#a shitty quality video of a high quality woman...she's a NEED

[borgialucrezia]

HOLLIDAY GRAINGER "Mickey 17" World Premiere at Cineworld Leicester Square on February 13, 2025 in London, England.

[kokoch4n3l]

˗ˏˋ ve kamleya ࿐ྂ "if you want to do something, go fall in love. fulfill your stubborn wish for once"

summary: in which during a deal with overseas businessmen, bonten finds out about your shitty ex from high school

pairing(s): slight bonten x desi!oc, implied mikey x desi!oc

notes: oc is punjabi cuz I said so and this is also kind of a self-insert so... title from my fav hindi song ve kamleya, the video has eng subs btw. dividers by cafekitsune

warnings: dark content 18+, canon typical violence, drug-related business(opium), drug trafficking, slight misogyny, implied/referenced ptsd, past abusive relationship, mean!manjiro, slight insensitivity, blood and gore, implied torture, implied murder, suggestive themes

word count: 3770

The smoky haze of the dimly lit room hung heavy, casting shadows that danced across the faces of the assembled men. Sano Manjiro, the imposing leader of the Bonten gang, sat at the head of the table, his steely gaze surveying the room with a mixture of authority and calm. Around him sat his trusted lieutenants, each one a force to be reckoned with in their own right. The only woman among them, commanded the attention of the room as she rose to address their guests once again after hours of debate. After all, Sano Manjiro trusted no one else to get this deal done. “I understand the… demand, for opium up in the north of India but you should also know we aren’t lowering our price either” She says in English, tone gentle yet somehow firm at the same time 

Her words hung in the air, a subtle reminder of the strength of their position in the negotiations. The guests shifted uncomfortably, keenly aware of the delicate balance of power at play. "We are prepared to meet your needs," she continued in the same language, her gaze steady. "But it must be on terms that are mutually beneficial."

One man clears his throat and speaks up finally. “You must understand Miss, we have no deficiency of suppliers, especially for opium,” The man says in English with a slight accent behind it as he casually adjusts his gold rings “The stuff from Japan is a lot higher in quality which is why we’re here doing this deal anyway. But we—”

“Because it is a lot higher in quality we cannot lower our price” She interjects with a calm smile “You know, labour costs and all” 

The man's expression tightened, his gaze flickering between her and Sano Manjiro as if weighing his options. Behind him, his companions exchanged cautious glances, sensing the tension in the air. "We understand your position," the man replied finally, his tone conceding to the reality of the situation. "But surely there's room for negotiation."

Her smile remained fixed, though her eyes betrayed no hint of compromise. "Of course, negotiations are always possible," she conceded her voice like velvet over steel. "But we must be clear on one thing: our price reflects not just the quality of our product, but the risks we undertake to supply it."

Akashi Takeomi, silent until now, leaned forward slightly. "Our operations are not without their challenges," he added, his voice low back in the same language, his accent a lot thicker than hers "But for the right partners, we are willing to mitigate those risks."

The men turn to each other and start conversing in another language and at the same time, she quietly translates to Takeomi exactly what they’re saying back in Japanese. She eyes Manjiro who’s standing in front of the large floor-to-ceiling windows of the meeting room. It looked like he was zoned out, staring at the skyline of Tokyo but she and the rest of Bonten knew better than to think that. He was listening alright, even when it didn’t look like he was. The rest were just leaning back in their chairs, bored from the constant debate. “Say, Miss…” One of the men, probably the youngest, says in English with a prominent American accent “I hear you’re from India too. What state?”

She raises her brow at the question but responds anyway. “Punjab”

The other men seem to get excited at her answer. Of course, they would. After all, what language were they speaking this entire time to each other? “Really? I knew I recognized that nose from somewhere” One man switches to Punjabi when addressing her “Women from the north are known for being beautiful. I should have known you were from there”

His change of tone catches Manjiro’s attention and he finally, since the beginning of this meeting, turns to look at the businessmen. He obviously didn’t understand what they said but his instincts were something even the executives were afraid of so she won’t doubt that he had gotten the gist of what had been said. She shifts in her seat, Takeomi and the rest of Bonten looking at her curiously. “As much as I appreciate the flattery, we still aren’t lowering our price” She replies calmly in English, knowing replying back in Punjabi would no doubt make Manjiro aggravated as he liked to know what she was saying at all times

The businessmen exchanged uneasy glances, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. Behind them, Sano Manjiro remained silent, his gaze now fixed on her with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. She knew that he was listening, that every word spoken in his presence was carefully scrutinized for any hint of deception or weakness. The youngest of the group seemed unfazed by her response, pressing on with his attempts at charm. "Come on, sweetheart," he said, an American accent thick even when speaking in Punjabi, with arrogance. "Surely we can come to some sort of arrangement."

Her smile tightened, a glimmer of steel beneath her gentle facade. "I'm afraid not," she replied in English, her tone cool and final. "Our price is non-negotiable."

The tension in the room was palpable, the air heavy with the weight of unspoken threats. It’s just then the door of the meeting room opens revealing a new face. “Sorry I’m late, traffic in Tokyo is—”

Manjiro waves the newcomer off. He was obviously with the other businessmen. The other executives are annoyed as hell with the lateness, after all the meeting had been going on for hours already, but don’t mention it as they’re tired. But that’s when Manjiro notices his only female executive has gone still. She’s frozen which is extremely uncharacteristic of her and it worries him. So he does the first thing that comes to mind. “How about we take a break.” He says, voice low and everyone knows it’s not an offer but a command

Manjiro headed for the door of the meeting room and his executives followed behind, Takeomi having to literally drag her to stand at one point. They’re in the elevator. Manjiro eyes her as she removes her red-bottomed heels from her feet, sighing in relief. The elevator is going up to the top floor. “Any weaknesses so far?” Kakucho asks, his voice breaking the silence

“Punctuality apparently” Ran mutters in annoyance 

They all look toward her, wondering what she had to say but instead, she’s silent, holding her heels in one hand, leaning against the elevator wall looking very out of breath. Rindo snaps his fingers in front of her face. “Dude” he says

“Hm?” she looks up at him, uncharacteristically dazed

Usually, she would have snapped at him, kicked Rindo in the shin or threatened to stab him with her heels but no, she didn’t. It was… concerning. Her uncharacteristic behaviour caught everyone’s attention. She isn’t usually like this— quiet, dazed and unconfident. No one is sure what to say, not even Kakucho who was Bonten’s collective impulse control and unlicenced and unpaid therapist. The elevator reaches the top floor and they file out of the elevator, into the private lounge. They watch in silence as she sits on the long circular-shaped couch, her heels dropped carelessly to the floor as she puts her hair up, revealing the hanafuda full moon tattoo on the back of her neck— on the same location as Manjiro has his. Manjiro takes a seat next to her and the rest sit on the couch too, staring. She looks at them, narrowing her eyes a bit. “What?”

“We should be asking you that” Mochi says as he lights himself a cigarette 

Her gaze lingered on each member of Bonten in turn, her expression inscrutable, as if weighing her words carefully before speaking. The tension in the room tightened like a taut wire, anticipation thrumming through the air. "I'm fine," she finally replied, her tone clipped, though the strain in her voice was evident to those who knew her well. "Too many languages just making my head hurt"

The response did little to ease the unease that had settled over the group like a heavy fog. They had seen her weather countless storms with unyielding resolve, her strength a pillar upon which they had come to rely. But now, faced with her uncharacteristic vulnerability, they found themselves at a loss for how to proceed. Manjiro studied her carefully, his keen eyes searching for any sign of deception or weakness. He knew her better than anyone and understood the walls she erected to shield herself from the world. But beneath the facade of stoicism, he sensed a flicker of genuine concern, a vulnerability she had never shown before. “Nah uh,” Sanzu says rolling his eyes “You started being all weird when the motherfucker who doesn’t know how to be on time showed up”

She shifts uncomfortably. It seems Sanzu’s observation was a hit. Her discomfort was palpable, her usual confidence shaken by the blunt observation. She shifted in her seat, a flicker of uncertainty betraying her stoic facade. The others watched her closely, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity, unsure of how to proceed. Sanzu's words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the tension that had simmered beneath the surface since the newcomer's arrival. She felt the weight of their expectations bearing down on her, the pressure to maintain her composure in the face of mounting scrutiny. "I..." She began, her voice trailing off as she struggled to find the right words. 

She couldn’t find an excuse. But even as she stayed silent, she could feel the disapproving stares of her companions, their silent judgment weighing heavily upon her. Manjiro, ever the astute leader, sensed her distress and moved to intervene. "Enough," he declared, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "This conversation is over."

His authoritative tone brooked no argument, and the others fell silent, their eyes darting between her and their leader. “Go back to the meeting the rest of you”

Rest of you meaning, everyone leave and Manjiro and her stay. Without a word, the others rose from their seats, casting one last glance at her before filing out of the room. As the door closed behind them, a heavy silence descended, leaving only Manjiro and her alone in the private lounge. Manjiro looks at her, black eyes a bottomless pit of nothing. “What’s wrong?” He asks

There was no room for reflecting on his question. Manjiro was direct and needed answers as to why his best negotiator had suddenly frozen up in the midst of a deal. “You know him” It wasn’t a question this time but an observation

Manjiro understood the intricacies of their world better than anyone, and he knew the dangers that lurked beneath the surface of even the most seemingly innocuous interactions. The newcomer's presence had disrupted the delicate balance of power, setting off alarm bells in her mind that she couldn't ignore. “I um… I…” She isn’t able to get her words out

He gives her a look. “Tell me” It’s a command

She shifts uncomfortably. She fiddles with her white gold rings, they glimmer under the artificial lighting. “That’s my ex…”

Manjiro raises a brow. Her admission hung heavy in the air, the weight of her revelation settling like a leaden cloak upon them both. Manjiro's expression remained unreadable, though a flicker of concern danced in the depths of his obsidian eyes. "Your ex…" he repeated, his voice betraying no emotion.

She nodded, her throat constricting with the weight of unspoken memories and unresolved emotions. She had hoped to keep her past firmly buried in the depths of her mind, but now, confronted with Manjiro's unwavering gaze, she found herself unable to hide the truth any longer. "He... he wasn't supposed to be here," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I thought... I thought I could handle it, but..."

Her words trailed off, lost in the suffocating silence that enveloped them. She could feel the weight of Manjiro's scrutiny bearing down upon her, his gaze penetrating as he searched for some semblance of understanding in her haunted eyes. “And what did he do for my best negotiator to react like a psychiatric patient just at the sight of him?”

She shifts again but this time he holds her thigh to stop her from moving. There was no getting out of this conversation. Manjiro always got what he wanted and right now he wanted answers. “I… I dated him in high school”

It’s been years. She knows Manjiro is gonna belittle her for being this way over something that ended years ago but… She spills. She tries her best to tell him vaguely what happened— trying to be as vague as possible but Manjiro just keeps asking for more details. He wanted to know everything and once he was satisfied he pulled out his phone and typed something then threw it carelessly on the table. “Is that why you don’t date or sleep around like the others do?” He asks bluntly “Because of what he did?”

Manjiro looked angry. It was odd seeing an actual emotion in his eyes for once even if it was anger. She gulps. Oh man did she hate her stupid ex right now. It had been years since they broke up or well, since she forced the break up because he refused to let her leave. That stupid asshole traumatized her so badly that now even though she was an executive for Japan’s most ruthless and dangerous gang, he made her want to throw up from fear. “I’m sorry—”

“Shut up” Manjiro says lowly but she keeps going

“No, it was extremely unprofessional and I shouldn’t let my personal feelings come in the middle of work—”

He cuts her off again, grabbing her face and squeezing her cheeks together. Her lips jut out a bit from the action. The tips of Manjiro’s fingers dig into her cheeks and her skin warms under his touch, turning the most endearing shade of pink he’s ever seen. “And what exactly are you apologizing for?” Manjiro mutters looking annoyed

She thinks he might just shoot her, empty his Glock out in her head and get Sanzu or Koko to call the cleaners to get rid of her body and turn her into fishbait. “F-For fucking up the deal…” She tries saying as he squeezes her face tighter with the tips of his fingers

Manjiro chuckles and it has to be one of the scariest things she’s heard in her life. “Wrong. Apologize for dating such an ugly little bitch”

“... huh?”

She thinks she’s hearing things. “You heard me,” Manjiro says nonchalantly “apologize” 

Her heart pounded in her chest as she struggled to comprehend the meaning behind his words. Was this some twisted form of punishment? Or was there something else, something more insidious, at play here? With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, She realized that she was treading dangerous waters, her every move scrutinized by the man before her. And as she searched his eyes for some semblance of understanding, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to his demand than met the eye. Sanzu and Rindo often joked that she got away with a lot of things and Manjiro was the most lenient with her. Was Manjiro finally giving her the punishment she deserved for all the other times she fucked up? Oh man, no way she was going to die because of her stupid bitch ass ex. “Hey” He says snapping her out of her thoughts

She looks at him. “The deal is off. I don’t want it to go through anyway”

Her eyes widen at his words. “Wait w-what—”

But Manjiro's expression remained impassive, his gaze unwavering as he met her eyes. There was a hardness in his stare, a determination that sent a shiver down her spine. "I said the deal is off," he repeated, his tone firm.

Her mind raced as she tried to make sense of Manjiro's decision. Was this punishment for her perceived failure? Or was there something else at play, something she couldn't quite grasp? As she searched his eyes for some clue, some hint of understanding, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Manjiro's actions than met the eye. Manjiro's gaze held a steely resolve as she struggled to comprehend his abrupt decision. The implications of the deal falling through reverberated through the room, casting a shadow over their carefully laid plans. But beneath the surface, she sensed a tension, a hidden undercurrent that hinted at something deeper. "Why?" she asked, her voice tinged with confusion and a hint of desperation. "Why cancel the deal?"

Manjiro's expression softened ever so slightly, a flicker of something akin to regret in his eyes. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, one that sent a jolt of uncertainty coursing through her veins. "Because some things are more important than business," Manjiro replied, his voice low and measured.

Her mind raced as she tried to make sense of his cryptic words. What could be more important than securing Bonten's position in the underworld? What could possibly justify throwing away the opportunity they had worked so hard to achieve? But before she can speak, he lets go of her face and his hand slides to the back of her neck, the tips of his fingers now digging into her— his— tattoo. Almost as if he could read her mind he asks, “Are you questioning my authority?”

She doesn’t dare move away from him or shake her no to answer him. Manjiro didn’t like being answered with gestures, he preferred words. “N-No…”

“Good” he says 

Manjiro's hand lingered on the back of her neck, his touch was both possessive and unsettling. She could feel the weight of his gaze upon her, his eyes boring into hers with an intensity that made her breath catch in her throat. His nails slightly dig into the knobs of her spine, right on the tattoo. It doesn’t hurt but it feels hot. One thing Manjiro often reminded her of is that Bonten was his. That included the executives and that especially included her. Her life belonged to him and he clearly wasn’t taking her being afraid of someone that wasn’t him very nicely. “You’re really gonna let a guy like that stop you from ever falling in love again?”

The question almost stopped her heart because it was not what she expected him to ask. She had never expected Manjiro to broach such a sensitive topic, let alone express concern for her romantic endeavours. But beneath the surprise, a flicker of something else stirred within her—a yearning for something more, something beyond the confines of Bonten's ruthless world. "I..." she faltered, her voice barely above a whisper. 

How could she explain the depths of her fear, the scars that her past had left upon her soul? How could she make him understand the tangled web of emotions that had kept her trapped in the shadow of her own memories? But before she could formulate a response, Manjiro's hand tightened on the back of her neck, his grip possessive yet strangely comforting. "You don't have to answer now," he said, his voice softer than before but it quickly went back to being harsh “I am disappointed though”

His hand holding her thigh comes up to hold her cheek now. She’s frozen, unsure of what to do. "How could my executive let a little bitch like that do that to her and not move on for years?" Manjiro's voice was low, his words cutting through the silence like a knife.

Her mind raced as she struggled to find the right words to say. How could she explain the depths of her pain, the scars that her past had left upon her soul? How could she make him understand the tangled web of emotions that had kept her trapped in the shadow of her own memories? But before she could formulate a response, Manjiro's thumb brushed against her cheekbone, his touch both intimate and unsettling. She felt a surge of vulnerability wash over her, a raw honesty that threatened to shatter the carefully constructed walls she had built around her heart. "I... I don't know," She finally whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "I'm sorry..." 

Manjiro's grip on her cheek tightened, his touch both gentle and commanding. He held her gaze with an intensity that made her feel as though he could see straight through to her soul. "Sorry doesn't change the past," he murmured, his voice a low rumble in the quiet room.

She felt a knot form in her stomach at his words, a familiar sense of guilt and inadequacy washing over her. She had spent years trying to bury the pain of her past, to escape the memories that haunted her every waking moment. But now, confronted with Manjiro's unwavering gaze, she couldn't help but feel as though she had failed him in some fundamental way. "I know…" she replied softly, her voice barely audible above the sound of her own heartbeat.

Manjiro's thumb traced a slow, soothing pattern against her cheekbone, his touch a silent reassurance amidst the storm of emotions raging within her. Finally, after a long moment of silence, he speaks up “Fall in love again…”

His words are unexpected but she also makes no move to pull back from him. “Is that an order, Mr. Sano?”

