#sketchy being belligerent

[phoneboxfairy]

I'm going to tell my kids this was magic mike 🤣

Look Ms Sketchy has had a rough week and she needs a good giggle before she goes back to sleep.

[wooyunhwa]

𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔭𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔰 | PS

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

masterlist

Genre: smut (with plot!)

Pairing: mafia au!seonghwa x fem!reader

Word Count: 7.7k (strap in folks it’s a long one!)

Warnings: sex while under the influence of alcohol, mentions of abusive past relationship

Synopsis: When a mysteriously powerful man kicks your abusive boyfriend out of the bar, he agrees to take you in for the night. But he’s hiding something... and you’re determined to find out what. 

A/N: There are two separate sex scenes in this so buckle in! Lots of plot but a lot of work went into planning this one and I promise the set up is worth it! Thank you so much for reading and comments are always appreciated <3 I hope you guys like it! Stay tuned for part two~

Anger burned in your chest as your boyfriend was starting to act like a belligerent fool, yet again. You’d gone with him to meet a couple of his friends at a swanky downtown bar, but the more he drank, the more he embarrassed you. You caught him looking at the waitress’ ass more than once, not that you had the power to say anything about it. You knew what would happen if you did. He’d yell, deny it, and try to flip things around so you were the one at fault. He’d always find a way to twist your words and make it so that you were the one apologizing. 

You took a sip of your drink, your lips tight as you fought back the urge to say something, because you knew it wasn’t worth it. It never was. You were so ashamed to be here with him that you fantasized about sinking into the floor, away from all the people throwing disgusted looks in your direction as his comments grew louder and more crass the more shots he threw back. It was a much nicer bar than the ones you’d usually visit, which only added to the feeling of standing out. There were a lot of people dressed in formalwear, and while you had worn a nice dress and spent time on your makeup, you felt trashy by coming with your idiot boyfriend. 

He ordered another drink, probably his eighth or so that night. He beckoned the bartender, called her “sweetheart” and blatantly checked her out as he ordered, and your cheeks burned with a mix of shame and embarrassment. You kept drinking to feel numb instead of upset, but all that did was make you feel sick to your stomach. Not from the alcohol, necessarily, just from the fact that you had to pound back drinks just to be in the same room as your own boyfriend. 

“Can you just stop,” you said feebly, your voice cracking as you finally spoke up. He turned, meeting your eyes with that stupid, distant look he got on his face when he drank. 

“What was that?” he said challengingly, like he was mocking you. You looked down, trying to avoid eye contact. You regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth. 

“I-I said…” You tried to repeat yourself, but you felt like you were shrinking under the weight of his gaze, and the confidence the liquor gave you dried up immediately. Your lip started to quiver, and your cheeks started to heat up at the mortifying thought of crying at the bar. You kept your gaze glued on the drink in front of you. 

“No, say it. Tell me exactly what I did wrong,” he said, raising his voice. A couple people turned to look in your direction.

“Don’t make a scene, I just-” 

“‘Don’t make a scene?’ When you’re the one who wants to start a fight with me?” he yelled, and tears started to fall down your cheeks. You couldn’t help it, but now you were crying in the bar, and your night couldn’t get much worse. 

“Please, can we just go home?” you begged, your voice small and lacking any punch whatsoever. The tears were really falling now, and you really just wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out. 

“Go home?” he laughed in your face. “I’m having a good time out here, you’re the one who ruined it out of nowhere. You can go the fuck home if you want, I don’t care.” 

A lot of people were looking now. You started openly bawling, no longer caring about keeping up your appearance. You’d never cried in public before, but he crossed a line by treating you like garbage in front of all these people, and you just couldn’t take it anymore. He rolled his eyes, giving you a dismissive gesture with his hand. 

“Oh, now you’re gonna cry? I don’t give you enough attention, is that it? You can’t handle not being the center of attention?” he yelled. 

“Hey, don’t talk to her like that!” Someone stepped up and put a hand on his shoulder, and your boyfriend shook it off angrily. 

“Get your fucking hands off me,” he said, getting aggressive way too quickly. 

“Come on, man. You’re gonna get yourself kicked out,” the guy said, clearly not trying to escalate things. 

“Huh? Kick me out? Because this bitch can’t keep her damn mouth shut? Try it. See what happens if you put your fucking hands on me again,” he spat, puffing himself to look larger, obviously rearing for a fight. 

“Is there a problem?” a new voice entered. You turned to see him, and your jaw nearly fell off of your face. He was a young man, probably around your same age, and he looked like some kind of statue that had come to life. You blinked, stunned, as he approached your boyfriend. His body language was calm, unlike your boyfriend��s, who looked like a belligerent dumb-ass. 

“You tell me,” your boyfriend said, crowding the handsome man’s space. 

“I don’t tolerate pretty ladies crying in my bar,” he said, shooting you a small smile before turning back to your boyfriend with a stern expression. “I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“Your bar? I don’t tolerate cocky pretty boys like you telling me what to do.” He gave the handsome man a warning shove, and you cringed, feeling like this night just couldn’t get any worse. The handsome man looked down at his chest where he’d been shoved, then back up, his expression turning cold. 

“I’ll ask you one more time to leave. I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t cause any trouble,” he said carefully. 

Your boyfriend scoffed, then gave another, harder shove. “You’re the one causing the trouble here, man,” he sneered, really getting up in his space now. 

“Leave. Now.” The way the man said it sent chills down your spine, like he was not to be fucked with. Your stomach was a knot of anxiety as the tension in the air spiked, and you wanted to close your eyes and pretend you didn’t exist anymore. 

