fast food places, a grand variety of sauce packets as well as some banged up cups for them. Yeosang checked the fridge, sighing when he saw the pot of soup he had cooked last time in the same exact place. It had to have gone bad by now. One whiff of the contents was enough to confirm the hypothesis. Down the drain it went. Rather analogous to how Wooyoung was spending his days. Nothing productive. If only he were to find something to do... Yeosang shook his head. He was beginning to sound like his autonomous ‘barely human’ co-workers. Thinking that getting a job is the only way for somebody to have a high quality of life.

Look at this friend. He could spend as much time as he wanted in his home; if he so pleased, he could roam the city for as long as he liked, forget about what was ‘the norm’ and what was ‘looked down upon’ and just do what he desired to do, all on a whim. To be frank, Yeosang was slightly jealous – on multiple occasions, he thought of leaving his workplace and becoming a layabout too. He would have to downgrade from the skyscraper he lived in and move away from that district for good. Spend all of his days in some shack, maybe move in with Wooyoung. The further he pondered the matter, the more relieved he was that he was good at faking. By restating the consequences of giving it all up, Yeosang just managed to remind himself why he was pretending to be someone he was not.

Having his residence be at a very particular address had given Yeosang quite a few benefits before. Because now, almost all purchases had to be made through an identity card in order to prevent certain types of illegal activity (though Yeosang was convinced that it was all part of a mass surveillance plan), the workers at chain stores and high-end restaurants could see the district in which he lived. It was one of the most popular for ambitious youth; with high-rise apartment complexes with concierges, security guards, gyms, pools and more, it was the modern dream. Ironically enough, the majority of the residents barely spent time in their beautiful residences. On multiple occasions, Yeosang had to give directions to workers who were looking for their own apartment. That, in turn, made him feel slightly guilty that he had the opportunity to be within his rented walls, sleep on a comfortable double bed, have a glass of water while watching the sun rise from his bedroom window, and watch the sun set while sitting in his living room or cooking up a late dinner in his kitchen.

He had never invited Wooyoung over, out of fear for being detected supporting a layabout’s lifestyle. It was commonplace to spread rumours; and once one person started talking it could grow exponentially to millions. There were gossip discussion forums online where anything and everything was discussed, and neighbours in the last few years had become more vigilant than any security system. Thankfully, they never lied or exaggerated. Why? Because they, too, were being watched.

But it was better to be safe than sorry. Come back later to cause less raised eyebrows and then in a few hours disappear again. The surveillance in his friend’s district was practically non-existent, not having been upgraded from a few cameras inside a store here, or a simple antique CCTV camera outside a bank there. Everything was on the brink of self-destruction anyway, so it was obvious that the government just did not wish to waste resources on a place that was crumbling uncontrollably. They would rather wait until it turned into fine dust and give way to grandeur, sophistication and sustainable innovation.

While scavenging for any forms of ingredients, Yeosang wondered what building would be put on the site of the wreck where his close friend lived. Would it be a high rise residential? Or would it be a segment of a department store, its glass proudly shining? This whole neighbourhood would have to be uprooted, demolished and erased for the ground to even stand a chance of fitting the rest of the city. This was a district left behind, along with the people in it. With bated breath, those same politicians who were promoting equality and diversity, and were investing millions into development of their supposedly beloved city, were waiting for the inhabitants of this forlorn piece of collected infrastructure to slowly die off.

Somehow, the contents of Wooyoung’s cupboards perfectly embodied what it was like to be in this borough. Stale bread, with the pieces deeper into the bag turned disgustingly warm. Tiny ecosystems blooming on the crusts. A reasonably well-preserved carrot – a few things would need to be cut off, but overall, not bad. Some rice; since two months ago, when Yeosang cooked with it last, the amount had not changed. Had his friend really been eating and, better yet, surviving off the ramen this whole time? But the number of packets had not changed either… how was this guy alive?

“Hey. Hey. Hey! Wake up!” he shouted, having approached Wooyoung until he was only an arm’s length away. The young man lazily tilted himself up into a more appropriate sitting position, but soon enough let himself slouch forwards. He covered his eyes with the palms of his hands, and let his skinny fingers press on his ears.

“C’mon… why you got to do that, man… my head…”

“Is ‘bout to be bashed in if you don’t stop your nonsense this instant!”

“Okay, mom!” Wooyoung rolled his eyes and fell onto the couch, nuzzling into the grimy pillow that had not lived the best life.

Unlike the rest of his body, his hands were soft and smooth. A trapped pianist who was living in the wrong time. He would have been a genius, otherwise. Such comments only fed his friend’s over-inflated ego, so he refrained from even mentioning it. Even though Yeosang did agree, those fingers, on the thinner side, not having known hard labour and not worn out, would have looked spectacular floating above the keys. Such a shame that their owner was who he was.

“Have you been wining and dining out every night?”

“What’s it to you? Bro, you are messing with my vibe, can you just-” Yeosang took one of Wooyoung’s arms and pulled him up. He could barely hold himself up while standing. It was evident that the world was swimming for him. Could he even see Yeosang’s face?

“What the hell did I tell you about eating through money like that? Your benefits are low anyways, but you are just making the situation so much worse!”

