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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 years ago

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Kickstarting the "Chokepoint Capitalism" audiobook

My next book is Chokepoint Capitalism, co-written with the brilliant copyright expert Rebecca Giblin: it’s an action-oriented investigation into how tech and entertainment monopolies have destroyed creators’ livelihoods, with detailed, shovel-ready plans to unrig creative labor markets and get artists paid.

http://www.beacon.org/Chokepoint-Capitalism-P1856.aspx

Ironically, the very phenomenon this book describes — “chokepoint capitalism” — is endemic to book publishing, and in audiobook publishing, it’s in its terminal phase. There’s no way to market an audiobook to a mass audience without getting trapped in a chokepoint, which is why we’re kickstarting a direct-to-listener edition:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/chokepoint-capitalism-an-audiobook-amazon-wont-sell

What is “chokepoint capitalism?” It’s when a multinational monopolist (or cartel) locks up audiences inside a system that they control, and uses that control to gouge artists, creating toll booths between creators and their audiences.

For example, take Audible: the Amazon division controls the vast majority of audiobook sales in the world — in some genres, they have a 90%+ market-share. Audible requires every seller — big publishers and self-publishers alike — to use their proprietary DRM as a condition of selling on the platform.

That’s a huge deal. DRM is useless at preventing copyright infringement (all of Audible’s titles can be downloaded for free from various shady corners of the internet), but it is wildly effective at locking in audiences and seizing power over creators. Under laws like the USA’s Digital Millennium Copyright Act, giving someone a tool to remove DRM is a felony, punishable by 5 years in prison and a $500k fine.

This means that when you sell your audiobooks on Audible, you lock them to Audible’s platform…forever. If another company offers you a better deal for your creative work and you switch, your audience can’t follow you to the new company without giving up all the audiobooks they’ve bought to date. That’s a lot to ask of listeners!

Amazon knows this: as their power over creators and publishers has grown, the company has turned the screw on them, starting with the most powerless group, the independent creators who rely on Amazon’s self-serve ACX system to publish their work.

In late 2020, a group of ACX authors discovered that Amazon had been systematically stealing their wages, to the tune of an estimated $100,000,000. The resulting Audiblegate scandal has only gotten worse since, and while the affected authors are fighting back, they’re hamstrung by Amazon’s other unfair practices, like forcing creators to accept binding arbitration waivers on their way through the chokepoint:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/11/03/somebody-will/#acx

I have always had a no-DRM policy for my ebooks and audiobooks. Amazon’s Kindle store — another wildly dominant part of the books ecosystem — has always allowed authors to choose whether or not to apply DRM, but in Audible — where Amazon had a commanding lead from the start, thanks to their anti-competitive acquisition of the formerly independent Audible company — it is mandatory.

Because Audible won’t carry my DRM-free audiobooks, audiobook publishers won’t pay for them. I don’t blame them — being locked out of the market where 90%+ of audiobooks are sold is a pretty severe limitation. For a decade now, I’ve produced my own audiobooks, using amazing narrators like @wilwheaton, Amber Benson and @neil-gaiman.

These had sold modestly-but-well, recouping my cash outlays to fairly compensate the readers, directors and engineers involved, but they were still niche products, sold at independent outlets like Libro.fm, Downpour, and my own online storefront:

https://craphound.com/shop

But that all changed in 2020, with the publication of Attack Surface, an adult standalone novel set in the world of my bestselling YA series Little Brother. That time, I decided to use Kickstarter to pre-sell the audio- and ebooks and see if my readers would help me show other creators that we could stand up to Audible’s bullying.

Holy shit, did it ever work. The Kickstarter for the Attack Surface audiobook turned into the most successful audiobook crowdfunding campaign in world history, grossing over $267,000:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/attack-surface-audiobook-for-the-third-little-brother-book

Which brings me to today, and our new Kickstarter for Chokepoint Capitalism. We produced an independent audiobook, tapping the incomparable Stefan Rudnicki (winner of uncountable awards, narrator of 1000+ books, including Ender’s Game) to read it.

We’re preselling the audiobook ($20), ebook ($15), hardcover ($27), and bundles mixing and matching all three (there’s also bulk discounts). There’s also the option to buy copies that we’ll donate to libraries on your behalf. We’ve got pins and stickers — and, for five lucky high-rollers, we’ve got a very special artwork called: “The Annotated Robert Bork.”

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/chokepoint-capitalism-an-audiobook-amazon-wont-sell

Robert Bork was the far-right extremist who convinced Ronald Reagan to dismantle antitrust protection in America, and then exported the idea to the rest of the world (Reagan tried to reward him with a Supreme Court seat, but Bork’s had been Nixon’s Solicitor General and his complicity in Nixon’s crimes cost him the confirmation).

Bork’s dangerous antitrust nonsense destroyed the world as we knew it, giving us the monopolies that have wrecked the climate, labor protections and political integrity. These monopolies have captured every sector of the economy — from beer and pro-wrestling to health insurance and finance:

https://www.openmarketsinstitute.org/learn/monopoly-by-the-numbers

“The Annotated Robert Bork” is a series of five shadow-boxes containing two-page spreads excised from Bork’s 1978 pro-monopoly manifesto

The Antitrust Paradox

, which we have mounted on stiff card and hand-annotated with our red pens. The resulting package is a marvel of museum glass and snark.

[Image ID: A prototype of ‘The Annotated Robert Bork]

Bork’s legacy is monopolistic markets in every sector of the world’s economy, including the creative industries. Chokepoint Capitalism systematically explores how tech and entertainment giants have rigged music streaming, newspapers, book publishing, the film industry, TV, video streaming, and others, steadily eroding creators’ wages even as their work generated more money for the monopolists’ shareholders.

But just as importantly, our book proposes things we can do right now to unrig creative labor markets. Drawing on both existing, successful projects and promising new experiments, we set out shovel-ready ideas for creators, artists’ groups, fans, technologists, startups, and local, regional and national governments.

Artists aren’t in this struggle alone. As we write in the book, chokepoint capitalism is the final stage of high-tech capitalism, which atomizes workers and locks in customers and then fleeces workers as a condition of reaching their audiences. It’s a form of exploitation that is practiced wherever industries concentrate, which is why creators can’t succeed by rooting for Big Tech against Big Content or vice-versa.

It’s also why creative workers should be in solidarity with all workers — squint a little at Audible’s chokepoint shakedown and you’ll recognize the silhouette of the gig economy, from Uber to Doordash to the poultry and meat-packing industries.

40 years of official pro-monopoly policy has brought the world to the brink of collapse, as monopoly profits and concentrated power allowed an ever-decreasing minority of the ultra-rich to extract ever-increasing fortunes from ever-more-precarious workers. It’s a flywheel: more monopoly creates more profits creates more power creates more monopoly.

The solutions we propose in Chokepoint Capitalism are specific to creative labor, but they’re also examples of the kinds of tactics that we can use in every industry, to brake the monopolists’ flywheel and start a new world.

I hope you’ll consider backing the Kickstarter if you can afford to — and if you can’t, I hope you’ll check out one of the copies our backers have donated to libraries around the world:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/chokepoint-capitalism-an-audiobook-amazon-wont-sell

[Image ID: An image of a mobile phone playing the Chokepoint Capitalism audiobook, along with the title and subtitle of the book: 'Chokepoint Capitalism: How Big Tech and Big Content Captured Creative Labor Markets and How We'll Win Them Back.']

[Image ID: Are you a writer, a musician, an artist? Is Big Tech eating your brain and sucking your financial blood? Cory Doctorow and Rebecca Giblin’s new book, Chokepoint Capitalism’, tells us how the vampires crashed the party and provides protective garlic. Your brain must remain your own concern, however.’ — Margaret Atwood, author of The Handmaid’s Tale]

[Image ID: I loved this book. It brings a clear and rigorous vision of the chokepoint controls that are breaking our spirit and an equally clear path forward. It speaks directly to creators, would-be artists, writers, and musicians, and all who want a free society alive with culture, dissent, creativity. It helps us all see the locks and chains, and the ways to chisel through them.’ — Zephyr Teachout, law professor and author of Corruption in America and Break ’Em Up]

[Image ID: Creators are being ground up by the modern culture industries, with little choice but to participate in markets that weaken their power and economic return. In this brilliant and wide-ranging work, Giblin and Doctorow show why, and offer a range of powerful strategies for fighting back.’ — Lawrence Lessig, Roy L. Furman Professor of Law and Leadership, Harvard Law School]

[Image ID: This compellingly readable indictment shows how ‘consumer welfare’ regulatory theory has allowed Big Tech to choke creators and diminish choice. Giblin and Doctorow demonstrate that the goal to lower consumer costs means ‘you get what you pay for’: paying less for cultural goods leads to getting fewer creative outputs and enterprises. Chokepoint Capitalism couples its legal-economic critique with provocative, sometimes utopian, prescriptions for fairly remunerating authors and performers.’ — Jane C. Ginsburg, Morton L. Janklow Professor of Literary and Artistic Property Law, Columbia University School of Law]

[Image ID: The great myth of the American economy is that it rewards creators and producers. But Chokepoint Capitalism dares to tell the real story of how it actually rewards the all-powerful middlemen fleecing both workers and consumers. This book is an absolute must-read for anyone who senses that the predominant economic mythology is a lie, who wants to know what’s really happening in this economy — and who is ready to finally start fixing the problem.’ — David Sirota, writer of Don’t Look Up and founder of The Lever]

[Image ID: We all know something is wrong about every click, stream, and purchase we make — unfairly depriving value creators of their worth, while enriching the wealthiest and most extractive entities in human history. Instead of just complaining about the corporate stranglehold over production and exchange, Giblin and Doctorow show us why this happened, how it works, and what we can do about it. An infuriating yet inspiring call to collective action.’ — Douglas Rushkoff, author of Throwing Rocks at the Google Bus and Survival of the Richest]

[Image ID: Twenty years of internet copyright wars got us nowhere — creators are still getting the shaft. Giblin and Doctorow persuasively argue that copyright can’t unrig a rigged market — for that you need worker power, antitrust, and solidarity.’ — Jimmy Wales, cofounder of Wikipedia]

[Image ID: Capitalism doesn’t work without competition. Giblin and Doctorow impressively show the extent to which that’s been lost throughout the creative industries, and how this pattern threatens every other worker. There’s still time to do something about it, but the time to act is now.’ — Craig Newmark, founder of Craigslist]

[Image ID: Chokepoint Capitalism really is a tome for the times. It’s comforting to feel validated and terrifying to realize I was right all along! And now, to action! The revolution will not be spotified!’ — Christopher Coe, artist and cofounder of Awesome Soundwave]

[Image ID: If you have ever wondered why the web feels increasingly stale, Chokepoint Capitalism outlines in great detail how it is being denied fresh air. Over the past two decades, we have seen an immense consolidation of power, depriving us of fresh visions for what the web could be and contorting art and culture to flatter the objectives of a few platforms. This book does a remarkable job of identifying the blockages and surfacing ideas on the margins that could reroute us. I’m grateful it exists!’ — Mat Dryhurst, artist and researcher, NYU’s Clive Davis Institute of Recorded Music]

[Image ID: Chokepoint Capitalism is more than a clarion call for a new, necessary form of trustbusting. It’s a grand unified theory of a decades-long, corporate-led hollowing out of creative culture. It will make you angry, and it should.’ — Andy Greenberg, writer for WIRED and author of Sandworm and Tracers in the Dark]

[Image ID: If you’re halfway through this book and aren’t boiling mad over the way contemporary capitalism has deformed and crippled culture, get your head checked. Chokepoint Capitalism is a Why We Fight for a long-overdue uprising. Rebecca Giblin and Cory Doctorow lay out their case in plain and powerful prose, offering a grand tour of the blighted cultural landscape and how our arts and artists have been chickenized, choked, and cheated. But it’s more than just a call to arms; it also provides a plan of battle with inspired strategy and actual tactics — ways that we can all channel that anger and make real change.’ — Kaiser Kuo, host and cofounder of The Sinica Podcast]

[Image ID: The story of how a few giant corporations are strangling the life out of our media ecosystem is one of the most important of the decade, and Giblin and Doctorow tell it better than anyone. Searing, essential, and incredibly readable.’ — Adam Conover, comedian and host of The G-Word]

[Image ID: Chokepoint Capitalism is not just a fascinating tour of the hidden mechanics of the platform era, from Spotify playlists to Prince’s name change, but a compelling agenda to break Big Tech’s hold. It presents a clear new way to think about corporate power — and a path to taking that power back for cultural creators and all of us.’ — Eli Pariser, author of The Filter Bubble and cofounder of Avaaz]

[Image ID: Chokepoint Capitalism is a masterwork. Rebecca Giblin and Cory Doctorow lay out in chilling detail how the deck is stacked against artists, the relentless corporate drives to control production and distribution through technology and deregulation, and how oligopolies deprive gifted artists of fair compensation by eliminating true competition. But they don’t stop there: this is also a useful handbook to take on that power structure. Giblin and Doctorow remind us that when individuals understand the value of their work, they can create the necessary leverage to challenge the status quo and retake what is rightfully theirs. Both frightening and uplifting, it’s a necessary read for any artist in the entertainment industry.’ — David A. Goodman, writer, executive producer of The Orville, and former president of the WGA Wes]

[Image ID: Anyone who cares about culture can see that something is deeply amiss in the ‘creator economy’ that today’s artists are obligated to participate in. Rather than simply lamenting the problem or falling back on clichés about starving artists, what Rebecca Giblin and Cory Doctorow do in Chokepoint Capitalism is to make clear the overall pattern that drives the exploitation of artists, from music to gaming to film to books. And they lay out a credible, actionable vision for a better, more collaborative future where artists get their fair due. Every creator will find inspiration here.’ — Anil Dash, CEO of Glitch]

#pluralistic #labor #creative labor markets #chokepoint capitalism #audible #monopolies #audiobooks #amazon #monopsonies #solidarity #crowdfunding #kickstarter #drm

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thefanficmonster · 3 years ago

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Innocent Life

Ethan Winters (Resident Evil Biohazard) & Child!Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of Death, Grief, Spoilers for RE8:Village, Swearing

Genre: Angst

Summary: As Ethan stands outside the ruins of Luiza’s house, looking the aftermath of the death he barely escaped in the eye, he cannot get the wails and cries of a child out of his head. Takes him a bit to realize they’re not a product of his trauma.

Requested by Anon. Hi dear! Thank you so much for the wonderful request, I had a blast writing it - what can I say, angst is my specialty hehe. Hope you enjoy the read! Love, Vy ❤

How the hell is this happening? Why is this happening? Why to me? Why my family? Why were we the ones chosen for this suffering to be thrown upon? What did my daughter do to deserve this, for fuck’s sake?!

Why does everyone around me die? Why do I always loose everyone?

I’m the problem....

His knees are weak, his head’s spinning. His lungs have filled with smoke and ash so much he can barely breathe. His eyes sting, reddened around the edges, his vision blurry. However, what bothers him most is the mess that is currently his mind - swimming with the feeling of betrayal, sorrow and dread.

He lost so much so suddenly and in such a short amount of time. He lost Chris - someone he thought of as a friend but has now been replaced by a coldblooded killer and backstabber. He refuses to believe that’s still the Chris who saved him and Mia from Louisiana, he has to be dead.

Mia....

He lost Mia. He’s lost her before countless times - he lost her when he though she was dead, he kept losing her and getting her back at the Bakers’ residence as she switched between her monstrous form and being herself. He lost her again when they made it back, when her mind was clouded and darkened, when all she needed was solitude and when he wasn’t allowed anywhere near her as doctors upon doctors used her as a research object. And now he’s lost her again, this time for good. It’s just him and Rose now.

Or it would be if she too wasn’t taken from him, leaving him in the pit of grief and loss, both emotions at an intensity he’s never experienced before. Like a drill going through his heart, or a sledgehammer breaking it down to shards. Or as though his heart’s completely vanished, unable to take the anguish Ethan’s existence has become. The anguish that will live on for as long as he will.

Those three years of Mia being gone.

That nightmarish night back in Louisiana.

The horrific sight of dozens of bullets entering his wife’s body in front of his very eyes as he remained helpless.

The sound of Rose’s wailing cries.

God, he can still hear them. And oh so vividly. Like a cursed, haunting loop in his brain. If he closes his eyes he can almost imagine her being a few feet from him, near him, giving him the opportunity to soothe her, calm her down, tell her it’s all gonna be ok even if it seems like hell at the moment. Promising he’d make it all alright and make the right people pay for what’s happened.

But then finally, he picks up on it - the oddity in the cries he’s hearing.

They’re too realistic for a mind to be able to produce. They’re too loud and too close and are external. And, most importantly, they sound like the cries of an older child.

Ethan quickly snaps himself back to reality, coming to terms with the knowledge that the sounds he’s hearing are a part of it and not some dark corner of his mind. Despite the horror he feels and creep up, taking over his whole body in the form of cold sweat, he still takes a step towards the source of the ear-splitting and heart-sinking noise. It’s instinctively human to feel a sickening feeling of sympathy combined with the need to shield something so powerless from any harm.

To save an innocent life.

Heading towards the side of what used to be Luiza’s house he spots it - a crib on top of which there’s a pile of rubble and wooden planks. The thing seems to barely be standing and yet it’s harboring the child whose cries have now grown louder. Ethan’s frozen for a few moments, frozen with fear. Frozen with the overwhelming thought that there’s no way he can save that child. Frozen and powerless, just like he was on the floor of his own home as life left Mia’s body.

You didn’t do anything for her....

The sound of a crack in the already weak wood, seemingly coming from the child’s crib, sends all his senses on edge, his adrenaline once again starting to rush through his veins.

But you can do something for that child, Ethan! Do something before it’s too late!

Within the blink of an eye, Ethan finds himself standing above the unsteady wooden structure, putting all his strength into removing the rubble that has thankfully piled atop the wooden planks, preventing anything from landing on the baby and harming it. Hell, it’s a miracle it didn’t suffocate from the smoke in the first place. Its cries are put to a halt when its wide eyes land on Ethan, who’s looking back at the toddler with the same amount of distress.