As if in slow motion, your boyfriend threw a sloppy hook, which the handsome man evaded with ease. Frustrated, your boyfriend tried again, apparently on a mission to break the man’s nose tonight. The handsome man ducked, then darted forward, delivering a brutal punch right to your boyfriend’s jaw, which sent him careening to the floor. 

Your boyfriend clutched at his jaw, groaning as he struggled to get up. The handsome man examined his hand, stretching his fingers a few times, then turned to you with a sympathetic smile. “Are you okay?” he asked. 

You nodded your head, looking down at the pile of trash that was supposed to be your boyfriend. You felt angry at him beyond words for causing such a scene, and a fresh round of tears spilled down your face. Your shoulders shook as you sobbed, wishing that this whole night had never happened. The man brought a hand to your shoulder, tenderly guiding you out of your seat and gesturing for you to follow him. 

“Come on, let’s go get some air,” he said. The handsome man turned to look over his shoulder, giving an ambiguous nod to someone in the room. 

You hesitated for a moment. Besides being taught not to let strange men lead you to a secondary location, your trust in the intentions of men had been tainted by your piece-of-shit boyfriend. Despite all that, you nodded, in no position to turn him down. He obviously held some sort of power here, but you couldn’t be sure exactly what his position was. Maybe he was just a really, really well dressed security guard. The place was fancy, after all. 

You resented your idiot boyfriend for making a scene like that, and especially for dragging you down with him, but god, did you love watching him get punched like that. You would have savored the moment more if not for your involvement in the situation, and your tears blurring your vision. 

Your gaze dropped to the ground shamefully as you followed the man outside quietly, doing your best to make yourself as small as possible, avoiding eye contact with the gawking bar goers. Your cheeks were stained red, hot from embarrassment, and your throat felt tight. 

“My name is Seonghwa, by the way. I’d say ‘nice to meet you,’ but these conditions are a little…” he laughed, trying to lighten the mood a bit. 

“I’m Y/N,” you croaked, voice betraying you. “I’m so sorry about all this.” You felt the need to apologize on your boyfriend’s behalf. Well, at least you were used to that part. 

He led you out a door to the side of the bar, guiding you through the back hallways like he knew exactly where he was going, and at one point you could swear one of the doors was marked “Employees Only”. Your security guard theory seemed more and more likely by the second.

He swung open one final door to the outside, and you were immediately hit with the sting of the brisk outside air against the dry, tear-stained skin on your face. The moment you stopped thinking about stopping your tears was the moment they started to pour out again, suddenly overwhelmed again by the turn of events. Here you were, face-to-face in some sketchy back-alley of a bar with the man who’d just decked your boyfriend. 

“Do you have somewhere safe you can go?” the man asked, the calm tone of his voice immediately soothing you from the otherwise unsettling situation. 

You brought a hand up to wipe the tears from your eyes. “N-no,” you started, through shaky breaths. “No, I don’t have anywhere… my boyfriend… you saw him, he’s- he’s so drunk… and when he’s drunk, he gets angry- I’m scared of what he’ll do if-” You could barely choke out a coherent sentence, words trailing off into another round of tears as your mind raced with anxiety.

You began to slip into panic mode, finally realizing the full breadth of the situation. You didn’t have anywhere to go except home, and you feared what your boyfriend might do if you came back. Effectively, you were homeless, unless you wanted to take your chances on if your boyfriend was mad enough at you to finally hit you. And you already knew those chances: they weren’t good. 

The man sighed, running a hand through his hair in contemplation. “Look, if you need somewhere safe to stay tonight…” he pressed his lips together in thought, clearly weighing his words wisely. “You can stay at my place.”

Your eyes widened at his proposal. You didn’t even know him, but what other option did you have at this point? As far as trustworthiness went, punching your boyfriend out certainly earned him some points.

And though this didn’t really matter right now, you couldn’t help but think about how attractive he was. Removed from the situation now, you were able to take in his beauty from up close. His features were sharp and defined, and he more closely resembled a CGI rendering of a person than an actual person. Actually, now that you thought about it, he may have been the most picturesque man you'd seen in your life. His jet black hair contrasted against his red velvet suit jacket. He was otherwise adorned in all black, which suited him perfectly, elongating his already well-proportioned frame. There was no other way to describe him but expensive. Well, and maybe gorgeous. 

His features were dark, intimidating, and yet he'd shown you nothing but concern and kindness and since you met. You decided to trust him for the time being, if not for his display of kindness, but also for the fact that you wanted the chance to stare at him a bit more. 

“I really don’t want to impose…” you said, eyes once again trained on the ground shamefully. You already felt like such a burden for causing such trouble in the first place. 

“One night,” he clarified. “You can stay for one night. That should be enough time for you to make arrangements to stay with someone. Family, friends?”

Friends. Right. That thing you didn’t have. Well, not anymore. For the past year, your boyfriend had kept you completely isolated from the outside world in order to keep a watchful and controlling eye on you at all times. And family, well… that you didn’t even want to get into. Despite this, you agreed. That sounded like a tomorrow-you problem, and tonight-you just wanted to collapse into a bed and forget for a second how fucked you were. 

“Alright, follow me,” he said, heading back in through the door you had come from. He left you in the hallway briefly, and you took the moment alone to collect yourself from the crying mess you were just a minute ago. When he got back, you followed him as he weaved his way through the back corridors of the building. 