Finally, Manjiro smiles. It’s genuine. Or at least it seems genuine. “Yes. Yes it is”

“Did you call the clean-up crew?” Ran asks Koko who’s cleaning the blood of his shoes

Koko nods wordlessly, a look of annoyance on his face as he had just bought these damn shoes yesterday. “Let’s go back up” Takeomi says as he lights a cigarette, stepping over a dead body of one of the businessmen

“Maybe not” Kakucho interjects as his eyes are on his phone, cheeks a little flushed

He shoves it into his pocket and shakes his head at his fellow colleagues. For a moment they’re silent until— “fuckin’ hell” Mochi grumbles as he transfers 10 thousand into Ran’s account

“See I fuckin’ told you he’d fuck her” Ran says with a shrug, eyes lighting up at the notification on his phone signalling the transfer had been made and completed

Their conversation is cut out with a loud scream as Sanzu stabs his katana through her ex’s chest. They look towards him and the pink-haired male simply shrugs. 

[moonshotsx]

neighbors au but make it band practice

y'all seem to be enjoying the band-era of the neighbors au and i'm all here for it, hope y'all enjoy this as well 🥰

wanted to do a little something to celebrate my one year back into writing so consider this my little thank you for sticking around 💞

--

"Here it is, you can use it whenever you want, I don't have much use for it anyway"

Jasmine let the quartet in the elegant professional recording room, closing the door behind her as the others admired the space.

"How the fuck did you even get this?" Daya asked, clearly impressed as her fingers grazed the console board.

The blonde shrugged her shoulders, "My mom bought it for me when I was like... one? Two? She thought I would end up following her footsteps as a professional Broadway actress"

Bosco was resting their back against one of the padded walls, their eyes on Jasmine, "Given the fact that you don't use it, I'm taking a wild guess she was wrong"

Jasmine chuckled, "Well, mom won't admit she was wrong, but I definitely inherited other talents from her... Just not singing"

Willow had yet to utter a word, they were busy looking like a kid at Christmas as they admired the console. A million ideas ran through their head while Orion checked out the brand new drumset

"So, your mom is that loaded that she can afford to waste money on a professional recording studio for a toddler?" Daya arched her slit brow, barely keeping in a snort, "What an interesting discovery," she joked, prompting Jasmine to roll her eyes and cross her arms over her chest.

"What? Now that you found out my family's rich, you're suddenly going to be all nice on me?" she hissed, it wouldn't be the first time something like that happened.

"Uh? No, I'm still going to bitch you around because that's fun, but I'm not stupid," the band's leader reasoned, "Having a professional studio to record in is going to do wonders for the band, we can finally put up an actual high-quality demo and stop relying on shitty reuploaded Youtube videos of our gigs"

Jasmine sighed, at least she wouldn't have to worry about the group changing their attitude because of her family.

She watched as the pink-haired woman rested a hand on Willow's shoulder, "Let's have some fun with this, uh, Pills?"

Willow nodded, unable to mask their enthusiasm before taking their seat at the console.

"Holy shit, this is amazing!"

Willow let out as they officially called it a day for the band's practice, "I didn't even think we could sound any better"

Jasmine smiled, knowing she had helped the band - regardless of how she felt about some of the members, she knew they were talented and deserved to be recognized for it.

Her eyes scanned the room, finding Bosco by themselves close to her as they wrote something in a small notebook. The worn leather cover seemed to be hand-painted - by the brunette, Jasmine assumed - with a floral design. She was standing just slightly too far to make out what kind of flowers they were.

She watched Bosco finally put the notebook down and curiosity got the best of her as she went to reach for it, only for her wrist to be grabbed by their hand.

Their eyes met, Bosco's intense stare was making her heart beat faster than she wanted to admit.

"Ah, I see you found Bosco's notebook," Daya's voice broke the staredown, causing Jasmine to back down and Bosco to slowly let go of her wrist, "None of us know what's inside," she continued as the brunette went to quickly put the journal away, "If I have to guess, it's probably her Burn Book, I bet it's probably filled with reads about everyone"

"I don't need a book for that, I do it on the daily," Bosco spoke up, their eyes alternating between Jasmine and Daya, "And I say you mind your business for once, both of you"

Jasmine kept quiet as Bosco got up and joined their bandmates to see something Willow wanted to show them, biting the inside of her cheek.

That was an odd reaction from Bosco, she noted.

Just what was in that small notebook?

Jasmine had always liked a challenge, and she was going to find out what Bosco was hiding in that journal.

[twelvegrimmyplace]

MSG night 3 thoughts

A few highlights/ramblings from seeing Harry last night:

- Jenny was wonderful. Sounded great, as magnetic as the first time I saw her 15 years ago, and it was cool to see the crowd being so into her when the online fandom reaction was so shitty when she was first announced. I was mad excited when she closed with She’s Not Me. a JAM. Red Bull & Hennessy was the other standout from her set.

- Harry sounded incredible. The videos don’t fully capture it imo. He was on top form vocally.

- I don’t rly need to go into Harry Thee Performer because I know you all know. It’s hard to express how it felt to experience stage!harry again. Like to connect to his joy, his brightness. He’s so in his element and I think that comfort is what I vibed with most. Idk how to describe what I mean exactly but I guess it was the experience of seeing him mere feet from me but not feeling freaked out by it. Like pretty quickly I didn’t feel that jarring, heightened ‘oh shit that’s harry’s face that I see on my screen every day of my life right in front of me’ feeling. It was just his energy adding to mine when he’d come back around. I’m definitely not making sense but I just rly felt his joy and it made me groove a LOT in a way that felt v freeing.

- The stage setup is excellent. The screens are fucking huge and he rly gets around the arena. 

- Standing by Pauli/Niji was the best call, 1) bc they were so fun (and Niji.....once again respectfully i am looking 👀 ) and 2) it was less crowded on that side. I got there at 7:40ish and we were maybe 4/5 ppl deep from the stage? There’s a mic there and it felt like he spent so much time on our side. Highly recommend that section to anyone with pit tickets at the upcoming shows

- Standing there also resulted in some of my fave harry songs being performed right in front of my eyeballs. Specifically, Woman. Harry performing Woman directly in front of me was almost a transcendental experience. I’ve had a few moments like that over the years at shows when i'm totally in the moment, feeling the music and barely aware of myself or anything around me. This was one of them. It was PERFECT. I didn’t realize he’d be by my section for it and it was the best surprise of the night. Absolute highlight for me. 

- My other faves of the night were probably Lights Up, Sunflower vol 6, WMYB, Fine Line, SOTT always. Honestly wasn’t a weak song in the set? Even Only Angel aka my least fave harry song is enjoyable live for me. Wasn’t sure how TBSL would translate live but it had a ton of energy. The arrangements and transitions create a rly cohesive experience so the energy never dips even when they go to a Falling or a Cherry. The overall production of the show feels tighter than last tour and rly high quality but not to the point where it feels overdone. 

- With that said, I’m not sure how I feel about the watermelon sugar/kiwi encore. Something about the way they do it without any break, and maybe just those two songs as a pairing, felt anticlimactic. Kiwi goes the fuck off of course but I’d personally change that if I was on his team. But what do I know lol. Also thoroughly enjoyed screaming ‘it’s new york baby always jacked up’ at him and then witnessing the coke snort choreo right in front of me.

- When he was throwing sunflowers into the crowd he threw one a few ppl over from us and it was just like the bouquet toss scene in clueless where they fall onto the ground fighting for it. 

- OH also I didn’t know he had run the jewels on the pre-show playlist? Nothing I love more than when harold surprises me. Also v pleased that he had stockholm syndrome on there

And shout out to @daintyharru​ for meeting up! I had such a fun time chatting with you.

Anyway tl;dr wonderful show, wonderful pop star. I love him very much.

[butterbeeryuta]

chapter 1: flaxseed muffins and first times

We never really uncovered what happens after death, haven’t we? Some say that we go to heaven or hell, and possibly purgatory. Others say that we live again in another life form. Other sources also believed that the souls of our body are taken to the underworld, or as most of us know, House of Hades. Nonetheless, none of these are true. Well, maybe one of them is somewhat accurate. Ladies and gentlemen, believe it or not, only hell exists. Nobody lived a peaceful and pure life, hence why ‘heaven’ cannot be real— or that was at least written on the pamphlet I received a few hours ago. There are different types of hells; for example, Hell 34 only consists of English men who wore a blue polo shirt to play golf, while Hell 3 only have people who died heroically, making their country proud. As for me, yes I, I am going to Hell 127— the hell for people who had embarrassing deaths.

Here I am, in a fucking aeroplane, with 7 men and 5 women around me. I do not remember how I died, I really don’t. The lady with purple horns, who I assume is the flight attendant, distributed a pamphlet to every one of us, and it had everything written down. Not going to lie though, reading ‘you are dead and you are on your way to hell’ was something I was not expecting, nor did I want to hear. Then again, that is what life is in a way— you will face challenges and events that to do not appeal to you. Or I guess it would be more appropriate to say afterlife since I died with embarrassment.

‘Vaginas and Dicks, for your safety, not that it really matters since you all are practically dead, follow our goddamn instructions. Wear that safety belt, or something will happen to you— I personally do not know what happens since nobody has ever done it— and for now, please wear the green headphones in front of you, and a clip of your death will be displayed on your shitty screens. Enjoy devils.’ The purple woman said enthusiastically with the brightest smile, her red lips outlining the yellow tint of her teeth. Eagerly wanting to know why my death was considered ‘embarrassing,’ I grabbed the earphones, quickly placing them on my head. The small black screen in front of me suddenly lightened up; different splashes of colour decorating the plain rectangle. The different colours blended with another to form some sort of sphere, which only was shaped into you, soon followed by the background. I was in the restaurant with my little cousin, Seomin, eating the flaxseeds muffin I ordered as an attempt to be healthy for once in my life. Quite ironic that I’m now dead. Nonetheless, I was chewing on my muffin while Seomin was talking about how Mulan is the best Disney princess film ever—which she is not wrong—and I, being the best older cousin in this fucked up world— was not giving a damn. I was confused at this point since nothing happened. It got me wondering, did I die on the spot when I wasn’t listening to Seomin, or did my parents pray for Daddy Satan to come and collect me?

I let the video play, but I had to take a look at other people’s reaction to their death… honestly, some were quite hilarious. One pretty girl had her fingers on her scalp, mouth wide agape as she watches herself die to a point it was embarrassing. One rather young man with caramel-brown hair was trying his best to hold in his laughter as his joy-filled eyes was watching himself… die. Gosh, that sounded really wrong to say.

‘OH MY GOD HELP ___________ IS CHOKING! SOMEONE HELP MY COUSIN!’

Excuse me?

With no hesitation, my eyes turned back to the device the moment I heard my name tore out of Seomin’s throat, and I looked fucking ugly and in need of help; my eyes were wide open, my limbs were pathetically waving around, and I was making the world’s most unattractive noises which will surely act as a cockblock. Oh god, this cannot be the way how I died. One middle-aged man ran up to dying me, wrapped his arms around my chest as he kept pushing hard. Meanwhile, his nasty ass teenage son was just filming me choke to death. Literally. How nice of you kid. Although the video was still playing, it was way too damn obvious. I fucking choked on a healthy ass muffin, and died. How embarrassing is that? My parents called me a disappointment when I came home with a 84% on my Biology test, what more will they say when they find out that I didn’t know how to chew my food?

‘Oh damn, that’s how you died? You choked on a muffin? That’s both sad and embarrassing man’ a man’s voice beside me says, causing me to jump slightly from the sudden noise. I face turned towards him, and the sneeky-ass bitch was looking at my screen. This man was watching my death. What the fuck dude?

‘Excuse me, but who are you? This is quite a private moment don’t you think?’ I sharply asked, disliking that fact that this guy shamelessly watched me choke on a muffin. He just giggled in response, very similar to a child’s giggle. Did it warm my heart a bit? Yeah, maybe a little. But there was no way I was going to admit that. If he saw me dying in embarrassment, then so shall I.

‘Sorry, sorry. You were constantly shaking your head while watching so I thought yours was going to be quality conten— YO WOMAN WHAT ARE YOU DOING?’

‘I’M GOING TO WATCH HOW YOU DIE CAUSE YOU SAW MINE CREEP!’ I screamed back as I took his earphones, trying my best to click on the play button. This would have been so much easier if this man’s strong hands were not stopping me from seeing the truth behind his body giving up on him. Without thinking, which is how I usually work anyway, I gathered all of my strength, pushing the doe-eyed man down, successfully hitting the play button. Ignoring the groan from the guy beside me, he was in a circle with a bunch of his guy friends, or probably his orgy mates who knows, and black-haired boy looked very lost.

‘Mark, truth or dare?’

‘Uhh, truth I guess?’ Mark, who is apparently the guy next to me pouting, replies unsurely as he bit his lower lip.

‘In detail, tell us how your first time went,’ one of the boys in the video asks, which only made alive Mark go pale. It wasn’t just a normal type of pale, he was PALE pale. Then it hit me like the way my mother hits me in the back of my head with a slipper. The bitch literally died of embarrassment. Slowly pulling the headphones off, Mark was still pouting as he played with his fingers. Now that I think about it, this guy is pretty adorable… adorably stupid.

‘Are you going to make fun of me now or?’ He asks softly, avoiding eye contact. Though now that I think about it, we never really made eye contact.

‘Not really. For fuck’s sake I choked on a goddamn flaxseeds muffin—‘

‘Oh my, you died from being healthy?’ Mark laughs, which to my surprise, had me smiling at his rather contagious laugh. Shamelessly nodding at his words, I then asked him a question I’ve been meaning to ask since seeing that video.

‘Tell me, how is it even possible to die like that?’ I asked as I crossed my arms. His bright smile instantly dropped; his facial expression alone could tell that he had no answer to your question. Feeling kind of bad for the kid, I told him to let it go, which for some reason, made him somewhat relieved. Believe or not though, I ended up talking to Mark for the whole plane ride. He was born and raised in Canada, and studied mechanical engineering… until he became friends with drug dealers and got high on a weekly basis. I also found out that his laugh is the funniest thing about the cute guy. As for my side, I ended up telling him about how I was an art teacher at an international school in Australia. But of course, I ended up making the art pieces for the students once they paid me. Now that I think about, maybe there is a reason to why I am destined to go to hell. Nonetheless, I made a friend on my way to Hell 127, how fucked up yet cool is that.

‘Alright pussies and cocks, we will shortly arrive to your destination: Hell 127.’

a/n: that’s chapter 1 everyone! mark and __________ already got to know each other, but this is just the beginning of one chaotic fluffy story ya’ll. if you’re interested in this fic, let me know that you want to be added to the taglist <3

taglist: @ta3ilmoon​ @lelenoir​ @murasakillmepls​

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[cle1024]

fresh to death | lmh

member: lee minho 

genre: angst, fluff 

summary: most sane people wouldn’t help a bloody stranger get away with murder, but it’s clear that lee minho isn’t completely sane. 

warnings: murder, implied attempted rape, generally just morbid and depressing 

a/n: inspired by triple h’s 365 fresh music video, uses female pronouns for the reader 

Itaewon had a reputation for its nightlife—the bars, cheap restaurants stocked with soju and ramen, all the drunks who stumble blindly every night. It was a blessing to live in the shadier areas if you wanted to get drunk whenever you pleased or had a group of friends to ward off any potential muggers. You didn’t see it that way. For you, Itaewon was a ticking time bomb. It was counting down the days until you were robbed, kidnapped, attacked, harmed in any way while walking home during the night. You had very few friends in the area—mainly because most people who live in Itaewon don’t stay in Itaewon, it’s a temporary arrangement—so you had no reason to go out and get drunk instead of doing it from the comfort of your shitty apartment. When you really thought about it, they were merely acquaintances, still nice regardless. In all honesty, you only lived there because it was cheap. It was cheap and far away from your family, and a nice old lady had offered you a position at her hair salon to make some extra cash. She was a sweet old woman, never harmed or threatened even during the darkest hours of the night. It was such a pity to stare through the window of her hospital room, watching her family say their final goodbyes as life faded from her. That’s all you’d ever be: an outsider. You wouldn’t be inside the hospital room mourning someone, you wouldn’t even be taken to hospital in the hour of your death, there was no one to drag you there. You didn’t have anyone. All you had was a rundown apartment and the hair salon Ms Choi employed you at before she croaked—that was close to failing too. There were days where you woke up thinking, ‘yeah, think I’ll end it today,’ but you never acted on it. Were you depressed? Probably. Did it matter to you? No, because Itaewon thrived off of stigmatised self-pity and soul-crushing unhappiness. You were just one among many residents you felt less tragic with the influence of a liver destroying liquid. 

11:54pm, Friday night. For many, the night was to destress from overwhelming pressures at work and had only just begun. As you did with most things in Itaewon, you experienced the opposite. Work still went on, regardless of the day, and time seemed to shift far too slowly for your liking. You took middays off, all the—for lack of a better term—lower class clients would come in the morning so they could party at night, while the more affluent and snobby clients would come during the evening at a time where work didn’t clash with their schedule. Those people were usually only just passing by on a business trip, numbing night of drinking or commute to a torrid affair. Sometimes you had returning clients, mainly the ones participating in hushed affairs. The salon was relatively idle, so you’d given up on the whole booking in advance system and preferred walk-ins. The neon ‘OPEN’ sign still illuminated the door through all hours of the day, but as soon as night fell you opted to close the blinds. You didn’t like the feeling of giggly drunks watching you for no apparent reason; you could only assume what they whispered about you. The bell above the door chimed as a man pushed his way into the salon. You couldn’t tell if he was inebriated or just assertive—either way, you could tell he would be irritatingly bumptious. He was much older than you, perhaps close to fifty or older with a strong scent of cologne, a business suit minus the jacket, probably left in his car with whatever bag he was dragging around for work. 