“Hi there. It’s ok, you’re safe now.“ He finds himself breathing out shakily as his trembling hands reach down, picking up the now silent toddler. “It’s ok, little one. You’re a literal miracle, you know that?“ His gaze travels over the ruin the house has become, the house that was this child’s home. Its family’s home. This toddler knows loss much like Ethan does, or it will when it grows up. But as of now, it’s secured in the bubble of blissful ignorance due to infancy.

And Ethan has come across yet another bump in the road: making his way in the castle was already gonna be a difficult and possibly lethal venture, but doing it with a child in his arms, that’s a death sentence for both him and the kid.

“You and I have a thing for surviving hell, but not even I am willing to take the risk of taking you with me, kid.“ He gently caresses the toddlers head as its big awed eyes blink up at him with curiosity.

One one hand, a castle with horrors he’s yet to be familiar with; on the other, a village which’s horrors he’s already seen and experienced and would rather die right in this very spot than subject this innocent kid to them.

Ethan’s once again stranded.

“What do I do with you, kid? Being with me won’t bring you any good. I’m like a death sentence to everyone around me.“ His heart breaks as he says that because - in his mind and by his logic - it’s the truth. It’s the only thing that makes sense in such a nonsensical situation.

Then suddenly, an idea sparks, fueling what little hope and courage he has left and getting his legs to move from the spot they’ve been stuck in for the past God knows how long. That’s not important right now. What matters is that, for the first time since this nightmare started, Ethan Winters has a clue of what he’s doing. He’s got a plan.

* * *

“I see you have returned!“ The Duke greets him with his signature lazy smile before his gaze lands on the child in Ethan’s arms, his eyes widening in surprise, “Oh, and you’ve got company!“

“Actually...“ Ethan stops in front of the shop, adjusting his grip on the kid, “They’ll be keeping you company from now until....well, until I come back.“

“And where is it you’re planning on going?“ The Duke asks, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and concern, “Perhaps you don’t suppose I know how to take care of a child.“

Ethan grows irritated, “Perhaps you don’t suppose I’m gonna take a kid into that castle you called me insane for wanting to go in myself. Trust me, I wouldn’t be leaving them with you if it wasn’t my only choice.” When he doesn’t receive a verbal response from the Duke, more of an expression change that suggested he’s accepting of this, Ethan grow relieved, turning to the toddler that hasn’t taken its eyes off him even for a second. “Hey, you’re gonna be just alright with the big guy, ok? He’s gonna keep you safe until I come back.” His initial intention was to say ‘even if I don’t come back’ but he just couldn’t bring himself to say it, not to the kid at least, “Until then...” He pauses when a name automatically pops up in his head, “Until then, Y/N, you’ll stay here with the Duke.”

After that heavy-hearted goodbye, Ethan reluctantly hands the kid - Y/N - over to the Duke, a shift they are not very happy about seeing as how they start wailing immediately.

“You owe me plenty, Mr. Winters.“ The Duke says with a frown on his face, displeased and already developing a headache from the child’s cries.

“I owe you nothing. What you’re doing is basic human decency.“ Ethan glares at him before turning his attention to Y/N, “Hey, it’s alright. I know you two aren’t big fans of one another, but I promise I won’t take long. I’ll be back before you know it.“ Planting a quick reassuring kiss on top of the child’s head, he steps away, relieved to find they don’t break out in a crying fit again.

With that peace of mind, he takes off on the path that’ll lead him to the castle. A part of him has found some peace, knowing that one innocent life has been saved. However, there’s still one awaiting rescue. And he’ll be damned if he’s not the rescuer.

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tacticaldiary · 3 years ago

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Allergies

Pairing: Reader x Bakugou Katsuki

Genre: Fluff; Sickfic

She’s been bested by the worst villain of all: Allergies. Bakugou ends up being the on having to deal with it.

Masterlist

“Would you quit it!” Bakugou exclaims, looking up from his notebook to glare at the girl sitting cross legged on his bed.

Y/N frowns, opening her mouth to respond to her ill-tempered boyfriend, but stops, letting out another sneeze.

And another...then another.

“I can’t help it!” She says, sniffling. “You think I’m-” another sneeze, “-I’m trying to get on your nerves, asshole?!”

The sentence is punctuated with yet another sneeze, and Y/N groans, falling onto her back in defeat, letting herself stare up at the ceiling of his dorm. She had been bested by the ultimate villain, one so horrible no one could face it head on. It was tormenting her for the past 2 hours and she was powerless to stop it...

Allergies.

As she lets out another pitiful sneeze, she hears movement and when she squints open her eyes again, she can see Bakugou staring down at her, not as angry as before. He stays silent, taking in her condition.

“What’s wrong, then?” He though she was doing this to bother him, but apparently not... “Tell me so I can fix it and go back to studying.” He grumbles. When she doesn’t respond, he adds: “Or I could just kick you out of here-”

“Allergies.” She mumbles quickly. “The seasons changing and I have allergies.”

Bakugou snorts in amusement. “Allergies? What kind of wuss-”

“If you aren’t gonna help, leave!”

“What- this is my dorm-”

“And I’m your girlfriend.” She shoots back. “You’re just gonna let your girlfriend die like this-”

“God, you’re too fucking dramatic-”

“My insides might explode-”

“Stop interrupting me-”

“I could sneeze out a lung and you wouldn’t care!” She says louder than him, biting back a grin at his annoyed expression. “Honestly maybe I should-” She cuts herself off with a yelp as Bakugou leans down and hauls her up, easily picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“H-hey!” a sneeze, “Put me down!” She doesn’t make any real effort to struggle or escape his grasp, letting him walk towards the door.

“I’m dropping your ass off to the sick bay, so shut up.” He says simply walking out the door and down the hallway.

Y/N mumbles complaints under her breath, because how idiotic would she look walking into the sick bay for allergies?

He sets her down once they’re outside the building, making sure she gets in and handing her off to recovery girl. Despite how he had drawled about leaving her and going back, he stays the entire time, waiting for her to be done.

She doesn’t comment on the fact that he waiting over 30 minutes for her when she comes out of the room, feeling much better. He may not verbalise it, but his action showed her how much he loved her.

Requests For Bungou Stray Dogs are Open! Send Em In!

(26/06/2021)

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1uckygold · 3 years ago

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Keys to the Magic Door (18)

Summary: The Bangtan boys one night encounter a woman that looks exactly like the animation ARMY from "Magic Door" and "Dream ON." What if it's not a coincidence? What if it's actually the female from the animation video? Except she needs their help... she needs to go back into her universe before it falls apart. BTS agree to do anything to help, but what happens if they all start to fall in love with her? What do they do when... when it's time to say goodbye?

~Pairing: 방탄소년단 (BTS) | ot7 x f! Reader

~Genre: Fluff & Humor, Alternate Universe - Bangtan Universe

~Word Count: 2.3K

~Tag List: @eridanuswave

Part: 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 19 / More Chapters Soon...

Numb… That’s all you could say, it’s all you’ve felt in your entire body—Not moving an inch from the couch since finding out the news, staring at the spot where the laptop use to be. The seven having taken it, researching and going through the video’s comments or the tweets that were spreading like wildfire.

It was not good.

The world was wondering what was going on, if this was a new thing Hybe Labels were tryin’ or if it was a livestream for something bigger.

But this… This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, none of them were supposed to start disappearing. The plan was less than simple, in fact, you weren’t sure there was a plan, but it didn’t change about you going home—Now? You weren’t sure if there was going to be enough time to make it back.

An ache crushed your heart, the memory replaying constantly as mini Joon disappeared before your eyes. The fear you saw, the fear he felt, reflected through the camera and inside your heart… It was all too much. What hurt worse was knowing the six were still left alone, huddled together in tears and practically shaking. Not knowing when or who was going to be next.

You were too deep in your thoughts and head, not noticing voices calling out. Currently, everything sounded like background music.

“Y/N… Are you alright?”

A single whisper cut through the hazy fog, eyes slowly blinking as you glanced up in slow motion to the person that was waving a hand in your face. It felt like time started up again, Yoongi staring down in pure concern… Usually he wasn’t one to comfort anyone, but Yoongi also couldn’t stand it when someone needed help.

Alright? Are you… alright?!

Teeth clenched together in a tight grimace, feeling a sudden emotion you never thought possible to feel with them—Rage.

You’re guardian… Friend, just disappeared. You didn’t even know if Joon was okay or not, you didn’t know where exactly he went—So then, why the hell would you be alright?! Joon might have died in front of the whole world, and you weren’t there to save him. Yoongi asking such a ridiculous question… It had you bubbling.

Something over took you, rising from the couch and narrowing into a vicious glare that could practically peel paint with just a glance. The tension forced everyone to get up as well in alarm, Hoseok and Jungkook flinching at the intensity. Though the only one that stood their ground was Yoongi, not showing an ounce of fear or worry.

Even when cornering him, his back flatly touching against the wall.

“Tch, asking such a stupid question—How would you feel if the boys, any of them, had got snatched or disappeared before your eyes?! Watching and feeling powerless to stop the inevitable! Those seven, they were… ARE my everything. Right now, it feels like my heart is going through a shredder, tearing away at my very soul! We don’t even have a single clue on how to get me back home, it’s… It’s hopeless—God, it’s probably too late. They’re dying Yoongi. They’re dying and I can’t do anything about it,” You finally broke.

Anger vanished, body shaking as tears slid down like a waterfall. You didn’t even notice when you had grabbed Yoongi’s shirt, fingers loosening when falling into his arms with a pathetic sob and dropping to the ground as he followed.

Yoongi’s eyes softened, the sight of you looking so… empty, hurt him in ways he couldn’t describe. The others watching the little scene with tears of their own, wanting to comfort you as well but knowing right now it was Yoongi’s job.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean—It was a dumb question to ask, but they’re your guardians, right? They exist because you do, so don’t cry. Everything will be fine once your home… and we WILL get you back home. I’ll make sure of it,” Yoongi firmly stated, and although he didn’t like the idea of you leaving. He also understood a lot about missing home and loved ones, willingly to be selfless than selfish.

“We all will,” Namjoon said, a serious expression upon his face and the others, despite the tears that were still falling. Soon, cries turned into soft sniffles to look up at the determination shining in their eyes and not long were you pulled into a group hug. Squished right in the middle, feeling damps on your shirt.

“How about we all watch a movie? Destress to have a clear mind on figuring out a plan to get you home as soon as possible. It won’t do any good to run on negative thoughts,” Seokjin said, lightly kissing your forehead as you nodded against Yoongi’s chest. Taehyung wiping the tear stains away from your cheek with his thumb—Everyone hated you cried out of sadness instead of happiness.

“I’ll get the pillows!” Hoseok shouted, forcing a smile upon his face and keeping himself together. Jumping away from the huddle group and practically running to his room, not wishing to put a damper on your mood once more… Hoseok didn’t want you to see him crying anymore. Jimin glanced at his roommate in concern, wiping away his own tears and following for a shoulder to lean on.

“That leaves the rest of us than on furniture duty—Taehyung, Jungkook, let’s get moving things around for more space. Seokjin can start on dinner,” Namjoon said, no one disagreeing as they started to untangle themselves to get moving. The only ones who still stay on the floor was you and Yoongi, not moving as of yet… In fact, you didn’t realize that you were nearly pushed in his lap.

“Do you want to come with to get snacks?” Yoongi mumbled, whispering in your hair and dangling keys that were in his back pocket. Feeling you nod, helping and getting up—Although before leaving, you both made sure to get a list from each member.

During the ride, you stared out the window in complete silence and it was oddly calming. Yoongi seemed to understand that words weren’t needed, even taking the longer road to the store and giving you more time to think on the ride.

“I’m sorry…” You faintly whispered, head down in shame and fidgeting in your seat. Yoongi raising a single eyebrow, wondering what on earth you were apologizing for… Crying? Only did he hear sniffles once more did he glance at you in shock. Immediately parking the car in a random spot, Yoongi panicking and giving his full attention.

“Shit—Hey, hey it’s okay! Whatever your apologizing for, it’s alright!” Yoongi said, fumbling on not knowing how to comfort you properly. Especially when he didn’t know what exactly was wrong.

“I shouldn’t have taken my anger out or yelled at you. It wasn’t right when you have been nothing but kind—It’s just that everything was building up ever since I heard the news. Honestly, it felt like I could hardly breathe… But that didn’t mean it was fair for you and for that, I’m sorry,” You confessed, tear drops painting your hand with little splashes.

However a specific sound echoed throughout the car that had your eyes widening, snapping up to see Yoongi failing to contain his laughter. The sight had your nose scrunching up in confusion—What was so funny?

“Fuck… Sorry, but that’s what you were worrying about? Believe me, it’s normal to feel angry and quite common when taking it out on the first person you see—Hell, the boys and I have gotten in our fair share of fights too, but we always come back with apologizes. Look, you apologized and didn’t physically harm me… We’re okay,” Yoongi showed his traditional gummy smile, squeezing your hand and starting the car once more to continue toward the destined store.

You stared at Yoongi with mixed emotions, eyes glancing down at your intertwined hands. He didn’t bother to release his grip or pull away and break contact. A soft smile forcing itself out, biting your lip and looking out the car window… Unaware of the watching eyes.

Yoongi peeked at your hands, a light blush forming—He’d never admit it out loud, but he was always a sucker for affection.

Not long did you two come back home from the store, snacks in hand and after dodging a few insensitive people that kept chasing with their cameras at the ready. Hell, even army wouldn’t do such a thing, they had more sense and respect for the boys than the attention whores. Although when you walked through the door, you weren’t expecting the whole house to be as dark as outside.

You couldn’t see a thing…

“Uh, guys?” Yoongi shouted into the darkness, putting the bags down to blindly search for the light switch. In fact, you could have sworn someone giggled in the darkness, but it was so soft that you couldn’t believe if your ears were playing tricks. Though when the lights turned on with a flick, six boys jumped out with a shout that caused you to scream. Trigging Hoseok and Seokjin’s scream as well.

“What the fuck!” You screeched, hand slapping against your heart as the two other scaredy cats did the same.

Honestly, you didn’t know whether to pass out, strangle them, or do both for nearly causing you a heart attack. The guys blinked, baffled and not expecting that reaction out of you. Silence befalling before laughter was heard, the maknae line dropping to the ground with tears in their eyes.

When your heart rate cooled down, you swiftly looked around the room as your mouth dropped in awe—The guys had decorated the entire living room, furniture moved around, and floor being covered in fluffy blankets/pillows. There were even stuffed animals… Although your favorite part was the white Christmas lights that were hanging on the wall, making the room look stunning when there plugged in, and ceiling lights were off.

“Wow, you guys did all this?” You asked, walking carefully to not trip over anything as if you were in a trance. While you admired their work, Jungkook rushed to help Yoongi with the bags that held nothing but snacks inside.

“Yeah! We did it for you, like it?” Jimin smiled, hopping a little from being excited and wanting to know your thoughts. They all wanted to do something special for you, and what better way to do it then lounge around, eating snacks, watching movies, and being wrapped up in warm blankets?

“I love it!” You laughed, and for a minute… It was like every problem washed away, jumping into the pile of pillows and rolling yourself in the blankets with a content sigh. Jimin deciding to join, doing the same with Hoseok and Taehyung, only to clumsily trip. The three falling over one another and stumbling to the hard ground, not even making it safely to the covers laid out.

“Why don’t you and Yoongi get dressed into something more comfortable. We already have a system planned out on how to choose a movie, but first you need to change and then we can eat,” Namjoon said, chuckling and eyes sparkling in amusement as he helped you up.

You didn’t waste time, practically running toward the room to gather clothes and change your outfit—Weeks ago, the seven designed and prepared your very own room, using the extra one they kept for storage and instruments. When coming back, you noticed that Yoongi was still in his room.

But that didn’t stop any of you from serving yourselves food that Seokjin prepared. Everyone’s stomach grumbling in anticipation, not thinking to wait for Yoongi.

“Yah, enough! Leave me some!” Yoongi scolded, coming back and shoving Jungkook gently out the way from eating all the Ramon and kimchi.

Afterward, Namjoon instructed everyone to choose one movie and write it on a piece of paper before he dropped it in a cup. The choice being decided by reaching into the cup until no more papers were left… But when it was all gone, everyone eventually decided to play games instead. Movies still continuing playing in the background.

“People! …Ugly people!” Seokjin shouted, eyes watching Hoseok gesturing and pointing to all the seven boys. Pillows immediately thrown at the eldest, hitting him in the face but Seokjin was too deep in his laughter to care.

Eventually it was clear that the usual sunshine boy was getting extremely impatient, Hoseok harshly gesturing did nothing to help during their game at charades. All the logical answers that were yelled out seemed to be wrong, but you figured it had something to do with the guys somehow—Even Namjoon couldn’t figure it out, and he was the smartest out of all of them.

Sighing, Hoseok decided to try a different tactic seeing your blank faces… Drawing a specific symbol in the air with one finger. Only to give up when everyone still stared on, not getting it.

“BTS! How could you not get that?!”

“Ohh, that makes more sense than cut up bread,” Jungkook nodded in understanding, pursing his lips as you facepalmed at the most obvious answer ever. Disappointed groans echoing from each angle.

However, suddenly the tv and lights blew out causing all you to scream from the explosion—A bright purple light starting to illuminate from the now broken tv, it was the same one that took you into this alternate world. But just as it came, the glow disappeared and left you all in the dark, not before shooting out a rolled-up piece of paper.