He took you to a small, antiquated elevator, and you doubted its ability to move even one human, let alone two. You squeezed into the tight box with him, bodies nearly flush with each other. You were so close you could almost taste the fresh alcohol on his breath. 

He pressed the top button, and the elevator creaked up slowly.

Did he live above the bar? you wondered. A bit odd for a security guard. 

You felt a little nervous as you entered the apartment after him, but the feeling was quickly replaced by one of awe and wonder. The apartment itself had a similar feel to the bar, with decadent furnishings and ornate ceiling fixtures, giving off old-Hollywood glam from every corner. It was vintage enough to still feel humble, but reeked of upper-class in a way that felt odd for a mere employee. Numerous paintings adorned the walls, depicting everything from beautiful women to far-off landscapes to wacky abstract art. It felt as though he’d led you into an old French art gallery instead of an apartment, and you felt hesitant to touch anything for fear of being scolded. 

He gestured for you to sit on the couch, and you obeyed, slipping off your shoes as you followed him in. You sat on it carefully, like it was a piece of art, and he joined you after a moment, returning with a bottle of something very expensive and a glass for each of you. He gracefully filled up your flute, handing it over with his long, perfect fingers. You’d never felt like such a commoner in your whole life, but you took it gratefully, as you still very much needed a drink. Its cool bubbles sparkled against your tongue, and you took a deep breath. 

You spilled your heart out to him, explaining everything about your situation, things you hadn't been able to tell anyone before. You told him about your controlling boyfriend, your isolation, and most of all, how scared you were. He offered you more drinks as you cried -- expensive champagne from his own personal mini bar. He poured it out like it was nothing to him, but that bottle must have cost him a fortune. How rich was this guy anyway? You shouldn't have been drinking more, you knew that, but you accepted happily, opting to drown your feelings rather than face them. 

He must have been deep into his 5th glass, just that you’d seen at least, and yet he carried himself extremely well. If you hadn’t have seen him drinking, you probably wouldn’t have even guessed he was drunk. Makes sense for a guy who works at a bar, you thought. 

That reminded you. You still didn’t know anything about him, or what he did at the bar, and yet at this point, he must have known practically everything about you with how much you were blabbing.

“So, do you work here? At the bar, I mean. Like a security guard?” you asked, shifting the conversation to him. He had the most mysterious aura about him, and had thus far been pretty vague about himself. You wanted to see if you could crack him. 

He leaned back against the couch, legs crossed. How could anyone look so good just sitting? He pursed his lips slightly in thought. His lips twitched up into a slight smile. “Sure, yeah. You could say that.”

You looked around at his huge suite. Something didn’t add up. “Wow, they must really be paying security guards a lot these days,” you joked with a light laugh, but you weren’t really joking.

He forced a chuckle before hoisting himself up from his position on the couch and made his way to the mini bar just behind him. “Another drink?”

“No, no, I shouldn’t,” you said. And it was true, you really shouldn’t have. You were really starting to feel the effects of the alcohol wash through you, and you weren’t exactly known for holding your liquor well. 

He chose the spot on the couch next to you this time as he sat, and placed a warm hand on your back, rubbing gentle circles. The pressure of his touch felt amazing, sending tingles down your spine. You were tired from your emotional night, but the comfort he offered felt incredible, and you still couldn’t get over just how gorgeous he was. He slipped out of his suit jacket, and you were able to catch a glimpse of the definition of his body underneath. 

His black shirt was tailored flawlessly to his every measurement, the seams of his sleeves perfectly hugging the curve of his wide shoulders. There’s no way it wasn’t custom, and you wondered again how the hell a security guard lived so decadently. Your eyes involuntarily flickered down to his chest, noticing he had a few too many buttons undone, teasing his collarbone just enough. You didn’t notice you were leaning in until he brought a hand to your cheek, holding you delicately as his face grew closer.

Your lips were on his before you had a chance to tell yourself to stop. He reciprocated fervidly, pushing his lips back against yours with drunken desire. His touch seemed to melt all your problems away. What better to drown your sorrows with than fancy champagne and sex with the most beautiful man you’d ever had the pleasure of seeing?

The way he kissed you tipped you off immediately to how often he must have done this. This wasn’t your first hook up, and you’d experienced enough to know most men weren’t exactly pros when it came to kissing. Despite the drinks he’d been knocking back all night, there was nothing sloppy about the way his lips moved against yours. Between the fancy penthouse apartment, the prosperous aura, and his devilishly good looks, there was no way he wasn’t bringing girls here regularly. Not that it mattered. If that was the case, you were surely in for a good time. 

Your kisses grew clumsier and more lustful, and you fumbled drunkenly at the rest of the buttons on his shirt until it fell open to reveal his torso, beautiful and sculpted. You ran your hands along his stomach, marveling at his solid abs, and finally down to his waistband to remove his belt. He returned the favor by pulling your dress over your head and unhooking your bra, throwing it to the side with disregard. 

He paused for a moment, furrowing his brows. “You’ve had a lot to drink,” he said, sighing softly. “Are you sure you want to do this?” 

You nodded furiously. You were more sure than you’ve been of anything in your life. Or, at least, anything you could remember right now. You had a one track mind to be completely taken by this man. “I’m sure, I’m sure. Please, just fuck me. I need this right now.”

“Can’t argue with that…” he muttered under his breath. 

He scooped you up easily, and you wrapped your legs around his back to stabilize yourself as he carried you through the apartment. He had towered over you when standing next to you earlier, and was able to lift you effortlessly now. He was strong, that was for sure, but you knew that much from the abs you were feeling up just minutes before. 