“Look,” Wooyoung stated coldly, suddenly sobering up. “I did not ask for you to come here and give me a lecture on how to live my life. If you don’t like it, you can get the fuck out. I will be all the merrier. Go back to work, or whatever you do nowadays.”

He was taken aback. Did his friend really mean that? Oh, what had he done? The bag of rice in his hand felt heavier than before, and Wooyoung’s gaze had, in a fraction of a second gained a threatening judgemental glint. After a minute, Yeosang cleared his throat, and gave a one-word agreement. His friend was right. This was a waste of time.

“Okay.”

“Yeo… Hold up, Yeo? Where are you heading? Don’t play me like that man! I was joking, wait!”

Yeosang was about to exit the living room, with one foot already at the entranceway, but his friend dropped to his knees and was clutching the briefcase that Yeosang picked up in one swoop, in a feeble attempt to wrestle it out of Yeosang’s iron grip.

“You know I like joking. I was just a little mad that you were telling me off like that again. Sorry, I really should not have said that. It was way too far. Sorry! No need to be so sensitive, you know how I am! Come on! Don’t go! It’s real nice to have you around. You are the only one who visits me these days. Everybody else had forgotten about poor Woo. You are my bro. Come on, sorry!” his poor excuse of an apology had turned into pleas and yelps, not dissimilar to ones a purse-size terrier could make. It made guilt rise in Yeosang’s throat, turn into a lump and spread. It was choking him from the inside, making his breathing shallower.

Look at your friend.

It said.

Look at him, poor boy. He has nobody left in this world except you and you are about to leave. Who is throwing a tantrum now? Be the adult. If you can pretend to be on KALIN-X you can pretend to be a good friend. Pretending is nothing new to you. Since when have you been genuine?

His inner thoughts were unnecessarily hurtful. But valid. When did he allow himself to let go and have no inhibitions? Perhaps when he cried right after he was born. An infant not yet aware that he was breaking rules. Not yet wrapped up and put into the hell’s cradle, rocking side to side to the lulling rhythm of the clock, the news playing in the background.

Yeosang could remember the presenters that he liked when he was a toddler – the only time he could say he enjoyed the silly nonsense called ‘breaking news’ being reported without stopping. There was a man; probably in his thirties, with hair neatly combed back and glasses somewhere between oval and rectangle. His three-year-old self would stand in front of the television and ogle the man. The other one was a female presenter, almost always wearing a white shirt, completed with a new designer scarf. Her hair was the deepest, darkest shade of brown he had ever seen – not quite black, complex, rich, and her eyes were shining no matter what news she was delivering. Those two people made Yeosang want to become a reporter or a journalist. But reality had other plans.

Now he was babying a high friend in his filthy pigsty of a studio apartment. Where exactly did his life take a turn in this direction? He returned to the kitchen without saying a word to Wooyoung, and, defeat written clearly on his face, began to rinse and chop the salvageable bits of carrot and cabbage to mix in with rice. A swift process. He mechanically went through all the stages of preparing the meal. There was no need for him to be invested – he was not cooking for himself anyway. Did not have the stomach to enjoy anything while being surrounded by heaps of grime and decaying, peeling walls.

Time to throw everything into the only pot that had survived the apocalyptic condition of the kitchen – barely any rust and the handle was not falling off. It was only because Yeosang chose it to be his favourite. The rest could not live up to the versatility. This pot could accommodate for any dish, and silently allow the food to broil, not leave anything stuck to it, and allow itself to be washed with a rough sponge and stinging dish soap, only to be put back on the highest shelf hidden away from everything and everyone. Yeosang began to whisper a ‘thank you’ under his breath, not wanting to come off as a rude and ungrateful user. There it was, he was definitely going cuckoo from the constant acting. His real friend was a pot. They probably shared more in common than he did with Wooyoung, funnily enough. If only Yeosang could bring a pot to life, then his life would be completely different, and more entertaining. Maybe he would look forward to his days instead of trying to predict when he would drift off into oblivion.

While rinsing the rice, then turning on the stove and readying the loyal pot, he thought of the news reports he passively listened to while at work. The majority was useless – something or other about KALIN-X. It was basically compulsory to include at least one phrase about the drug in a broadcast, or else the companies valued in billions would not be getting their money’s worth. Other than those, there were stabbings, shootings, terrorist threats, gang violence, sexual offences…

Might be selfish, but Yeosang always wondered how it would be, to have his dead body be shown on the news. His couple seconds of post-mortem fame. The only fame. Would they mention that he was not a good enough worker because of his ‘abstinence’? He could bet they would. Regardless of how he were to pass they would spin the tale in the direction they wanted, to present him in a negative light and glorify anguish. It would be a creative ploy to convince more people to become zombies – something along the lines of ‘look, this kid has gone insane and ended it all, because he was not taking this miracle pill! Order a pack now to be a loyal and diligent worker,’ so on. Lies upon lies for a ‘greater cause’. Advertisements could be spotted everywhere. Even in the most gruesome crime scenes there was a product placement. Decorated in crimson. Bonus points if the logo had red in it. Aesthetically pleasing colour scheme.