“Just a trim,” the man spoke as you wrapped the black cloak around his neck. You nodded slightly, pulling the trolley to your side. You ran the black comb through his dark hair, pushing the strands against his forehead and observing the length the hair. Your body turned away from the male as you placed the comb down, opting for the shiny scissors instead. A hand grabbed at the exposed part of your thigh. The scissors rattled against the tray as they fell from your hand, your body turning towards the customer in shock. He smirked greasily at you, “what seems to be the problem, honey?” You swallowed the lump in your throat, trying your best to not gag. Your mind wandered back to all the times you’d woken up with awful thoughts, a wish of death on your mind. A pitiful laugh almost escaped your lips—you could definitively say that those wishes paled in comparison to how you felt now. All you wanted was for him to understand the plea in your eyes, the message of ‘do not fucking touch me’ written across your face. Life was a sadist, you concluded, deriving pleasure from the never-ending pain and suffering it inflicted upon you. His hand drifted again, pushing itself further up your thigh until you pushed it away and stumbled back. 

“Sir, you need to leave.” 

That was the most mature way to handle the situation, but it was evident that despite his age, social status, high paying job and perfect image, the man lacked any sense or quality of maturity. He acted like a child who couldn’t get the shiny new toy they were eyeing in the store; he became enraged. The chair fell backwards with the force he stood, eyebrows furrowed and fists clenched. It was as if Satan had risen from the depths of Hell to take place in the man’s eyes—you could tell he wouldn’t stop until he got his way. As he approached you intimidatingly, you panickedly reached for the shavette you’d previously left untouched on the tray, holding them towards him in a threatening manner. The man eyed the scissors, raising a brow before laughing in your face, “you wouldn’t use those now, would you, love?” You gagged in your mouth. The way pet names rolled off this man's tongue in such a vile tone, it made you wonder how, and if, he’d ever gotten pussy. He grabbed for you again, causing you to slice at his arm in desperation. A hiss left his mouth as the metallic crimson poured from the open wound, the smirk on his face transformed into a dark and sour expression. He looked up at you grievously, “you bitch!” Large hands made a grab for you, perhaps your hands or neck, you didn’t wait long enough to find out. With your eyes squeezed shut and preparing for potential impact, you shoved the sharp shavette forwards in hopes of slicing him once more. You seemed to do a lot more than that. The man stilled, as did you with the shavette still inside him. When you felt a liquid spilling onto your hand, you dared open your eyes. A sharp gasp left your lips as you pulled the shavette away, leaving the man to stumble around for balance. His body turned slightly to search for the chair he previously sat on, only to realise it had toppled to the ground moments ago. Soon, his feet gave out and he fell with a thud. He didn’t move, the blood seeped out of him. You could feel it on your hands, your fingers, under your nails. The shavette clattered as it fell from your grip. You frantically pulled the brown chiffon long-line off your shoulders, aimlessly swirling it around in the hopes of mopping up some of the maroon substance. It was no use. Iron choked your lungs as the scent of his thick blood dominated the air, you had to get out of there. There was guilt pressing on your chest; you just fucking murdered someone, you couldn’t even stay to clean it up. What more could you do? There was a fifty-year-old, fully grown man lying dead in the middle of your store in a puddle of his own blood. There was no way you could drag him elsewhere, you didn’t know how to clean up such a mass amount of blood—and even if you did, you were close to certain that you didn’t have the right supplies. You pushed yourself off the ground, rushing to turn the neon ‘OPEN’ sign off from behind the counter before you stared down at the destruction you had caused. A man, dead in his blood, your long-line covered in the substance, and the murder weapon not too far from it. Panickedly, you grabbed the shavette and light pullover from the ground, casting one more look at the deceased man with sorrowful eyes and vomit in your throat. Turning away from the scene, you snatched up your keys and the camo green button up you’d been wearing earlier in the day. As soon as you locked the front door, you sped through the back room and straight out the ‘staff only’ door. There was an incinerator not too far down the alleyway, the one that separated your store from the next. You could dump your stained clothing there and leg it, perfect. In that moment, you were thankful for a lot of things. You were thankful for Ms Choi’s decision to have frosted glass on the front door instead of regular glass; you were thankful for her unwillingness to install security cameras; you were thankful you never installed them after she left; you were thankful for the positioning of the store right near the incinerator; you were thankful that whatever God—or Gods, you supposed—there was decided to help you get away with murder. 

Hands tugged the green button up over your white tank top, not bothering to do up the buttons in your frantic state. You wiped across your forehead quickly. As your hand came down to rest at your side, you halted your movements, eyeing the red stains on your hand. Soon they were shaking, held out in front of your abdomen with your palms up, tormenting you with your past actions. You murdered someone. It hit you harder than it did in the store—you took someone’s life, there is literal blood on your hands, you’re going to get caught, you’re going to get found out, you need to get the fuck out of here. You quickly brought your sleeve-covered arm up to your forehead, scrubbing at the area you had just touched in order to rid of any blood you may have left behind. Panic started to rise through you, more than before. Go go go, get out, get out, just fucking run. Without a second thought, you sped away from the scene, your orbs darting around frantically in search of something, anything. You were unsure as to whether you were looking for help or looking to hide. It didn’t matter. Your feet unknowingly carried you towards the road in a frantic walking pace. There are bright lights illuminating you only seconds after you step out onto the tar, a horn beeping loudly, tires screeching as someone slammed on their brakes. Your head turned in alarm, eyes widened in both shock and fear. You probably looked insane. A head of brown hair rose from its previous position of leaning against the steering wheel, and soon a young man around your age was stepping out of the car with sharp eyebrows and narrowed eyes. His features seemed to soften as you came into his line of vision, noticing your bloody and delirious state. The pink skin of his lips parted as he eyed you up and down, fixating on the stains of blood on your skin that was evidently not your own, “oh shit.” 

Minho’s head jerked forward at the sudden halt of the car. He cursed under his breath, what kind of moron runs out into the middle of the fucking road? The seatbelt fastened against his chest was soon unclipped and discarded as Minho exited the vehicle, prepared to give whatever drunk fool he almost killed a mouthful. Though when he turned his sharp eyes, it wasn’t the sight he anticipated. Instead of some giggling, tipsy idiot, his eyes focused on a young female stood in the middle of the car. There was a green button up exposing her right shoulder, unbuttoned to reveal the white tank top and denim shorts she wore beneath. Her eyes were wide, panicked and distressed as she stared back at him. That’s when he saw it all, the red. It splattered her tank top slightly and streaked her knees from where she likely kneeled in it without noticing. There was a faint mark on her forehead with an obvious scrubbing attempt to make it disappear. Even though there was so much blood, none of it appeared to be your own. He couldn’t spot a single wound on you that could’ve caused the bleeding—in fact, he couldn’t see a single wound on you whatsoever. Everything about it was a red flag, but there was something in her eyes that convinced him it wasn’t as it seemed—she wasn’t a cold-blooded killer, there was more to it. Minho’s eyes traveled down her body once more, his eyes becoming round at the severely stained state of her hands. The crimson red tinted the skin, her left hand holding what appeared to be the murder weapon: a bloody shavette. Minho’s lips parted as he spoke softly, “oh shit.” Meeting the girl’s eyes, he could see the panic start to arise the longer he stared. He held out his hands towards the girl, almost in a ‘stop’ motion, “hey, it’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you,” his tongue darted out to run over his lips nervously, “uh, I-I can help you out, I’ll help you figure this all out, okay?” 

You didn’t want to trust the handsome stranger, something inside of you yelled at you to keep running, yet you found yourself walking towards the car nonetheless. He smiled softly at you, “that’s it, everything’s okay,” there was something in his tone that was soothing and gentle. Looking at him a little closer, you couldn’t help but equate his features to that of a cat. Your hand opens the car door before you settle in the comfortable leather passenger seat. The male mirrors your actions, handing you a blue handkerchief he spotted in one of the cup holders, “it won’t get rid of it completely but it might help a little,” he offered. You took it gratefully, mumbling a small ‘thank you’ before rubbing it across your hands. A sigh left your lips as you noticed the red on your knees. It was still wet, you didn’t know how you missed it. The male glanced at you briefly before refocusing his eyes on the road, holding his foot down on the accelerator and continuing his journey, “I’m Minho.” 

“Y/N.” 

The car stopped in front of a grimy apartment block in a more abandoned, or quiet, area of Itaewon. You could still hear the obnoxious laughter and drunks, a sound Minho rolled his eyes at, but it was much less prominent than before. Minho took his apartment keys from his pocket as you followed him to the elevator in the apartment block, “no one in this apartment block goes out at this time, and if they do, they don’t make it home until four in the morning,” you nodded understandingly. Though, when you processed his words you realised you had no clue what he meant by ‘this time’. What was the time? Last you checked it was almost 12:00am, almost closing time. That was before you had blood on your hands and a dead body locked in your store. Your eyes squeezed shut at the thought of his corpse, bleeding so profusely and choking you with the scent. Minho noticed your state, gently squeezing your lower arm to grab your attention. He gestured his head towards the open elevator doors, “we’re here.” You followed him wearily from the metal cube and made your way down the dingy, poorly lit hallway, right into the direction of a door labelled ‘3E’. Minho jerked the key slightly before the door finally unlocked, releasing a sigh of annoyance as he pushed the door open for you. The apartment was small, cosy, and also poorly lit. You didn’t expect any more or less, you didn’t expect anything in all honesty. Minho wondered further into the apartment while you stood near the door awkwardly. You took in the decor; a small shelving unit with photos, books and a stereo, an old spongy sofa near a wooden coffee table and television. There was more to the apartment: a hallway Minho wondered down, an unopened door in the living room, a kitchen which held a fridge—the only reason you took notice of it was because someone had used blue spray paint to cover the surface with a large writing of ‘refrigerator’ in English. It was odd decoration, unique, but you assumed it fit Minho’s personality well. He seemed a bit like the bizarre type considering he let a bloody, unwounded girl into his car and back to his apartment. Now that you thought about it, why hadn’t he dumped your ass at the police station? It would’ve been much simpler for him rather than trying to clean up to catastrophic mess you made. 

Minho reappeared from the hallway, rubbing at his neck, with a white towel and change of clothes in hand, “you can take a shower if you’d like, clean up a little. The bathroom’s just through that door over there. I’ll be here when you’re done,” he smiled comfortingly at you. Your chapped lips managed to curve into a small smile before you made your way to the bathroom—that’s what the unopened door led to. The bathroom was relatively small, similar to the rest of the apartment. It had a small vanity and sink in front of a mirror, toilet in the bathroom corner with a dingy shower installed adjacent from it. Your hand pulled the lever handle of the shower, twisted it slightly in hopes of being hit with warm water. Water spurted from the faucet momentarily, a groan sounding from the plumbing of the apartment. A momentary panic rose in your chest, worried you had somehow broken the shower or fucked up the plumbing, but it was instantly dissipated when Minho’s soft voice called out, “it does that sometimes”. As you peeled your clothing off, allowing the water to run warm in the background, you finally took in how much blood stained your skin. The reflection of the mirror showed you the blood on your forehead, dots under your eye, stains on your hands and lower arms. Your knees were still stained red, dry now. With a shake of your head, you balled your clothes up on the floor near the sink before stepping into the steaming shower. The water pattered against your skin soothingly. You refused to look down at the water swirling down the drain, knowing you’d be met by the sight of watered down blood entering the plumbing system. It poured off your skin, reigniting the strong scent of iron in your nostrils—it made you want to vomit. You held it in though, blood was enough for one plumbing system to handle. 

The pair of you stared at each other as you sat adjacent to one another on the old couch, words going unspoken as you analysed one another. Minho’s eyebrows were sharp and defined, his brown eyes sparkling under the light as he blinked rapidly—a habit you identified in the short time you’d known him. The bridge of his nose was strong, leading down to a defined cupid’s bow and plump lips. When he smiled, never a full smile with teeth, the corners of his lips would turn up to form something resemblant of a cat. All this examination was just a way to distract your thoughts, the ones that had been wondering since you killed the man, left the store or ran into Minho. There was one you couldn’t shake away: why were you here? Why had he let you into his apartment instead of pushing you into the hands of law enforcement? 

“Why didn’t you turn me into the police?” Your voice sliced through the thick silence abruptly. 

He chuckled bitterly, devoid of humour or jester before shrugging his shoulders, “didn’t think it was a wise decision to show up at a police station with a stolen car,” you nodded slightly with a soft “oh” before Minho continued, “what’s your story though? Any particular reason you have a blood-stained shavette in your possession?” His voice was sarcastic, as if he didn’t take the concept of murder seriously—or perhaps he was just trying to make you feel better and lighten the atmosphere. You shifted in discomfort and started to pick at your cuticles, letting your eyes focus on the nail beds. You hadn’t a clue how Minho would react to your story—you didn’t want to watch his face contort into disbelief or dubiety as he claimed you were lying. 

“A man came into my salon for a walk-in—six minutes before I was due to lock up, which already pissed me off,” a sigh left your lips at the thought, “I was going to cut his hair when he... t-touched me, my thigh.” You couldn’t see it, but Minho’s sharp eyebrows furrowed at the thought of the incident, “I told him to leave but he just wouldn’t give up, so I grabbed the shavette and cut him when he tried to grab me again. He lost it at that point and lunged for me and I just—” your breath hitched in your throat at the thought of it all. The blood, the sharp shavette, the fire in his eyes. That was someone’s son, nephew, husband, father. Tears flowed freely down your flushed cheeks while you watched your hands shake, “I didn’t mean to do it, I didn’t mean to stab him,” Minho took your hand and gently brushed his thumb across the skin—he didn’t want to shock you or make you uncomfortable by hugging you. There was a pain in his chest at the sound of your sobs—it was genuine, raw emotion. You shouldn’t have been so upset about defending yourself against someone who tried to have their way with you, yet here you were. It was odd to Minho. Everyone he’d had the misfortune of interacting with in Itaewon - with a few exceptions - were phonies with emotions of pure plastic and hearts of toxicity. They all wanted to be somewhere, be something, be someone, and they’d flaunt the idea as if they’d already achieved it—or as if they were the only person with such a unique goal. You were one of the few people who seemed different. You hadn’t vigorously fought to hide tears or refused his help for the sake of pride, you acknowledged your weaknesses rather than hiding behind rose coloured glasses. Your breathing evened out, the occasional sharp intake sounding as you overcame the sobs. 

“What’d you do with the body?” 

“It’s still in the store,” you mumbled. 

Minho’s eyebrows raised in surprise, a breath of bewilderment passing his lips as he imagined the sight of the store. He detached his hand from yours and pushed himself from the sofa, “well, no use leaving it there to clean itself up.” His hand was outstretched towards you in a silent offer of help. 

As soon as you opened the staff door, you were hit with a wave of the putrid scent of blood, shampoo, and fading obnoxious cologne. You and Minho pinched your noses in sync, slightly gagging at the distinct scent. Minho had brought a small backpack with him—from what you had seen, it contained baking soda and gloves. The bag is placed near one of your sinks, approaching the man with a look of distaste present on his features. He crouches down beside the body and inspects the man’s face, “yeah, he looks like a greasy bastard.” His eyes narrowed as he examined the man’s wound, inflicted by yourself, before he turned to you with an enthusiastic smile, “let’s get to work, then!” It was unsettling how eager he got at the thought of cleaning up a murder scene, but you had no reason to judge, you were the murderer. 

Your back ached slightly, your arms were tired from scrubbing, but everything was clean. The blood was gone, any utensils stained with blood were cleaned and all the remnants of the substance had been washed down the sink. It turns out Minho had brought the baking soda to help clean up the blood stains—you didn’t want to think about how he learnt that. Now, the two of you stood there staring at the body. “What should we do with it?” You voiced quietly. 

Minho shrugs and calmly speaks, “leave it,” before turning to leave through the back door. Your eyebrows furrow and you instantly snatch his wrist in your hand, tugging him backwards. 

“Are you insane?” 

Minho looks between you and the body a few times, deciding to settle his attention on you, “yes.” Your eyebrows curve in concern as you look back at the body—surely this would get you caught. Minho’s hand gently cupped your cheek to turn your attention back to him, “hey,” his voice was soothing, “it’s gonna be okay. No one saw it, there’s no proof left that you did it. We’ll leave the body here and make it look like a murder and kidnapping.” You were still unsure, gazing downwards in uncertainty, “Y/N, I promise you—you’re not going down for this,” he enunciated the final statement with certainty. The strong gaze of his dark orbs pierced through your face. It felt as if he could see your soul, every emotion you harbored in that moment, like he had broken down the walls you didn’t know you had built. You nodded slightly before Minho smiles warmly at you, taking your glove-clad hand in his before walking toward the back door. “Besides,” there’s a teasing edge to his tone, “he doesn’t deserve to be hidden, away. If he’s rotten on the inside, he should be rotten on the outside too.” 

Your eyes followed Minho through the window of the gas station. He’d pulled over on the way home, giving you no explanation other than “stay here, I’ll be back in a minute.” Home. Did you just call Minho’s apartment home? To be fair, it was much cosier than your decrepit lot. Thinking of it, you hadn’t been in your trashy apartment since the morning of the murder. That was only this morning—yesterday morning, technically—but it felt so distant. Everything felt distance, slow, at this point. A lot had been happening in such a short time: you killed a man, you met a man with a stolen car, you covered up a murder with him, and now you sat in the stolen car near a gas station. Truthfully, you hadn’t a clue how Minho got the car or who’s it was, but you were certain you’d need to destroy it before anyone could see the two of you in it. The car door opened as Minho slid into the leather seat, showing you a box of newly purchased hair dye—oh for fuck’s sake.  