He set you down gently against the pillows of his huge bed, giving you an opportunity to remove the rest of your clothes. The bed was lavishly adorned in a showy display of fancy pillows and blankets, which matched perfectly with the grandiose nature of everything else in his apartment. You watched in awe as he stripped the rest of his clothes as well. His body matched the rest of him — almost entirely unreal. 

Maybe this was all just a dream you were having. A drunken, horny sex dream. But either way, you never wanted it to end. He draped himself over you, his cock brushing over your thigh as he settled between your legs. Inspiration hit, and you pushed him off, rolling on top of him as he landed on his back. 

Seonghwa’s expression turned puzzled at the sudden rejection—or so he thought. You smirked at him as you climbed on top, a surge of empowerment taking over you. His eyes darkened as he realized what was happening, and he let his hands come up to squeeze your ass as you made yourself comfy. 

You took his dick in your hand, positioning it between your legs, then slowly sank onto it. He bit his lip, groaning as you sat down all the way. He squeezed your ass harder, digging his nails in a bit, and you felt powerful as you watched him come undone. You moaned, putting on a show for him. It was the least you could do to repay his kindness, after all. 

You rocked forward onto your knees, slowly dragging your hips up and down onto his cock. You let your hands trail over his chest and down his abs, feeling every dip and rise of the muscles beneath his skin. He still didn’t feel real, even as you ran your fingers along his abs and felt his cock inside of you. 

You began to lift yourself up, sliding almost all the way off of his cock until just the tip was inside, and slammed your ass back down, repeating this motion until he was breathing hard and struggling to keep from fucking up into you. You rode him relentlessly, full of fresh drunken confidence, and you could see his eyes were glued to where his dick was disappearing inside of you. 

There was something so undeniably satisfying about watching a man who seemed to hold so much power in his daily life concede under your touch. He had been so calm and collected before, and you imagined he wasn’t used to giving up control so easily. Even the way he walked screamed power and authority. As you watched his eyes roll back, his lips parted slightly, you felt intoxicating power swell inside you. This wasn’t like you - you wouldn’t say you were particularly submissive, but you weren’t dominant by any means either. You could tell he wasn’t used to girls taking the initiative—and you wanted to milk it.

“Look at me,” you purred, tipping his chin up gently with your fingers. He forced his gaze upwards, tearing them away from where your bodies connected, and looked at you with half-lidded eyes. 

Seonghwa swiped his tongue involuntarily over his bottom lip in pleasure, his tongue lingering in the corner of his mouth as his pleasured breaths grew more shallow. You couldn’t help but notice how long it was. God, the things his tongue could do to you… 

Another round of inspiration hit. You smirked, raising your hips enough to let his dick slide out with a wet sound. You crawled forward, eating up the look of confusion on his face, giving him a quick sloppy kiss before breaking away and scooting your hips right up to his chin. A look of realization dawned on his face, a smile stretching across his lips as he grabbed you by the ass and pulled you in closer. You planted yourself right on his face, and he wasted no time putting that long tongue of his to good use. 

This man seemed to be blessed in every way imaginable, and you moaned as he skillfully lapped at your pussy, flicking your clit with his tongue, his hot breath bathing your legs as you pressed harder against his face. You grabbed at the roots of his hair with your hands, anchoring yourself as you rocked your hips back and forth. 

“Fuck, Seonghwa,” you sighed dreamily, and he moaned against you in response. He dragged one of his hands down your ass, bringing it underneath you to slide two fingers inside. You were already close, but he pushed you over the edge as soon as he started fucking you with his fingers. You cried out as you came, riding his face a little too aggressively, fingers yanking on his hair to stay grounded in reality. 

He pulled back, looking at you hungrily as he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. You hadn’t even caught your breath yet before he was pushing you down to his crotch. You were exhausted, but you wanted to please this man in any way you could. You wrapped your hand around his cock, giving the head of it a little kitten-lick as you looked up at him. 

You gave it a kiss, enjoying the groan he let out as you teased him. You opened your lips wide and sank down until the head hit the back of your throat. You fought back a gag, and you felt his hips buck up just a little as your mouth fully encompassed his cock, like he couldn’t control it. You loved seeing him lose control, and you were determined to see him come apart. 

You hollowed your cheeks and sucked, twisting your fist around the base of his cock to jerk him off at the same time. He brushed his hands through your hair, bringing it together into a ponytail at the back of your head, which he then used to push and pull you faster as he grew close to his limit. The sounds he made were music to your ears as he reached his tipping point, and he spilled into your mouth with the most beautiful moan you had ever heard. You looked up at him, maintaining eye contact as you swallowed it all. It was the least you could do. 

You were substantially tired at that point, so it didn’t take long for you to knock out after crawling up into bed with him. He was still breathing hard, lying drained against the perfect white linens. You heard rustling as he fluffed up a blanket and draped it over your naked body, and you sighed as you felt its soft warmth envelope you. He rustled around in the nightstand for something, and there was a soft clicking sound before the dim lights in the room shut off entirely. Remote controlled lights? Of course. You smiled to yourself in amusement as you drifted off into sleep. 

You woke up in the lavish bed to the noise of pots rustling, the harsh light coming in through the penthouse windows stinging your eyes. As your eyes adjusted, you saw Seonghwa standing in the kitchen. He looked so different from the put-together appearance he had yesterday, now dressed in his underwear and a casual T-shirt. Something about it looked… wrong. Not that you were expecting him to sleep in a suit or anything, but then again… maybe.