No, Yeosang had to go quietly if he ever were to come to the moment of having to flip the switch. It was the perfectly rational thing to do. Disappear and never be found. Like a cat leaving the house when they knew the hour was nigh. He was not working towards anything anyway, so it should be possible. In his position, it was impossible to get promoted or be recognised for anything, so the worker organisations should not pay attention if he were to approach the situation in a smart way. He was stuck in a dead end, where the easy way out was six feet under. The news would not honour his death like those of Distinguished Workaholics if he were to be discovered. The reporters he used to respect and revere as a kid would take his story apart and change it. For once, he would be useful to society, as a bad example, appearing in the headlines and papers as this vermin who had met his end. Malicious grins behind soft lips uttering white noise. Who were they really?

This question would never be answered, for Yeosang had no authority to know. He just had to swallow the information whole and pray that he would not choke. The less he thought and the less he knew, the better. That would mean he could just go with the flow and never be noticed. Be satisfied with his dead-end job, leading to a dead end, but peaceful life. One editor less, one editor more. A pang of guilt hit him in his side. What about his parents? Would they miss him? He had not contacted them in a while, choosing to drown in work and poor excuses for chores.

Many times, Missus Kang tried to reach out to him, and many times he declined or brushed her off with a half-hearted response. Here he was, mildly hurt because of Wooyoung’s outburst, and yet he was mercilessly torturing his own flesh and blood by progressively growing more distant. He should choose a time that is not too busy and visit. A time when they would be at home too. Perhaps Workaholic Recognition Day next week will do? It was a tradition to honour those who ‘paved the way in industry’, so it would make sense. Yes, he should reconnect and be a good son for once.

The vegetable rice was steaming up in the pot, mixing and rising. Yeosang crossed his arms and took a look at his briefcase, which he had returned to the spot he had picked out upon first entering the apartment. It was peeking out from behind the murky coral curtain and dusty grey tulle, completely out of place. He wanted to apologise to the expensive leather for letting it come into contact with that poor excuse of a windowsill. But at least it was clean. He had been forcing himself to view situations in a ‘glass half full’ manner recently; a challenge he took on out of boredom and an attempt to fix his chronic apathy and melancholia. A fake smile would not do much, only remind him that he was acting, like always. In front of everyone. Anyway, his glass was ‘half full or half empty’, and dedicated to the ‘evaluation of the inconvenience something is causing and whether it will be detrimental to his reputation’. The briefcase just had to sit and cope.

Yeosang’s time in Wooyoung’s apartment slowly trickled into one hour, two hours… The food was done, but by that time any hint of an appetite had left his body, and he wanted to escape this den as quickly as possible. He washed his hands, using dish soap since there was nothing else, and dried by shaking them because he could not bear touching the rag that hung off of a plastic hook, discoloured and probably containing its own ecosystem.

His friend had fallen asleep on the sofa, body stuck in a slouch. Hoodie up, enveloped in semi-darkness. His dirty blonde hair made a veil, covering his eyes and going nearly to the tip of his nose. How unprofessional, he should get a haircut – Yeosang caught himself thinking. He was influenced more than he could imagine. But public perception was what it was. He could not deny that his closest friend had the appearance of a hoodlum; a rascal who had never seen the good life, making his wild grins and cheeky smirks all the more disturbing, threatening even.

Not bothered to attempt to wake Wooyoung up from the drugged slumber, Yeosang took his case and made his way to the door. Taking a tissue from the box he had left there a month ago, he grabbed the handle and pulled. It opened with a sigh. With a swift motion the used tissue went into the dust bin, and he was off. Now, his work day was officially done. He tightened his tie again, smoothed out his hair and readjusted the trench coat. Had to look presentable to the masses, or else too many eyes would be fixated on him on the metro.

There were more people out and about on the streets of the district, so he kept to the well-lit roads rather than taking the fast path to the station. If he was fast enough he could make the pedestrian green light. Travelling at a quicker pace than usual, Yeosang strode down the sidewalk, narrowly avoiding groups of youngsters, couples and wannabe gangs who were all talking loudly, laughing and inhaling the fumes of the city.

Soon enough, he was waiting at the platform for the train to carry him north. He had blended into a queue of salarymen reading news on their smartphones, smartwatches, some even taking out their holopads – must be a long journey for them. There were a few holding books – must be working in the literature sector. Yeosang was thankful that he could feel comfortably numb in this group of average people, and they accepted him as one of their own by kindly ignoring him.

When the train doors opened, he climbed on, following the queue and lined up next to the opposite doors. In thirteen minutes, he would step off, walk straight and then right, up the stairs, follow the corridor across the main hall, down to the other platform, get on the train and drift for twenty minutes, letting the train do its job. The seamless work of machinery. This was who would not judge. He sank into the hum of the train and let his vision turn blurry. To others, he looked focused and determined, to himself, he was merely thinking of the contents of his briefcase.

It was more challenging than usual to feign professional indifference. Once or twice the nerves nearly got to him, and an involuntary twitch had almost escaped his self-control. But the fear of discovery was far greater. Even that kind-hearted old lady from floor seven, the one with the dachshund, could tell on him. To anyone and everyone. He moved down the corridors swiftly, head perfectly straight and posture impeccable. A regular robotic office worker coming home from an incredibly long day at work, already wanting to head back. Home by necessity. Nothing to see here. Inside, his heart was racing, threatening to jump out of his chest. With every stride the sound of the pounding got louder and louder, until the only thing Yeosang could hear was the chaotic flow of blood inside his head. It drowned out the footsteps, the rustle of clothing, the distant ding of the elevator… It was only him here. A serene panic.