“What the hell was that?!”

~~~~

Welcome to the eighteenth chapter to Keys to the Magic Door! I apologize, this update was long over due. I've been busy with classes, but here it is! The seven trying to comfort is sweet, but what's going to happen next?

Likes, Comments, Reblogs, and Follows are very much appreciated if you enjoy the story, its always exciting to know that you like my writing and gives me more motivation to update faster!

See you all soon, Stay Gold!

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nessinborderland · 4 years ago

Text

Be Mine (08)

Pairing: Niragi x Reader / Chishiya x Reader

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff, Omegaverse

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: You were able to stay unbounded throughout your life. You didn’t want an Alpha; you didn’t need one. You would rather die than to give yourself to some random male. But the man that saved your life thinks differently.

Warnings: Alpha/Omega, Dubious Consent, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Finger fucking, Rough Sex, Rough Kissing, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Breeding, Pregnancy Kink, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Drama, Developing Relationship, Past Abuse, Scars, Death, Blood and Gore, Animal Death, Trauma, Bath Sex, Blood and Injury, Oral Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Feelings

Notes: Here I am, back with chapter 8!! Be aware that there's a lot going on in this chapter involving abuse and trauma, so please proceed with caution. Hope you enjoy it! <3

AO3 Link Masterlist

He can’t believe his eyes.

The moment the bag was taken off to show the man’s face, he wondered if he was having one of his nightmares again. He barely has those anymore, but what else can this be? He refuses to believe he is here. It can’t be real; it makes no sense.

But it is real. It’s him, without a shadow of a doubt. He’s visibly older, once black hair now with streaks of gray, and deep-set tired eyes. But he could never forget that face; the face that has been haunting his dreams for years. He almost feels sick at the realization. Why is he here? What does he want? How? When? So many questions.

Then fear.

Is he here to hurt him? To hurt you? No, he can’t let that happen; he won’t let that happen. Memories come flushing in, and it’s like he’s a young boy again, with no means of escaping or protecting himself. He feels powerless, and it’s terrifying. After so many years trying to gain control of his life, making others fear him...he comes and ruins everything.

Then anger.

How dare he even be alive? In his mind, he killed him long ago. He was supposed to be dead, locked away in some shithole, away from him. But he’s alive and he’s here. The man looks at him with fear in his eyes, but they’re also eyes that don’t recognize him. It makes a fire run in his chest. After everything he has done to him, after all the trauma and scars he left on him? How dare he not remember?

And then he feels you, on the back of his mind, surprised and wanting to approach him.

No. He has to get you out of that room.

“Y/N,” he says. He barely recognizes his own voice. His eyes are still locked on the man in front of him; he can’t let him out of his sight. His body shakes with the effort to keep himself under control, but he still lets his claws out. He needs to protect you. “Get out.”

“Ni–”

“All of you, out!” he shouts, a growl forming in his chest. The man on the chair is shaking, looking more terrified by the second. Still not recognizing him. That angers him more than he would like to admit.

He hears everyone leave the room; everyone except for you. He glances over his shoulder, opening his mouth to order you out.

“I am not leaving,” you say before he can talk. Your voice trembles, but he can feel your determination. You know how he’s feeling, after all. It makes him hate this connection even more; you’re not supposed to see him like this. You’re not supposed to know about this.

“Y/N, I’m not repeating myself,” he takes a deep breath, “Leave… now.”

“But Niragi, you–”

“Niragi?... Niragi Suguru?” those words freeze him in place. That voice, saying his name, makes shivers of terror run down his spine. He looks down at the man, his wide eyes now filled with recognition.

That man knows who he is. He almost wishes he didn’t.

“Do you know who I am?” Niragi forces himself to ask, in a whisper so low you can barely hear it. He can feel you in the back of his mind, as tense and frightened as he is. But he can’t focus on you right now; not when the monster from his past just said his name.

The old man stays quiet for a beat, looking him up and down. Niragi knows what he must be thinking. When they last saw each other, he was nothing more than a shy and scrawny fourteen-year-old boy; now he’s over a decade older and taller, piercings all over his face.

And he’s an Alpha. That is the most important change. One that the old man definitely notices.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” the man gulps, “Keiko’s boy?”

Niragi has to control his basic instinct to flee as he crouches before the older man, close enough that he can smell the pungent odor of sweat and cigarette smoke. It’s so disgusting and so familiar that he almost gets sick. He swallows the lump in his throat before talking.

“What if I am?” he says, in the most leveled tone he can. He can’t let him know he’s scared. He can’t let him get inside his head. “Why does it matter?”

“I– I just never thought I would see you again after all these years, I–” the man stutters, clearly nervous, “Is nice to finally see my nephew, though. You’ve...changed.”

“Nephew?” you ask. He can feel your surprise, followed by something close to realization. You’re starting to connect the dots. Niragi hates it.

“I’m not your fucking nephew,” he spits in the man’s direction. He can feel his blood starting to boil, claws tingling to dig into the man’s throat. “And you...you should be rotting in some prison cell, not here.”

The man laughs, a low and raspy sound that makes a shiver run down Niragi’s spine. He used to hate that sound. He finds out he still does.

“I’ve been out for years, son,” he says with a strained smile. Niragi knows he’s faking this sudden streak of confidence, but it makes him extremely uncomfortable. He knows that the man is trying to manipulate him. “And now that you’re touching the subject, it’s okay, I forgive you for your betrayal.” Niragi’s eyes go wide at that, “You didn’t know any better–”

“You forgive me?” he can’t believe his ears. But he knows something for certain; the man that calls himself his uncle is dead. “You forgive me…”

“Well, of course, I–”

It’s an exhilarating sensation, having the blood of someone he hates on his hands, claws digging through flesh like butter. But he can’t focus on the physical sensations for long; he’s too mad to see or feel anything but rage and pain. He can hear you calling for him, trying to stop him, but he’s too far gone.

“You forgive me?!” he screams as he keeps punching the man, now on the ground. “You forgive me for what, you motherfucker?! Do you forgive me for telling everyone what you did to me?! Do you forgive me for letting you touch me?! For letting you beat the shit out of me?! For leaving me with these fucking scars?!” He can hear you calling his name, begging him to stop, but all he can focus on is the man underneath him, bleeding and begging him to stop.

He doesn’t give a fuck; he used to beg too. To him, to his mom, even to God. He was never heard. No one came to save him.

So why should he stop?

“Niragi, Niragi, please stop!” he can feel your arms around his neck, trying to pull him back, your mouth close to his ear. His wolf would stop in any other circumstances, but not in this one. “Please, please, you don't want to do this, you’re going to kill him!”

“Get off!” he tries to shake you off his back, never stopping his assault. He can’t stop; if he stops he wins. He can’t let that happen. You keep your arms around his neck, telling him to stop, how this isn’t the way, how they can solve this together. He doesn’t want to hear it. “Shut up!” he marks his words with another punch to the old man’s face, “You don’t know shit!”. He doesn’t notice when you get off him.

But then you cry out in pain.

That makes him freeze, fist in mid-air. He glances at you, cradling your cheek as you lay on the ground by his feet, so close to the man he hates. The scent of your blood hits him like a truck.

No. No, no, no.

He gets on his knees in a second, totally ignoring the half-dead man behind you. You’re all he can think about, now. “Y/N I– I– I’m sorry– I– Let me see…”. You move your hand, showing the claws that mark your cheek. His claws. He did this. He hurt you; how could he hurt you? “I– I– I didn’t mean to, I–”

“I–It’s okay,” you say with a small smile in his direction. But he notices your shaking body, sees the tears running down your face, mixing with your blood on the wound he opened. More than that; he can feel how you’re feeling. He never felt like he wanted to die more than now. He can’t breathe. “Niragi? Niragi, look at me.”

He can’t see. He can’t think. He can’t speak. He can’t hear.

His whole body is shaking, violent tremors going through him as he tries to make it stop. He can’t see you, he can’t see anything but pure black. But he can smell the blood, sweat, and cigarettes, and he’s back to the house where it all happened. Back to the beatings and the abuse and everything else he didn’t remember it happened until now; but in place of his fourteen-year-old self, there’s you. He tries to scream; for help, for you, but he can’t hear his voice. It’s only himself and the dark.

Then it’s like everything explodes.

You stayed in that room for almost ten hours.

Just you, a giant wolf, and a mauled body.

Ten hours.

You’re still in shock as you lay next to Niragi’s unconscious body. He has been like this for almost two days, and part of you fears he won’t wake up. You press your palm against his chest, wanting to feel his heartbeat. His body is covered in fresh wounds, skin so pale he almost looks dead. You can’t feel him in your mind anymore, but you know he has constant nightmares; so do you. What are you going to do if he doesn’t wake up?

What are you going to do if he does?

It had been terrifying. The screams, the blood, the emotions. Emotions you have never felt before; emotions you don’t want to experience ever again. That overpowering fear and anger and sadness almost made you want to tear your heart out. You know he is broken, but you never imagined it to be on such a scale.

And when he turned and you stopped feeling him... that was the most terrifying thing of all. Because that beast wasn’t Niragi; it was just an animal. A wrathful, terrified, damaged giant wolf. The human was locked inside, and you couldn’t reach him anymore.

The first time you truly feared Niragi was when he looked at you with those amber eyes; eyes that were not his own.

You thought that that was it, the animal in him was about to kill you. But he acted like you weren’t there as he finished killing his abuser, tearing his body apart like a ravishing beast. You couldn’t stop yourself from watching the gruesome scene; you had to look. It was like you owned him that.

So you stared, sitting on the floor, tears streaming down your face as you cradled your bleeding cheek. Not even when the blood from the body reached your knees did you look away; not even when the wolf ripped apart the man’s head did you look away; not even when the wolf turned to you, muzzle dripping blood, did you look away.

You couldn’t.

After that, you just stayed there on the floor, covered in blood and so terrified you couldn’t move. The wolf had approached you, sniffed you, and licked your wound before laying down in front of you, unmoving. His eyes never left yours.

Until someone had tried to enter the room, time when he had growled, jumping towards the door to undoubtedly kill whoever dared to cross the threshold.

No one died, but after that, you could hear a commotion outside as people tried to decide on what to do next. You had heard Ann call your name, but you couldn't force any words out. Discussions on whether to kill him had made you scream at them to go away. And then it was silent.

When you tried to get up an hour or so later, legs cramping and giving up on you, the wolf hadn't moved; not until you tried to get to the door. He had grabbed you by your clothes then, pulling you to a corner like you were nothing but a rag doll, before laying in front of you, blocking your way out.

Hours passed until you heard a knock on the door. By that time you were starving, throat dry as the desert and skin itching from the dry blood. The wolf immediately started growling, raised hackles as he stared at the door; he knew who it was as well as you did.

A knock on the door startles you, interrupting your thoughts. You check on Niragi before standing up to open the door, limping from the now infected wound on your ankle; you don’t heal as fast as Alphas do, after all. Just like before in that room of nightmares, you know who it is even before you open the door. His scent is even stronger than usual, and you know why.

“What are you doing here?” you ask with a sigh as Chishiya stands in front of you. You look him up and down. His injuries from his fight with Niragi are almost healed by now, pink skin replacing what was open wounds not even two days ago. His expression is the same as always, but you see him glance over your shoulder at Niragi, a look in his eyes that you can’t quite place.

“He’s still unconscious, uh?” he asks, ignoring your question, “Do you think he will wake up?”

“What are you doing here, Chishiya?” you ask again in a raised tone. His eyes flash, but his expression doesn’t change.

“Just checking up on you,” he says with a shrug, “How is your cheek?”

“Do you think that I’m some kind of an idiot?” you snap. “Do you think that I don’t know exactly why you’re here?” you can feel your anger rising, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “You selfish son of a bitch! Just say you’re here because you can smell that my heat is approaching!” you practically scream in his face. You don’t care who might be listening, you’re exhausted. “Don’t just use some fucking excuse like you care about me.” You move to close the door, but his hand snaps to grip your wrist.

“He’s dangerous,” he says, pulling you to him when you try to get him to release you. “He’s reckless, he’s uncontrollable. Just look at what he did to you.” you notice immediately when his eyes change colors, and you have to control yourself not to let his scent fog your mind.

“Let go of me,” you say in a faint tone.

“I would never do that to you,” he says.

And then he’s kissing you.

The sound of your slap echoes through the hallway, and your palm stings like it’s on fire.

“Do you have any idea of the state he was in, down there?” you don’t control your tears now, too mad and tired to care. “The pain and suffering he went through? His trauma almost made me insane!” Chishiya just stares, lips in a tight line as he cradles his red cheek. “I don’t blame him for what happened. I know how he felt when he hurt me. He didn’t mean any of it.” you take a deep breath, cleaning the tears from your face. “If you show up here again and try to take me against my will, I’ll kill you.”

“You know you’re just trying to prevent the inevitable, right?” he says, tone cold as ice. He’s smirking; it makes you want to slap him again. “I don’t like to lose, Y/N.”

“Fuck you.”

He doesn’t try to stop you from closing the door, this time.

You immediately go back to bed, nuzzling against Niragi’s unconscious body as you cry. You don’t know what to do, how to feel, what to think. Your head hurts, your body hurts, your soul hurts. You just want him to wake up.

“Please wake up,” you whisper in his ear as you sob, hoping for a miracle, something. “Please wake up. I– I don’t know if I’ll be able to resist him when he comes back for me. Please...I– I need you to wake up.”

Your body is like a ticking time bomb, and you can practically hear the clock as your heat approaches. It’s only a matter of hours.

If Niragi doesn’t regain his consciousness by the next morning, Chishiya will take you; and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Next Chapter

#alice in borderland #ima wa no kuni no alice #alice in borderland fanfic #Niragi Suguru #niragi imagines #niragi x reader #alice in borderland imagines #aib fanfic #aib niragi #also on ao3 #also on wattpad

234 notes · View notes

hoebii · 3 years ago

Text

Who

Pairing : Min Yoongi x Reader

Genre : Angst, Light fluff

Rating : nc-17

Warnings : Cheating, grieving, past break up, mentions of toxic relationship, swearing

Wc : 2.7k

A/N : This is a rewrite of one of my older fics. Thank you @taegularities and @eatjeanjin for being my adorable betas!! Thank you to rid once more for making me this amazing banner too!!! I love it so so so much. I hope you guys like this, hopefully I’ve improved in the time in between lol. As usual, feedback is always appreciated~

~~~~~~~~~~~

Our minds have new eyes and visions of you

Girl, I think I need a minute

To figure out what is, what isn't

Yoongi pressed decline yet again, fighting the urge to throw the device at the wall. To shatter it to pieces in hopes that it would stop ringing.

A storm was brewing inside him. He felt completely and utterly lost, without a clue about what to do. He felt like he had no control over his life anymore and he hated it. Hated how weak and powerless he felt at that moment.

He knew that his actions were causing the ones around him to worry; Yoongi saw the flash of concern and sympathy in their eyes whenever he passed by. He wasn’t used to feeling uncertainty, he was always calm and collected. Or so he wanted everyone to believe. But that facade crumbled as soon as she left.

He despised himself for how weak he was acting, and he hated her more.

~~~~~~~~

These choices and voices, they're all in my head

Sometimes you make me feel crazy

Sometimes, I swear I think you hate me like uh

I need a walk, I need a walk, I need to get out of here

“No matter what, I’ll always love you,” she declared, hands cupping his face gently - a drastic difference from how she sounded.

Yoongi felt his heart skip a beat, picking up its pace when her words resonated into his mind. As his eyes met hers, warmth bloomed in his chest. Letting out a shuddering breath, he asked, “You promise?”

He couldn’t help but smile too as he saw her let out a smile. “I promise, my love.”

Yoongi growled at the memory, a scoff leaving him. “Bullshit,” he exclaimed to no one, grabbing his hair in frustration.

Tears flowed down his cherry cheeks endlessly as he stood by the door helplessly. He didn’t know how they got here. One moment they were out having a romantic dinner and the next thing he knew, she was screaming at him while trying to leave.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice wavering with the tears, clogging up his throat.

“I can’t keep doing this, Yoongi. I’m done,” she answered, never stopping nor looking up from furiously packing her bags.

His breath hitched; she’d called him by his name, no nickname this time. He tried to shake the dread away as he pleaded. “We can fix this, please don’t leave me. You’re my forever.”

“We can’t fix shit, Yoongi! Open your eyes, there’s no forever to begin with!”

He wondered if she could hear his heart shattering into a million pieces at that. How does one act after the one they were ready to die for tells them it’s nothing? Yoongi felt like a child who just got to know that Santa wasn’t real.

In a last desperate effort, Yoongi trudged towards her wordlessly. Pulling her into his arms, his hold strengthened when he felt her stiffen at the contact.

“Please…” he whimpered, trying to steel himself for the screaming that he knew was going to come.

But to his surprise, it never did. Rather, he felt her sighing as she melted into his embrace after a while and wrapped her own hands around him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

His body stiffened at those words, about to protest but she was faster. “I didn’t know what came over me. I won’t leave.”

Yoongi’s body sagged in relief, “It’s okay. Just, please don’t do that again.”

“I promise.”

For some reason, he didn’t feel at ease even after she assured him.

A thud resounded in the studio as Yoongi slammed his hands down on the table, his breathing erratic as his eyes darted from one thing to another. He felt suffocated, as if someone had a firm hold around neck and it was squeezing mercilessly.

Grabbing his jacket and phone, Yoongi swung the door open - making everyone outside flinch at the sudden sound of something hitting the wall. As he exited the place, he saw his members loitering around awkwardly. He knew the reason for their presence but he couldn’t dwell in that, he needed to get out of there. *Now.

“Hyung, where are you going?” Jungkook asked cautiously, not wanting to trigger the older member somehow.

“For a walk,” was all he replied with, brushing past his concerned members and walking out of the building.

~~~~~~~~~

'Cause I need to know

Who are you?

'Cause you're not the girl I fell in love with, baby

Who are you?

'Cause something has changed, you're not the same, I hate it

Yoongi trudged down the sidewalk briskly, no clear destination in mind. Head down, the hood of his jacket up and hands shoved inside his pockets, he kept going. How long had he walked? Was it mere minutes? Or maybe an hour or two? He had no clue. He just kept walking, as if walking away from his problems.

After a while, he slowed down, fatigue catching up with him from getting no sleep or any semblance of rest in the past few weeks. Yoongi raised his head to inspect his surroundings, realising that he had walked all the way to the park near her house. The same park where he brought her to after their first date to spend some more time, the park which came to be a place for peace when everything became too much to handle.