“Good morning,” he said flatly. 

You rubbed your eyes and sat up in the bed, realizing you were still naked from last night. All you had was the uncomfortably fancy dress you couldn’t even bear the idea of having to put back on. “Good morning,” you said tentatively. Despite your intimate encounter just hours ago, you couldn’t help but be intimidated by his presence now. “Do you maybe… have some clothes I could borrow?” 

He nodded to a dresser to the side of the bed. “Grab anything you want out of there,” he said, before returning to his business in the kitchen. He seemed colder today, completely opposite to the comforting warmth he had yesterday when he took pity on you. Did he want you gone already?

“Are you making breakfast?” you asked, trying to make light conversation to break through the silence. 

“Yes, for myself.”

“Oh.” You dropped your gaze and grabbed the smallest shirt you could find in his drawer, which was still considerably large on you. You gathered your panties from last night and slipped them on. 

“You should make your arrangements for some place to go. I can’t leave you here, but I have places I need to be today.” 

You grabbed your purse to retrieve your phone, finally noting the time. 10am. Had you really slept that long? 

“About that…” you paused, contemplating whether or not to tell him the reality of your situation. You didn’t have anywhere to go, and you maybe had enough money to your name for one night, maybe two at a cheap motel. Your boyfriend had taken care of all your finances -- that was to say, he had all your money. “I don’t have anywhere to go. But… I can’t impose on you any longer. I’ll figure it out. Thank you for all your help.” 

You started to gather your things, when you heard him stop what he was doing. 

“Wait, stop,” he sighed, “You don’t have to leave just yet.” He paused for a few seconds, and the silence felt deafening. “What’s your address?”

“My-my address?” 

“Yes. Trust me,” his face softened a bit, and you gave it over to him. “I’m going to make a call. The bathroom is over that way if you want to get cleaned up. Feel free to take a shower if you want.” He smiled warmly, and you didn’t know what to make of his sudden change of attitude. One minute he was coldly implying he wanted you gone, and the next he was inviting you to take a shower in his bathroom.  You were a mess, however, and a warm shower sounded incredible.

When you got out, Seonghwa was sitting on the edge of the bed, presumably just waiting for you to be done. You wrapped a towel around your hair, squeezing it dry. You still had on nothing but your panties from last night and one of his t-shirts hanging lazily on your frame. You couldn’t help but notice the way he looked you up and down, and more importantly, you noticed the hard outline of his dick poking through his underwear. You did your best to conceal your amusement at his sudden display of weakness for you, pretending not to have noticed. 

He cleared his throat, crossing his legs and shifting his weight to minimize the display of his boner. “I’ve made some arrangements for you. You can’t stay here, but you’ll be able to go back to your place in a few days.” 

The way he phrased it made you pause. “You’ve made… arrangements? What do you mean?”

“It’s best if you don’t question it,” he said flatly. Something about the way he said it felt sinister, but you decided not to push it too much. “You won’t have to worry about that guy anymore.” You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. You weren’t quite sure what to say, but what he was saying didn’t make any sense. “In the meantime, I’ll set you up at my other apartment. Just for a few days.”

His what? Obviously he was rich, you knew that much from the extravagant place you were currently in, but you didn’t realize he was swanky-penthouse and 2nd-apartment rich. 

“You don’t have to do that for me,” you said, voice cracking slightly. You started to feel a bit guilty for how much he was offering to do for you, despite having met you less than 24 hours before.

“I couldn’t live with myself if I just threw you out knowing you don’t have anywhere to go. But you have to promise me one thing.”

You gulped. “What?”

“After this is over, you can never contact me again.” Your heart dropped to your stomach. The look in his eyes was once again deadly serious. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes, I understand,” you replied, nodding, too afraid to press him any further on it. “Can I- Can I just ask you one thing?”

“Sure.”

“How do you afford this place?” you asked, gesturing to the extravagant furnishings surrounding you. It came out more rudely than you had intended, but the question had been gnawing at you since he first brought you here last night. “I mean… you said you were a security guard, right? This looks like a celebrity’s place,” you said, backtracking a bit. 

He sighed, and his expression indicated he was choosing his words carefully. He was obviously hiding something from you. “My father owns the building. The bar too,” he explained reluctantly. There it was. “Well, technically, it’s supposed to be mine soon.” 

“Then why’d you tell me you were a security guard?”

“I didn’t lie. My father entrusts me to keep up the bar's appearance… among other things. That includes kicking out belligerent customers like your boyfriend last night.” 

“Does looking after the bar usually include taking crying girls up to your apartment?” you jested, doing your best to cut through the serious atmosphere, but he wasn’t laughing.

“I guess I have a soft spot for pretty girls like you,” he said, his unexpected compliment sending an electrifying chill through your body. You knew you had just had sex with him last night, but you still couldn’t wrap your head around an attractive man like him thinking you were worth even a shred of his time. His lips turned up into a charming smile--his playboy was showing. Was he this flattering to every girl he took up here?

You set your gaze down, blushing lightly, deciding to change the subject before he flustered you any further. “Can I eat something before we go at least? I’m kind of starving,” you asked, shuffling your feet. As if on cue, your stomach let out a hungry whine.

He laughed at the sudden noise. “Wow, you weren’t kidding. Yeah, grab anything you want. I’ll take you to the apartment after you’ve had something to eat.”

You made your way to the kitchen, checking in the fridge for something to eat. For such a big and fancy kitchen, it was deceptively empty. You felt Seonghwa’s presence draw up behind you, and he leaned over your shoulder as you checked in the fridge

“Want some help?” he asked calmly, leaning himself over you to grab a carton of eggs from the top shelf. You flipped around to face him, your bodies only inches apart, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. 