After what seemed like an eternity he was standing in front of his apartment’s door, unlocking it with practiced autonomy. Counting to nine from the moment the key turned, he gently pushed the door, feeling its sliding motion, slipped in, and shut it, turned and pushed the door closed. Approximately nine seconds was the average amount of time Yeosang took for his leisurely return, nine seconds to be ‘average’.

He sighed, a felt his legs go weak. What came over him? Relief? It would be rational; he had managed to smuggle classified and prohibited manuscripts into his house after all. He rubbed the front of his briefcase and, even though he was in the comfort of his own home, still went through the exact routine of sliding off his dress shoes, placing them into the cupboard, taking off his outerwear and leaving it on the hanger, placing the bag on the bench to his left, and only then ambling into the main apartment.

He walked to the kitchen sink and rinsed his hands. Just like always, the sensor on the soap dispenser only woke up after he waved his hand around like a madman. Nothing ever changed in his home, except when solitude washed over it upon the owner’s departure, and when the lightbulbs flickered on, spotlighting his returning sombre figure. This was why in part, the miniscule problems, the inconveniences, were comforting. Something broken here or there – it felt alive. Problems were something he could metaphorically rely on. It was often the case that problems stayed longer than solutions, so it would be more logical to build one’s plans around the negative rather than the positive, at least that was his way of thinking. Yeosang was really becoming an automaton without needing pills, wasn’t he? Perhaps that was how he would end up on the news: the first ever case of someone having abilities on par with the drugged-up workers, but being a fully functional human, with the id, ego and superego all in check. He could keep on dreaming.

All that publicity would remove all ability to be secretive, however. All celebrities nowadays were so transparent that they were like windows. Like skyscraper, like superstar. Sometimes, the reality shows or daily vlogs were broadcast on the big screens in city squares, the sound coming from them barely audible over the buzz of traffic and pedestrians. Still, with one scan of the code on the bottom left and one could tune in on their personal device, adding to the number of fans, therefore to the number that will appear in the star’s bank account. An efficient system, to be frank. Sometimes there would be giveaways, raffles, game shows, anything to cook up some more e-money and attract a wider audience.

Interactive talk shows and ‘guided vlogs’ were the most popular, however. It was where the audience was an essential member of the broadcast, and the viewers could actively participate (of course after being approved by a group of moderators, the judges, if you will) by either asking questions, making suggestions or flat out deciding for the puppet-like entertainer what they should be doing to improve the show and gain more of everything. It was risky. Riskier than one would think. There were many cases talked about in the unofficial and underground papers of wannabe celebrities, vloggers just starting out and almost famous influencers succumbing to the malicious fans and doing something they instantly regretted.

When passing through his friend’s district Yeosang had spotted a few posters talking of a young lady, twenty one, having been brutally murdered on camera. “Justice for Dasom” – that is what it said, aggressively, in red. Who had put those posters up? Her family? Friends? Those same fans? Yeosang had no idea, but the sheer amount of such occurrences had desensitised him to the miniature tragedies. On a wider scale, did they really affect anything? Did the world change with so-and-so’s departure? Frankly, no. Maybe more people mourned their death than the average person’s handful. But they will be forgotten too. Yeosang was counting on that, so he began to fade away as early as possible, so that his passing would not leave as much as a ripple. The only thing he could wish for was to be replaced as quickly as possible.

Still in his dress shirt and trousers, he was immobile on his L-shaped sofa, staring out into the distance through the floor length windows. Then, his eyes settled on his own reflection. His always perfectly styled hair, his nearly creaseless clothes, his hollow eyes. Carefully designed to be empty. It was at times like this he felt forlorn and useless. Who was he trying for, what was he trying for? It wasn’t like he had a goal in life. Not a lover he could meet with, talk with, adore. Not a family he could deeply connect with and visit without a reason. Not even a vacation to save up for and to plan. The majority of the things people of the past took for granted were now nearly obsolete. Especially holidays. One could have the rest of the mentioned wonders, but only if they still put work first.

He was tiny compared to the city he lived in. A little ant, inspecting the glowing red lights on the horizon. Millions of lives on the palm of a hand; Yeosang’s insignificance was amplified drastically. Was this how the creators of KALIN-X felt? Had this been their goal all along, to stand out from the crowd and be able to grasp it? Change the way the world worked, quite literally… Who and what were they trying for? Was it at all possible to not be hollow?

The collection of ideas, practically sounding like a manifesto that was hidden away in his briefcase, was leading him to question his judgement. Yeosang had always agreed with the aimless way of life that had been drilled into his head since he was young. How else would he move through the years without disappointment? If one were to have set expectations, they were bound to have downfall after downfall. If they were never set in the first place, there could only be successes. Guaranteed satisfaction at any workplace, simply because nobody had any standards.

But this… this manuscript… It was scandalous! Submitted to the editing and publishing house anonymously, it definitely made its way onto his floor by accident. Definitely meant for immediate incineration. And yet, by fate or luck or destiny, it survived and passed all initial screening tests. How? Upon first glance, the messages held within were definitely not for the ‘workaholic movement believers’ nor for those propagating the miraculous powers of the pill.