The park housed many precious memories. In the past, Yoongi would look back to them with fondness and affection, and his heart would swell in happiness. But now, those same memories did nothing besides hurt him more; he could finally see the true picture, no longer blinded by the love he had for her. It made his heart ache when he relived those sweet memories that turned bitter.

“Look at those kids! Don’t they look just adorable?” she gushed, head resting on his shoulder, hands intertwined with his on her lap.

Yoongi chuckled as he watched a group of children run past them, their joyous laughter filling the air as they played around.

“I wonder how our children are gonna look. But, then again, they’re bound to be beautiful if the parents are so too~” she pondered out loud, laughing at the end.

Humming, Yoongi played with her fingers, his heart racing at the thought of their possible future together. Maybe he really did find the one when he found her, he thought happily.

Sitting on the bench that overlooked the park, his eyes scanned the area, thinking back to all those memories that were created here. Yoongi couldn’t stop himself from letting his mind drift back to the last time he’d stepped foot into this park, his heart clenching in pain and betrayal.

Yoongi stood in front of the park gates, flowers in hand as he awaited her arrival. His gummy smile was impossible to hide, heart thrumming happily; it was their anniversary after all! He had so many plans for how they could spend the day, working to make this perfect for months in anticipation.

He swayed back and forth, barely keeping his excitement under wraps as he thought about all the things he had planned. He couldn’t wait to see her face at the end of the day when he would give her the surprise!

An hour passed but there was still no sign of her. Yoongi checked his clock yet again, giving her another call but the result was the same; it rang a few times before it sent him to voicemail. He could feel disappointment engulfing him, his posture deflating.

Did she forget? She couldn’t have, right? Maybe she’s stuck at work, Yoongi thought, trying to keep hope. When that didn’t help, he decided to enter the park, thinking that a walk would do him good.

Besides, who knows? Maybe she’ll arrive in that time too! He tried to convince himself, fighting to hold on to the rapidly decreasing hope, not wanting to lose it just yet.

As he walked by the little ice cream stand in the park, he thought he saw someone familiar. Squinting, he tried to decipher who the person was, but he couldn’t with their back turned towards him. Shrugging, about to walk away, he almost missed the figure turning around, catching sight of the person right before he could leave.

Yoongi’s eyes widened. It was her, his love, who he saw standing by the ice cream stand. Laughing and getting cosy with some other man. It was as if the world moved in slow motion as she stood on her tiptoes to place a kiss on his lips. To kiss someone that wasn’t Yoongi.

“S-sweetheart?” Yoongi called, his voice breaking.

At his voice, he saw her head whip around to come face to face with him. Her expression was something akin to a deer caught in headlight, mouth falling open as he fumbled to speak.

“Y-Yoon, I can explain.”

Yoongi shook his head, unshed tears brimming in his eyes. He dropped the flowers, eyes never leaving her as he started to walk backwards, before turning and running away from the scene, paying no mind to her desperate calls.

Leaning back on the bench, his lips lifted into a bitter smile. As one of his hands ran through his hair, he ruffled it while thinking out loud, “Should’ve realised before. Why did I ever believe it would work?”

~~~~~~~~~

Oh, I'm sick of waiting for love, love

Oh, I know that you're not the one, one

Feeling hypnotized by the words that you said

Don't lie to me, just get in my head

When the morning comes, you're still in my bed

But it's so, so cold

Days passed by since the fateful incident at the park and Yoongi was a mess. After kicking her out of his house when she came begging for forgiveness, he fully broke down. Try as he might, but he couldn’t keep her out of his mind, no matter what.

Everyone around him told him to move on, that she wasn’t good for him. They told him to wake up and see the damage that she was doing to him, that she wasn’t the person he thought she was anymore. But, no matter what they said, how toxic they called it, Yoongi couldn’t move on from her. He needed answers, he needed to know why she did it.

Finally gathering enough courage to face her again, he accepted her call, allowing her to come over. He wouldn’t get swayed, he told himself, he was only meeting her to get answers, nothing more.

Yet there he was, laying awake beside her as he stared off into space, mind once again in chaos. This was not how he’d anticipated the night to unravel. He never wanted to sleep with her, but her sweet words and empty promises lured him in. They hypnotized him and he was weak in his knees. It didn’t surprise either of them when he gave in so easily; he always did give in to her no matter what in the end.

The sweet lies that left her lips wrapped themself around his heart, they clouded his mind and made it fuzzy. His heart beat as if it was the first time they had been together that night but now that it was over, his mind was back to overthinking everything. It felt so cold, as if ice was injected into him, his heart weighed down with emotions he didn’t wish to deal with. If only there was a button with which he could shut down his mind.

Yoongi wanted it to stop, to savour the night and forget the way his heart ached at the mere sight of the figure that slept peacefully beside him - a stark difference from how he felt. But he felt so, so cold, he felt filthy and used. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t suppress those feelings, so he laid there, letting them consume him alive.

~~~~~~~~~~

Who are you?

'Cause you're not the girl I fell in love with

Who are you?

'Cause you're not the girl I fell in love with, baby

Who are you? (Who are you?)

'Cause something has changed, you're not the same, I hate it

Oh, I'm sick of waiting for love, love

Oh, I know that you're not the one, one

Mind running a thousand miles per second, Yoongi sat there numb. He had his eyes closed as he leaned back into the bench, trying to keep the tears from falling. His thoughts came to a halt, however, when he felt someone’s presence beside him. Cracking one eye open, he checked who it was.

His heart clenched again, this time from guilt, when he saw none other than the maknae sitting beside him. Oh how he’d neglected the poor kid while moping around.

“Did you follow me here, Jungkook-ah?”

The said man twiddled his thumbs, looking at him timidly. “I was worried,” came his meek reply, “I didn’t want you to do something rash.”

Yoongi chuckled, though there was barely any humour in it, as he sat up. “I’m not going to do anything rash, Jungkook. Don’t worry about hyung.”

Jungkook let out a noise of protest, his brows furrowing as he looked at him. “I’m always going to worry about you, hyung. No matter what,” he lectured, “besides, I miss you. You haven’t really spent any time with us, with me, for such a long time now.”

Yoongi bit his lip, the guilt increasing as the younger man went on.

“You know, we’re all here for you. It might hurt but bottling it all up won’t make it better, so let us help you, hyung. Let us be there for you, we’ll catch you when you fall.”

Yoongi stared at Jungkook, taking in all his details. He had tears brimming his eyes again, but this time it wasn’t from the pain. “When did you get so wise, Jungkook?”

Jungkook blushed at that, ducking his head, “I’m not wise, I’m just telling you the truth.”

Yoongi hummed, processing Jungkook’s words for a moment. He couldn’t help but weirdly feel proud at how much his maknae seemed to have grown up - it was as if he had been a kid just yesterday, yet there he was, lecturing Yoongi.

“You’re right,” Yoongi finally mumbled.

“I… am?” Jungkook asked, hesitance clear on his face.

“Yeah,” Yoongi replied, “I’m sorry for locking you all out and acting so distant. I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Will you come back to the dorms, then? It feels empty without you.”

Yoongi gave him a small smile, “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll come back.”

Jungkook’s doe eyes shined as he looked at his hyung. “Do you feel any better? We can get some lamb skewers on the way back. I’ll pay!”

Chuckling, Yoongi ruffled his hair. “Not really. It still hurts, but your little speech made me realise that I’m not alone. I have you guys by my side- I’m bound to feel like my old self soon enough.”

Jungkook beamed happily, letting his hyung give him pats, satisfied with the answer he’d received. “I really thought noona was the one too, you know? But then I realised that it was all a mask. I should’ve fought her as soon as she hurt you!”

Yoongi chuckled, even though it still hurt to think about it as he said, “It was on me for not seeing how manipulative she got at the end, it’s not your fault, bunny. Fighting doesn’t solve anything.”

Jungkook looked at him with a pout, ready to rebuke, but Yoongi cut him off. “Forget about that now. Let’s get food, my treat, for neglecting you for so long.”

Yoongi knew Jungkook wanted to say something, but he didn’t, rather he opted to give him another beaming smile as he started walking towards the exit.

As he moved to follow the younger’s action, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Taking out the device, he realised it was another text from her, but this time rather than ignoring it, he opened the text thread. Quickly typing out one last message and sending it before blocking the contact.

It was his first step towards healing and though it may seem small, he felt proud. He was finally ready to let it go and move on.

“You’ve changed, Y/N, you’re not the one for me anymore. Stop trying to contact me, we’re over.”

#thebtswritersclub #bangtaninn #castlebangtan #blackswannet #yoongi x reader #bts angst #suga x reader #bts min yoongi #bts suga #bts fic #myg x reader #myg angst

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sugar-petals · 4 years ago

Note

did you ever do a reading on what bts thought about their fanfiction?

let’s see what the deck has to say:

hoseok:⎡TEMPERANCE⎦⇁ This card is about the two wells of life and death, mixing and counting everything to the right degree to make your experience pleasant. So, a thoroughly measured approach. With fics, Hoseok separates the good from the bad without denouncing and simply considers it two modes of diversion. Either to thrill or to chill, but his views are not extreme on it. He takes it for granted and will check it out to his gusto without much upheaval. Hobi is aware of the shadow sides of fanfics but both unafraid and too seasoned to reject everything altogether, knowing it needs both sides to arrive at something good. He has a lot of experience with the topic and likes mystical fantasy plots about him the very most, Lord of The Rings or Celtic folklore style. Overall, Hobi is generally wise about the workings of fandom culture and has figured out how to approach and see through the subject in a healthy way.

jimin:⎡8 OF WANDS⎦⇁ This is the card of inspiration and acceleration, wands always carry powerful levels of directed energy. There’s a sense of going right along and targeting something upcoming. In other words, Jimin rolls with it, and he’s curious where the fans will be going with the topics they write about in the future. He thinks it’s quite a feat if someone puts out a lot of writing and keeps up with the happenings in the fandom or their concepts. Jimin sees it as a fast-paced fandom trend wave and a quick diversion. Also, he finds most genres to be action-heavy and definitely not shy. If he reads something, it’s shorter scenarios and anything where he can be cool and a heroic mochi down to defeat somebody lmao! If that doesn’t sound like him. In essence, Jimin thinks of fics like movies where honor and action is very important. He likes how athletically and combat-savvy he is portrayed.

yoongi:⎡9 OF PENTACLES⎦⇁ Yeah boy, he’s feeling it. A source of gratification, pleasure, healthy expression of fantasy is how Yoongi sees fanfics. In his eyes, stories bring comfort, he knows it from his own writing, so his attitude is positive. He finds authors resourceful and thinks they’re hustlers pretty much akin to what he does, I can’t with him. He also enjoys how ARMY take matters into their own hands and craft their individual storylines and theories, he enjoys that self-sufficiency. He might read something to calm himself and enjoys domestic plots or likes seeing himself written in that context. He also likes fics where he’s a rich man 😂 Sounds like Yoongi. All in all, Yoongi considers fanfics a perfect leisure activity and he engages a lot in it. He feels like there can’t be enough of it and finds it nice to indulge. Out of all members, he reads the longest stories.

taehyung:⎡8 OF SWORDS⎦⇁ He has a negative view on fanfiction, feels criticized and intimidated, trapped even. Taehyung’s view is that people making stories about him takes away his freedom and confuses everything. Taehyung has difficulty growing used to this and feels intruded on rather than appreciated or celebrated. He actually gets sad and resentful about that. The 8 OF SWORDS always shows a dead-end, victimizing, and being caged in, Taehyung thinks he cannot escape being the subject of other people’s fantasy. It’s like a fence or grip around him, as if taken hostage. He feels powerless to the narrative about him and views fanfic culture as going nowhere essentially. Taehyung thinks people who write about him treat him like a puppet and shove him around like they want to. He feels disrespected but mostly depressed and cries a lot about it.

jungkook:⎡10 OF CUPS⎦⇁ Jin’s reading times ten essentially. Oh wow. Now this is the most rose-colored view in Bangtan, knowing that the card is very much about the “happy end” scenario in life. Jungkook feels cozy and innocent about people creating couple stories, in fact, he feels greatly loved through knowing fans want to be together with him. He thinks it’s sweet and flattering and most importantly, extremely romantic. It’s a communication of affection through a distance to Jungkook, he is proud of people to write about BTS and feels like he accomplished his own Studio Ghibli reality where people can create their own favorite scenario. You can tell he wrote fics himself in the past, he’s totally into this. His favorite plots revolve around pregnancy or farm life, and he reads everything that’s about being a family. He coos a lot about how people spend so much time writing about him in such a lovey-dovey way. He’s pretty smitten to say the very least.

namjoon:⎡THE TOWER⎦⇁ Man, RM really doesn’t like it. In fact, he finds fanfic culture catastrophic and feels it all went wrong. He sees the dangers the very most. This card signifies chaos and fallouts, something that erases in a relentless manner. He feels like fanfics came down on him like a natural disaster and need a major revolution, severe changes all the way. Like Taehyung, RM feels like he can’t do anything against what is raging on in the fandom back and forth about him and is terribly afraid of it. He dismisses the topic and finds author’s habits destructive to the point where he wishes it’d all stop. Namjoon grew threatened by people who write about him and thinks they burn down everything he carefully built without regarding him in the very least. He feels like he is shown in a too violent portrayal and wishes people would cast this idea of him away entirely. He thinks it’s hell on earth and rains on his parade.

seokjin:⎡ACE OF CUPS⎦⇁ The exact opposite of Namjoon. Jin thinks of fanfics as a lighthearted and inspired activity. Taking it blithe and easy is Jin’s motto here. To a large extent, he’s happy people feel so involved and appreciative of him and the group, but he’s also yearning a bit because he wants to meet halfway. As in, paying back all the love and yes, the sexiness, too. If he could meet up with fanfic authors and have a fun chat, or read stories personally written for him, or write a fic in reply to someone, he would. Hell, this is the card of hooking up: Jin would like dating somebody talented like that. Someone makes a free 300k novel just for him, and he’s the protagonist? Immense compliment to Jin. He feels sincerely praised and enjoys cheerful plots about BTS being in couples just to spite the dating taboo for fun. More is more he thinks, Jin wants to hear all of the latest genres. In my deck there are two fish mingling on the card, Jin wants people’s romantic fantasies to flow freely. He wants us to try out innovative and cute ideas.

#bts #bangtan #bts tarot #bts fanfics #bts tarot reading #bts tarot readings #tarot #tarot readings #kpop tarot readings #kpop tarot #pjmnoir #ask #cub mail 🐆

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mae-gi-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Purpose of Hearts | Song Mingi (ATEEZ)

Summary: Two lives. One purpose. And a hope that someday, their voices would be heard.

Part of @atbzkingdom's timecapsule collab! Song: Utopia by ATEEZ

Genre: angst, slice of life

A/N: This is a love story but it also revolves around issues of modern society as well as the environmental crises that have been happening lately. I wish to incorporate more of these real-life elements in my stories because that's the only way I can communicate to people the importance of living a life that does not take away what Nature has made for us. So I hope that you guys aren't too harsh on this one, considering I worked really hard to write it. Thank you all. Love, mae xx

>>>

The first time I saw Song Mingi was by accident. I had been late to my interview that day, rushing in and out between my room, the kitchen and the bathroom to get my scrambled self organized, throw on a blazer over my white shirt and black slacks — honestly, had I washed it before?— while barely managing to shove a toast in my mouth as I ran down my apartment stairs two at a time, almost tripping over my own feet as I did so.

That was probably the first time I had overslept ever since reaching Seoul and in all honesty, that had done nothing to set my mind at ease as I caught sight of the overflowing crowd of people moving in the direction of the subway.

Every morning was the same, packed in like tuna fish that wriggled forward in too-tight compartments that made it impossible to breathe, also another reason why I always woke up an hour before the rush of workers came through.

“Excuse me,” I pushed at someone’s shoulder getting shoved into my face, trying in vain not to let my nerves get the best of me, “sorry, but you’re crushing me—“ “Oh sorry,” a man that looked like he was in his forties dipped his head in what seemed to mimic a bow, before he slowly tried edging back, in vain.

I huffed into the window pane, my breath fogging up the glass as I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed for the ride to be over. 10:45.a.m, my watch said. My interview was at eleven. There was no way I was going to make it in time.

It felt like eternity had passed before I finally heard my desired station being called out on the intercom. I slowly turned my entire torso to face the exit with slight relief flooding through me. I hadn’t died. Things would be okay, it would be okay—The doors slid open and no sooner had I stepped through that I felt a shoulder shove into mine.

I stumbled, throwing my hands out before me to brace myself for the impact only to feel warm fingers grip onto my forearm to pull me up and away from the throng of people flowing out of the train.

“You okay?”

A deep alto resonated in my ear, causing me to look up into an unfamiliar face. There was no doubt that this stranger was tall. Taller than the average in Korea, no doubt. He had a nicely shaped nose, perfectly sculpted for his side profile, I couldn’t help but notice.

“Yeah,” I checked my handbag and quickly dusted off my pants, “thanks. Would’ve gotten crushed back there.”

“No problem.”

Needless to say, my interview was a complete and utter failure. That evening, I binged on some Mcdonald’s followed by a whole pint of ice cream while watching an entire K-drama on my own, ignoring the distinct ping! of my phone that signalled the upcoming stream of messages left unread. But I couldn’t do it. Not now, not when I felt like my life was falling apart and I felt powerless to stop it.

Why? I had thought then. Why me? Why couldn’t I succeed like all my my fellow friends did?

It was true that Marine biologists were at an unfair advantage from the get-go. Jobs were harder to find when you started out in a niche. I had known that much when I’d enrolled for the degree, when I’d cried by myself countless nights knowing that my future was all but a bleak, weak canvas of nothingness. But I couldn’t give it up, no matter how much I wanted to force myself to, for I knew that if there weren’t people like me around to help restore marine ecosystems, then the world as we knew it would end much quicker than intended. I didn’t have the heart to give all of that up when I felt partly responsible for all the lives that mankind was taking away.

All these thoughts were a dark cloud, each and every one of them slowly creating a storm that was out of my control as I went on in my day to day life. It consumed me from the inside until there seemed to be nothing left but an emptiness that blocked everything out. And that scared me.