“Easier to hide your identity,” Minho explained with a cheeky smile. You rolled your eyes playfully. The hair dye was evidently a natural colour, one you could inherit genetically, but it was exact opposite shade of your inherited hair. You didn’t want to bring the mood down but the thought of the car wouldn’t leave. 

“What are we going to do about the car?” You blurted anxiously. The older male’s hand paused as it prepared to turn the key in the ignition. He stared blankly, momentarily, before continuing his movements.  

“I’ve got a friend who can help with that, no one will know we used it.” 

His response made you anxious, uncertain, but you had grown to trust Minho. The clock of the car displayed the late time of 3:14am. A deep breath filled your lungs as you thought about the possibilities of your actions—you’d either live freely or be charged for the crime, and Minho would be too. He helped to clean up a crime scene, after all. Did that make him an accomplice in murder? You weren’t familiar with the legal system and you certainly didn’t want to be, but there was no telling if you had a choice. 

As far as you could remember, Minho lived alone. Though he never explicitly stated that, he also never warned you with the possibility of a roommate being home. Obviously, when you heard an unfamiliar male’s voice in the apartment, you almost shit yourself. 

“Hey, hyung.”   

“‘Sup, Changbin?” The door closed behind Minho as he took your hand and led you further into the living room so you could see all of the couch rather than just one armrest. His roommate sat on the torn furniture, cross legged with his eyes focused on the illuminated screen of a laptop. You couldn’t imagine how much money that cost, or the dent it would have made in his bank account. “Y/N this is Changbin, Changbin this is Y/N,” the roommate, Changbin, had now lifted his head towards the pair of you. Although he seemed to be small, he was nothing short of intimidating—pun not intended. He had a sharp jawline, black bangs that tickled his eyelashes slightly, though you could still make out some of the slit in his eyebrow. His eyes appeared to be able to set you on fire if he glared enough, and it seemed he had a permanent glare. The image was broken by the soft smile that graced his face, highlighting his chubby cheeks as he uttered a kind “hello”. You waved shyly, slightly hiding behind Minho. The older could evidently sense your discomfort, turning towards you to speak softly, “go to the bathroom, I’ll meet you there soon so we can dye your hair. Okay?” You nodded before slinking away towards the door you recalled as the bathroom. Changbin waited until he heard the bathroom door shut to allow a teasing smile to grace his face. 

“What’s all that about?” 

Minho rolled his eyes, “it’s nothing, Bin. She just needed some help and I was there.” 

“You hate helping people,” Changbin narrowed his eyes as he deadpanned.  

Minho shifted slightly as he stumbled over an excuse, “yeah, well I- they-” he huffed, “just mind your own business.” 

Changbin cackled at the older’s flustered state before persisting, “seriously, though, what do you mean by help.” 

“One of those greasy rich bastards tried it on with her, it was only self-defense but she freaked out and almost got hit by a car,” Changbin raised his eyebrows in disbelief. It certainly wasn’t the story he was expecting, “we might have to skip town for a few days. I don’t know, I’ll figure it out with her.” 

Changbin sighed softly, “you go do that, then,” the teasing smile re-appeared on his lips. 

Minho slapped a cushion against the younger’s chest, “fuck off.” He made his way to the bathroom while Changbin laughed obnoxiously at his own joke. He halted in front of the door, turning back to Changbin, “can you call Chan-hyung for me? I need him to take care of the car out front.”   

Changbin rolled his eyes, “yeah, yeah, just go be with your girl.” 

“She’s not—ugh.” 

Minho tried to be normal, but he kept thinking of what Changbin said—or rather, inferred. There was absolutely no way he could have fallen for someone in a matter of hours. He didn’t fall for people, people were fucking awful and unbearable—with the exclusion of Changbin and Chan, as well as some other people outside of Ilsan, they were slightly more bearable. Of all the people Minho had interacted with in his life, they were the best. Everyone else—regardless of financial situation, race, religion, gender or sexual orientation—was so full of themselves, especially in Itaewon. They believed they were above that place, above anyone who willingly stayed after all those years in a depressing city. He hated it so much, hated the drunk people who never apologised for stumbling and almost knocking him over, hated the rich men and women who happened to be passing through the area—those people were the worst. They looked at people in Itaewon with such pity, as if they were a charity to donate to. Did anything ever change in Itaewon? No. Even when rich men in the Government expressed their devastation at the less than stellar state of Ilsan, nothing fucking changed.  

Then again, you weren’t a rich and entitled asshole with an ego the size of the sun. You were the owner and only employee at an old hair salon, you clearly lacked sleep and proper nutrition—were you always at the salon? It seemed that you had no life outside of work. Was that your way of filling the empty void? Rather than drinking in sorrow or clubbing for way too long with friends you really couldn’t stand, you just kept yourself in a salon with ungrateful people. Surely that was worse than killing your liver. Minho pulled the plastic gloves from his hands as soon as he finished applying the dye to the back of your head. You had already started by the time he got into the bathroom, but you couldn’t do it all by yourself. A quiet sigh escaped his lips as he pushed his hair away from his forehead. He was in deep, much deeper than he thought he would be to begin with. At this point it was more than covering up a murder, and that scared Minho more than any crime could. 

The strands of your hair ran through your fingers, tickling your skin as you examined the new colour. You sat on the edge of Minho’s bed, watching the sky through the window. It was still fairly dark, only the slightest tint of dark blue splotching the sky as the sun began its rise to the horizon. The digital clock besides Minho’s bed displayed 4:32am. It was odd how it could’ve been so early in the day yet you didn’t feel the smallest bit of sleep in your body—if it was any other day, you’d be passed out in bed since 12:15am, the time you always got home. Many times you slept without eating and woke up to a cup of noodles before returning to the salon to watch the clock until your break. Everything was going to be different now. You wouldn’t be returning to the store, you probably couldn’t return to your apartment in case anyone saw you. You supposed it could all be figured out later, maybe you were just worrying too much. If you worried too much, you’d probably get caught. The bed sunk down next to you as Minho sat beside you, eyes trained on the early sky. He seemed so content and calm, no matter the circumstances. He was so willing to help you commit a crime, you wanted to know why—would he tell you if he asked. You braced yourself to ask the question, but the words didn’t come out.  

“How did you and Changbin meet?” 

Minho chuckled. He could tell that wasn’t the question you wanted to ask, though he decided against mentioning it, “that twerp? We met in high school, I think? Yeah. He was in the grade below me but somehow knew one of my friends, Chan. Started eating with us at breaks and,” Minho shrugged with a small smile, “here we are.” 

“Who’s Chan?”  

“You ask a lot of questions, doll face,” he teased, causing you to blush at the nickname, “he’s someone who’s always been there for me. Kind of like Changbin but taller and less annoying—most of the time.” 

You laughed softly. You hesitated slightly—you didn’t want to ask him out of fear, but you felt like Minho could see the question swirling in your mind. He could somehow see everything you tried to hide in a single glance. “Can I ask you one more question?” 

“Of course you can.” 

“Why did you help me?” 

It felt as if the air had physically shifted, passing from light to heavy, content to uncomfortable or perhaps tense. The male chewed on his lower lip, “I- I’m not quite sure. It was just this feeling I had, almost like a moral obligation. In any other circumstance I would’ve gotten back in the car and got the fuck out of there, but something told me that it wasn’t as it seemed,” he furrowed his eyebrows before shrugging, “I don’t know, I guess I wanted to know the full story and I- I felt like I had to protect you,” there was hesitance in his tone, as if he were ashamed of what would come next. 

In that moment, all you could think was that Minho was one unique individual. He stole a car, came across someone covered in blood and felt the need to protect them, evidently detested most people, and yet still gave all his heart and soul to help people. How was he not exhausted? How was he not dead? Surely someone would’ve taken advantage of him by now—perhaps that was why he seemed to hate everyone. He was just afraid, wasn’t he? There was a lot you didn’t know about Minho, yet it felt like he could see your entire soul, your past, present and future the second he glanced at you. You glanced down at your fiddling hands.   

“What happens now?” Your voice was subdued, the words coming out only short of a whisper. Minho turned his gaze towards you, taking in your soft profile. Potentially that was why he felt the necessity to protect you—even with blood on your face you retained an innocence and uncertainty, helplessness and hopelessness. 

“Whatever you want,” he refocused on the sky, “we can stay here and just be cautious, or we can skip town for a little while.” 

You looked up at him from under your eyelashes with a teasing smile, “‘we’?” 

A playful smirk stretched onto Minho’s face as he looked at your cheeky smile, “you can’t rid of me that easily, babe.” Then he smiled at you—a real one with teeth, this time. He shuffled closer to you, gently pushing your head to rest on his shoulder. Your body shifted to lean against his more comfortably, the hand on your head soothingly stroking your hair. Whatever happened, you knew he would stay by your side. “Are you tired?” You nodded against his chest—you hadn’t felt exhausted until he asked you about it, “come on.” He detached himself from you, prompting you to sit up straight in order for him to move properly. The bed shifted behind you as Minho moved around to pull the covers down, your eyes half-closed as you shifted backwards to lay comfortably. Your head rested against one of the pillows as you tugged the covers over the clothing covering your body. You could feel him lay beside you but you felt far too tired to comprehend anything properly, you didn’t even notice when you naturally fell into his tired embrace. His arms were wrapped around your waist as your head rested on his chest, brushing against the black cotton material of his t-shirt. 

Your voice vibrated against his chest as you mumbled tiredly, “thank you for helping me.” 

Minho stroked your hair gently, a seemingly new habit forming, “it’s okay.” 

“No it’s not—” 

He shushed you quietly, “it’s okay, baby. It’s not your fault,” you wanted to protest, yet the crushing presence of exhaustion stopped you from doing so, “get some sleep, Y/N. We’ll figure this all out in the morning.” 

You felt Minho leave a kiss on the top of your head as sleep plagued your consciousness. In his arms you felt safer than could have ever imagined. Even if you were charged for you crime, knowing that someone had risked it all for you—a stranger, nonetheless—seemed to make it all worth it. What you learned from this experience was not just how to cover up a murder or clean up bloodstains, it was that there are good people in Itaewon. Not everyone will use you or look down on you, there are people just like you. Hopeless, stuck, full of hatred towards people who seem to be weighed down by some burdensome invisible crown. You’d met someone who openly felt as helpless as you did—that’s what helped you sleep at night. 

“Did you see the news report?” Changbin’s voice came clearly through the speaker of Minho’s cellphone. 

“No, what’s it say this time?” 

There was a rattle from Changbin’s side of the phone, probably the sound of him throwing the television controller on the coffee table—a habit that irked Minho to no end since it always fucked up the remote. “Apparently he was embezzling work related funds because he owed a shit tonne of money to some unknown drug lord,” the older’s eyebrows shot up at the revelation. No wonder, he certainly looked like a lying, greasy bastard. Changbin spoke matter-a-factly, though Minho could practically feel the boy’s teasing smile, “looks like your girl has an eye for the bad ones.” 

“Shut the fuck up, Changbin.” 

The two shared a laugh before the line went silent, other than a few indistinct mumbles, “Chan-hyung was wondering if you two were coming back anytime soon.” 

Minho looked towards your sleeping form beside him at the question. You looked so peaceful, ethereal, clad in his light blue t-shirt with freshly dyed hair and no makeup covering your skin. Even if life was different, difficult at times, having you with him made it a whole lot more endurable. At the end of the day, he always had someone to come home to—whether home was a motel in the middle of a new town or a cheap apartment across from a nightclub the two of you had been drinking at. His free hand came down to gently stroke your locks, the habit he had unknowingly grown to love. 

“I don’t think so, not yet at least.” 

[blue-honeycomb]

Escape Artist: Chapter 1 [Aizawa x Reader]

Decided to play around with this for a bit before going back to my other stuff.

Masterlist

Prologue | Part 1

---

The Escape Artist stared at the television screen with incomprehension, blinking once, twice, until a small hand smacked her dead center in the face. The force was enough to shake her from her thoughts and she cast a sidewards glare at the little brat sitting casually beside her.

Big, off-white eyes stared unflinchingly into her own, equally white, featureless face twisting into some form of expression that was lost on her. Luckily, the little hellion's hair was prone to flashing colors with their emotions, so she at least has some idea as to what they wanted. Even if that idea was vague at best.

"How was I supposed to know there was a whole pack of heros right there?" She huffed, casting her eyes back to the news special broadcasting her latest anti-kidnapping kidnapping with concerningly clear footage. Like, crystal clear HD, not some fuzzy security camera but media quality definition; the kind that got you recognized.

On the screen was a video of her popping into existence in a police station not even 3 yards from where a group of heros and police officers were finishing up an interview, setting the child she'd brought in a chair as he chewed on the mochi she'd thought to bring with her for just such a purpose. As though in slow motion, she could see her screen self whip around and suddenly freeze, staring directly at the heros, and consequencely the cameras, before disappearing once more. Honestly, it was pretty comical, and apparently, a good portion of the in studio reporters seemed to think so too.

"That," She pointed at the screen for emphasis while leveling the yellow flashing, blank-faced little shit a glare. "Was not intentional, no matter what you little misfits seem to think." From the shadow of the color flashing cretin popped another one, this one gray haired and black eyed, grinning widely at her with his wickedly sharp teeth.

"Don't make up shit just cuz you can't understand me. Don't think I'm not on to you, shark boy." Not that any of her brats ever listened to a thing she said anyway. The only one who ever seemed to try was Spitter, but that was because the boy couldn't say no to anyone ever, so it was never satisfying. Hard to feel victorious about getting your way when it took years of abuse to make the person (a little fucking boy) willing to heel on command. Thinking about how'd she'd found the little guy made her stomach turn.

Moving on before she breaks something.

Shark brat said something about hero costumes to Whiteout Brat and a lot of gesturing took place, as well as a good bit of yelling. Thankfully they lived far enough underground to avoid being hear by any passerbys. Escape Artist turned away while they were distracted and let them entertain themselves while she thought about what she'd just seen.

It was the first time the public had seen conclusive evidence of her existence outside of a few shitty grocery store video feeds, and the entirety of Japan seemed to be eating it up. Words like vigilante and uncatchable were being tossed around, as well as theories about teleportation quirks and being a greiving mother seeking vengeance. All these things would have made her snort in amusement had it been even a few months ago. But now? Now she couldn't afford to get caught or have a hoard of glory-hounds on her trail. Too many mouths to feed, for one, and secondly, too many little bodies following her when she wasn't looking. Anything could happen with the added variable of nosy superpower enhanced dogooders.

The problem with working with homeless, traumatized children is that after you've taken care of them for a while they come to expect you to actually take care of them. As in, not just feeding them occasionally and giving them a place to crash, but actually filling that parent shaped whole in their lives and taking over all the responsibilities that comes with it. Like protection, love and trust. And time. Especially time. So much more than she has to spare.

So they've taken to following her when she's not watching closely enough, and that terrifies her because she can give them love and trust in abundance, but protection is something she just can't provide. She simply isn't strong enough to take them with her everywhere she goes, let alone into a situation that may one day be her last.

Speaking of situations.

It was time to go out and get more food. While nothing went bad in her inventory, thank God, it never actually stayed full with how many mouths needed feeding everyday. Shark boy alone could put away half his body weight in a single sitting if given the chance, and even that's got nothing on Bull or Hot Shot. Honestly, and though Escape Artist would never say it aloud, Bull's vigorous appetite may have been the reason she was abandoned in the first place. She just had to eat so much to function that even with the triweekly raids Escape Artist could barely keep up with the ever growing demand.

And then there's Hot Shot. Nicely put, he was a rather enthusiastic young boy in possession of a very destructive, fuel-exhaustive quirk neither she nor he had any idea how to train. It wasn't until he'd joined her merry little band that she'd learned the location of every clothing store in the city. Every single one of them.

Her life sometimes, she swears.

There was a shattering sound in the designated kitchen area, followed by a high pitched screech that fell somewhere between a frog croak and a chirp. Not even a second later the sound of footsteps darting through the tunnels at frankly ridiculous speeds creeked overhead, followed closely by the wall rattling thud of Bull chasing right after.

Escape Artist sighed, running a hand through her hair and pulling slightly. Beside her, Shark boy leapt to his feet in a dead run to go watch the drama unfold with unholy glee, Whiteout following at a slightly more moderate pace. Not even 8 in the morning and already the chaos had begun.

Her head thud quietly against the back of the couch. "I don't get paid enough for this shit."

---

Escape Artist was more than a bit concerned by what had happened on her way back home, but she supposed it could have been worse. For one thing, she wasn't dead, and for another, neither was the man she'd smacked headfirst into (or more accurately, he'd smacked face first into her). Unfortunately for the man though, the impact had left him notably unconscious and maybe a little bruised around the nose and forehead. In short, she done fucked up and this time it didn't involve another mouth to feed… she hoped. She didn't know if she had the patience needed to take care of a full grown man on top of the 8 kids at home and the 2 feral cretins that visited occasionally.

It'd been a simple case of bad luck all around, honestly. She'd just finished robbing the local Walmart (yes, it still exists and she still doesn't know how to feel about that months on) and was coming out of ID when she's suddenly been thrown to the ground by a speeding black mass all but flying through the darkened alley. Her first thought upon getting over her shock was to thank whatever was watching over her that night it wasn't a car. Her second was to fret over whoever she'd just gotten killed.