The author was daring. The author was brave. The author was most definitely unlike anybody Yeosang had ever had the chance of even imagining. From the opening lines there was spirit. A demand for attention. They were confident, unafraid of ever being caught. Was this a figment of his imagination? Was all the pretending finally getting to his head and he was hallucinating the beginnings of his downfall? No, the papers were very real, and the pages had burned themselves into his mind.

Bound by two sheets of A4 paper, the manuscript was beyond ordinary. No one in the office had spared it as much as a glance. As a matter of fact, it had been sitting on one of the tables of ‘open selection’ manuscripts for approximately two weeks, until Yeosang’s boss had picked it up and absent-mindedly left it at his colleague’s desk, who pushed it away when taking out binders and notepads. What if one of the ‘hard workers’ had gotten their hands on it? Would they immediately raise an alarm and security guards in black suits with earpieces and scowls permanently etched onto their face would rush in to dispose of the dangerous material? But most importantly he now was in possession of this potentially incriminating work. He was not a rebel by any means, but curiosity got the best of him, and he had to take the piece home. Smoothly swapping it out for another equally thick manuscript, he left the pro-pill propaganda on his desk like he usually would for something he was working on, while the mystery was with him still, not yet safely, but stored in his case. He had added a few blanks to the ‘presentation’ piece beside his computer to make the two submissions identical; a page counting machine would immediately spot the miniature fraud had there been a different number. Nothing like being too careful. The pill-driven drones sometimes got suspicious.

Yeosang pushed himself off his couch and rolled his head, hearing a few cracks. So young yet exhibiting the physical aptitude of a creaky old door. He must totally be a source of pride for his parents for this… He did not see any of his colleagues ever struggle with pain. Were there suppressants, painkillers mixed in? He could not recall if that was the case, from the one time he lost to the game. His conscious just disappeared. It was ironic that he was now contemplating this, as in the first few paragraphs of the manuscript there was a line that implied just how necessary pain was to feel truly alive. And by that the author was meaning any sort of pain. From a big bruise to a fall out with a friend or partner to the coffee machine breaking.

He wanted to settle down and devour the words as soon as possible, but the fear of being watched was not leaving any time soon. He had to slowly draw the curtains, like he always did, change into pyjamas as always, cook a light dinner, like he always did, make some herbal tea – whichever he was feeling like having, and only then take his briefcase, and with it in one hand and the mug in the other, settle in the armchair in his bedroom. Positioned in a corner, it was impossible for anyone to get behind Yeosang and read over his shoulder. He could see the whole room and observe the entrance. There was no way anything or anyone could be watching in a room he checked every night and every morning.

Once in more loose-fitting clothing and with others prepared for cleaning, he moved towards the kitchen. After browsing the cupboards and fridge gave him no ideas, he chose to fry up egg with vegetables. The more mindless the dinner the better. Tossing the contents of the pan he was cooking in complete silence. The only sounds aside from the sizzling and scraping that echoed around the room were the occasional whirrs of cars zooming down the street outside. Although he lived on the ninth floor, and supposedly had noise isolating glass windows, it was obvious that one could not escape completely. While he was still young, he could live with it. The rhythm of existence of millions outside.

He kept on thinking about the manuscript sitting in the briefcase. How it was positioned, tucked away between random files and his notepad. Should he wear gloves when holding the book? No, since when? It looked ordinary, so giving it ‘crime scene level’ treatment at this point, especially after he had already touched it enough times, would be borderline mad. Plus, if someone were to bust into his apartment right at the moment he was reading, they would undoubtedly question him. No, he had to keep on playing it off as if it was nothing.

The food was tasteless – Yeosang forgot to add any spices and was too easy on the salt. His mind was so far away from the kitchen that his hands got lost and decided not to risk it by adding red pepper flakes. A collection of ambiguous textures was all that was left in his mouth, and he half-heartedly chewed and washed the mass down with water. There was a time when Yeosang would try to impress those surrounding him with culinary expertise, spend hours perfecting dishes and inventing recipes. Some thought he would be a chef and joked that they would be waiting for him to open a restaurant. But that was all it was: a joke. Hours all too quickly turned into minutes, then seconds, then dissolved into nothing. Food became sustenance and nothing more. All forms of dreaming were eliminated at the root and all Yeosang was left with was random kitchenware the purpose and function of which he was not sure of anymore. Who needed a chef in this day and age? Showroom restaurants? They already had the best of the best, and if he were to try to set up a café or a bakery, it would never be successful. Rustic and bohemian social spaces were progressively being eliminated, and that included all privately owned eateries. If one were to name any place Yeosang used to go to as a kid, he could almost guarantee that it was shut down.

So, he had changed focus, not that he had any considerable one to begin with – it was easy enough, seeing as he enjoyed literature from a young age and could dedicate impressive efforts to pondering the alternate meaning to a book, analysing the morals and picking apart the structural and formal techniques in the text. His parents, both far away from the creative arts, allowed him to pursue it since they saw a well-paid future ahead of him. Of course, they had shut down possibilities of being a poet or writer early on, advertising the prestige of being an editor. His kid self… unsurprisingly, fell for it.