He chuckled. “That’s cute,” he said, flashing a smile brighter than you had ever seen from him. His usual expression was cold, serious, but you liked this one a lot better. 

“What’s cute?” 

“You.” 

You felt heat rise in your cheeks in a blush at his sudden compliment. It was small, fleeting even, but you felt all the feelings you had for him last night resurface in an instant. In a rush of sudden desire, you pulled your face up and pressed your lips against his. He pulled back in surprise for a moment before pulling you in, pressing his body against yours. Your sex last night had been good, great even, but the sudden rush you felt indicated to you that you wanted more —no, you needed more. He took your waist in his hands and hoisted you on to the kitchen counter for a better angle. The sudden cold sensation of the marble counters against your skin surprised you, and you let out a small gasp. 

You kissed for a while like that, legs wrapped around his waist as you explored his body with your hands once again. He littered kisses down your neck, pulling the hem of your T-shirt up to continue down your breasts. 

His lust seemed to overtake him at some point, drawing more and more fervent as he kissed and sucked at your skin. He wasn’t able to fully take out his desires on you last night, and that was evident in the way he kissed you now, hungrily, lustfully, intensely. Although you enjoyed the power you felt last night, you did wonder what he was like when he took control. You let out soft, eager moans as his hands made his way between your legs, rubbing his fingers against the crotch of your panties. 

His tongue began to tease the sensitive skin at the inner part of your thigh with gentle licks. It tickled a bit, and you squirmed involuntary, causing him to wrap his arms around your thighs, holding your hips in place while he delivered more teasing kisses. Impatient, you started to slip your own panties off desperately, and he finally gave in to your hints, licking a long stripe of wetness between your legs. He used his tongue skillfully, immediately finding your most sensitive areas and exploiting them, eliciting pleasured moans. You were reminded of how expressive his tongue had been during your encounter the night before, and you certainly weren’t disappointed by how he used it today. 

He ate you out with more grace and finesse this time, in less of a drunken frenzy than he was last night. Not that it was bad, just different. He looked up at you, smiling as he dragged his tongue across your clit, squeezing your thighs with his hands. It made your heart skip a beat, as you were dead sober now, and here the most beautiful man on the planet was smirking at you from between your legs. 

You moaned, your fingertips scratching along the cool countertop, and your legs involuntarily squeezed around his head. This spurred him on to move faster, and soon enough you were squirming in his hold, biting your lip to try and silence the noises escaping you to no avail. You rocked your hips up against his face, grinding against him as he fucked you with his tongue. You tipped your head back, hitting it against the cabinet with a soft bang, and Seonghwa laughed, his warm breath against your skin sending tingles down your spine. 

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned, your laugh melting into a sigh as his tongue started moving faster. He sucked hard on your clit, and you jolted forward at the sudden pleasure, whining as he ate you out mercilessly. Your legs tightened against his back, your fingers fisting into his hair as he moaned against your pussy, and you came hard, bucking your hips up into his face uncontrollably. 

He planted soft kisses against your inner thigh as he stood up, caging you against the countertop once again as he leaned in to press your lips together. He kissed you sweetly for a moment, then abruptly slid you off the counter and spun you around. You fell forward, leaning against the countertop with your chest. He pressed you down onto it as he kissed along the back of your neck, delivering a sudden smack to your ass. 

You felt the tip of his dick sliding against you, pushing in suddenly as he draped his body over your back. His hands came up to rest on the countertop, leaning against it with his elbows. He was clearly horny and impatient, wasting no time pounding into you, and you moaned helplessly against the counter as you took each thrust. You could feel his breath against your neck as he moaned, shoving you harder against the counter as his thrusts grew faster. 

“Harder,” you whined, and he obliged. You ribs ached against the marble, but you loved the way he groaned through his teeth as he fucked you as hard as he could. You clawed helplessly against the counter as he started to break his rhythm, thrusting wildly as he reached his peak. He pulled out, painting your ass with warm streaks of cum, and you struggled for breath as your body lay plastered to the countertop. 

Looks like it was time for another shower.

After showering and getting cleaned up, you left with him so he could set you up at his second place. It wasn’t as swanky as his last, but it certainly was nicer than anywhere you’d ever lived. It was more of a townhouse than an apartment, and it was surprisingly humble, with only a few stand-out pieces that would make you think he was ultra-rich. There were a couple spare rooms, but no extra beds, so he set you up in his room for the time being. It was only for a few days after all. 

For the first three days, he visited you to check in at least once daily, usually in the evening, and you’d have some drinks and chat for a bit. He still divulged very little about his past, and the two of you never ventured your conversations further than surface-level. Even so, you enjoyed talking to him. Maybe it was that you hadn’t really gotten to speak like this to anyone since living with your boyfriend, but you felt like you had real chemistry. You took pride in every time you could break through Seonhwa’s hard exterior and make him laugh. 

Of course, you’d also fucked. Your attraction to him was impossible to hide, and through your conversations, the tension between you was palpable. Each time was somehow better than the last. You wanted to take advantage of the fleeting opportunity you had to fuck him, as his words had not left your head -- the minute you returned to your home, you were never to contact him again.

On the fourth day, he sent you a text to let you know he wasn’t going to be able to visit you. You were a bit disappointed, but you took the opportunity to snoop around a little, as you still hadn’t learned anything more about him than he had told you the morning at his penthouse. Maybe there was something in his place that could give you a clue to who he really was. Besides your growing curiosity, you were also incredibly bored. What kind of guy didn’t even own a television, anyway?