Luckily, it hadn't been a car and the stranger had survived the encounter. So, all was good in her books, besides the obvious part where the guy was laying unconscious in an alley and sporting an obvious hero getup in the shadier part of this district. If that wasn't asking for a knife in the back than she didn't know what was.

So now here she was, sitting across from the unmoving lump of man, chin in hand and elbows firmly planted on her thighs. She'd covered him up with a blanket from her inventory some time ago to keep him at least somewhat warm as the night gradually grew colder around them. She didn't think she'd manage to get the thing back before the guy was up and trying to kick her ass, but Hot Shot needed to learn to control his flames anyway and maybe going coverless for a while was just the motivation he needed to do so. She pointedly didn't think about the extra comforters she'd grabbed because she knew the first wouldn't last three nights in the little shit's care.

She blinked slowly, eyes roaming over what little bit of the man she could make out from under the blanket. Long, dark hair curling over the blanket and his heavily stubbled face (she'd picked the wild mass up off the filthy ground because ew), long lashes and a narrow, masculine face. He was attractive for sure, though the dark lines around his eyes, nose and forehead made him seem almost sickly pale in the unflattering street light. What she noticed most though was the peeks of sleek, firm muscle that the fluffy covers, ridiculously huge scarf and baggy clothing couldn't hide.

She was a woman with damn human needs. It'd been at least 3 years since she's gotten any and she was long overdue. She felt strongly that she should be able to appreciate this man's undeniable beauty so long as she kept her hands to herself and didn't do anything creepy like take pictures or some shit. She blatantly ignored the little voice whispering about how equally creepy it was to watch someone sleep without their consent.

It was also creepy how the observe function of her quirk let her learn a few tidbits about the man without any conscious effort, but for the most part she ignored the notifications hovering around the man all together. It wasn't like she'd ever meet the guy again after this, unless he was trying to arrest her of course. Either way, she doubted learning this guy's name or whatever was really worth invading his privacy anymore than her mere existence did. She'd like to think she has some standards.

In her uncharacteristic moment of distraction she failed to notice the subtle shift of the man's head before he went eeriely still. It wasn't until she was shifting to get more comfortable and noticed that a section of his hair was misplaced that she realized her mistake.

It happened too fast for her to properly react. With a quiet that belied the strength behind the attack, the man launched himself into her personal space and had her wrapped head to toe in the weird scarf he had with him. On instinct she tried to open her ID, but with a cold chill of realization discovered she couldn't get it to activate. In fact, her whole world seemed to suddenly swirl on its axis and for the first time since she'd come to this place her mind blanked with true, mortal terror.

His eyes glowed deep, sinister red against the shadows spread over his handsome face, dark hair whipping above his head like a dark, inhuman halo. Those muscles she'd been admiring just moments ago were suddenly the weapons of intimidation they were meant to be, something that made her heart race and quake with fear.

And her body. Maybe even worse than the sudden influx of terror was the sudden aknowledgement of her body's long forgotten functions. Where once she was satisfied she was now hollow, the movement of long unused organs felt like insects crawling though her body, scratching and nipping as they went.

Suddenly, the world was not just a thing that could be walked away from with a single though and a armful of goods. For the first time since she'd opened her eyes in that alleyway nearly a year ago, it was just her, the world and all the dangers that came with it staring her down with burning red eyes.

For the first time since she received her quirk she was well and truly alive.

"Escape Artist, was it."

[yuzurk]

Choi’s Choice - going right down memory lane  Game: Golden Sun 21.952 watching | 192.038.185 total views

“Wassup everyone! This is Yuzu and you’re watching Choi’s Choice!”

Once more the stream starts with Yena sitting in front of her laptop, headphones over her ears as she gets comfortable in her office chair. “Hello, hello my lovely viewers! Welcome, welcome to another episode of Choi’s choice!” With enthusiasm she claps her hands together and folds them under her chin, lips pursing into a smile as she puffs her cheeks up.

“If you’ve been following my tweets you know that today’s episode will be a very special one that I hold dear to my heart because~ I have been elected to participate in a charity project! Meaning that all donations you make today will go directly into charity organisations all across the world! Further information is left in the description on the video- if twitch did it right there should be... a tiny fancy button there directing you to get more info...” Trailing off mid-sentence to read the commentaries streaming in, the young woman smiles when apparently the navigation is easy accessible! 

“Wonderful!” She exclaims finally and turns back to stare straight into the camera with a smile. “So as I was sayin’- it’s for a good cause! So I’m gonna be streamin’ not only one- not two, no! I’m gonna be streamin’ for three hours in total today! And to celebrate the occasion further I’ll be streamin’ one of my all time fave games I haven’t touched in centuries!”

She loads the screen up and just like that the view switches to her in miniature right side corner while the game screen takes up most of the view. Yena sings along to the intro as it plays and reads the title out loud as soon as it pops up.

“GOLDEN SUN! That’s right folks! This game is almost as ol’ as good ol’ me and I love it! Was one of the first games I played when I got my gameboy advance. Those were the days!” She chats on as she sets up the intro settings, quickly going through the title menu. “So our dude’s name is Isaac and I do love his name so I ain’t gonna change that one.” After that comment she falls silent, letting the cut scene unfold that opens the game. A few gasps and “oh no’s” are given when the situation is revealed to her audience but only when she’s actually free to move with Garet in the party does she speak up again, humming under her breath. 

“Oh~ the nostalgia! It’s been like... 5 years since I last played this? Sure the graphics are meh but just... ahh you’ll see!” An alarm startles her up before she realizes what it means and the streamer is tilting her head forward with a laugh. “Right! My set reminder! So this is my timer telling me to remind ya guys to donate lotsa money! Yer donations go to kids in Africa, into their healthcare and education as well as supportin’ the people there to get clean water n stuff! Be wise, do a good deed today! I’ll try to make this stream as entertaining for y’all as I can, okay?! Well then- let’s see what else do we got comin’ at us!”

She’s about thirty minutes in when the intro finishes and despite it being a few years there are still tears in her eyes. “Man... it sucks y’lose yer father right off the fuckin’ badge when the game starts. Old school games really knew how to mess up a dude.” A sigh leaves her lips as she leans back to witness yet another cut scene, a gasp falling from her lips when the newly introduced scholar Kraden suggests sneaking into the holy sanctum. “Y’see- this is why knowledge is dangerous! Curious people be screwin’ with dangerous artifacts, draggin’ kids into their business- damn you Kraden!” 

There’s comments pouring in still, the number of viewers growing as she streams on and the donation counter running on full speed. It fills Yena with pride to be doing something good for the world, to give back instead of cash the money for her own savings. Her commentary is just a tad bit more witty and sassy, the effort she makes to be funny for her audience seems doubled and by the time she’s an hour and a half in, Yena has only just playing through the whole story leading up to the reason they are even heading out on a journey in the first place.

“So far so good- guess it’s only fair we gotta bring the stones back if we’re the ones that let ‘em get stolen, eh? Sucks doe- technically this was all Kraden’s idea, what the fuck ol’ man?! Dun rope us into yer shitty scholar curiosity expeditions and then let yerself get kidnapped! Geez.” Her eyes roll but knowing how the story will unfold she can’t help but think fondly of the old guy.

She stays true to her character anyway and keeps on playing, reminding people to donate every twenty minutes into her gameplay. 

By the time she wraps up they have reached the high city up in the snowy areas and are about to get their forth party member but that is knowledge her audience will find out either by playing the game themselves or staying tuned in hopes for a continuation of her playing golden sun. “Well then! Hope y’all had fun. It seems we gotta stop here. My tummy’s doin’ the rumbles that only chicken can satisfy and I’ve been on air for legit 3 hours now.I’d go longer but I doubt y’all wanna watch me inhale fried chicken while I grease up my keyboard.” Even Yena herself has to scrunch her nose at that thought, quickly shaking her head in the process. As much as she enjoyed the spotlight and as confident as she was in her abilities to make about every activity entertaining, there were limits to certain things that she wasn’t always sure she wanted crossed. Gaming while eating and streaming seemed one of those lines. 

“Alright folks! This is where I wrap up with some quick shout-outs! We start off with @ kingdomcanes for their hilarious compilation of “the different Yuzu screams”. I was laughin’ so hard- geez I do make funny sounds, huh? Next up is @ zoel2312 and their animated art of me flailin’ about as I tried to beat that boss from the last story stream. That’s some good quality art ma dude, thanks! Also I’m gonna give another shoutout to @ vortexbiatch for actually donating 500 bucks! Woah thank you so much, you’ve got a heart of gold, those in need will hella appreciate this. Thank ya so much for enjoyin’ my streams and donatin’ so much! I love y’all, yer awesomely wicked and just... muah! I love y’all!” 

Alas she bids her audience goodbye with a quick wave and her trademark wink before blinking her lid open to frame it with a piece sign. “It’s time to bid goodbye to your favourite lemon~ Yuzuuuu out!”

[prorevenge]

Don't f*ck with IT, we run the world.

long story. tl:dr at the end.

All names and locations changed. About 10 years ago, on Neptune, I was working in my first software development job out of university. We made websites, promotional material, and supplied equipment for conferences and trade shows. So if a company wanted a booth at some event, we would produce everything and support them for the duration of the event. This is where I came across Maleficent. She was in charge of the marketing department of a company on nearby Pluto, and they hired us for a convention they were attending. I produced the website for them, which consisted of some pictures/videos of their latest product with a few paragraphs of text. Also some links to their social media, a sign up form etc., pretty basic stuff. It's important to note here that I never met Maleficent in person during this time, just talked to her once on the phone, the rest via email. She mainly dealt with our project manager, a lovely woman called Credenza, who made sure all the different parts worked together.

Part 1: The f*ck up.

Everything was going fine, I'd produced their website and was just waiting for Maleficent to send some images and videos of their product to replace the placeholders I had been using in the meantime. This was a Tuesday, the event was the following Monday. I emailed Maleficent asking when I could expect the files and got no reply. Still no reply Wednesday, so Thursday I asked Credenza to chase it up. She stopped by my desk a short after, a bit flustered. She'd just spoken to Maleficent, who had angrily claimed that she had sent them the previous week and had emailed me - she blamed Credenza and me for being incompetent. I could find it nowhere in my inbox/junk folder, so as far as I was concerned she was lying or had sent it to the wrong email. Credenza contacted her again, confirmed my email address, and asked her to send them again. She shouted at Credenza some more but eventually sent the files, but not until the last moment on Friday afternoon as I was getting ready to leave for the weekend. B*tch. I had to run that evening, but I promised Credenza I would log on Saturday morning and copy the files to the website and everything would be ready for Monday. Saturday morning and the video files didn't work. I don't remember the details exactly, but the files were made using some kind of proprietary codec that I just couldn't convert to something usable on their website. Long story, marginally less long, I spent Saturday praying to gods I didn't believe in for a miracle that wouldn't happen while trying to get in contact with Maleficent. Eventually on Sunday she replied back and I slowly walked her through the process of using another video format - she was using some crappy pirated software I'd never heard of to produce the videos. When she finally sent it, it still was wrong, but at least it was in a format I could read and convert myself. It all worked out in the end, the website was ready by Sunday evening and the convention went well.

Part 2: Trying to get me fired.

Following the convention, Maleficent was furious. She again accused us of incompetence and me personally for f*cking up her weekend (what about my weekend?!). I fired back at what a pain in the ass Maleficent had been (the guys who met her at the event said she was no easier in person) and how I'd done everything I could, but Maleficent denied everything and questioned how I was still in a job. This made Credenza look bad and her and her bosses (none of them tech savvy) didn't understand what I was talking about with 'wrong codecs' and file formats - it probably sounded like I was just trying to cover my ass after the fact. Plus, when it comes to money, the customer is always right. So it ended up becoming a sort of "let's just agree that we all made mistakes" thing, but it was clear that all fingers were pointing at me. Consequently I didn't get a pay rise I had been in line to get (meaning I couldn't move out from my parents’ house, which was killing me) and was put on probation for 6 months, though I left for another job on Vulcan after 2.

Part 3: Revenge is dish best served with béarnaise sauce and Sauvignon blanc.

About 6 Earth years later, I joined a company that sold women’s boots, all shapes, colours (that's how we spell it on Vulcan) and sizes. They had their own IT department that produced their websites and other internal systems. Little did I know that Maleficent had also moved to this company at some point, again in the marketing department, which was downstairs from me. There was a promotional event soon where our company was giving away goody bags with some freebies to anyone who signed up. The bags themselves were some high quality laminated things that were being specially printed up with our company's branding, plus a QR code. The QR code would take you to a special page on our website with discounts. I met with Maleficent (who clearly didn't remember me from before) and talked about the special page I was to produce for the website. She was a pain in the ass again. She was never available (she would take an hour and half lunch every day, and reclaim it on expenses) and when I did meet with her, she changed the requirements constantly, "Can you just change that bit? Never mind, put it back. Oh, actually could you put this shitty animation at the top of the page, no that's a terrible idea, why would you suggest that?" etc. Also, sitting with her, I witnessed how belittling she was to everyone in her team and would gossip about anybody if they weren't there at that moment. Obviously all the while remembering our previous encounter where she had all but got me fired. I thought about calling her out on this, but it would have achieved nothing and I had only just started working at this company a few weeks ago, I didn't want to make waves. So, I persevered and eventually my web page was done and I gave her the URL to send to the bag makers for printing the QR code. But she screwed up. I was copied into an email chain with her sending off the URL to the bag makers and she had done it wrong. The URL was something like "http://www.ourwebsite/offer" but she had sent "htttp://" instead. I double checked what I had sent her and mine was correct, she had obviously typed it out rather than using copy/paste. We were ordering 1000 of these bags from the printers and they were £1.15 each (I mean, 1.15 space credits). Then I noticed way down in the email chain, she had copied her password for the bag website: it was "password" - yes, these oxygen thieves exist by the millions. I logged in with her details (from outside work, with a proxy, just in case) and could see she had indeed ordered 1000 of the bags with the wrong URL for the QR code. I quickly added an extra zero to the quantity and also pushed the requested delivery date back to a day before they were needed. I wanted to change the URL to some porn website, but that wouldn’t match what she had sent in the email, and I wanted her to be unable to escape blame.

Part 4: The aftermath.

Honestly, I thought nothing would actually happen. I assumed the bag company would spot the URL mistake and just fix it. I assumed someone would notice the tenfold quantity increase and delivery date change. But as they say, when you make an assumption you make ass out of you and umption, because none of these things happened. The bags arrived at the last minute and the URL didn't work. Maleficent stormed upstairs and asked why our team had f*cked up and demanding we put it right. I acted innocent, did some trouble shooting, and explained to her the URL had an extra 'T' in it. "Fine, change the URL on our website" - nope, the "http" bit is out of our control I'm afraid, it must be the bag company's fault. But wait, what's this? Your email to them with the wrong URL? This doesn't look good for you. Meanwhile someone comes up stairs and asks "Weren't we only getting 1000 bags? There seems to be a lot more..." Maleficent rushed downstairs to sort out this fresh hell that was rising around her as a warm glow welled up from inside me. I actually never saw her again, I had to travel to one of our other offices that afternoon, but a friend filled me in later. With not enough time to sort things out with the bag company, Malificent had to rush around town to find a stationary store that could print 10000 QR codes on sticky labels to stick over the wrong one on each bag. Apparently she was there most of the night attaching them all, which was doubly funny as I'm told we didn't quite manage to give away the original 1000 bags at the event the following day anyway, let alone the other 9000. She was put on 'gardening leave' and fired for gross incompetence and costing the company all the extra money - now the marketing department is run by a guy called Theodopolopodous - he's much nicer.

tl;dr Evil marketing queen doesn't keep track of who she f*cks over, got her fired several years later when we ended up at the same company.