The manuscript he had smuggled home was the first time in years when he felt that his career was worth it. He had the chance, the opportunity to see a text like this. It was a rare occurrence, since he was not in the primary handlings department, alas it brought him joy. There were real people, real minds behind some of the texts, and that gave him motivation. Not all of it was nonsense! It was impossible to publish, of course, but at least a handful of people could have the knowledge that there were others who were not convinced and saw through the so-called idyllic conditions. Those courageous souls, spending days typing away at their desks were, without a doubt, not doing it for profit, but for the awakening of others. Passion and drive was evident. They were breathing, blood was coursing through their bodies. Oblivious somnolence was not in their lexicon, for they were abstinent too. Proudly rejecting what communities surrounding them had silently accepted because they did not want to look into it further. Yeosang could finally feel like he was part of something bigger. Like he was standing for something, and not just trying to be unique in a society that was seeking to destroy that concept and state. His resistance was not futile.

A part of him was putting off his reading until much later, unsure as to why. Potentially it could be due to an intrinsic fear of the unknown – there could be something in that collection of words that would be too jarring and astonishing for him. A statement that was so true he would not be able to fully accept it. As an editor, one had to approach every text with an open heart and mind, ready to read opinions conflicting with their own, and go out of their personal way, adopt impeccable professionalism, all in order to support the writer if the work was good enough and agreed with the publicised ethos, general requirements for publication, etcetera. But Yeosang was not in his office, where that façade came automatically. He was not metaphorically feeding off of the nature of his co-workers and mimicking them like a child would their parents. He was in his own four walls, faced with something that may or may not change how he perceived the world he was born and raised in.

The manuscript already had control over him; from the shocking appearance in the office to the attractive anonymity of the author. But on the other hand, it had the chance of disappointing him. All too often, the pieces he had to go through at work started off like the world’s greatest novel or essay, but then that passion, that conviction diluted itself into nothing. All that was left were checklist statements mandated by some big boss up above to make the manuscript ‘good enough’. Yeosang hoped that the writer had enough resilience to write at least a few pages more than the average. Anybody could be regular if they tried. Anybody could become everybody else. It was the strength some people had to openly ‘step out of line’ that Yeosang wanted to catch a glimpse of in the text, for it is something he did not have. It was always a game of averages for him.

He usually took half an hour to eat dinner, if it was something he took time to prepare and wished to be more leisurely. Then, to the hum of the television he would take small bites and chew. For lighter dinners he would sit at the breakfast bar and eat in five to ten minutes. As per usual, he had turned on the radio, not caring much for the music that was playing, and had intentionally slowed his pace to be within the timeframe. There was barely any left, so he took one final sip of water and forced the morsel down his throat.

He gathered the dishes and washed up while counting. He counted his steps without realising. Sat back down on the sofa and tapped his knees. He was too anxious. It was now the time to watch television for some time before retreating to his bedroom and get ready for bed. The daily brainwash was very lulling. So, the couch it was again. Yeosang pressed on the remote and saw an announcer on the new channel slowly appear on screen, but it was not long before he drifted off to a short, restless sleep.

His internal clock jolted him awake after exactly twenty minutes – the time he normally spent resting after dinner. It was time. He stood up, turned off the TV and mechanically went to the entrance, taking his briefcase and walking to the bedroom. Stopping by a light control panel he turned off the lights in the living room and kitchen and shut himself away from the darkness. Setting the case against his armchair he moved swiftly to the bathroom, calming his nerves with regular routine. Biding his time, preparing himself, either for greatness or for a great emotional fall.

After walking out, Yeosang stood by the side of his double bed, blankly gazing into nothingness. There was no reason for him to subject himself to such danger. He could shred the pages right now, hide them, burn them, flush them… the possibilities were endless; the main thing was that because he did not fully familiarise himself with the content yet, in everybody’s eyes he was still innocent. No interrogation team would be able to get any information out of him, simply because it did not exist. Safety in ignorance. But he had already come so far, smuggling obviously banned material into his home, might as well give it a read. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity after all.

The sensation was similar to one when he and a few of his middle school friends would sneak out of their houses at night to roam the streets, see the life lit by the hazy moon, see what their parents were hiding from them. Relishing in the feeling of doing something they were not supposed to. Thinking about it now, Yeosang realised how foolish they all were, subjecting themselves to so much danger. It was in that same time period when there was a rise in the frequency of gang-related crime, hate crime and general violence. Many-a-times did they have to run away from a person trying to lure them into a side alley or take the long way home because their gut was telling them the group in front was up to no good. At the time it was a game. It was thrilling. Yeosang had not felt this silly thrill in a long time.

His heart was racing as he opened the leather case and moved files aside with his fingers, reaching in. The papers were heavy in his hand. It amazed him how much power the written word could have. This could potentially change lives! He had to pay careful attention to what has in this. This could be an underground sensation in the making! A black market bestseller! Those were rather trendy nowadays, even with some businesses beginning to officially publish some works that gained wide enough recognition and weren’t too politically charged. That was probably not going to be the fate of this particular work, but now that the manuscript was in Yeosang’s hands, he could see whether his hypotheses were right. With a sharp exhale he flipped the blank page to reveal a lonesome title, printed in the centre in a large font, with no name to accompany it.

All Work and No Play

Curiosity. A search for the tantalising, for nothing will ever be how one wants it. Dear reader will never see the words before them in the same way as another, nor will they, upon giving it the honour of a second glance, see these humble beginnings and trailing thoughts the same way again. But all have come to this page, this attempt at being a daring literary artist, because of one emotion. A sensation intrinsic to humankind – curiosity.