That was when I met Song Mingi for the second time.

It was around late evening when my restless self decided to take a walk to clear my head. It seemed like my feet had a life of their own for no sooner had I allowed my mind to drift off that I found myself boarding a train to nowhere in particular. A heavy sigh left my lips and I sat back in one of the many empty seats. The peace and quiet was a nice change from the constant bustle and movement, and as I gazed out at the inky darkness of the tunnel, I noticed someone shift from the corner of my eye.

He was sitting on the opposite side, one row before mine, his gaze hollow and empty and directed at the ground, seemingly as lost in his thoughts as I was. I wouldn’t have recognized him if not for that particularly perfect nose slant that instantly caught my attention.

That man. The man who’d helped me out of the subway.

And as if sensing my gaze, his head turned around slightly to catch my eye. Though he was too far away for me to notice, his head cocked to the side as he searched my face for a minute. Before he nodded in acknowledgement.

I nodded back, looked away. Heat crawled to the back of my neck, embarrassed.

I need to get out of here, my mind raced.

The next stop couldn’t come fast enough. I jolted up from my seat once the station came into view and quickly scrambling for the exit, I failed to notice the said young man do the same until I bumped into him as we stepped out.

Stumbling to the side as his briefcase clattered to the floor and spilled the array of papers hidden inside, my eyes widened in horror as some of them started flying away as the train whizzed past. I launched my body onto the ground, curse words spilling from my mouth as I helped him gather the mess of artworks that decorated the floor, from pens to pencil scrawls to pastels to dabbles of oil paintings that even in the shitty yellow lights lining the station, they looked ethereal and raw with talent.

“I’m so sorry,” my head was ducked, I couldn’t possibly face him, as I quickly stacked up the papers.

“It’s okay,” was his only reply as we managed to gather most of his work. My eyes flew to the ones that now laid on the train tracks, crumpled and matted with dirt and practically unattainable.

“I’m so sorry,” I repeated hoarsely as guilt filled me up to the brim. It wasn’t enough that I was having a shitty day. No, I had to go and ruin someone’s day as well.

Fuck me.

“It’s alright, really. They weren’t that important to begin with,” he held out his hands for the remaining papers and stuffed them into his briefcase once I handed it over, making sure that the lock was set right before straightening up to face me, “they’re just practice drawings.”

“Still though,” all that pain and effort, gone and wasted because of my stupidity.

He chuckled then and I looked up at him, quite surprised at the grin tugging at his lips, “honestly, it’s fine. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

I nodded and decided to drop the subject, wondering how it was possible to feel even sorrier for myself when I thought I had already hit rock bottom. We walked up the station staircase together in silence, which I would’ve probably found awkward if not for the fact that I was mentally beating myself up for acting so foolishly. He must’ve noticed the tired lines of my face, for his voice rang out in the silence as he stepped out into the street:

“Hey, if you still feel bad about the papers, don’t,” he stopped, gazing down at my form with what I hoped to be a reassuring smile, “it would’ve been another story though, if these were my finals.”

I flinched, though I forced a faint smile back, “okay. I’m sorry. Again. Please don’t curse me to death or anything,” an idea popped into my head, “are you heading home right now?”

“Uh—yeah. Why?”

“Please…let me buy you a drink. Coffee? Iced tea? I just—“ my fingers were already scrambling for some money, “please. I feel terrible about this.”

He cocked his head as an amused smile graced his lips, “wow, you really do feel bad.”

“I do. Please?”

And that was how we found ourselves sitting at a cheap plastic table outside the convenience store that night, huddled in our too-thick sweaters and blowing at our hands while holding our beers close. Conversation flowed naturally as we sat and breathed in the night air, allowing life to pause for a moment and enabling my brain to disentangle itself from overthinking too much. It was nice in a way, the distraction of having someone to talk to, just so that I didn’t have to wallow in my own self-pity.

I learnt that his name was Song Mingi, and that he had recently graduated from Art School with a dream to be a full-fledged artist. He had one cat that he’d named Kimchi and absolutely adored anime because of the art style and the unique story lines. I learnt that he was quite fluent in Japanese and loathed the subway as much as I did.

“Right now though, I’m working at a design company,” he took a sip of his beer, head tilting and side profile backlit by the fluorescent convenience store lights. He appeared softer, younger somehow, than his actual age.

“You like it?”

“Not really.”

I threw him a pointed look, “is that how you say no?”

“Alright. No,” he laid his chin in his palm, “I hate it. I feel like I’m wasting my time.”

“But it covers the bills.”

“Yup.”

“That sucks.”

“It does,” he took another hearty sip as I gazed down at my own drink. And here I was, jobless and with no ambition, no dream to chase. Because I was burnt out before even starting.

“And you?” he asked as I glanced back up into his eyes — gentle eyes, I found. He had very gentle eyes, eyes that seemed to know a lot more than what he let on, “what do you do in life?”

“I am unemployed,” the words sounded even more grim as they fell from my mouth, and I averted my eyes to the table to avoid his own out of embarrassment, “and I’m pretty sure I failed all the interviews I had this week.”

“What did you study?”

“Marine biology,” my throat felt rough, choked up with emotion as I thought of how ridiculous I must sound to this total stranger who was both talented and seemed to have his life together. Maybe it was insecurity that made me spit out, “don’t laugh.”

A pause, before he said, “why would I? That’s amazing.”

My eyes slid back up to his, “I—because…well…” and I couldn’t help myself from spilling it all out. How I came to this major because this was presumably the most passionate thing I’ve ever stumbled across in life, how I’d studied so hard not to fall behind when all my classmates seemed to pass their exams with flying colours, and how out of all of us in our year, I was the only one still roaming around like a lifeless soul while most of my peers had landed themselves some high-standing positions at big-shot NGO’s and companies focusing on Marine Environment protection and sustainability.

I didn’t realize that my eyes had filled with tears by the time I was done rambling about the fact that our planet was dying and nobody seemed to be interested in that fact whatsoever. Not until Mingi’s hand came into my peripheral and I blinked, catching sight of the napkin he was offering me.

“Thanks,” I murmured, voice small as I quickly wiped away my tears. My cheeks felt hot, flushed from a mixture of alcohol and from the way his eyes were intent on my face.

“I…” Mingi bit down onto his lower lip. He’d moved on to his second can by then, “I don’t know what to say. You’re…”

I waited for the insult. For him to laugh at my ridiculousness. Or maybe offer sympathetic words that were devoid of meaning.

“You’re amazing.”

I blinked. Once. Twice. Slowly, my eyes fluttered up to his.

“What?”

“All these things you’ve told me, they’re so…real. And I wish I could be more like you, you know?” he leaned back in his chair, “I’m always complaining that my life’s not good enough. That I don’t have purpose. These kinds of thoughts that make you question your existence. But then you come along and you tell me all these problems — real problems that should concern everyone around us — that make me open my eyes.”

Was this flattery? A compliment? I didn’t know how to take it, considering the fact that I’d basically laid out all my cards in front of this man who’d been a total stranger just a few hours ago.

He continued on despite my silence, “the world needs more people like you. Kind people, who really want to change the world for the better. Not because they want to prove something. But because it’s the right thing to do.”

My heart lurched in my chest. Stranger or no stranger, hearing that made some of the weight lift off my shoulders, even just a little. How stupid. How pathetic, that all I wanted to hear was to be praised and recognized by someone who I barely knew.

Nevertheless, it warmed me. The warmth of his tone as he gazed at me from across the cheap table. That was incomparable to an entire life filled with nothing but disappointment.

“I—“ a hollow chuckle escaped the back of my throat, “I don’t know what to say.”

He was the one to flush this time, “sorry, I didn’t mean to pry—“

“No no! Don’t say sorry,” I protested, eyes darting between him and the drink in my hand, “it’s—it’s refreshing, compared to what I’m used to hear.”

"Wah, I mean...I took art so I'm not one to talk."

I can't help but giggle, "so we're just a bunch of nerds. Bet you watch anime too."

"Don't get me started unless you want to stay here till four in the morning," he chuckled.

I wasn't really sure how to describe that night in particular. It felt like catching up with an old friend and yet, I barely knew this man. Somehow though, it seemed like he understood the pain that simmered in me, the feelings that I bottled up for all this time and it brought me comfort that someone else could empathize with the thoughts that pulled me down by the ankles every time I tried to swim.

Something had changed between us by the time he walked me back to the station that evening. What had started out as a coincidental meeting of two strangers had ebbed into the softest brushes of friendship. I was more than giddy to exchange numbers in hopes of meeting him again.

That night, I fell into a deep and soundless sleep. The best sleep I'd had in ages.

>>>

The third time I saw Song Mingi, we promised to change the world.

It started out as him inviting me over for his apparently out-of-this-world shrimp pasta, to which I'd scoffed and broke his heart by stating that I was vegetarian. But that had only fueled his desire to make me fall in love with his cuisine as he promised me the best alternative to that.

He'd bought wine for the occasion, had managed to secure the apartment all to himself that evening, and had even decorated the table with soft scented candles and matching plates that brought out the magical air of first dates.

That was enough to bring a smile to my lips and I had looked over my shoulfer at him in amusement, "aren't you a romantic?"

I swore I caught his flush even in the dim golden hues that bathed the room, though he answered back with a scoff, "I'm an artist. Of course I'm a romantic."

"I was friends with some art kids, back in uni," I said as I sat down at the table, Mingi following my movements as he placed the pot of pasta between us, "and I gotta say, I felt like they were more cyberpunk and dark than actual romantics."

"Yeah, even art kids have their own little gangs," he wrinkled his nose, "honestly, I was pretty normal. Didn't dye my hair, no piercings in my nose, no tattoos 'coz I hated needles. People would keep asking me if I was a design student."

"Wait--isn't that like, kind of the same thing though?"

"It's different in the way we approach the subject matter. But yeah, I don't get it either. Why can't I be an artist and a designer? I don't want to choose."

"Ah, let the existential crisis strike again."

We clinked glasses, gobbled up the pasta with vegan meat that he'd replaced -- with too much confidence bordering on arrogance, I might add -- and as we spoke, my attention couldn't help lingering over his works until at some point, Mingi had relented and gestured for me to grab his sketchbook.

And that had been a game changer. It had opened my eyes.

Sure, I'd seen his sketches when I'd caused his spill a few weeks ago. But at that time I was all too panicked to actually care what had been sprawled over the paper...until now.

"So you draw characters?" My mouth was practically hanging open as I constantly gazed at the array of faces sprawled before me. They were beautiful. Stunningly so. And haunted somehow, as if wrapped in narratives of their own.

"Yeah. I like faces. I like people." I heard the shyness in his alto as he stood next to me, hand going to scratch the back of his neck, "I think they all carry so many different stories."

And they did. Their eyes said something different within each and every scene. My heart tugged with emotions I couldn't quite decipher for myself as I pondered oveer his intent.

That was when the idea hit me.

"Mingi," I turned to him, "you said you wanted to tell stories?"

Raising a brow, he said, "yeah?"

"How comfortable are you with animated movies?"

"Hm. I did some modules back in college so I'm not unfamiliar with it. Why?"

"This is going to sound crazy okay?"

Alarm flashed through his features. He blinked, "okay."

"Let's make an animated movie. About the ocean."

>>>

And he said yes. Just like that.

He heard me out first, worked through all the logistics of how we were going to create something together that would bring to life a vision of a new world, a world that would bring life within the marine ecosystem. Our meetings were flexible, in-between scraps of time that we'd get either during his lunch time or during evenings where we'd get dinner and discuss. But while I was unsure of whether I'd pushed him before even asking him about it, I caught a glimpse of the twinkle in his eyes, and that had made me pause for a minute.

It was the look of pure love.

Love for life.

In all honesty, a little part of myself fell for Mingi there and then.

"I was thinking it to be more like a kid storybook," I told him from my place on his sofa, watching him at his tiny kitchen desk sketching out some panels, "so that it's got a light mood with dark undertones."

"Yeah, it'll be more effective that way," he murmured, brows stitched together and lips puckered. That expression took ten years off his age, "I was thinking maybe we need a protagonist. Maybe she's a mermaid or something. Has animals friends and lives in the corals--"

"And she watches as all the fishing destroys her home," I finished with barely restrained excitement, "and she falls in love with a fisherman who decides to help her out!"

Mingi's eyes lifted from his paper -- that must've been the first time in a full hour since he was so focused on the task at hand -- and locked on mine. A grin slowly spread across his face, "I like that. A lot."

There was something in his gaze that made me heat up, though I made an attempt to shrug and look away to avoid the heat slowly spreading through my limbs as if someone had suddenly turned up the temperature in the room.

My week followed with a few more interviews, most of which were unsuccessful. One of them seemed interested enough -- a Marine conservation company that focused on dolphins and whale protection -- but upon scheduling an official meeting with the manager, I couldn’t reel in the horror that struck me as soon as I stepped foot into the enclosure. The dolphins barely had any room to swim around, let alone the condition of the waters that were more of a murky green than health aquamarine blue. The animals themselves didn’t look too happy to be here and god knows one could understand, considering the circumstances and the fact that this pool was the size proportionate to a tuna can.

The cherry on top though, was definitely the orcas. Top fins flipped to the side and with only three left -- the information board stuck to the entrance stated that there were at least ten of them -- it definitely appeared more to be a morgue than a conservation area.

At this point, I couldn't stop the tears. Pain scratched through my chest before I swivelled around with barely restrained anger, "you--" my nostrils flared, jaw clenching, "that's--that's what you call keeping them safe?"

The manager's eyes narrowed, "With all due respect, we--"

"You're killing them!" I yelled out, unable to restrain myself, "this is called murder! And you call yourself a marine conservation? What is wrong with you!?"

Needless to say, I was kicked out a few seconds after that.

But the damage was done. My heart was aching, practically empty of anything else apart from the horror I had just witnessed unfold before my very eyes. If they had a good reputation and were treating their animals badly, how about the ones that didn't have any funding? The ones that had smaller acres and less manpower to help?

How many animals were they killing in the process?

Sure, not all of them were like that. But that was a bit slap in the face. By reality.

Mingi noticed my wallowing silence when he came over that night -- I had cooked vegan burgers for the occasion -- though I tried to hide it behind the pretence of tiredness and lack of sleep. He wasn’t convinced though, for as soon as we’d dumped our plates in the sink and collapsed onto my worn-out red couch with frayed fabric ends hanging from its sides, the first thing he uttered was:

“Did something happen?”

I looked up, surprised that he’d picked up on my nonverbal cues since I usually prided myself on always managing to keep my emotions in check whenever I was in the public eye.

Admittedly though, this was a feeling I had never felt before. This wretched, this broken-hearted. I had seen documentaries, countless videos of slaughter and poor conditions.

But this, this was something entirely out of its league. This was horrendous. I couldn’t understand how one could even do such a thing. How one could think of this as humane, as a service to those beautiful animals that never hurt anybody.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Mingi continued in a rush, “I didn’t mean to pry--”

“They barely have any space,” I cut him off, voice practically on edge as the sight of the dolphins flashed through the back of my lids, “they--they looked ill. Mingi, you should’ve seen them. They didn’t--they didn’t look like they were going to survive in there and, I--I couldn’t not do anything so--”

My tears had already gathered at the corner of my eyes and I buried my head into my arms so that he wouldn’t have to fall victim to my sobs. It surprised me, though, when his warmth came to wrap around my figure, hand pressing against the back of my head so that I was nestled into the crook of his neck.

The murmur scratched the back of my throat, “I’m sorry--”

“It’s okay,” Mingi’s soothing alto washed away the nervous thought that maybe he was doing it out of sympathy. Out of pity, even. But he sounded more comforting than uncomfortable, which made me cry even harder into his shoulder.

It might have sounded stupid to anyone else; crying about animals that still had a chance at life, crying because they were forced to be in cages that didn’t serve them any better purpose than leaving them out to sea as dead meat. But I couldn’t help myself, couldn’t help my heart, from the deep sorrow that washed through me every time I pictured those lifeless creatures -- usually so alive and vivacious and just amazing to be around -- just wallowing in the waters like a bunch of dead floating bodies.

This wasn’t about allowing them to live. This wasn’t about carving out a better future for these animals. This was merely about trying to build a good reputation, and feeding off all the money they received because of good samaritans that wanted to do good and yet, had no idea of what was going on behind the scenes.

It was horrifying. Heartbreaking. And I couldn’t stand by to watch them all fall to pieces, to be killed to extinction.

“It’s okay,” he shushed me when he heard my sobs get a little louder. One of his hands soothed down my back, stable and comforting. I tried breathing in and out, raggedly, but eventually slowly settling into small hiccups as the night wore on and the pain subsided.

How stupid. How embarrassing. What an idiot.

Those were the thoughts that circled my brain as soon as my consciousness cleared.

"My neighbour had a cattle field,” Mingi said a while later when we sat side by side, one of his hands still on my back and rubbing slow circles. I had grabbed a pillow, hugging it for comfort, “back when I was still a kid. I had to walk to the nearest bus stop because we were so far out. We didn’t have any buses coming our way. Whenever I passed by that farm though, I’d feel so helpless to see all these cattle, bunched up together. There was barely enough space for them to breathe, let alone move.”

I sniffled and wiped my nose, nodding at him to go on.

“So one day, oh god. You’re going to laugh,” he chuckled softly, rubbing his face with his other hand, “one day I decided-- you know what? They didn’t deserve to live like this. I felt sorry for them. And they were getting slaughtered. Every single day. I was so angry that I went over to the backyard fence that afternoon and just opened the gate.”

“You did what?” My eyes bulged out of their sockets.

Mingi burst out laughing, “I know, I was stupid. And I wasn’t thinking about how this was the man’s hard work you know. It was what paid the bills. But I was naive and I just really wanted to help the cattle. So I set them free,” His laughter dimmed into chuckles, “all fifty-five of them.”

“Holy shit Mingi,” my mouth formed an ‘O’, “you’re crazy!” I started cackling, imagining a younger version of Mingi storming up to the fence with that same determined glint in his eye. I’d definitely done some crazy things back when I was still a child. But this one was unheard of.