(source) (story by ImperiousChipmunk)

[johnnythirteenguns]

just seen justice league (this isnt spoiler free at all)

also went to thor: ragnarok for the third time to wash the taste out.

so i went to go see it for miller, momoa, and mera in that order. i was super impressed with mera. i thought they were gonna go the like easy way and give her an Accent like the amazons, but they didnt. even though her cadence was different like idk man i know very little about dc but i picked up a one-shot earlier this year where mera neatly beats the fuck out of the justice league on her own and she’s a semi-jerk who kind of hates surface dwellers and you know what for the thirty seconds we had her onscreen i believed it and she was powerful and felt like a character with backstory and i COMPLETELY didnt hear what aquaman was saying i just heard her side of the conversation

man ben affleck really doesnt wanna be here huh anyway we should recast him at the earliest convenience

also why was batman 90% CGI like fine i get it no one can be a gymnast in a 50 lb rubber suit but like every single one of his moves that required any bending had to have been cgi

speaking of which the cgi isnt like bad in and of itself it’s just typical like it’s the cgi youre used to seeing. it doesnt blend seamlessly into anything and the characters dont blend seamlessly into it. the cornfield looks fake as can fucking be and i dont really know why? what else there was another fucking weird cgi moment. anyway, steppenwolf is ugly as sin and has no emotion and is all one color and is??? generally weird looking

speaking of which. he is not frightening at all. the New Gods isnt something casual dc fans are gonna be familiar with (i am barely familiar with it) and like? apparently, darkseid was supposed to have scenes in this but didnt? anyway go see thor ragnarok which features 1) a horned villain that is legitimately terrifying and powerful, that you fully believe can do the things she does, and who is beautifully designed and 2) features glow-y eyed masses of disposable soldiers that are cool but goofy and dont take themselves too seriously but were still frightening and made for thrilling fights because you believed they could actually pose a threat to the characters they were attacking

the beginning... uh i think like three scenes of the film looked pretty good, but they looked like cutscenes. very GOOD cutscenes, but honestly... if i wanted it to look like this id have played... a video game. like, i want it to look like a real place even if it’s heavily stylized. uh but the first showdown where batman is luring a parademon out looks beautiful if fake as shit. the scene with wondy in the bank (which features a group of girls from an all-girls school... at a bank?) and terrorists wearing cheap pinstripe suits (like, this is fine! it’s nonsensical and stupid but fine it’s a comic book movie) was kind of cool because for once i felt like... maybe diana was a creative person who goes in wit ha strategy? like picking the dude up with the lasso and holding him up was fun i was like oh!!! thats not something a typical movie would do! it was the first time she felt like Wonder Woman to me (ive seen the wondy movie itself, it was... eh). uh and idk what was up with the standing on the scales of justice or whatever idk the hilarity of gal gadot on that statue which sits on top of a bank like. it was funny.

hey question what the uh... fuck was the “what are you” “a believer” line about it made zero sense in context at all

dont quote me on the order of scenes i dont remember fuck all of this movie in order because literally, the pacing was so weird. so... it was very obvious there were parts missing from the movie. not like, cuts made where you could be like oh there was something there or maybe there'll be a deleted scene no like you Knew there was stuff that was necessary that was gone. the football scenes with victor from the trailers were gone!!! i think the movie was trying to set up a really strong friendship with wonder woman and cyborg but it never really went anywhere? and i suspect because it all got cut! and i dont understand why because ray did a really good job and he sold cyborg to me so well i loved his take! 

also... i dont know if theyre saving it for the aquaman movie next year but did Arthur get a bunch of his stuff cut too? because i like jason momoa, and i like his arthur and so im sort of torn because, like, he didnt have much to do. like, he has the bit where he sits on wonder woman’s lasso of thruth and tells them all this stuff but you dont know enough about him for any of it to land? but i really wanted to know more (at some point i did give up on, this was a very passive viewing experience). my friend was saying that like literally why did they try to make arthur so Cool he’s already jason momoa he is by default cool now you can do whatever you want with him we’re all going to love him.

speaking of the lasso scene... was the entire last half of the movie re-writen and re-shot by whedon because like? the lasso scene is a whedon. the bit at the end where wondy goes “children. i work with children” is a whedon (THERE’S NO REASON FOR HER TO SAY THIS? I THINK THIS WHEN SHE HAS TWO TEAM MEMBERS LIKE LAYING ON THE GROUND AFTER NEARLY BEING BLON UP? IT WAS FUCKING WEIRD). i genuinely cant tell if all of barry’s dialogue was written by whedon or if that was ezra improvising but uh... man he’s... he needs to practice if that’s hm. if it’s just whedon i mean fine but he also doesnt have the shitty RDJ quality thats let’s him say those lines with believability.

speaking of which, going to see barry was my priority because apparently im gay for miller rn so like. uh. man he wasnt funny like there were a couple parts where he was cute and the line landed and it was fine but generally he just... wasnt funny? because the movie wasnt funny? like... idk man ezra really acting his heart out and ive said like cool i wanna follow his career and see if he does good stuff and gets even better at his stupid art but maybe he peaked with credence barebone i dont know. the first scene where we meet barry, with the flash pad and the pizza, that was good, that was funny. the bit at the prison was good. he has very soft eyes and thats nice. the panic attack is cute in the clip and the beginning like rhrgrh moment he has is good but then idk the pacing falls apart again

why is his character like this? i just dont think ezra’s... funny enough yet. (tbh i think he takes it too seriously even if he’s trying to be light-hearted man sometimes jokes is just jokes). there’s a bit where theyre digging up superman’s body and it’s JUST HIM AND CYBORG FOR UH? SOME REASON? maybe they explained why they sent the two babies but i didnt hear it and it’s literally just them two. and he tries to fistbump victor but vic is like “no” and tbh barry is annoying? like maybe u think he’s cute and an audience member but he’s uh... you can tell he’s annoying in the story and anyway then the flash says “right, racially charged” ABOUT A FISTBUMP? WHICH? LITERALLY MADE NO SENSE? WAS THIS LINE IMPROVISED? WAS IT WRITTEN? IM GONNA PUT MONEY ON IMPROVISED BECAUSE HE IS EXACTLY THAT KIND OF STUPID BITCH

if they were breaking into the lab why even bother going through the front door? barry drives the thing in (theyre trying to smuggle superman’s body into star labs) disguised a soldier (the literally most unconvincing thing, not to me as an audience member, because it was cute and funny to me,, but that a guy with THAT FACE is military like yeah sure, why did that guard believe him) but then they get to like the normal ass parking inside and the other three are standing there in full costume in full grey DC-brand daylight? are you telling me between 5/6ths of the justice league they couldnt sneak in a fucking pine box when wonder woman can lift a fucking tank on her own? like.

speaking of which uh.... superman is stupidly overpowered. like i said i read an issue of JL where mera hands every one of the justice league members their own gently roasted ass in hand on her fucking own. diana regularly kicks superman in the head. why was she not able to take him down? when theyre fighting steppenwolf for real it’s not until superman shows up that they even have a real fighting chance. they dont fight as team, they dont even fight as people casually unified in a common cause. theyre playing high-stakes legos and cyborg gets pulled away from them like three times?? and it gets fucking annoying? and then supes shows up and literally wipes the floor with him. it is so completely bizarre and stupid.

here’s a problem i still have with wonder woman: why is she so thin? the other amazons (except Hippolyta and maybe one other one) look built as FUCK? LIKE THESE WOMEN COULD EASILY TOSS ME ACROSS THE ROOM. wonder woman has serious fucking arms, where are they

also those amazon bikinis were bad. the whole styling of this movie is bad, but especially the amazons. everything is red and gold, for some reasons? the outfits dont looks heavy like armor, they look heavy like bullshit material. there is no reason for the fucking bikinis. the gold cloak hippolyta wears is??? heavy and looks like? like drapes like window dressing like thats the weight of it. additionally, there is no reason for their hair to be SO STYLED. it’s really like prom night hair it’s like shiny and muss free and always loose and in perfect clearly salon-styled curls. also, why are they so heavily made up? it’s really prominent. wondy herself has the same issue going on, she looks much more heavily made up (why is everyone’s blush so PINK, like it's distracting, is this a side effect of the recoloring process) and her hair isnt loose and doing its thing like in BVS or Wonder Woman it’s like... idk she looks really. Pretty when she’s on the field and it makes no sense.

the amazon fighting style is still ugly and makes no sense ive never seen such a wasteful fighting style it made sense exactly once during Wonder Woman

why is themyscira entirely the ugliest cgi i have ever fucking scene

why does the camera INSIST ON MOVING LIKE THAT. the action is super hard to track, the cgi is ugly as fuck (it really cannot be overstated)... i made it to about... i want to say when theyre on the way to the big fight and then the combined everything gave me a heaache that o had for the rest of the movie

i mentioned earlier that the pacing is weird the transitions are also weird. you get cuts to and from places that never fade into each other, it’s always a hard jump cut but it’s never the right cut to make? like, in thor ragnarok for example, there are a bunch of scene changes that happen via the bifrost, via people going through doors. there are wide shots that jump to wide shots in other places, so youre not suddenly on a close-up. there are a lot of people emerging from something into view, and there are a lof of people being alone in the center of the frame. it’s a very smooth and easy to watch movie. JL is the opposite of this in every way. I SUSPECT. AGAIN. THAT WHILE THIS WOULDNT HAVE BEEN FIXED ENTIRELY. THAT THOSE EXTRA TWENTY MINUTES THAT WERE CUT WERE PROBABLY REALLY IMPORTANT

the lois lane bit where she calms supes down just reminded me of the age of ultron and i quoted “sun’s going down” at my friends who were with me and they shit themselves laughing

ma kent calls lois lane “thirsty” in a Hilarious Teen Humor Gag thanks joss whedon you fucking hack

bruce wayne is fucking useless he could have got barry ANY JOB EVER and like... my god whatever.

also i still dont understand how how voice sounds like that when he’s batmanuh the after after credits scene is setting up, according to my friend, a sinister six movie. deathstroke isnt played by manu bennett so it’s fucking usless thanks for coming to my ted talk

[thefutureisyellow]

My Forty-Page, Eleventh-Grade Paper on Wonder Woman

Or: I’m a Huge Wonder Woman Fan, And Somehow This One Movie Did a Better Job at Understanding Her Than Almost Anything Else

My old high school does this thing where every single junior has to write a twenty page paper on something in American history. I was a tiny feminist who hated writing traditional essays on history (always have been more of a textual analysis girl), and the local museum was doing a temporary exhibit on comic book art. So, I decided to write mine on the evolution of feminism from the 50s-70s as depicted in superhero comic books, and the twenty page paper turned into a forty page behemoth.

I had never had much exposure to comics before then, but I dove right in. Rereading the essay now, I was not the most expert of writers (I named it “From Busting Bad Guys to Burning Bras”!), but I did delve into Wonder Woman and other superheroines in a way I might not have gotten to with a more organic approach.* Here are the three main things I learned about Wonder Woman:

She was created specifically to be a feminist icon.

She has been frequently sanitized to avoid any radical versions of point one.

She is often written by people who do not understand her.

You can see these points today, even. Though she was designed to change the world and promote love and womanly strength over war (honestly, just go read The Secret History of Wonder Woman) she has been repeatedly changed from badass in charge to delicate flower. We can see this in 1949 when control switched from the original creator to a new guy. It happened recently, too, when in her comics she was a boss and written by Gail Simone versus in the thankfully never released pilot wherein she pines for Steve Trevor throughout the majority of the script.

That really takes me to point three, though: writers who get her. I was watching a play through of the Injustice 2 video game, and from the moment she appeared on screen I could tell that the writers did not understand her.** She is cruel, obsessed with Superman and order, and incredibly manipulative. The whole premise of the game, without too many spoilers, is that superheroes are divided by who is willing to kill criminals and who is not, but it seemed strange that Diana was on the side willing to mass murder any criminal without a trial.

So, who is Diana of Themyscira, according to my research, reading, and own somewhat biased opinion? We’re talking base mentality, not backstory. I’ll stick with three criteria:

She believes deeply in human potential for good. 

She always attempts peace as the first option, though will not hesitate if other methods are absolutely necessary.

She is incredibly earnest, though not always serious.

Injustice 2 fails all these essential Wonder Woman criteria. She believes that all criminals are incapable of reform, and would rather they die; she manipulates Superman and Supergirl into doing terrible things; going back to the first point, she is willing to execute all/any criminals to ensure order. This is not loyal to the character of Wonder Woman, whose sworn duty is to save the world of men.***

I was so, so worried that the movie would make the same mistakes as the unaired pilot or the Injustice games. Ever since that forty page paper, Wonder Woman’s been a patron saint of sorts, a totem of protection. Wearing her symbol (or, funnily enough, using her as my tumblr icon) has always given me strength and urged me to be a better person. Wonder Woman is about us doing better, and helping other people as a means of making the world better.****

Which is why I spent the first full twenty minutes of the movie crying. 

They got my girl. They did her justice.

Even from the beginning, she is everything Wonder Woman should be. She is always pushing to be better, to do her best, to train herself. She learns to fight because someday she will have to. Even the society of Themyscira is based on a philosophy of (eventual) responsibility for the world of men. The women around her encourage these ideas, mold her into an avatar of them, and Themyscira seems built around the essentials of Wonder Woman.

In fact, she starts the movie with these qualities, and the real struggle that she undergoes is the question of whether or not she truly believes in these things. The action tests her, sees how deep her commitment to her principals will go. Is humanity worthy of saving? Should peace always be attempted, or should violence be the first option when faced with people doing wrong? 

Only the third criteria is not central to the conflict of the movie, but it plays in throughout. Wonder Woman does believe in her ideals very deeply, from the time she is young, but that doesn’t make her a humorless, justice-seeking automaton. Wonder Woman can take a joke. Wonder Woman can laugh. 

However, hand-in-hand with her sometimes foreign principals, Wonder Woman is alien to us. Where Superman is (or should be) humanity’s adopted son who happens to be gifted with godlike abilities, Wonder Woman is an outsider who is not human. Superman, quintessentially, is an everyday Kansan who can fly, and everyman; Wonder Woman is extraordinary and foreign.***** She sees everything with fresh eyes, and though she may look like us, she is from Elsewhere. This, of course, provides some of my favorite scenes, which are both hilarious and insightful.

There were some problems with the movie. Was she as radical as she could be? Probably not. Were there problems with representation? Definitely. Could they have been more explicit about the fact that the Amazons are huge lesbians? For sure.

But after so many years of looking for her in comics, tv shows, books, and blogs, it sure was good to see my girl standing in front of me, challenging me and everyone else watching to be better, to believe. To become women of wonder. To change the world.

*I do wonder if approaching comic books through an individual, academic lens changed my experience with comic book culture. I didn’t have to deal with shitty dudes gatekeeping, and since I got most of my info off the internet I never even had to step foot into a comic book store. As an adult, years later, almost every venture into a nerd-centric place has been extremely unwelcoming, and I wonder if I would’ve developed my love for comics if I had just gone to a comic book store. But that’s an essay for another time.

**Nor did they have any understanding of good costumes for her. Damn, are those costumes ugly (not great at the 9:30 mark, but especially bad starting at 1:41:42). They don’t seem to understand her backstory (does that weird frilly loincloth count as a chiton of some sort?) so they put her in generic, shitty looking magic leathers. Put her next to Sif from Thor and it’d be impossible to tell which mythology-inspired sci-fi culture they come from. I guess this is not the most relevant point (though it could relate to the fact that they have no understanding of her story or character), but it did make me gag a little bit. So.

***It is not the world that Diana must save, in her earliest/best/more recent incarnations: it is the world of men. Not the planet, but a civilization of people. Wonder Woman must always seek to save people, not just preserve the planet. In addition, some may argue that the point of the Injustice series is to see heroes abandoned their professed principals. However, I do not believe that Wonder Woman would abandon her ideals for the love of a man, and I would push back further: Batman gets to keep his principals, and is not forced to abandon his philosophy of nonviolence. Why must Wonder Woman, especially when it runs so contrary to al of her characterization and personality? 

****There’s something very Jewish in her mentality, that peace can be achieved by helping individuals. Very tikkun olam.

*****In my opinion, the real reason that every recent Superman movie has flopped. He needs to be a normal guy who is pushed to being a hero by his powers, a Peter Parker style “with great power comes great responsibility.” He’s the fantasy we all have, where we’re secretly the children of royalty, which makes us question the good we could accomplish if we actually had the power we dream of. Again, another essay for another time.

[jadenkillalea-spatialdesignpuna]

WEEK 2

Food, eating, social encounters

So I've ended up looking into the experience of fine dining, pertaining to the view of the consumer, originally i wanted to look into films and tv and how they conveyed the idea of classical fine dining but i stumbled across a video which shows a fine dining experience pov which I thought was pretty cool, when watching it i realised that there was a huge . emphasis on the quality of the food and the care taken with how it is presented. So i began to think about how we as participants react to this. We savour the moment don't we? Time slows..

Sensuality creeps in, we begin to allow our senses to overtake us. We rely heavily on taste, smell and sight, allowing these to define our ideas and memories of this experience.

This is not an everyday occurrence, we don't always have people waiting on us, dressed in suits. Presenting delicious food and so it becomes a moment in which we desire to remember. It's not some fast food chain where we drive in and out. The experience is special. Questions to ask, what special events do we go to places like this. Why? Is it just for foodie and the elite? Treat yourself? Does this experience speak of excess and frivolity?  

I re edited the original video slowing down time in when food arrives to convey the idea of savouring the moment..

Here's the link to said video, dinning experience

The music was already apart of it, but i'm kinda into it, it really makes the whole thing dramatic. Something to think about when we film.

Perhaps though the concept im more interested in is how the staff act  and how that alters our perception of the quality of the experience. How could we use this idea to reframe our experience? Could we make shitty food fine dining because of the experience?

This is just a video from titanic video… churr abby.

It kinda got me thinking about fine dining and status. Which is kind of an interesting topic. It used to be for the elite, aristocrats and the like. But moreover what kind of conversations happen over these dining experiences? How does classism affect this environment and the way people act? Does it?

I think it could be very interesting to explore classism in fine dining perhaps by comparison to struggle meals or comparison to actual poverty. Maybe this would be getting more political than we want to, but just an idea.

Key aspects of fine dining:

- Food-beautiful composition, unique, tasty

- Service- timely, attentive, polite

- Atmosphere- fancy, clean, live music (harp, piano)

Fine dining in film:

- Titanic (1997):https://vimeo.com/321652395

- Lady and the Tramp: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1nWNXO3CZkU

- The Cook, The Thief, His Wife and Her Lover (1989): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TuDrYOw4tBU

- Ratatouille (2007): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kuyUKdJccgM

- The Jerk (1979): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7sELqobCIXU

What most of these have in common, with the exception of maybe Ratatouille, is a romantic and sensual atmosphere. This commonality is potentially something to explore as we move forward.