It questions everything, however, we never question it. Odd, is it not? For millennia our kind had built itself up and destroyed itself on the basis of curiosity. Would it be a reflex to combat the unknown? A strategy to expand one’s own mind to the multitude of possibilities surrounding them? The true explanation for curiosity can only be found if one were to be curious themselves, but that defeats the purpose and logic of the search. To define a tool and a state, one must use this same tool and state. According to modern reasoning and the philosophers of today, that is simply not possible and must be avoided, for the greater good.

So, would that not mean that there are now even more opportunities for curiosity to thrive than ever before? Ambiguity breeds the unknown, a monster that strikes fear in every person’s heart. It is with unparalleled passivity that the general population survives, eyes closed to the beautiful world of curiosity. A land of probability and invigorating risk is being progressively eliminated, by what?

If one questions, they must be aware. If they are aware, they are conscious. If they are conscious, they are rebellious. If they are rebellious, they are dangerous. A summary of the average thought process, is it not? I implore dear reader to take a moment to reflect on their daily life and agree to surmise this.

It is almost admirable how, whoever employs this mental chain, is, supposedly, not curious as to what question is being asked, where did it find foundation and how it could be explored. These good-willed citizens are, in fact, defying human nature simply by not being curious, or having the capacity to supress it to extinction. There should be some form of respect for these workers, these members of unions, these speakers, managers, and clerks.

Certain jobs had lost their meaning due to the curiosity as it was before becoming obsolete. Researchers are only searching within the limits, never overstepping boundaries. Developers are working in controlled environments to ideate and create within constraints. Perhaps the most liberating element of these types of employment would not be so-called creative liberty, but cold-blooded optimisation. The eradication of faults until something could be considered perfect, at least for a season. The inclusion of a just noticeable difference to keep clients and customers happy, and the impeccable design of a fault to be fixed in the next series. It was all pre-planned, with no curiosity for what could happen.

Curiosity does not work according to schedule, does not cooperate when one tries to restrain it after it was set free. It has the strength to keep one awake night and day, can be nauseating and inspiring simultaneously and can be demanding as well as reasoned with. It is a force of other-worldly power, one which cannot be explained unless one feels it. So, if dear reader finds that these words resonate with themselves… that means that they feel. They are liberated from being unknowingly numb to life. They can embrace the experiences of every day and appreciate the beauty of curiosity by developing themselves and the world around them.

Where does the oppression come from? What are the invisible constraints one falls victim to, what are the limits that surround a human, a ‘fellow worker’? Dear reader must take a look around and look into themselves. Is there anything that one could single out as the denier of ‘curiosity’? Has dear reader ever been told to not ask so many questions, to accept what was being taught or what they saw or heard or read? All are examples of curiosity being artificially supressed. Why there must be emphasis on artificiality, is because for the existence of one concept there must be the antithesis, the antonym, the counterbalance. There must be occasions when one’s curiosity is voluntarily shut down, and the human mind does not see opportunity for further exploration. The laborious repetitive tasks and particular chores might serve as a meditation, but they deactivate the curiosity. Is this what the ideal state is propagated to be? Overly accepting and allowing curiosity to age until it is senile.

When we were children, we were curious about everything; engaging in bombardment of adults with never-ending questions was a common occurrence and we would not think much of it. Such was nature. When we began to get older, enter the education system and join the community of sedentary, desk-loving lifestyle activists, our natural ability to ask question after question commenced degradation. It was impossible to escape the induced metamorphosis that was the guiding to the ‘right questions’ that one could easily answer. Then, by young adulthood, we have lost the ability to challenge our interlocutors, falling into common patterns, making predictable small talk, and becoming the world’s best listeners, for we now are not willing to speak for ourselves.

Is operating on a set of instructions the new trend? Is the lack of creative liberty worthy of appraisal?

Dear reader, how would you express curiosity in modern life? For, perhaps, now, because of how endangered it is, the remnants are hiding in the darkness of those who are awake.

It was nearly two in the morning when Yeosang felt exhaustion creep into his limbs and his vision began to get blurry. It was not too long left until he was supposed to be waking up, supposedly refreshed, and getting ready for work. Words were echoing in his mind. Curious? Ignorant? The Big Bad Wolf behind it all? It was obvious that the writer had a standpoint that was opposing the one of ‘the general public’, and was attempting, through intentional ambiguity, to begin the classic revolutionary story – the oppressed rising up; those mistreated in one way or another uniting and going against the one who used to be in control. There were no direct references to people inside the text, the implied characters just as anonymous as the author. Only allusion after allusion. It had to have meaning too. A regular piece written by your local agitator would be name-calling left and right, tearing apart official statements, and most importantly, spinning its own lies out of thin air and passing them as gospel, the real truth. Those were always entertaining to read; sometimes, when Yeosang would be going home after visiting Wooyoung, a kiosk that opened only when the owner wished for it to be, would be selling some underground books - a meagre selection of reflective memoirs, obscene one quid manuscripts that ended up in the nearest bin after a quick read, and sometimes, comedy gold.