He joined in and soon enough, we were laughing our heads off for god knows whatever reason. All I knew was that the ache in my heart had dissolved into a tiny stub the size of a burnt-out cigarette and my stomach now hurt from too much laughing.

“Don’t worry Y/N,” Mingi smiled down at me, those feline eyes soft and the curve of his full lips lighting up his features, “if they can’t see the wrong they’re doing now, then our project will.”

Right then and there, I believed him.

>>>>

I fell in love with Song Mingi the same way I fell in love with the sea.

I was not, until I was.

And when the realization hit me, I was in a little too deep to retract my footsteps.

Maybe it was in his gentle demeanour. Something I wasn't used to in guys. But Mingi had a sensitivity to him, a way with human emotions that made it easy to communicate. He was soft and kind and so open to everything and anything I said. He had a stubborn streak, but mostly for things that concerned his self-worth. And I hated how he couldn't admire his talent the same way I did.

But that was the thing with artists right? They always shied away from the limelight, let their works of art speak in their stead.

And what I loved the most about Mingi, was the fact that he listened. He actually took the time to listen and remember the things I said. It might have been little, insignificant. But it wasn't for me.

"Y/N! Guess what I brought for you!" He hollered one particular Wednesday night after work. He practically lived here, for his things were already sprawled onto the kitchen table from last night, and the night before.

"A donut? A latte? A pizza?" I called back while stirring the red bean stew as a quick dinner. The lack of response caused me to turn around, only to be faced with a bunch of red roses. I yelped in surprise, "what the-- what's this for?!"

My face heated up on its own accord as Mingi laughed and said, "Happy International Women's Day."

"What?" I blinked in shock, my curry now forgotten on the stove, "you mean, happy valentines?"

"Nope. No mistake. Today's International Women's Day," he grinned, "so here you go, a bouquet of roses to one of the strongest women I know.”

My face explode with heat and if it weren’t for me averting my head and hiding my face amidst the roses that tickled my nose, he would’ve guessed the way my heart beat for him. Too fast for it to be normal.

Another time, we’d been hanging out by the Han River sloppily eating our way through ice cream in zero degree weather and he hadn’t hesitated to give me his hoodie when he’d noticed the raw redness of my hands, the sniffles coming from my nose.

“You’re cold,” he’d stated with a small tut of disapproval. I protested with a shake of my head, but it had been no use. He was already pulling his coat off and not a second later, his hoodie was flung onto my face.

“Ow,” I mumbled as I maneuvered my hands through the sleeves, chest warming at his kind action. Mingi was a sweetheart, no doubt. And I really needed to stop crushing on him. He, however, did not make it so easy.

“Thanks,” I glanced back at him after stuffing my hands into his hoodie pockets. It smelled just like him, as if Mingi himself was wrapping me in his arms. The thought made my heart melt, “you didn’t have to, you know. I’m tougher than I look.”

“Sure, Y/N. You look like you could fly away if I pushed you too hard,” he reached over to ruffle my hair and I’d pouted then before jabbing playfully at his shoulder.

The more I spent time in Mingi’s flat, the more I got to know of his entourage, met his friends and saw how they genuinely cared for the said young man. In return, he met mine and it had become a habit to drag him along wherever I went and vice versa. So much so that it elicited a few curious glances and poignant questions that I tried avoiding at all costs for fear that they’d find out my true feelings.

“Mingi’s never been an outgoing kid,” Hongjoong said -- he was one of Mingi’s older childhood friends and they’d known each other all their lives -- during one of the evenings when the boys had crashed into Mingi’s living room and the flat had turned into a Mario Kart competition. Much to the displeasure of Mingi’s flatmates.

“Huh, that’s something I can’t quite picture,” I replied, gaze trailing back to Minig’s face as he yelled and high-fived Jongho and San. A series of groans echoed from the opposing team.

“Yeah, he’s grown out a lot more since university,” Hongjoong took a sip of his beer, “he does gets quite emotional from time to time. That’s why I worry about him so much. He’s sensitive.”

“I guess all artists are, in a sense.”

The man nodded, “yeah, but he’s been a lot brighter. Ever since you two started that project.”

I tried not to show that I was slowly becoming a blushing mess but it was hard to keep my feelings in check when Hongjoong’s eyes were piercing on my own, suddenly alert and filled with an intensity that made me want to squirm.

“You like him?”

The words were like icy shards. I froze.

I couldn’t keep the surprise from my face when I turned to face Hongjoong. My mouth suddenly felt as dry as sandpaper.

“Mingi’s fragile. If you’re gonna play him, I suggest you don’t.”

“I’m not--” the words ached as they escaped my voicebox, “I’m not playing him.”

“Then please, take care of him. He doesn’t show how weaknesses to everyone. But he has a habit of overworking himself, especially when it comes to pleasing others,” Hongjoong shot me a look.

My mouth reacted before my brain did. I blurted out, “why are you telling me this?”

And there was that look in Hongjoong’s eyes; the dark softeness filled with affection for the said young man that reminded me of that of a father’s. When he spoke next, his words were barely above a murmur, “because he cares about you, a lot. And I don’t want him to get disappointed.”

I wasn’t sure whether to take that as an insult or a compliment. Hongjoong’s words bordered on threatening, though I knew that it wasn’t the case. He was just doing his job after all; looking out for Mingi. But if he thought, for one moment, that I would go out of my way to hurt the latter, then that statement was proven wrong the moment I realized my heart beat for him.

As the coldness of spring melted away with the warmth of summer, sakuras went into full bloom and more and more people gathered outside to take pictures, couples strolling hand in hand while enjoying street snacks that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Empty streets suddenly turned bustling, just like our current storyboard coming to life.

“I don’t get it though. Why does the fisherman do that when he knows he’s going to go jobless when he exposes the fishing industry?” Mingi asked one night while we watched the animation roll by in comfortable silence. The frames were almost done at this point, with only the ending to wrap it all up and the music to be added in the background.

I leaned against his desk table, slightly curving of his sitting form, “because he loves the mermaid,” I went straight to the point, not realizing that my voice had dropped to a whisper until Mingi turned in my direction.

“He loves the mermaid just enough that he’s willing to sacrifice all of that?”

It sounded dumb when he put it so simply. So I shrugged, “people do stupid things in the name of love.”

A slight pause as my words buzzed through the air.

"Would you?” He spoke up,” do that?”

My eyes dropped to his face. The depth of his orbs reflected in the dim light of his room had my heart shaking and impulsively, my hand went to fist onto my jumper sleeve. Just enough to keep me grounded.

“What--” I swallowed thickly, “do you mean?”

A few beats of silence ensued. Our eyes locked.

“Would you give all that up for the one you love?”

I kept my eyes on his even as heat littered through my cheeks, “yeah,” I bit my lip, “yeah I would. Probably.”

Something flashed in his eyes then. Something different, darker than what I was used to seeing. A silent breath escaped my lips. Electricity curled through the air, buzzing in-between us.

I didn’t dare breathe. Didn’t dare look away.

Mingi’s eyes traced my every feature, gaze flickering to my mouth.

My lips parted on their own accord and he must’ve heard me, for his eyes flickered straight back up to mine and-- had his eyes always been this intense? This beautiful?

His hand suddenly fluttered over my arm. He tugged.

I stumbled into him.

And then his lips were pressing onto my cheek. Softly. A little shy. Breaths warm where his mouth hovered right upon my skin that burned as butterflies suddenly exploded through my stomach. A gasp died in the back of my throat and as I gazed down at him in growing surprise at his stroke of boldness, I saw his eyes widen in realization of what he'd done.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to get into your space--" his scrambled murmur died when I shook my head to silence him, a slow smile spreading across my lips. I didn't know what to say though, what to do.

I finally found my voice after a while, "what...was that for?" I asked, tentative.

Mingi's head ducked shyly, hand going up to rub at his neck while avoiding my gaze like the plague, "I don't know," he admitted, "I just--I wanted to cheer you up. I guess?"

"You guess?"

His orbs flickered to mine, "don't make fun of me," he sounded like a child and a giggle erupted from my mouth, "I'm not. Just making sure what your intentions were."

I almost missed him murmuring out, "even I'm not sure."

That shut me up. I blinked at him.

"You looked sad," he looked away, "I don't like seeing you sad."

Was that a confession? Or was it just me being overdramatic?

I didn't bother responding out of fear that flat-out rejection was waiting for me just behind the door that broke the boundary between friendship and romance. I moved away and his arms dropped, clearly sensing that something had changed in my demeanour. For the rest of the night, we didn't address the issue, made it out to have been an accident, a small 'slip' if you will. In truth, I was a coward. Couldn't muster the courage to spill out the weight that was heavy on my heart and would rather lock up my feelings away, push them at the far end of my mind.

Maybe it was for the best. We were partners only for this project.

After that, who knows when I'd be seeing him again?

>>>

The day our story came to life was the day I almost told Mingi how I felt about him.

"It's done."

My brain couldn't process what my eyes saw. The animation kept on rolling forward and repeating itself, the melody becoming a numb buzzing background noise as the roaring excitement flooded through my veins, my heart beating so loudly I feared its sound echoed through the room.

Mingi sat next to me at his swivelling desk chair, chin on his palm and eyes glancing between me and the computer screen.

Ever since that night, there had been a weird tension every time we looked at each other for too long. It felt like an itch under my skin I couldn't quite reach, something that made me want to squirm restlessly.

"That..." my throat went dry. It was beautiful. The shading, the fluidity of the storytelling. Everything. "It's..." I struggled to find my voice.

It was beautiful.

"It's beautiful."

Choking up on the wave of emotion crashing through me, I couldn't restrain the sob echoing through the back of my throat and turning away from the young artist to hide the tears welling in the corner of my eyes, I jumped when a warmth ghosted over the back of my elbow.

"You okay?" Mingi's alto rang deep. He'd risen from his chair and it took me aback to see how tall he actually was. I barely reached his throat.

I nodded, fervently wiping the tears away, "I'm fine. Just-- it's hard to watch."

"Yeah," his features softened, "it was hard to draw."

If I was an emotional wreck, I couldn't imagine how hard he must have struggled throughout the whole thing. My body reacted before my brain did, arms flinging themselves around Mingi's neck as I heard him stutter out with embarrassment.

Burying my face into his chest, my body melted into his scent of soft men shampoo followed by a citrus aftertaste. His figure stiffened for a few seconds, before his arms slowly laced around my middle with a hesitance that made my heart flutter to my throat.

"Thank you," came my muffled mumble, "thank you, for doing this."

A small noise of approval rumbled through his chest, palms smoothing over my back in a manner so soothing it makes my limbs turn to mush.

We headed out to buy some tteokbeokki straight from the street vendor later that night along with some pizza to honour our success -- or more precisely, Mingi's success since he was the one doing the majority of hard work -- and as we settled ourselves on a bench in a nearby park of the neighbourhood, I looked up at the night sky with a soft sigh, knowing that after this night, my chances of seeing Mingi would be slim to none.

It wasn't that I didn't want to see him. It was more because he probably had a life of his own, a life he wanted back. He had friends that cared for him, had a stable job he needed to dive back into. He didn't have as much free time as I did.

Something like a jagged rock cut through my chest at the thought. I wasn't going to life; it hurt to know that Mingi's face wouldn't be a regular in my daily schedule.

But he'd done his part. The rest -- figuring out how to pitch that project to our sponsors -- was up to me.

"Have you made a list of who you're going to pitch it to?" Mingi's voice drew me back to reality and I blinked up at him, catching sight of the beer he held out in his hand.

I took it gratefully, cracking it open and taking a huge sip. The liquid felt good sliding down my throat, the familiar sensation of alcohol warming up my stomach.

"I have a few names in mind," the night breeze was cool as it washed against my features that seemed permanently doused in embarrassment, "I might try and pitch it directly to the National Ocean Board*. Though apparently, you need like a contact to get to the organization itself so I'll have to figure that out."

He hummed in agreement, "the hardest part's yet to come."

"No," my eyes swiped up to his, hating how easily he pushed aside his efforts, "you did everything, Mingi. I--I'm really grateful. I don't know how to thank you."

"You came up with the idea. You're the one who wrote the entire storyboard," he shrugged as he took a sip of his own beer. I tried not to stare too long at the bobbing of his adam's apple -- he looked so fine. There was no doubt about that. Even in his casual hoodie and training slacks decked in shades of black and grey, there was no denying that he had the charm and the aura of a model itself.

"I'm just the one who knows how to draw," he continued in an easy tone, which made me snap, "that's not true and you know it," my eyes narrowed, hands clenching a little harder on my can, "you can draw, sure. Anyone can draw, or learn how to anyway. But you can tell stories and trust me when I tell you this-- not everyone can," I shook my head, "not in the way that you do, anyway. It's magical, it makes you dream, it makes you think that maybe--" the words caught in the back of my throat as I swallowed thickly, "maybe there's still a little bit of hope left."

A soft pause ensued. The crickets chirped in the distance paired with the distant hum of cicadas. I kept my eyes glued to his, insistently trying to prove my point as we kept our gazes locked for a few seconds too long. And then, his features softened and his face broke into a soft smile.

A small that took my breath away.

He reached up so suddenly that I didn't have time to register the fact that his hand came to a rest upon my head. He ruffled my hair, in a manner so gentle that I stopped breathing for a full minute.

"Thank you," his murmur washed against my face, breaths tingling my cheeks and causing a splatter of warm peony to rise through the back of my neck.

I wished to believe it was the alcohol.

"No need to thank me," was the only thing I could mumble back, if only to hide how scrambled up my brain had become.

"You'll let me know, right?" Mingi allowed his hand to linger for a few drawn out seconds, before he dropped his arm and took another sip of his beer, "if ever we get a breakthrough."

"Of course I will. What sort of question is that?"

"I don't know. In case you decide to run away without any credits to the artist," he flashed me a teasing smile and I shoved his shoulder in response, "thanks for having absolutely no faith in me."

He laughed, "I'm joking."

"Oh, you're not. You're actually really serious about me stealing your work aren't you?"

"What? Of course not Y/N! Who do you take me for?"

"Who do you take me for?!" I huffled out playfully, " asking me these stupid questions--hey!"

I didn't have time to defend myself when he suddenly pounced onto me, fingers finding my weak points right underneath my armpits. I squealed, bursts of laughter and cries of protests falling from my lips as his hands scrabbled against my sides in an attempt to make me pay for my earlier comments.

"Mingi! Stop it--" I choked on my own laughter, hands failing to find purchase to push him away as he continued his attack without mercy, "that's for using me!" he gloated.

My beer caner spilled over the ground halfway through our playful fight and it wasn't until I managed to grip his wrists that I realized our provocative position; Mingi's body was hovering over mine that had toppled onto the bench, back pressed against the cool metal as I gazed up, transfixed, into those gorgeous feline orbs glinting in the dark light of the park.

The playful air stilled in light of the realization dawning upon me; that he was so close I could kiss him if I wanted to. His lips were mere inches. Would he straight-out reject me if I attempted to bring him closer? Those sinfully rose-tinted lips that looked plush and inviting-- my heart fluttered to my throat just thinking about it.

No.

Don't do it. Don't ruin what you have, a small voice echoed in the back of my mind.

Mingi, maybe upon noticing the change in my demeanor, slowly pulled back and pulled me along with him so that I straightened up. His head tipped down to the spilled beer cans at our feet, and chuckled.

"Well, that's a waste," he commented lightly, as if we hadn't just engaged in something a little more intimate than interesting conversation, and that made my heart sink a little.

"Sure is," I avoided his eyes at all costs, kept my gaze lowered in case he caught a glimpse of what he shouldn't be seeing in the first place.

The words were lingering on the edge of my lips the whole night, deliberately playing back and forth between what was best for us right now, at this particular moment. And if Mingi noticed, he didn't comment on it, though from the way his eyes would find mine in concern every time a silence lasted for too long, I suppose he suspected that there was something a little more that was bothering the depths of my heart even though I forced plastic smiles over my face and pushed my eyes into crinkles to mimic my usual happiness.

My lips held onto a bitter aftertaste when he said our goodbyes that night, as I held onto his sweater a little longer than usual, numb from the cold and the things that clogged up the back of my throat.

It tasted sour.

I love you.

>>>

Y/N: They said they would sponsor it.

My fingers shook with every key tapped onto my phone, brown orbs glued to the screen as I awaited for Mingi's reply. He was online, I had seen his status a few minutes ago before I mustered up the courage to tell him the great news that would've once made me ecstatic, would have me jumping around in joy and barely restrained excitement at the thought that my voice, our voices, were finally being heard after months of toiling and searching and begging and being thrown out of doors.

After that particular night where we'd celebrated our win, I'd been trying my best to avoid the said man when possible. It wasn't that I didn't want to see him. On the contrary, I had to physically dig my nails into my palm so as not to dial his number every evening when the silence, the overbearing numb emptiness, became too much to bear. But I didn't want to overwhelm him, not if he didn't want anything to do with me.

He never took the step forward to contact me first. I guessed that this was my answer.

Instead of pondering over what could have been, I decided to delve deep into my search for sponsors. Easier said than done though, considering that there were numerous marine protection companies that were using greenwashing for their customer market and blatantly refused to take part in such a 'horrendous, misleading act' as they called it. To fund myself for the time-being, I was grateful enough to get a job as a cashier in a Pet Shop from across the street from my apartment. It wasn't much, but it paid the bills and I was able to spend as much time with animals instead of human beings. Life seemed to crawl by at a slow snail's pace for some time, going through the ministrations of life and falling in a routine of going to work, calling companies and sponsors during my lunch break, gong back to work, then getting home and trying once more to search up other kinds of sponsors in hopes that they'd give me the time of the day.

It wasn't until a few months later that a small company in the outskirts of Seoul reached out to me. They introduced themselves as a branch of a bigger Western umbrella and after running a background check, I counted them as credible and accepted an interview.

Which led to the current situation.

My phone buzzed. Screen flashing: Mingi is calling.

My brain backtracked. Huh?