Table etiquette

How manners define this ritual - Eating is a physical need for humans but meals are seen as a social ritual. Like any other ritual, there are rules and boundaries that define it and make it what it is. In my opinion, table manners are a big chunk of how this ritual is defined and will give our group important insight into key aspects of the ritual that we could highlight in our video. Table manners have been present in our society for centuries, the earliest signs of table manners were from the stone age when seashells and flint chips were used to eat instead of using your hands. From that point onwards, more mannerisms and formal eating rules were developed. The fifteenth and sixteenth centuries gave birth to modern table manners, this includes waiting to eat until other people are ready, keeping elbows off the table and so on. This change in table manners over the years can really show us how this ritual has developed and can also give us insight into the social and cultural context of the ritual. As a lot of us have probably experienced first hand, when ever you go to another person's house for a meal they will most likely abide by a different set of table manners than you would, therefore changing the state of the ritual. This is because this ritual is very easy to manipulate depending on a number of set conditions such as:

- The context of the meal (formal/casual/celebration)

- location (indoors/outdoors/private/public)

- people (older/younger/different cultural backgrounds)

- personal context (religion/sexuality/difference in experiences)

I once had a personal experience that regarded cultural difference in table manners, my friend invited me to his house for dinner one night and I realised that his family ate with their hands. This was a result of his Indian background and it is a good example that shows how something that can seem rude or out of place to you can seem normal in another culture. Another experience I have is when I go to my Grandma's house to have dinner. She is a very heavily Catholic woman and whenever we come to stay for dinner we will say grace before eating. I personally am not religious so this was a noticeable difference from my usual dinner ritual. It’s interesting to see how different the ritual of dining can be just based on the different table manners that you use.

Here are some sourced videos that display a few different types of table manners:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x70G7CqM_Ug&feature=share - ty josh, formal dining

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=unXKYK0uRJ8 - casual dining (example of bad manners)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VCDFEQzjIRM - Indian table manners

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J6ekU2ZGd28 - Japanese table manners

How dress defines the ritual - Dress is another significant part that plays to the overall etiquette of the ritual. As we have learnt previously in this subject, the way we dress everyday can be seen as a performance of sorts, it is the way we want to show ourselves off to others. In this case, the way we dress often reflects on our attitude towards the ritual. For instance someone will never dress in a suit to go and eat fast food or someone who dresses in shorts will never go to a fancy restaurant. It isn’t as easy to enforce a dress code as it might seem. As long as a restaurant isn’t using a dress code as a foil for illegal discrimination, it can set the dress bar as high as it wants. But will customers constantly challenge it? Even worse, will they shun the restaurant entirely? This brings up the question if dress can potentially turn people away from dining, some people aren’t into the idea of dressing up for a meal. Also, the dress of the wait staff is significant to the experience of the ritual.

Atmosphere: A restaurant’s atmosphere sets the stage. It’s about more than just a dining room away from home. Food takes the spotlight as guests become its audience. Factors such as sound (music/voices/ambient), smell, lighting, design and spacing combine to create comfort, intimacy and even romance. Staff are a big part of the atmosphere in fine dining. Staff are basically acting in a performance, they adopt certain speech, grace and wit (often having to perform at the table - pouring sauces at the table to finish a plate etc). Guests need to feel taken care of and relaxed, not worrying about the “performance” - sometimes setting can help here, as when a guest arrives with a fully set table they are able to hand over control to the restaurant (as it seems organised etc.).  

Lighting: Lighting often starts bright earlier in the night and dims as the light outside does (earlier in the winter, later in the winter), often when the lighting is too bright it is not as enjoyable - maybe because the customer feels like there is more spotlight and/or pressure on themselves (decreased mood/intimacy).

Also, I learned that different rules of etiquette extend to the order of service, this may be different based on gender, what is being served, position of customer, and what menu they select etc.

[thereviewsarein]

JJ Wilde is a star. The Kitchener, Ontario native has set the Canadian rock and roll scene on fire with record-breaking and historic achievements on the charts.

Her debut album, Ruthless (June 2020) is a gem that kicks ass, takes names, goes deep on some feelings, and formally announces her as a legitimate contender for the current Canadian rock and roll crown. In June, when the album came out, I said, “There are great dance moments on this album. There are sit and think moments. There and bang your head and rock moments. There are sing along moments. There’s a darkness in places that made me think of TV soundtracks and where JJ Wilde’s music would fit on Lucifer. There’s a lot going on. And I’m into it.” And I stand by it. It’s a balanced album that has layers and changes in tempo and that’s an underrated quality.

I also said that we should keep an eye out for nominations when awards season rolls around. And honestly, if Ruthless isn’t nominated for Album of the Year awards and The Rush isn’t recognized for its success as a single, some people are going to have some explaining to do.

Related: JJ Wilde, Ruthless Album Review

What came as a surprise (a welcome one) and where the title of this piece comes from, is JJ Wilde’s new single, Best Boy. Just two months after the release of her album, with The Rush still at #1 (for its 16th week), JJ went ahead and dropped a big one, with a stunning and provocative video attached, and showed that she isn’t slowing down.

And in the words from the press release accompanying the single’s release, she’s “back and sick of your shit”.

The song was easy to add to the New Music Spotlight this week where I said that we should all “turn it up, rock out, and be ready to celebrate JJ Wilde as she takes over the rock and roll scene.” But I didn’t include her own words there about the song or the video – and they matter. So here we go.

JJ Wilde on Best Boy…

“For me, this song is about trying to change the narrative that society has accepted about women. It is clear, especially in the music industry that women are viewed more like objects a lot of the time than actual humans – seen not heard type of thing. Well, I want that to change – what women ‘should and shouldn’t do’, what society deems acceptable, what women are shamed for. All of the above. We are beautiful creatures. And I don’t think we should feel ashamed to express that. This song is taking a stab at what men have always been free to talk about in songs – doing whatever they want with whoever they want – but from a woman’s perspective.”

JJ Wilde on the video for Best Boy…

“The music video for Best Boy was so empowering to film. I wanted all kinds of different people expressing themselves and being free when they heard the song, and try to capture that feeling. For me, it was really special. The night before we shot, I had cold feet, thinking ‘what if I over sexualize myself, what if people don’t take me seriously?’ All of those thoughts crossed my mind. Then when we started shooting, I felt so empowered, I was having so much fun and never felt ashamed of what I was doing. And that feeling is exactly what I want people – especially women – to feel when they watch it. There is no reason for me to have had that self-doubt go through my mind, but it did. And that is what I want to change. No one should feel ashamed of self-expression.”

The part that bums me out about these quotes is that JJ had to even think about whether this video concept was going to backfire on her because of the sexualization of herself or anyone else. It’s bullshit and I know it’s an issue for her because I’ve seen men comment on JJ’s social media posts that she should cover up or that she doesn’t need to dress sexy or whatever. Those men need to shut their mouths, throw their keyboards in a lake, and let JJ Wilde and all women live their lives, create their art, and be themselves without shitty commentary.

Watch the video now!

JJ Wilde – Best Boy

In her career already, JJ Wilde has shown herself to be a talented songwriter, singer, and entertainer. She can get big and rockin’, she can slow it down and go for the feelings, and she can strip all the production away and capture our attention (check out her Coffee & A Cover videos on YouTube).

She is young, confident, good looking, at the top of the charts, creating great music, and we can’t wait for more.

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It’s also exciting for Canadian rock and roll to add another homegrown artist to the growing list of charting talent in a new generation that includes The Glorious Sons, Arkells, Crown Lands, The Dirty Nil, The Beaches, and more. It makes us daydream of rock festivals that feature Canadian talent and charts that have men and women showing up on a regular basis, and the kind of success and love from fans and the media that once again shows the world that Canada has an amazing amount of killer rock and roll to offer to the world.

Be ready to hear more from JJ Wilde on your radio, streaming playlists, and on this website. She is high on the list of artists I can’t wait to sit down with and talk about music and her career and ideas and life – and when we’re able to make that happen, you’ll hear about it.

For now, JJ will be supplying a healthy dose of the soundtrack in my condo and I’ll be keeping my eyes open for news and my ears open for more new music, covers and whatever else she’s got coming.

I recommend that you do the same.

And for now, hit play on Best Boy and the entire Ruthless album to get your JJ Wilde fix.

Turn it up.



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JJ Wilde Keeps Rocking and She Isn’t Slowing Down JJ Wilde is a star. The Kitchener, Ontario native has set the Canadian rock and roll scene on fire with record-breaking and historic achievements on the charts.

[essencepoints]

https://ift.tt/eA8V8JWarning as usual -long ass journal style post ahead. Read it or not. Your call. I think info is important or I would not have included it.   This is in part an update to this post: https://www.reddit.com/r/marriedredpill/comments/bxih8t/fr_losing_my_religion/   As well as a FR on what I believe to be my main event and an open solicitation of advice, calling me a faggot, whatever the hell you want. Let me have it guys. Time to knock the dust off and grow.   Figured out my religion was bullshit, wife still very religious- she threatened divorce - I immediately lawyered up and began gathering info (stay plan is now same as go plan) but took no action to initiate divorce... just notes.   She found out I talked to atty, had a meltdown, and now tries to re-frame me as the bad guy who is threatening divorce. Don't give a fuck, just STFU and execute.   Phase 1: once she calmed down and realized I wasn’t fucking around with her divorce threats anymore, she became submissive, fun, sexual. We’ve had sex nearly every day for a couple of weeks. Not overly passionate hysterical bonding panic sex but the dread was up and she seemed to respect me and desire me more.   As time went on frequency stayed high but quality slid closer and closer to just above starfish.   The church still pisses me off. Big anger phase that I’m trying to overcome. I'm working my way out and will tell you about it in detail if you want to know. For now, just know that I am leaving.   Fuck I once again see the need to STFU. I lose frame when I discuss my problems with the church with her because she feels so strongly about it and I get angry when she won’t look at it logically. Bringing up the church in any way is a surefire way to dry sex up for a day or more.   My inner validation whore wants her to realize I am not crazy but she’s going to just have to think what she likes while I lead us to freedom by example. A second 1000 foot rope to pull taut.   I’m so glad I have redpill. Porting the same tactics over from relationships/sex to this aspect seems to be the way to go.   Phase 2: As time has progressed we've entered a new phase where she will be bitchy, try to start fights etc. She will want to critique every conversation I have with people: "you shouldn't have said that" her hypergamy and solipsism are in overdrive.   Regardless of the fighting and general bitchiness, if I stay cocky- funny, STFU etc, she still fucks me. (you mean this redpill shit works? who knew?)   I also realize that I suck at comfort tests. Maybe it's the fact that with my increased TRT protocol I am at numbers approaching 8-900, or that I am just an autistic angry Rambo fuck, but I just tend to treat everything as a shit test (her comfort tests are shitty, so I have treated them as shit so far)   She is feeling the dread and losing her shit on a regular basis. Two days ago she sits me down and asks if I have been 100% faithful. My responses: "Why would you ask that?" followed by "If I decide to move on you'll be the first to know."   Then she asks if I have been looking at porn. (nope. porn is weak-ass shit for betas) answer laughing: "no, why?"   Now porn is a doubly big thing in the Mormon church. They are fucking obsessed with it. Mormon wives are taught that porn use is cheating and women are taught that bikinis and even bare shoulders can be considered porn. I shit you not.   They recently released 70 anti-porn videos in one day. They have support groups for the men who are "addicted" to porn (because no woman has ever looked at porn) and support groups for their frigid wives to bitch about their husbands who are addicted to porn. They create all sorts of shame which feed the beta male cycle. Gotta keep people sick so they stay in the hospital.   She then pulls up my instagram account where I have exactly zero posts, 3 followers including her, and follow about 20 gun companies and 3-4 weightlifting tips accounts.   Among all those is some gal in another state who posts pictures of kickass guns but also is gasp wearing a low cut top and even has some BIKINI PICTURES on her instagram. I honestly don't even recall following her and would laughingly own it if I did. It's a fucking nothing burger.   She gets one straight courtesy answer of No and then its right to asshole mode as she won't fucking let it go. "She's pretty hot babe, do you think she would let me shoot her suppressed m4?"   Cue snot and tears. I hug her but STFU.   Next morning I am trying to leave and she pulls me down onto the bed and makes me late for work. The whole time we are fucking she can't stop talking about how much she would like to watch me with another girl. (standard DEVI threesome fantasy that gets her going)   Outside the bedroom though its back to the shit tests about this girl and bitchiness. Shit test after shit test about this person I've never met over the last couple of days. She can't take the joke when I fire back a witty remark every time. Gets pissed. Cries. Not my problem.   Her hamster is in overdrive. She wants total access to my phone and location. She wants to read all my fucking texts and deconstruct everything I say to other people and tell me what is and isn't appropriate. She rants that she is a prisoner because I haven't let her run the finances for the last 2 years and I have my own account. (she fucked up the finances for 17 years and I make the household money, her money from her job is hers to spend. Deal with it) Telling me she will never have sex with me (ignore what she says and just keep initiating and fucking her when I want to fuck)   She told me yesterday that she feels like she is showing up to work every day not knowing if she has a job or not... (good. dread is working)   I'm reasonably sure this is a multi-day main event.   Yesterday we were working in the yard and after some initial shit tests she became a bit reasonable and we started having a good conversation until a neighbor walked over and I talked to him. As he walked away within earshot she starts tearing apart my conversation and telling me what I should and shouldn't have said.   It's getting dark anyway so I let her rant while I STFU and pick up the tools and head in without saying a word. She can't let it go and follows me around the house trying to start shit. I calmly inform her that I'm not going to have my conversations Monday morning quarterbacked.   She can't let it go. Alternating between yelling and crying and the same old tropes about how bad I treat her and the instagram chick and how she is a prisoner. Fuck if these are comfort tests she ain't gonna get any comfort from me by being a bitch.   I hop in the shower and she keeps opening the shower door. I am trying not to lose it and playfully splash water on her a few times until she follows me into the shower fully clothed. Still yelling.   Now I have a weakness. She knows it too. Not only that, she actively uses it against me. I suppose i should thank her for making me stronger. I've had it since childhood and I probably need therapy. I can't stand being cornered. It's like claustrophobia but only with people cornering me and straight fight or flight response.   So here I am naked, cornered and wanting nothing more than to go berserker and kill every living thing I can touch. I finally raise my voice and tell her to FUCK OFF. She can't stand profanity. I'm not allowed to use it around her and especially at her but she needs the verbal punch in the face.   I get out and dry off and just try to STFU the rest of the night.   Again, pre-redpill a curse word would have put me in the penalty box for a few days at least.   Nope. Last night she fucked me good, came hard and I pushed some boundaries/took what I wanted.   It's making my head spin to see it all in action.   If I analyze it I think where I miss the mark is I'm still a drunk captain when it comes to overall vision. She has asked what I want a couple of times and I am so fucking autistic/ blue pill conditioned I can't articulate what I want her to be without worrying about how I sound. I still give too many fucks. I want to be ready to lay out a vision for our relationship and what she should be to me once we hit the snot bubbles and reconciliation here. Any pro tips on how to explain to her once she starts communicating overtly exactly how you expect her to be and act?   I need to work on that. submitted by /u/alphasixfour [link] [comments] * This article was originally published here

http://livehookups.blogspot.com/2019/07/fr-update-on-main-events-and-how-far-i.html

[toxoiddiamond]

T H E B A S I C S Given Name: Nico Wilder Meadows Nicknames: His wife calls him Ni-Ni. He used to think that was cute. Now it just annoys him. Age: 21 Birthday: July 19th Zodiac Sign: Cancer Birthplace: NYC, New York Current Location: Baltimore, Maryland Speaks: English Dominant Hand: Ambidextrous Education: He’s currently studying at the Baltimore School for the Arts. He got a bit of a late start—he spent the year after high school just working, being newly married, being generally aimless, etc., and didn’t enroll in art school until he was nineteen. Occupation: He has a moderately successful YouTube channel where he releases animated videos and such. He also makes a decent amount of money by doing art commissions. And he works part time as a waiter in a small Italian restaurant. (He doesn’t really need the restaurant job; he mostly has it so his wife will shut up about him needing to have an “actual job.”) Vehicle: Yellow 1997 Hyundai Accent, but his wife normally takes it because her work is further away than his, and it’s not hard for him to take the bus to school/work. Worldly Possessions: Pretty much any art supplies you can imagine (and really nice ones, too—he likes to get the best possible tools to work with, because he wants everything he does to be the highest quality possible). A nice laptop. Tons of movies. Like, really, tons of DVDs. Pet(s): Nah. He wouldn’t mind having a pet, but his wife is allergic to both cats and dogs, unfortunately.

A P P E A R A N C E Height: 5’9” Hair: Dark brown (almost black) and somewhat shaggy, a bit choppy, sometimes hanging in his face, sometimes pushed back. His hair has a mind of its own, and it can be quite unruly. Facial Hair: He sometimes lets his face get a bit scruffy, but he prefers to be clean-shaven most of the time. Eye Colour: Hazel Skin Tone: Somewhat pale, and his dark hair makes him look even paler. He doesn’t like many outside activities. Clothing: He doesn’t really put much thought into what he wears most of the time. He doesn’t look bad or anything, it’s just that he doesn’t have any particular style. He just wears jeans and t-shirts and sneakers most of the time, and he has quite a collection of worn-out, oversized sweaters. He definitely cares more about comfort than anything else. He also likes to wear slouchy hats on days when his hair is being particularly unruly, just to contain it a little. Distinguishing Marks: Quite a lot of scars, mostly small ones. However, there is one more noticeable one on his back, where one of his foster fathers hit him with a broken wine bottle; he ended up needing forty-seven stitches, and was immediately pulled out of that home by his case worker. If he had his way, he’d have lots of tattoos. He has a bunch of designs he’s drawn up for himself, and knows an artist who would give him a steep discount. But Crystal thinks it would be a huge waste of money, and doesn’t want him to do it, so he hasn’t gone through with it yet. Face Claim: Jackson Rathbone

H E A L T H Physical Health: His immune system is kind of shitty, and he doesn’t get as much sleep as he should, so he is prone to getting sick a lot. Not seriously ill or anything, but if there’s a flu or anything going around, he’s guaranteed to catch it. Physical Abilities/Limitations: He’s an amazing artist, especially if he really puts time and effort into something. Art is something that’s always come naturally to him. On the other hand, he sucks at most other physical things—he’s not physically strong at all, definitely can’t hold his own in any type of fight, gets sick a lot, etc. Addictions: None. He’s been hurt at the hands of many druggies and alcoholics, he’s seen what it does to people, and he is determined not to ever end up like that. He only has the occasional drink and has never even been drunk, and he doesn’t even like to take Tylenol or anything unless he really needs it. Allergies: He has seasonal allergies, and takes a low dose of Claritin during the spring and summer so he won’t be a useless mess. He is also deathly allergic to penicillin. Mental Health: He is under a lot of stress due to the fact that his marriage is slowly falling apart and he kind of wants to get a divorce, and he fights with his wife a lot. He also has some underlying issues from his fucked up childhood, but nothing really severe. If he would bite the bullet and finally get out of the bad relationship he’s in, he would be much better off.