The work that Yeosang was holding in his hands did not make him want to laugh. On the contrary he was left rather morose after going through the first few chapters. Left with more questions than answers, he pinched the bridge of his nose and skimmed over the open page again. After a whole chapter dedicated to ‘further reading’ that mentioned psychoanalysis, social psychology, behavioural evolution, genetic and acquired traits… if he thought hard enough, maybe some terminology might had made an appearance in a class or a lecture at some point.

He had expected this to be out of the ordinary, but it seemed that a part of him did not hold any hope for secretly published writing. It had become an expectation for him – anything even remotely against heavily advertised values was probably written in one burst and sent out into the great big world without ever being read by the author again. This curiosity business was profound. And the fact that this is the very beginning of original prose lead Yeosang to muse further. Having been split, textbook style, into sections based on human emotion and feeling, the fact that curiosity was placed first out of a grand selection was making the young man wonder. This could be a challenge: if the reader wants to prove that they are, indeed, curious, then they will feel inclined to read on. After one has been called ‘awake’ and has been convinced that by reading this they are attaining freedom, how could they not succumb to the pull of turning the page?

It was not that the sequence of phrases had resonated with Yeosang in any particular way – it was just that they were so unexpected that they imprinted themselves into his short-term memory, and he needed to satiate himself with more. It was a break from his regular routine; one which he sank into and began to live through mindlessly. This gave him his thought back, even if only for a few hours. After washing up one more time Yeosang returned to his seat, picked up the manuscript and read on.

Some parts read faster than others. There were elements that did not add any flavour or meaning but were colourful enough to keep the encyclopaedic recount of humanity going. He completely forgot to make any notes, merely devoured page after page. At that point in time the only thing troubling Yeosang was how he was going to appear at the office in the morning and how much coffee he should ingest before leaving his apartment. Trivial matters compared to the turmoil in faraway lands that he saw on television, when he was lucky enough to skip promotional messages.

After a few more pages and five stifled yawns Yeosang rolled his shoulders and set the manuscript aside. Nodding to himself he looked at the collection of papers once more and stood up to stretch. Time for a coffee break. Walking slowly to the kitchen the young man was operating fully in the dark; he did not need to see more than the silhouette of the coffee machine, the buttons, lit up and blinking. The aroma filled his nostrils and he shut his eyes.

Curiosity… At this moment, there was no need for curiosity, it would be ‘inefficient’. Yeosang exhaled sharply and smirked to himself. He could not help but be critical; years of studies instilled in him a distrust of any new literary movements and out of ordinary thought. So, he tried to conjure up criticism for the obviously illegal work. What was the purpose of this manuscript? There was no moral, like in old fairy tales, no explicit political message, not even a main character that the reader could relate to or judge… The peculiarity of the writing style made Yeosang fall deep into thought. Even though the manuscript was not perfect, there was something there. Something that had the potential to ingrain itself in the reader – could it be novelty? Intrigue? He was conflicted. For the first time in a while, he could not assign a label to the work.

He waited until the last drip fell into the cup before picking it up and taking a small sip. The same coffee that he had nearly every day. What else did he expect? More often than not, when people expect change, they get static. Like looking into a refrigerator, closing it and then opening it again thirty seconds later, hoping for something new to magically appear. This was a move Yeosang had seen in a late-night comedy show recently – an exclusive live audience recording which he had managed to get tickets to by sheer luck.

When coming back from visiting Wooyoung there was a flash sale going on at the transit station – a tiny pop-up booth that had just opened. Frankly, it was suspicious, but the tickets were real, and the price was fair. So that was how Yeosang ended up watching a series of stand-up comedians performing skits centred around the theme of ‘early twenty first century’. Live was simple back then. They did not have to worry about constantly working. They had time to look inside refrigerators for minutes on end. Perhaps a primitive example of hope, creativity, and curiosity.

His musings returned to the manuscript. He felt like he was catching the drift of the author, thinking of examples of elements of human nature. Go him. He was awake, he was fully functioning. Might as well take the title of philosopher and father of all thought, right? No, his job did not permit him to be aware. Too bad. Work would undoubtedly be more unbearable had he approached it with curiosity.

Some voice in his mind was actively protesting the desire to know what more was held in the manuscript, wishing to stick by the rules and exist in harmony with others. It was the same voice that had been operating his robotic side, allowing him to remain in line, in uniform. Gave him his present life.

If only it was not as exhausting, then said inner voice would not have existed in the first place, and Yeosang would have been first in line to optimistically conjure up plans for coups, propaganda campaigns and the seizing of power. After all, he did have the symptoms of not being entirely average, with his avoidance of KALIN-X. And out of the ordinary people, according to romanticised logic, had to do out of the ordinary things.

Alas, he had a stable job with a stable income to go to in the morning, he had been avoiding suspicions from his neighbours with near award-winning skill. It would be cowardly to jolt away from routine, no matter how tedious, at the first breeze of thought that did not coincide with that of the ruling power. He had been born out of line, meant to struggle as he had been. Like a cog in the machine that acted in place of a time bomb – he had no clue when he was going to burn out. But it was not his present self’s problem. He was surviving. He needed to survive.

But curiosity was a virus that took over an organism painfully slow. In stages. And without realising it, Yeosang had started a countdown. It was only a matter of time before ‘the cat’ would risk it all, just to satiate itself, hoping that, for once, the phraseological fable would fail to predict the outcome of giving in.