Fingers shaking, I almost missed the green icon before pressing the device to my ear.

"Hey."

"They accepted it?!"

A smile instinctively hitched my lips upwards, "yes," I murmured, breathless. Then, said it a little louder, "yes!"

Mingi laughed, "oh my god! They accepted it!"

I couldn't help but laugh along with him. His effect on me was incredible, lit me up on the inside and for a second I wished I could get a glimpse of his face.

I suggested that we meet up at a nearby café to discuss the details, which was weird, considering that it had been a few weeks since I last saw his face. I couldn't blame him, for he'd been having a tougher time at work and I was burnt out. Coupling that with our lack of communication and you got a friendship that was slowly fraying at the ends.

I forced my heart to mentally put out a front so as not to jump on him the moment I caught sight of his face. But that didn't prove necessary, for the moment I stepped into the quaint coffee shop filled with the mixed scent of books and fresh espresso Mingi was already wrapping me up in a huge bear hug, so tight I could barely breathe, overwhelmed by the familiar scent of his shampoo.

"It's been awhile," he grinned, pulling back to gaze down at me and I swore I felt my chest tighten at the softness swirling through his dark pupils. Everything, every emotion came rushing back like a tidal wave.

"It has," I managed to cough up despite the fact that my heartstrings seemed to be dancing around in-between my lungs. Just tell him already! "You look good, Mingi. Better than the last time we met."

"That's because we managed to finish our project before the deadline," he grinned as he tugged me over to his table. I took note of the worn-out black edge of his sketchbook peeking out of his backpack and had to smile. Typical of him, to be carrying out of his sketchbook even now that he barely had no time for his personal art.

We caught up on each other's lives and about the specifics of the sponsor. They were willing to advertise it on their social medias, their websites, as well as present it to the National Ocean Cleanup Day that was soon approaching, which was an opportunity for all aspiring artists and storytellers to present their art in hopes that it would be seen by an influential eye. Every commission would be ours and they'd only take 5% commission for their advertisement, a pretty good deal considering their reputation.

"I still can't believe they want to advertise it," he raked a hand through his dark locks. They seemed to have grown a little since then, "It feels surreal."

"It'll be a good opportunity for you too," I smiled back, "to get yourself known as an artist."

"Oh actually, there's something I haven't told you yet."

Leaning forward in my seat, my eyebrow rose in curiosity, "spill."

"Well, I'm actually quitting my job next month."

I blinked, "wha--wait, really? Did you get another job?"

He shook his head at that before his smile broadened, "nah. I'm not about that life anymore. I want to do what I really want," pausing slightly as hesitation flashed through his features, I offered him a reassuring smile, "I'm going to be a full-time artist."

My mouth dropped open in surprise, eyes widening, "Oh my god--No! You're kidding?!" and when he shook his head once more with that knowing smile I knew too well, my hands shot up instantly to grab at his with barely restrained excitement, "I'm so proud of you, Mingi! What--How did you--What have you planned?!"

"I haven't really planned anything yet," though his tone was unsure, there was no denying the full-out grin on his face, "but I've been gathering a bunch of my sketches. They all follow the same theme so I might just go with that."

"That's amazing!" I couldn't believe it. Tears were filling my eyes, "what concept are you going for?!"

And that was when his gaze locked onto mine.

"The sea."

I probably looked like an idiot. Staring at him like he'd grown another pair of eyes and not really comprehending his words for the first few seconds they settled into my brain.

That was when it hit me.

I gasped.

"W--Why?" was the only thing I managed to stutter out.

Though there seemed to be a layer of pink dusted across his cheeks, Mingi answered confidently, "because of you."

I gulped.

"I got inspired, kind of," his head dipped down, dark pupils lowering to the table as if he was too embarrassed to meet my gaze, "I couldn't understand how someone could be as passionate. I--I live in my head most of the time, never really notice all of these outside problems. And it's bad. I know it is.” His eyes fluttered up to mine and I lost breath at the intensity present in them. They swirled with a gentleness that was seldom present, a vulnerable sheen of maroon reflecting in the depths of his dark irises and yet, so intense at the same time that I flushed right down to my feet.

“But you don’t. You live to make the world better and I—I wish I was more like that. I want to be more like that. Because these things matter just as much as what I want to show inside my head,” he paused, hesitating for a few beats of silence before continuing, “when you first told me about the animation, I was—I’m not going to lie to you—I was scared, that I wouldn’t be able to fulfill your expectations. That I didn’t have that in me,” his hands, which had unknowingly turned to grasp mine, slowly interlocked his fingers with my own, “but I’ve never seen someone look at me the way you do.”

“How…” my words trailed off as I struggled to form a cohesive sentence, “how did I look at you?”

“Like you believed in me.”

Tears suddenly pricked at the corner of my eyes. Because he was right. I had had so much faith in Mingi that I lost my own. I had no purpose, while he did. He was so overwhelmingly talented at what he did that I wished I was more like him.

And all along, he was admiring me for doing whatever the hell I wanted.

“I—“ I tried turning my head, hid it in my sleeve so he wouldn’t see the tears brimming in my eyes, “I don’t know what to say.”

“Hm, I guess you can say ‘thanks Mingi, for seeing me as your role model’ or ‘hey that’s cool. I actually inspired someone’. Something along these lines,” he grinned as one of his hands released mine to cup my chin. Turning my face towards his once more before brushing the tears away, he murmured, “why are you crying?”

I sniffled, “because that’s the most wonderful thing someone’s ever said to me and I can’t help but love you even more—“

The words had bubbled out without warning and instantly my mouth clamped itself shut. I stared at Mingi’s shocked expression, looked back down at the cracks on the veneered table before me, and tried withdrawing my hands from his grasp.

Except, he didn’t allow me to.

“What…did you say?” his voice had dropped even lower. My heart jumped to my throat, nerves suddenly jittery, “you…love me?”

I tried chuckling, though I sounded more like a dying animal, “of a sort. You know, like a friend loves another fri—“

His pointed look shut me up and I brought my eyes back to the table. How embarrassing. How stupid. What an idiot. You’re such an idiot! My mind kept on screaming over and over and over again.

“Y/N.”

I didn’t dare look up, for fear of seeing someone I shouldn’t. For fear that one glance might break my heart into little pieces without warning.

He squeezed my fingers as a sign. His hand tilted my chin up to his. My gaze insistently glued itself to the crack running along the table’s edge.

“Y/N. Look at me.”

No. My heart screamed out. No, this is all wrong. This shouldn’t be happening.

“Fine then. You give me no other choice,” he sighed in what sounded to be exasperation and before I knew what was happening, I felt the softest touch of blossoming warmth over my knuckles. Eyes shooting up with a silent gasp, they went straight to Mingi’s as I took in the way his lips were brushing against the back of my hand.

To say that I was combusting like wildfire would be an understatement.

“Does that answer your question?” he whispered.

“Uhm…no.”

His gaze darkened. My stomach churned.

“I love you.”

I swear I could’ve burst out crying then and there.

“You—“ my throat was dry. Hearing myself say them sounded pathetic, borderline ridiculous. Hearing it fall from his mouth though…that was exhilarating. Magical, “You…love me?”

When he nodded, fresh tears welled up in my eyes. Mingi couldn’t help but chuckle then, reaching over to wipe at my cheek, “why are you crying?” he sounded amused.

“I don’t know,” I blubbered back, “because I thought you’d say sorry and tell me we’d never be able to meet again and I don’t know how I was going to live if that was the case—“

“I don’t think I’d be that drastic, Y/N,” bringing my hands up once more, he allowed his lips to brush against my knuckles, the mere action comforting me, “I thought it was pretty obvious.”

“Pretty obvious? Jesus Mingi. I can’t read you. You’re not obvious at all!”

“But what about that kiss on the cheek I gave you that time?!” He pouted, “that must’ve counted for something!”

“Well you didn’t do anything else after that so how was I supposed to know?”

“I thought that you were disgusted when you didn’t respond because you didn't like me that way,” his pout deepened and I laughed at how childish he looked. A grown young man who was on the brink of a breakthrough in his career, acting like he was merely a five year old child, “how was I supposed to know then?”

I bit my lip to stop the grin from spreading over my face. I failed, smiling so wide my face practically broke in two, “you’re kinda cute when you’re mad.”

Huffing and muttering some in-comprehensive words under his breath, he tightened his grip on my hands and lifted them to press against his cheek, where his face mellowed out into that soft, crooked smile that turned his eyes into half-moons, “so does this mean we’re dating?”

“Well that’s kind of bold of you, considering you didn’t ask me,” I tried keeping a nonchalant air, only to burst into a fit of giggles as the said man threw me a horrified look, “but I literally poured my heart out!”

“I’m joking you big baby,” I ruffled his hair for good measure and though he grunted, there was no denying that the grin on his face was a permanent one. It made a series of butterflies flutter in my stomach and biting my lip to keep myself from giggling like a silly schoolgirl, I felt the slightest tremors of happiness that sounded like my heart cartwheeling in my chest.

Mingi accompanied me home that night, not hesitating to slip a hand into mine and intertwining our fingers throughout the whole train ride. We probably looked like a pair of idiots, smiling so wide at nothing at all that it wasn’t surprising if we scared off a few passerby’s. As we walked up the street towards my flat, we chatted about nothing and anything at all and somehow, I felt a sense of peace that hadn’t been there ever since our project was completed. As though all the puzzle pieces had finally fallen into place and now actually made sense.

It was calm inside my heart, inside my mind. The turmoil of waves that always seemed to brush a little too close to my sanity were now reduced to nothing, giving way to the calm sandy beach hidden below.

“That was a little too short for my liking,” Mingi’s statement caused me to blink back to reality and the fact that we’d already arrived at my doorstep made my excitement drop to disappointment in my stomach.

I turned to him nevertheless, graced with that soft smile that rendered me weak and made my throat clog up with unspoken emotion, “well, thanks for walking me back home,” my hands knotted themselves together, a habit of mine whenever I felt the nervousness take over.

“You don’t have to thank me, you know,” he flashed his pearly whites.

I turned away, feeling my cheeks warm up before Mingi gently grasped the back of my elbow. Tugging me close so that I stumbled into his chest, his hand was hesitant as it fluttered over my face, hovering a little distance away from my cheek before he mustered up the courage to cradle it in his hold. His other arm wound around my waist to pull me a little closer still and I would’ve lied to say that I was completely rational at this point in time.

My sanity had practically flown out of the window back then. Only leaving Mingi and his warmth in its wake.

His brown orbs held mine for the briefest of moments, as if asking me in silent permission whether he was allowed to take this step forward that would change our relationship forever.

So I did it for him. Pressed up on my tiptoes and claimed his lips.

Just like he’d claimed my heart.

The stifled yelp muffled at the back of his throat was one of surprise as I slanted my mouth against his and slowly, but hesitantly, moved my lips in a dance I’d hope he wouldn’t find to his dislike. But I was worrying for nothing, for a growl rumbled through his chest instead and he kissed me back with barely restrained vigour, hands pressing me close to his chest so that I gasped into his mouth. He took that to his advantage, tongue darting out to meet mine and drawing out a soft moan from my voicebox.

We parted for air after what seemed like forever, and that was when he pressed his forehead against mine with a tender, crooked smile that made me want to slap myself for wondering whether this was actually happening, that this was real.

“So,” his murmur washed over my face, nose bumping into mine, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Depends,” I shot back with a smile of my own, “Is it a date?”

“What do you mean?” he whined, “of course it’s a date.”

Laughing and pecking his cheek once, twice, three times until he turned his head to capture my lips with his, I pulled away with a breathless grin, pretty sure that I looked like a complete idiot with butterflies practically roaring through the entirety of my abdomen, “then sure, I’d love that.”

I didn’t know anything about what would happen to our small animation once it would be aired. There was a slight apprehension prickling at the back of my mind every time I thought about it, but somehow all this was overshadowed by the abundance of joy swelling through my chest every time I caught a glimpse of Mingi’s face, knowing that he was mine and that he believed in me, even if the rest of the world didn’t.

And that in the end, it would be okay.

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mostlysignssomeportents · 4 years ago

Text

Stop saying "it's not censorship if it's not the government"

If you think "It's not censorship unless the government does it," I want to change your mind.

It's absolutely true that the First Amendment only prohibits government action to suppress speech based on its content, but the First Amendment is not the last word on censorship.

Here are some kinds of private speech-suppression that I think most of us can agree are censorship: when the John Birch Society burned mountains of rock records and novels - or when Tipper Gore's PMRC pressured record stores to drop punk, metal and rap albums.

Or the Comics Code Authority, which signed up all comics publishers and retailers to block comics if they contained anything unfit for small children, which stunted American comics for generations while their European counterparts created entire sophisticated genres.

Or MPAA ratings, in which a secret group of censors (falsely described as frequently rotated, randomly selected parents - really they're long-serving studio insiders) decides whether movies get NC-17 ratings and thus be blocked from nearly every screen in the country.

(You can learn more about this from Kirby Dick's unmissable doc, "This Film Is Not Yet Rated," which documents both how the MPAA misleads the public about ratings, and uses them to block LGBTQ content)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/This_Film_Is_Not_Yet_Rated

Do those feel like censorship to you? They do to me. They share a common thread, too: monopoly. In each case, the number of retailers, producers, distributors, etc is small enough that if they collude to block something, it effectively vanishes.

Or the Inquisitions - which were not government censorship. The Inquisitions undertaken by Church officials, who were not part of any government - instead, they represented an unaccountable, transnational authority that governments were largely powerless against.

Does that sound familiar? Our media, speech forums, and distribution systems are all run by cartels and monopolists whom governments can't even tax - forget regulating them.

The most consequential regulation of these industries is negative regulation - a failure to block anticompetitive mergers and market-cornering vertical monopolies.

When governments fail to block the monopolization of speech forums, they're enabling censorship, just not in a way that violates the First Amendment, so we have no recourse and no transparency and no right of action when it happens.

https://locusmag.com/2020/01/cory-doctorow-inaction-is-a-form-of-action/

If we only call something "censorship" when it involves state action, then there's basically no such thing as internet censorship - not because speech is never suppressed, but because under that theory the First Amendment simply does not apply to the internet.

Social media is a duopoly. If neither will admit you, you can't use it. So you start your own site! Cloud computing is also clustered into a handful of companies (with AWS, a major military-intelligence contractor, running >50% of that business).

If they block you, you'll need to host your own server. The majority of data centers are also concentrated into a few hands, too. Oh, so are the domain registrars. And the payment processors. Also the anti-DDoS companies and CDNs. Search is run by one company.

How many companies need to collude to make it impossible for you to have a detectable internet presence? It's less than 50. And really, since losing any part of this stack can be a definitive blocker, it can be as few as two companies (mobile apps), or even one (search).

You won't be completely unlocatable - the Inquisitons didn't seek to snuff out every copy of banned works (indeed, they preserved many of them in their private libraries!) and the PMRC, Comics Authority and MPAA ratings board don't totally eliminate their targeted media.

But your speech will be marginalized and buried in ways that would be totally illegal if this were the result of state action. Only this speech is sidelined due to government *inaction*.

Ironically, the only corner of the networked world where the First Amendment gets a look in is city-run broadband services - the same services that conservatives who have newfound concerns about online censorship deplore as "government intervention in the market."

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/17/turner-diaries-fanfic/#1a-fiber

40 years of antitrust malpractice created a situation in which censorship is up, speech is perilous, and the First Amendment doesn't apply in either case.

The answer is *not* to impose speech duties on private platforms.

"Fairness doctrines" are why the BBC spent years airing anti-vaxxers and climate deniers every time they had a story about why you should get vaccinated and vote for decarbonization.

Facebook and Twitter have demonstrated far worse editorial judgment than Auntie.

The problem with the tech giants isn't just their bad judgment, it's how consequential their mistakes are. Trying to improve the judgment of the tech companies is a fool's errand, a project without precedent. No one's ever convinced a monopolist to turn benevolent dictator.

If we can't stop the tech giants from making mistakes, at least we can reduce the consequences of their errors by making them smaller. Block mergers. Unwind mergers undertaken on false premises (like FB/IG/WA and Google/YT/Ad/Doubleclick).

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/07/dont-believe-proven-liars-absolute-minimum-standard-prudence-merger-scrutiny

Force interoperability upon them as the EU's Digital Services Act and the US ACCESS Act contemplate, then take away their right to block other forms of interoperability:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/10/adversarial-interoperability

And for god's sake, stop talking about CDA 230 as an answer to any of this. "You must moderate all your users" is a death sentence to anyone who *doesn't* have an army of moderators - anyone who might challenge FB and Twitter.

For Big Tech, a legal moderation duty is just an excuse to remove any speech that anyone anywhere might complain about: "Sorry we removed your anti-pipeline protest announcement, but we were worried we'd be sued if we didn't."

When the government censors, it's "unconstitutional censorship," but there are other forms of censorship that have always been with us and that we should all be concerned about.

When it comes to communications tech, competition policy is speech policy.