You were shuffling through some boxes in his closet, looking through stacks of boring documents. You were about to give up on your intrusive quest when one paper caught your eye-- specifically an enormous collection of zeros stacked on the end of a dollar sign. Like an enormous amount of zeros. 

His bank statement. Your immediate reaction was to look away. Looking at someone’s bank statement felt incredibly private, almost too private, and you glanced around the room, suddenly worried there was some sort of hidden camera catching you in the act of a crime. But you couldn’t look away. You had never seen anything near that amount of money in your life, and your curiosity was only amplified as you scanned the document. 

Maybe this wasn’t even his. It wouldn’t make any sense -- even for someone whose dad owns a bar, even if he owned ten bars, this was more money than any normal human should ever be able to attain. You scanned for a name, and surely, written plainly at the top: Park Seonghwa. 

Wait, Park? His last name was Park? You had heard that name before, but it took you a second to figure out exactly from where. 

And then it hit you like a truck. But there was no way…

You set the papers down in shock. You could only stare at the wall as your thoughts slowly put the pieces together.

The Park Mafia.

You’d heard about them as a kid, they were notorious in your town, but they felt like a local legend rather than a real organization. All you knew about them was that they had existed for over a century, and you figured they had died out by now. 

But here he was, and it made total sense. His apartment, the bar, the way he talked about his father, his aura of power, his unreasonable amount of money… 

Your hands were shaking as you grabbed your phone and scanned for his number in your contacts. You were simultaneously furious and terrified: furious that he hadn’t told you yet and terrified that you were in way over your head. Maybe you were thinking too much about it, maybe it was just a coincidence that he shared a last name with a notorious mafia. Or at least that’s what you tried to tell yourself. 

The ring of the phone felt endless. He picked up finally, but his voice was immediately laced with annoyance. “I told you not to call me here unless it’s an emergency.”

“Your family. What did you say they did again?” you asked, trying your best to sound calm, but you were anything but.

“I didn’t.” 

“Well, then what do they do?” Your voice was rising now, unable to hold back your frustration.

He didn’t want to answer, you knew that, and your suspicions only grew with his silence. He hadn’t admitted to anything, but he may as well have. “How is this important? Look, I have to go.”

You were distracted by the distinct sound of a lock clicking from the entrance. 

“Wait, Seonghwa.” Footsteps. Your voice grew panicked. “Are you walking through the door right now?”

“No, I’m—“

The distinct voices of two men grew louder as they drew closer to the bedroom, and your heart dropped to your stomach. “Then who the fuck is?”

A figure came into view in the doorframe, and he smiled as he lunged toward you. You dropped the phone and scrambled off the bed to run, but he grabbed your ankle so you couldn’t escape. 

“Where ya goin,’ princess?” he sneered. 

You screamed. 

[to be continued]

[coldgoldlazarus]

Sorry that I might be bringing up something depressing, but what happened with Genshin and Miraculous Ladybug?

Nothing quite as explosive as the Rooster Teeth stuff or as massive as JKR's... everything, but basically they've kinda also shown themselves to be problematic over time. To try and keep it brief...

---

With Genshin Impact, the most recent big expansion added the fourth region Sumeru, which is based off a number of different north African, Middle-Eastern and South Asian countries, (being generous, they were all united under the Persian Empire when that was still a thing, but it's still kinda sketchy next to other regions being based off specific and distinct European and East-Asian countries) and with that came the expectation that the new characters that would be introduced would bring more diversity and POC representation into the roster.

Instead, lots of whitewashed playable characters and friendly NPCs with most of the new PoC being antagonists; poor or stereotypical representation of the cultures and clothing (in contrast to the first three regions being fairly well-researched representations of German, Chinese, and Japanese stuff, respectively); and the main plot of the region apparently justifying colonialism, was... a very bad look, to say the least. On top of that, it has kinda cast a new light on previous, already decidedly sketchy creative decisions, such as the primary mook enemies found across all regions resembling racist tribal stereotypes, and how previously-established playable PoC were characterized as more aggressive than the rest of the cast and given less focus.

I still do like Genshin for most of how those first three areas were done, but it's quite clear now that the creative team has some massive issues with racism and colorism that impact the game quite heavily, particularly with Sumeru, and which will likely damage Natlan (which looks to be drawing from central and south american cultures) as well whenever that region is added.

---

Meanwhile, with Miraculous Ladybug, it's not been so much one big scandal moment as a general decline in the show's writing, handling of material, and the relationship between the fandom and creators. I have tuned out for the most part by this point, but the main thrust of the issue is that like, the initially solid romantic tension between the two leads has been drawn out from being resolved for so long that it's become rather toxic; Marinette portrayed as a hysterical stalker while Adrien has gone from mildly flirtatious to uncomfortably pushy and incel-like, refusing to take no for an answer, and yet these behaviors are framed positively in his case.

Of course, that aside, there's also a notable racist component here too, mainly concerned with how Marinette is supposedly biracial but the chinese part of her heritage is either ignored most of the time, or misrepresented in a fetishizing way when it is aknowledged. I know there are issues outside of this with other characters of color, but admittedly the specifics there have escaped me as it's been a few years since I learned of them. Similarly, the show has a huge problem with mysogyny, portraying several of the female characters as shallow and boy-crazy and villainizing them for reasonable flaws; even treating a pair of bully characters (Chloe and Lila, the latter of whom I personally adore despite her narrative handling) as more inherently evil and less redeemable than the actual main villain, an abusive father who brainwashes people as a supervillain.