H I S T O R Y Summary: Nico grew up in the foster care system, and spent the majority of his childhood being passed around from home to home. He lived in some very bad situations, and endured some serious abuse, both physical and mental, in some of the homes he was in. He started drawing at a very young age, and art quickly became a way for him to deal with his emotions and stay sane. During high school, he lived with a particularly awful couple; they took in several foster children so they could receive more money from the government, but the woman was a basketcase and the man was a violent drunk. Rather than try to get into another situation, Nico just avoided going home as much as possible; he spent the night at friend’s houses whenever he could, and sometimes even slept on the street if he couldn’t bring himself to go home. It was around this time that he met Crystal. She went to the same school as him, and they had several classes together. They hit it off and started dating during their junior year. Crystal’s family, as it turns out, was also pretty awful and abusive, particularly her father. Nico and Crystal would often fantasize about running away together and never having to deal with such terrible people ever again. And, shortly after they graduated, they decided to make that dream a reality; they ran off and eloped, and never went back. For a while, things were fantastic between them. They were happy just to be together and away from everyone who hurt them. But the longer they were together, the more things began to fall apart, and the more they began to realize how different and incompatible they are. But neither of them is really willing to admit defeat, and honestly, at this point, they’re both a little afraid to leave each other, both afraid that they’ll never find anyone else who understands them. The dissatisfaction is comfortable and familiar, and they both crave familiarity/sameness on some level, so they haven’t gotten a divorce, even though they both know in the back of their minds that it’s inevitable. Job History: As a teenager, he worked part-time in a grocery store, saving up money and preparing for the day when he would finally be able to move out and be on his own. He also started up his YouTube channel when he was seventeen, and started making money off of it about a year later once it got more popular. Now he does a lot of freelance art commissions, runs his channel, and has a part-time job in a restaurant, all on top of going to school.

C O M M U N I C A T I O N Speech Pace/Style: Scattered as hell. He can hold a normal conversation most of the time, but tends to jump from idea to idea, subject to subject, without much warning. If he’s really excited or passionate about whatever he’s talking about, he doesn’t even speak in complete sentences, and it can be hard to follow his train of thought. Talking to him is never boring, that’s for sure. Accent: American, with an occasional hint of a New York accent on certain words. Usual Curse Words: He actually doesn’t have a particularly dirty mouth unless he’s really excited, or really angry about something.

P E R S O N A L I T Y, M I N D S E T, A N D B E L I E F S Personality Type: ESFP Sense of Humor: He really likes clever/thoughtful jokes, puns, and non-sequitur humor. He’s pretty funny himself, and likes to entertain everyone around him and make them laugh. Habits: He fidgets a lot if he has to sit still for a long period of time. If he’s holding a pen or pencil but not actively drawing/writing something, he will twirl the pen around in his fingers. Sometimes, if people make a sudden movement in his direction, he’ll instinctively step back or flinch away—a residual effect of the abuse he endured when he was younger. Fears/Phobias: He is really, really, deathly afraid of any large body of water—lakes, the ocean, whatever. He’s not into that shit, and no one will ever convince him to go swimming in a lake or even get near the ocean or anything. He also hates bridges, especially ones that go over water, for obvious reasons. This is not really an actual fear, but Nico gets really uncomfortable around super drunk people, and will promptly leave a party as soon as people start really getting smashed, or if he sees any illegal drugs going on. Strengths: Nico has a unique perspective on things, and views the world differently than a lot of other people. He’s very creative, and comes up with interesting/clever solutions to problems a lot of the time. He’s also quite optimistic, and isn’t easily frustrated or discouraged. He loves talking to and getting to know people, and although he loves to talk, he would much rather talk about the other person instead of himself, learning whatever he can about them. He doesn’t have the best memory, so he doesn’t necessarily remember all the information he gathers, but he is still genuinely interested. Charisma for days. Seriously, he has a natural ability to get people to open up to him and draw others out of their shells, probably because he’s so willing to talk about literally anything, and he is the least judgmental person on the planet. So, he gets along with basically anyone and has a lot of friends as a result. His artistic skills are off the charts—art has always come naturally to him, and it’s the main way for him to release whatever emotions are inside him. He mainly draws and paints, but he’s experimented with various forms of art and he enjoys them all; he loves to create things. Flaws: Nico, for all his creativeness and ability to forge a new path based on his unique perspective, often has trouble seeing things from someone else’s point of view. It’s not for lack of trying—he really wants to understand people and why they think the way they do—but it’s hard for him to get out of his own head a lot of the time. His impulse control is nonexistent. If he wants something in the moment (or, you know, someone), there is no way he’s going to be able to stop himself, even if he knows he should. No matter the consequences, he will do it, justifying it to himself however he can. Even knowing full well that he’ll regret it, or that his actions could hurt someone else, he’ll still do it. He’s kind of an ass in that way, though he doesn’t intend to be, and he always feels guilty later if someone really does end up hurt. Although he’s usually optimistic and doesn’t let himself get stressed over nothing, if he does get anxious about something, he tends to work himself up so much that he literally cannot calm down. Fidgeting, pacing, going on long walks just to try and distract himself, unable to articulate his thoughts because they’re too scattered, etc. In this state, if anyone tries to calm him or get him to sit still/stop what he’s doing or talk out his feelings, he tends to get angry and snap at them (he doesn’t like being told to calm down anyway, it’s definitely one of his pet peeves). Self-Esteem: Even after all of the things he’s been through in his life, Nico’s self-esteem is still pretty good. He’s at least aware of the fact that none of the abuse he endured was ever his fault, that he was just a kid and didn’t ask for or deserve any of it. He’s confident in his own abilities, especially as an artist, and truly believes that if he wants something, he can most likely get it as long as he puts in his best effort. Religion: Agnostic. He doesn’t subscribe to any particular beliefs, but absolutely loves studying religion, learning about different systems of belief and ideas, etc. That sort of thing is fascinating to him.

R A N D O M Sleeping Position: Sprawled out, usually on his stomach. Boxers or Briefs?: Probably briefs. Day or Night?: Either one. He’s just happy to be there. Top or Bottom?: He could go either way~ Partying or Relaxing?: He loves parties, so that’s usually what he’d choose.

R E L A T I O N S H I P S Closest Friend: Nico has a lot of casual friends, but no one that he would consider to be a close friend, no one he feels he could go to with all his problems or confide in or anything. Relationship History: Crystal was his first girlfriend, and, in his naivety, he thought his feelings for her would last forever and that they could save each other from their miserable existences. Turns out, that’s not how it happened. They’ve only traded one type of miserable existence for another. Sexual Partners: Crystal is his first and only at this point. Thoughts About Sex: He likes sex with Crystal, but part of his regret in getting married so young is that he was never able to experiment with anyone else, see what else is out there. In particular, he has always wanted to see what sex is like with a man—and truth be told, he’s always been more attracted to men in general than to women. It’s not that he wishes he could sleep around with a lot of people, just that part of him wishes he’d had some time to himself, unmarried and not tied down to anyone, just to figure himself out, learn what his preferences are. Because now he feels their sex life is not exciting anymore, and whenever he tries to talk to Crystal about trying new things in bed, she gets very embarrassed and shuts the conversation down, and he doesn’t want to pressure her to do anything new if she’s uncomfortable.

P A R E N T S He never met his biological parents, and he knows nothing at all about them. He’s curious about them, but he’s always been too nervous to actually seek them out, worried that they would reject him or that it would turn out they’re not alive anymore.

D A I L Y L I F E Living Arrangements: Nico and Crystal live in a modest, decently-priced two-bedroom apartment just a quick bus ride away from campus and not terribly far from where Crystal works. One of the bedrooms is currently being used as an office/art studio by Nico, though Crystal has occasionally dropped hints that maybe they can make it into a nursery in the future. (That sort of talk absolutely terrifies Nico—it’s not that he doesn’t want kids, just that he knows he doesn’t want kids with her, not when their relationship is already on shaky ground.) Their furniture is mostly from IKEA, with a few random things they picked up at thrift stores. Lots of art on the walls, some drawn or painted by Nico, some gifted to them by friends.

[kakahut]

2018, a very long update

Shanghai life is incredibly intense and stressful as I didn’t even have the desire to write about anything. The only new year resolutions I have is to lose a bit weight, so I am on a interesting diet now, so far, I feel pretty accomplished.

A lot happened since I updated last time. I  reconnected with Will, went to India for Medha’s wedding, had a blast experience of traveling and looking around the world. I felt so grateful that I made the decision of leaving the US, so I could have had  the chance to have everything I have right now. Best friend (Catiah), interesting new people ( all types of humans I met) and great adventures. Although I felt a bit depressed as my job is not going as well as I thought it could be, I am still able to make a living and feel peaceful most of time.

I am loved, by many people. Artie’s visit last week is very refreshing. I met him when selling my humidifier a week before I left Cambridge. We instantly liked each other and decided to keep the friendship. I was so happy he actually decided to come to visit me in China just 1 month after I left. Some people just do what following his heart. 

I introduced him to my besties and my dear family in Shanghai, Catiah and Tony. We had a great house party together with Strikingly’s co-founder Teng. We talked a lot about politics, life and philosophy. etc. And played with Catiah’s new game. Artie’s life in developing countries and his education received in Harvard amazed both my friends and myself. What a brilliant young man of my age! I feel refreshed, as I felt the zombie like Shanghai life is eating my body, and I need someone who comes afar to give me something new.

Gay bar experience with Artie was also amazing. There were a bear bar upstairs doing opening just when we arrived. I never knew that there could be that many gay guys in China, and a lot bears aka pandas. Except almost poisoned by fake tequila, I had a blast. I definitely remembered time I spent in Philly in gay bars with Min and a lot good gin and tonics.

Dating is still kind of tough, I was on and off Tinder, connected with some people online while met one or two, but I was not really that into the hook up madness here. Just like Will said, Shanghai is way international than other cities in the US, you basically can find anything you want. But I really don’t know what I am looking for, as there is a huge gap between expact communities and local ones, for someone who is in between, I am even more confused.

I constantly met new guy friends, but still have not found anyone interesting enough to pursue or they are just not single lol. I met Dan, who also graduated from Upenn and lived there as long as I did, was “ fresh off the boat” to China, and still amazed with the culture shock and everything. I helped him to pick up Christmas gifts for his family and we probably gonna be pretty close friends. Alvin is someone I met in the alumni events back in September, he is an entrepreneur who has an education start up. I was trying to make him partner with my company, but was informed he is really good friend of our competitors. I really liked him as a person, Catiah said he might be a good fit. I tried to message him privately after our group events, but didn’t get really immediate response. Don’t have time to chase a guy wants to play hard to get, I read it as “ I am not interested in you”. I met JT 2 years ago in a party with Catiah, and he became pretty good friends with her so I had a chance to meet him couple of times last month. JT is a really talented independent artist and made some hit video projects online and he is “kind of a celebrity” if I use his words. As most artists and well achieved young man, his ego is so high sometimes it is kind of amusing. I just found out he has the same birthday with me and lived 2 blocks away from my place so I actually hate him less for that reason. Hmm, maybe Aries all thinks alike. Yefei is the CEO of an education company who I interviewed with to be his assistant. He sent his guy to pick me up with his Tesla when I arrived in Shanghai and I was flattered by his Chinese manner. He is 1 year younger than me but have been doing business for years in China. Although I didn’t end up working for him, I like to keep in touch with him. He is very different person from people in my circle and gave me perspectives of modern Chinese mentality as I have left for quiet a while.

Still, it is hard to make friends with girls for me. I only have Catiah, although Dil Dar is in town, she is always busy with her family and she just bought a new place. I also hang out with Yaxin, my old classmate back in Upenn, but no one is as close as Catiah. Maybe we are all competitors, as we are all single.  I don’t really quiet understand how women bounding with each other, and it is hard to find people who are as “ rude” as me I guess. I am glad that Felix and I made great balance and didn’t turn out to be another chaotic experience like Will and I. I think maybe cuz I am growing. 

Artie’s arrival encounter with Dan definitely brought back some memories in graduate school and some sense of American mentality. Artie is Asian Australian so the way he views Americans could be quiet different from an actual American like Dan. I like keeping a distance of my old life there while still not completely away from it. Compared to Will, I am not ready to give up everything I have learnt and experienced in the US.

I finally hooked up with someone this week. “ Finally” sounds a bit desperate but it is my journal so I don’t give a shit. We met on Tinder before Christmas, we were supposed to meet up that week but I had a long dinner with Catiah and Alvin so I didn’t make it. I deleted him ( or maybe he deleted me?) on Tinder and Wechat but I kept his Whats app. I was a bit surprised he actually texted me when he was about to come back to the city. As I was a bit frustrated by how unpromising people are on Tinder,  I am pretty open about any encounters. Yeah, call me desperate. Unlike most guys I met online, I like the way he flirted with me, a good balance between dirty and decent.  So I was pretty looking forward meeting him. As any first meeting offline, I was nervous that my expectation could be too high and the reality could be very the opposite.  I don’t know how guys feel but as a single woman who has stayed single for a very very very long time, I really don’t want to have another shitty dating experience.

I made a dress for this date when going to the market with Artie and tried to throw myself into a more classy manner to fit the Shanghai dating scene, looking hot and presentable. Single girls like me will not give up any chances to look stunning on a date because I do the typical casual American style during my work days. I put on my red dress,  my new golden earrings and my silver high heels,  and met him at one of my favorite cocktail bars in town. I felt great already even before I met him and I realized how efforts can help with the presentation of a new meeting. He is shorter as I expected, since I am not a girl who is really picky about height, it didn’t bother me that much. He is clean and well dressed, like most finance guys in town. I really like his shirt and I am still thinking about it. I also like the way he talks in English, he seems has the same accent like Chao, the typical European Chinese accent. 

I didn’t quite remember our conversations, I definitely talked too much. I can feel the chemistry during the meeting, so when he asked if I want to go to his place, I hesitated ( I am not sure if I am ready for it), but I agreed. We walked all the way back, in the beginning I was definitely uncomfortable in a new place looked just like a hotel and I was 95% sober. I showed him my art work and explained to him about my inspiration ( my crush on Eric) and he was just sitting there, enjoying my speech ( maybe a bit bored) and started to pull the knot on my dress. So I sat next to him, we kissed. 

Sex was passionate. He is a good lover. Not the best I had but definitely what I need. I was surprised I was not as excited as I used to be if I haven’t had sex for a while. The awkwardness after sex was obvious but not as obvious as it was with some past experience. His bed is huge and I realized he was not a cuddler. Although as a woman, I wish it could be more intimate but it is not something I could get disappointed. I don’t like to hug to sleep. He kissed me on my lips and on my forehead when he was about to sleep. I think that was sweet. 

It was hard not comparing any sexual experience with the one I had with Min, partially because it was the length and quality of our sex, and also a bit surprised he is a bit different with him. I am telling myself to be accepting something new. I couldn’t sleep well as usual, all kind of thoughts coming in and out, and for certain degree, it doesn’t feel real. 

I was pretty ready to leave fearing the fact I would be kicked out of the place ( well, he is a polite man who won’t do it directly), we made out again and couldn’t even stop making out. Somehow I wish, we could stay intimate for a while.

He didn’t text me the entire day. So am I having another fling? Maybe it is a kind of relationship only goes on the surface, and maybe because I am not ready. ( Probably I didn’t send people the right signal, therefore, not the right person.) 

Now I am thinking, one comment he made about me not taking other people to my place, “ why not?”. I couldn’t give him a legit answer. Why not? Because my ex boyfriend and I had an affair, because my ex ex boyfriend has a better solo place than my crowded room? Maybe, I don’t have a place. Just like he doesn’t have a place in SH. 

I couldn’t focus on work today just thinking about everything happened last night. It was too fast and too unreal, I started realizing I couldn’t remember most conversations we had better than the sex we had. 

When Catiah said I should start looking for guys I can potentially build a future together, I realized I didn’t actually think that much of it. Why things couldn’t just be as simple as I like you and you like me?

Now if I go back to that conversation I had with Min about choosing girlfriends and partners, I won’t be offended if he told me all these analysis.

I am a free spirit, maybe I am using up my youth. 

Did I have a good time? I did. Just go with the flow I guess. I was hurt by all the expectations people had on me and I had on them.

The entire day, only one song was stuck in my head, let it go.