#pluralistic

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gone-series-orchid · 4 years ago

Note

I know you've said before that you think Caine and Drake are pretty one-dimensional (and I agree completely). I was wondering if there were any other villains that you wish had been explored more instead of giving those two more page time in later books. Or if there were any characters that you thought could have had villainous potential that were unexplored??

wow, interesting question! i think my main problem with caine and drake is that they’re just kind of blandly evil, one-dimensional like you said. i think, ideally, villains should feel like real people.

funnily enough, i think zil probably comes closest to embodying that in this series. he’s mean-spirited from the beginning, but it’s only under lance’s influence (from what i remember) that he becomes a real threat due to his gaining confidence. i think it would have been nice to see more of him in the series—he’s insecure in his role as leader of the human crew, which makes him fallible. he’s also kind of unnerved by lance’s neo-nazism. he’s arguably the most intelligent out of the crew aside from lance. he’s not sympathetic, per se, but he is compelling.

i would’ve liked to see him interact more directly with the protagonists—especially astrid, because i think she should get a chance to one-up him in some way after he was thinking creepy thoughts about her in hunger. also, i think astrid, being the smartie she is, would probably be most likely to try to persuade him to turn over a new leaf—she’s a normal, and a white, aryan-looking (gag) normal at that, which would probably satisfy lance, and she still has distinct power in the fayz. though zil could probably poke a hole in her argument by pointing out that she only really has that power because she’s sam’s girlfriend, which is true. anyway, they could have words about it.

i think zil is compelling because he has the potential to be redeemed. it’s a slight potential, because he’s already done some pretty evil things, but he’s not totally evil—he has to justify the violence he commits in order to accept it, which is more than caine or drake does. we never forget that, at the end of the day, he’s still an insecure, blustering twelve-year-old. he’s an anti-moof bigot, but he could change. i think lance, more than zil, represents total irredeemable evil. he represents what zil could descend into being. he’s the devil on his shoulder (astrid could potentially be the angel if she maybe switched tactics from lawful punishment to direct emotional manipulation).

i’m a sucker for human villains and natural disasters being the principal antagonists, which i think is why the first four books work so well? i think fear and light suffer from the gaiaphage taking control of the narrative, villain-wise, when i think it worked best when used sparingly. gaia is pure evil, nothing more. she’s fun to read about in her own way because she’s so villainously campy, but that’s kind of it. she’s not really interesting, imo.

i think the reason why i harp so much on the insufficient “humanity” of antagonists like caine and drake is because that’s the principal strength of books (lord of the flies, battle royale) in the “kids trapped in place and forced to survive” genre: what do the actions of the characters say about human nature? about society? about morality? in lord of the flies, the message conveyed is ultimately a bleak one: the kids all descend into savagery in one way or another, with the purest one of them all, simon (the jesus figure) being driven insane, and the intellectual (piggy) being murdered. the story is all about “the darkness in the human heart,” to paraphrase the last line of the book.

in battle royale, on the contrary, the message is ultimately one of hope. despite the characters living in a dystopian fascist society that sacrifices one class of students to a killing game, the main character shuya clings to the idea that he and his classmates can figure out an alternate way to survive the titular battle royale aside from murdering each other. his compassionate view of humanity is validated by the pov vignettes given to all his classmates. all of them are given distinct personalities; some are kind, like shuya and his allies noriko and shogo, and some are drake-esque sadists, while the majority fall somewhere in between (my personal favorite characters are the girls that team up with one another in order to protect themselves from possible sexual violence from the boys. they hole up in a lighthouse!). but all are tragic in the sense that they’re children thrust into an unfair and cruel situation. even then, though, the nobility of certain characters shines through.

for instance, there are two girls at the beginning of the game who are best friends and don’t want to kill anyone. they (foolishly or bravely) use a megaphone to call out to the other kids in hiding, asking if they can all band together. shuya and several other characters are tempted, but sadly the girls are both fatally shot soon after their announcement. they die in each other’s arms after affirming their friendship, tears in their eyes. shuya and several other kids are devastated by the girls’ deaths. while some more callous characters deride them as being stupid and naïve, the reader is ultimately meant to mourn their deaths and the lost potential of a class-wide alliance. they know that their enemy isn’t their classmates, but rather the fascist government that makes them kill each other in the first place.

anyway—tangent aside—i think those two aforementioned novels are really solid examples of the genre gone is in. gone has more of superhero vibe to it, given the focus on powers and mutations and paper-thin evil villains, but i almost think the way that’s executed almost detracts against the aforementioned “kids surviving, etc.” genre? like, that’s all about the messiness of morality and human nature and whatnot, and while superhero comics can weave that into their narratives (watchmen, the brat pack) those are usually deconstructions of the genre than straightforward examples of it. the superhero genre is usually morally black-and-white and really action-focused. this is why i think we get the strange tonal mixture of kids reacting realistically to the trauma of starving versus reacting fairly unrealistically when faced with brutal superpowered violence, such as when brianna decapitates drake like it’s nbd. or anything brianna does, really.

there’s a shift from the realistic to the unrealistic that’s fun, but tonally dissonant from each other. so there’s this sort of disconnect, at least for me. i sympathize greatly for astrid when she’s slapped by drake and forced to call little pete a slur, for instance, but how many times does drake or caine murder a kid in cold blood? at some point it gets...idk, old? as the violence gets more cartoony the less it interests me aside from morbid fascination, and there’s just so much of it. it gets desensitizing after a while. i think that’s why, even though i think it’s handled fairly believably in gone, i had a lot more trouble with the monster trilogy’s blend of absurdism (the animorphs-style mutations like dekka turning into a cat woman with medusa hair and another character turning into a praying mantis with super speed, etc.) vs. grimdark realism (ICE forcibly deports a character’s father, terrorist violence is a common theme, the san francisco bridge is destroyed, a baby boy is mutated into a giant fuzzy caterpillar and then gets blown up by the military—like this is budding dystopia-level dark and the narrative doesn’t seem to realize it). it just feels too heavy and too light at the same time. the contrast of tones does a disservice to both of them. idk what i’m saying let’s get back to your actual question lol

as for characters with villainous potential...hmmm. tbh i think astrid has villainous potential? i mean, i like the idea of her moral righteousness escalating in a way that makes her more morally gray. she’d have to probably latch onto more powerful kids in order to have any leverage over sam and the gang, given her powerlessness. maybe she could manipulate orc into being her bodyguard while she plots to usurp sam or something asgjsjk. i think she could be a powerful threat if she wanted to be! it’s fun to ponder. i heard of an au where she joins the human crew that i thought was sort of interesting!

what do you think, @goneseriesanalysis? any villains you wish had been dived into more, and/or characters with villainous potential you think would have been cool to explore?

#gone series #michael grant #the gone series #fayz

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honourablejester · 4 years ago

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Worldbuilding with Deities

AKA some thoughts on how to make pantheons for your fantasy worlds.

Okay. So this is fairly heavily inspired by D&D specifically, because some of the published settings feel very lacklustre to me in the deity department (*cough*Eberron*cough*), but it also feels like a general problem in fantasy when your setting is not ‘medieval or heroic western fantasy’ where you can just file the serial numbers off the Greek, Norse or Christian mythologies and call it good. I also feel there’s a bit of an issue with either darker or more technological settings, where there’s a push to either have no gods, evil gods, or relatively powerless gods, to show that this is a more enlightened and/or cynical setting that doesn’t rely on silly things like faith. Which is perfectly fine if that’s what you’re actually going for! But. You can have a very wide variety of settings and still have cool and interesting deities in them.

With D&D specifically, I feel like part of the issue is that clerics, paladins and warlocks are playable classes, so there’s mechanical considerations to keep track of. So when you’re worldbuilding a setting, you feel some pressure to ‘tick all the boxes’ with things like cleric domains, and it feels less like building out your setting and more like making random stuff up to fill jobs, which sucks some of the joy out of it. If clerics and deities and mythologies are your jam, excitement will carry you through, but otherwise it might feel like a bit of a slog. Ticking boxes on your worldbuilding forms.

Of course, clerics and deities and mythologies are my jam. So I possibly don’t have much of a leg to stand on here. But. I’m also a pantser when it comes to worldbuilding, and nothing turns me off faster than lists of things to shoehorn in. So. I do have some thoughts here.

When I’m building a mythology, and not just making up a couple of gods for a quick story, I do have a bit of process. It’s mostly subconscious, granted, but there is a method there. Things I consider in a particular order to get where I need to go.

So. Thoughts for rough-and-ready mythology worldbuilding for pantsers who don’t like to overplan. A quick summary:

Mood/Genre

Important Concepts/Themes

Overarching Goals

Reverse-Engineered Cosmology

Further Details

Mood/Genre:

This is the one I think about first and foremost. For worldbuilding in general, really, not just building pantheons. Everything starts from the mood for me. The tone of what I want. What my world is going to feel like to people. Do I want something bleak and pale? Wild and whimsical? Meaty and heroic? Urbane and subtle? Is the world wild and empty and only partially discovered, or completely full to the brim? Is it starting out, fresh and wild and new, or fading away, weary and dangerous and despairing? What does it feel like?

Genre usually follows from tone. Am I looking for dark fantasy? Something post-apocalyptic? Urban low fantasy? Old-fashioned sword-and-sorcery? Celtic fantasy? A rough-and-rowdy beat-em-up?

You don’t have to be overly specific on the genre. I mean, you don’t have to plan that in advance. The tone is the overriding thing, genre will settle itself. But sometimes it’s easier to conceptualise or pitch a thing by its genre.

Once you have the tone nailed down. The mood of what you want. You move on to …

Important Concepts/Themes:

When you’ve gotten a tone, then you can start to think about the concepts that might be important in it. What concepts that would be culturally valued in a setting of this tone, and concepts that would be regarded with suspicion. The themes that divide it up. This is where your domains start to come in, and also where you start to line up what the ‘good’ gods vs the ‘evil’ gods look like.

A question that I find helps here is what do the stereotypical ‘heroes’ look like in this kind of world? Are they rogues up against the man (urban fantasy)? The faithful against the profane (heroic fantasy)? The simple warriors against the sorcerous villains (sword and sorcery)? The fragile monster hunters against the unrelenting darkness (gothic horror)? Etc. This’ll tell you where domains like knowledge, trickery, arcana, war and order will broadly line up on the morality scale.

This is how you get your darker/bleaker settings in as well. You just rearrange your value-sets somewhat. Think about what is still valued in this world. What might usually be valued in a less strained setting, but might be more questionable here. In a post-apocalyptic world, where survival is the name of the game, perhaps gods touting ‘peace’ and ‘acceptance’ are viewed as corrupters, trying to get people to resign themselves and lay down and die. Or they’re saviours, offering a peaceful afterlife away from the horrors of what the setting has become. Dealers choice.

The point here is to get a broad, overarching theme or set of themes to arrange your pantheons around. In a dark fantasy world, it might be light vs dark, faith vs corruption. In a strongly urban fantasy, a very built-up setting, it might be anarchy vs fascism, rich vs poor, honesty vs corruption. In a post-apocalyptic world, it might be hope vs despair, survival vs surrender, life vs death. In a bawdy heroic fantasy, it might be exploration vs safety, civilisation vs freedom, natural vs unnatural. You’re thinking about the driving forces in your setting, the big conflicts that shape it. What things have value, what things are frightening.

And remember, this comes back to the feel of the world. You’re not writing a moral screed here (or, well, you can, but it’s not my primary point), you’re picking the themes and conflicts that will most highlight the mood you want.

And then, once you know the conflict points your gods will be divided along, you can move on to:

Overarching Goals:

What are the deities in your setting working towards? What are their main goals, what are they trying to preserve or destroy or make or accomplish? This lets you divide them up into groups that are working with or against each other. It’s an easy mechanism to build pantheons around, and is based on your themes/values from the previous point.

So. In your urban fantasy setting, built around themes of anarchy vs fascism, honesty vs corruption, rich vs poor. You have your gods of civilisation and tradition, of honesty and respect, of building and preserving. And you have your gods of change and chaos, of trickery and freedom. You have your gods of greed and corruption. Your gods of ascetism and simplicity. You could have them all the one pantheon, forever gaming between themselves. Or divide them out, make two primary pantheons around that first divide, civilisation vs anarchy, with each of them viewing the other as evil, and then several other deities on the outskirts, trying to gain for themselves, or poke at the larger pantheons.

In your post-apocalyptic setting, dark and bleak, built around hope vs despair, survival vs surrender, life vs death. You’ll have your gods of life and protection, of bastions and defenses, of nurturing and rebuilding. Gods who want to protect what’s left and help it rebuild. Then maybe you’ll have gods of death and annihilation, gods of despair and madness, gods of acceptance and fading. Gods who want to help the world limp along to a final darkness. And possibly you’ll have gods of light and defiance, gods of hunting and exploring, gods of lost knowledge and future innovation. Gods who want to reignite the world, kick it back into high gear, and maybe destroy it in the process, but better that than a long slow slide into a hungry nothing!

In your heroic fantasy, big and bawdy and brave, built around exploration vs safety, risk vs reward, civilisation vs freedom, might vs might. You might have people-specific pantheons, in a big empty world where every race or culture is out for themselves. Gods who pick (or come from) specific peoples, and act to make space for them in this brave new world. Other gods, with bigger or smaller goals. Gods of chaos, thriving on the general anarchy of the world. Gods of civilisation, striving to unify it more. Gods of annihilation, who want to wipe the slate clean, and who are great for everyone else to rally against.

There’s a lot of archetypes to work with here. When you’ve got your mood and your theme, it’s easier to get a picture of the type of god that’s going to live there, to embody that. Then what types might stand a good counterpart or complication to it.

Divide your pantheons up broadly along your themes. Feel out which domains and concepts and ideologies belong with which camps, which might be shared between them. What the pantheons as a whole culturally value, what individual gods value, what that means for their allegiances and goals. What deities would be outliers, independent, what ones would work together, what ones hate everyone but are broadly aligned in goals with others.

From there, we’ve got two further considerations, which I tend to do in whichever order makes sense at the time. One of them:

Reverse-Engineer Your Cosmology:

By which I mean, the origins of your deities and the mechanisms by which gods and/or universes are created in your setting. Can gods be made or created later, or did they have to exist from the start of the world? If they can be created later, how can they be created? How willing are the gods to personally interact with the world and to what extent? Did the gods create the things they’re in charge of, or are they avatars of them, or did they just divvy up jobs the old fashioned way? Etc.

Now. I know a lot of people prefer to do this step first. Cosmology first and work down from there. That’s perfectly fine if that works for you! For me, though, it really doesn’t. It’s far, far easier for me to reverse-engineer it later, after I’ve sketched out what my setting feels like and what sort of gods I’d like to exist in it. It’s easier to have realisations like ‘this setting is way too bleak for ascension to be an option’ or ‘this setting values freedom and chaos too much for everything to have been set in stone from before the beginning’ or ‘this setting is too subtle and low-key for vast holy gestures to be feasible until endgame’ if I’ve already run through the rest first.

Also, it’s easier to come up with backstories if the setting is already sketched. If I decide gods can be made, I can look at things like the cataclysm that defined my post-apocalyptic world and go ‘that made or killed a whollle bunch of gods’. If it’s a gothic/dark fantasy story that relies very much on faith and hope vs monstrosity and darkness, then mortal-origin deities who were so hopeful or monstrous in life that they became avatars after death becomes an obvious option. Things like that. Cosmology is easier sketched in retrospect, I find. You’re not paralysed by fitting stuff into a pre-existing grand order of the universe. You can come up with stuff as it pleases you, and work back to justify it later. (I mentioned I’m a pantser, right?)

And the other consideration:

Further Details:

Once you have your broad-strokes themes and pantheons sketched in, you can flesh them out and start building stuff above, below, within and around them.

Above would be the reverse-engineered cosmology above.

Below would be: servants, celestials, lesser deities, demigods, mortal champions, mortal organisations, priesthoods, cults. What the gods have put into the world. Artefacts. Locations. Ideals. Religions. Powers and magics.

Around them would be other beings, devils, demons, eldritch abominations, etc, and where they fit in this setting. Anomalies to the grand order. Etc.

And within them would be: individual gods, backstories, personal histories, what gods are most powerful depending on theme, what gods are most independent, what gods have changed allegiances in their history, what gods does nobody know their allegiances. What do the gods themselves feel about their jobs and their goals and their means to enact them. Once you’re down off the broad strokes and into the details, remember that your deities are individual, thinking beings as well. Perhaps they can learn, change. Perhaps they have personal hangups from their histories that preclude their doing or joining a certain thing, despite the thematic sense it would make. Perhaps they identify more strongly with a particular aspect of their nature/domain that could put them over into an unexpected camp. There’s a lot of room to muck things around and complicate them once you’re into the nitty gritty.

If stuff crops up here that makes you reconsider any of the previous points above, follow it. Play with it. Maybe adjust some stuff because of it. It often happens to me that a small specific detail will catch my imagination so much that I’ll edit huge chunks of the world around it. Possibly this works out better for writing personal worlds than for live game worlds that have other people in them, but still. It’s a point to consider. Stuff likely will come up later. Mood or tone might shift a bit, entirely naturally. Don’t go too far down into fixed details. Leave enough things vague or sketched that you’ve wiggle room later for adjustments.

In Summary:

Voila! My bootleg process for worldbuilding in general and worldbuilding deities in specific: start with what you want out of it, the mood and tone, the feeling of the setting. The themes and conflicts you want people to explore in it. Then jury-rig the rest out of that. Move to your goals, your factions, your big forces. Then your smaller details, individual characters and personal details. Your origins and your processions, going back and going forward. Reverse-engineer what you’d need to have done to get the setting you want, set the stage for where you might want it to go later. And always remember to keep things loose enough that you’ve got room to play and adjust and be surprised later, often by your own flighty brain.

Also. Deities are just characters, when we’re talking about fantasy settings. You don’t have to make any specific real world points with them. You just have to make them fit with the mood you want within your setting. You build your universe to fit your story, because fantasy allows us to do that, unlike the real world where we’re stuck with whatever was premade earlier. Heh. So don’t get too bogged down with what you need to add in or leave out to make things ‘dark’ or ‘realistic’ or whatever. Anything can be made to be anything, if you build stuff around it the right way. So add in whatever you want, and jury-rig the rest until it fits. Get a strong enough, loose enough base, and you can add in a surprising amount without upsetting it too much. In my case, that’s the feel. Get the tone nailed down, get some good strong archetypes to build the show on, and you can play merry hell with it from there.

It’s a good general rule. At least for rough-and-ready, adjusted-as-required stuff. Start with what you want, set up a loose framework for it to fit in, then jury-rig the rest from there.

(Or make stuff up out of whole cloth in a blind panic and spend the entire rest of your time straining to keep one chapter ahead so no one figures it out, until you hit a surprise endgame that absolutely no one, least of all you, was prepared for. You know. One or the other. Heh)

So. Good luck inventing gods? Hope this works for more than just me? Eh. Hopefully there’s something worthwhile in it, and good luck!

#worldbuilding #fantasy #pantheons #deities #meta #jury-rigged writing methods for jury-rigged worlds

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