And finally, while stuff has recently been revealed that suggests that the showrunner has been undermined in many ways by the head of the production company, that does not excuse his own poor behavior in general. He has taken an extremely hostile and belligerent tone with the fans of his show, acting consistently immaturely and even writing himself into the show in one episode for a glorified temper tantrum and self-aggrandizement all in one, while refusing to take any criticism or responsibility for the problematic elements already mentioned, and just generally being very unpleasant as a person; even many who do defend the show's other issues have functionally disowned him over a lot of this.

[grimark]

actually u know what i am going to break my rule of not posting writing wips, and post The Scene In Question, so u can all see exactly what i mean about there being too many lines about hickey smiling. square brackets indicate shit i’m considering editing or rewording, because this is a work in progress. modern au, gay rat divorce, from part way through the fic but most of what’s going on can be figured out from context.

After Irving catches them in the storage closet, Neil makes himself scarce for a while. When Billy asks the other contractors at the museum, they say he’s been around, but if that’s true then Billy certainly hasn’t seen him. He isn’t answering his phone, of course. Billy would worry, but it’s not like their relationship was that serious, and Neil is prone to unexplained periods of silent treatment, anyway.

When he shows up at Billy's flat, three days after the incident, Billy feels an inexplicable curdling of dread in his stomach. This is the man he is (was?) dating, for god’s sake, he’s not supposed to be thinking oh, no, not you at the sight of him.

Maybe it’s guilt. Billy refuses to countenance this option, though. After all, it was pretty much Neil's fault they got caught in the first place, it was Billy's job on the line, and it’s not like Neil was doing anything about it. God forbid he take matters into his own hands for once.

“So,” says Neil, leaning against the door frame. [He’s smiling, with a tight, mean curl to the corner of it/forced display of nonchalance]. “You’ll never guess what I heard. Apparently, Cornelius Hickey is a bad influence.”

He sounds like he’s quoting something. Or someone. The penny drops, and Billy feels the little puddle of dread in his stomach deepen into a pit of pure horror.

“Don’t tell me you talked to Irving.” He can only imagine how badly that interaction played out.

“Mm, no.” [Neil’s smile, if possible, becomes even meaner and faker.] “He talked to me, actually. Says there’s been an anonymous allegation of workplace sexual harassment made against me.”

Well, shit, Billy kind of had said that, hadn’t he? It had seemed like the best option available at the time, but the potential ramifications look a bit less appealing now that they’re staring belligerently up at him in the hallway of his flat.

Immediately, and perhaps unwisely, Billy goes on the defensive.

“Listen,” he says. “I had to do something to reassure him. He’d have fired me if he thought I…”

“If he thought you were actually enjoying it? So now he’ll just have me fired instead, is that it?” [Neil’s merry little face is threatening a storm in a way Billy’s never seen it before.]

“Of course he won’t,” says Billy. “I’ll tell him I don’t want to make a big fuss about it, he’ll drop the issue, and then he’ll try and forget all about it, just like you said.”

“You don’t want to make a fuss?” Neil says incredulously. “[slightly insulting euphemism for fucking that would get the same response as the wife thing].”

“Oh, go to hell,” Billy snaps. He’s trying not to raise his voice, he doesn’t want his flatmate to overhear any of this, but Neil is really testing him. “You think you can just treat me however you like, but the sex isn’t worth the trouble.”

“Yeah?” [Neil’s smile hasn’t slipped, but his eyes are hard and spiteful.] “Is that why you’re always bending over for me, every chance you get, because I’m not worth the trouble?”

Neil’s smarmy attitude makes Billy very quietly furious. Of course Neil would try and use that against him, and of course he’d find it funny. Neil never takes Billy seriously. He’s nice as long as Billy is buying him dinner and putting out and coddling his ego, then he’s mocking and distant as soon as he gets bored.

Neil has stepped up close to try and get in Billy’s face, but Billy can still look down his nose at him just fine. “You know what they call it, when one animal lives off another, benefits at the other’s expense? A parasite. Sucking its blood or stealing its money, making it sick and miserable, it’s all the same thing. You’re a parasite, Neil. You keep fucking taking from me, and I’m not going to let you take my job from me as well.” [Perhaps Harry’s little speech about the wasps and the caterpillars has been weighing on his mind.]

“And your job is that important, is it?” Neil asks. The contempt is clear in his voice, and that makes Billy even angrier. Neil doesn’t give a shit about working for the museum. He’s got a clever mind and an able body and a tendency to land on his feet, he’ll have something else lined up in no time. But Billy needs his job.

“More important than you, at least,” says Billy. He means it to hurt, but somehow he’s surprised when Neil looks away from him. He forges on: “I mean it. You’ve caused me no end of trouble, the whole time we’ve been together. So don’t be bitter about it, and let’s just make a clean break.” 

He really does mean it, he finds as he’s saying the words. He wants Neil out of his life. The sex has been good, but Neil is a nuisance with a very sketchy personal history, and it’s not like Billy even likes him that much. It was only a matter of time before he got into some kind of serious trouble, and dragged Billy down with him. They will both be far better off without each other.

“I’d like you to leave now,” Billy finishes. 

Neil takes a few steps towards the door, before he turns back again. For a moment, Billy genuinely thinks Neil might be going to hit him, but he doesn’t even have time to flinch before Neil settles himself against the wall to cast a judgemental gaze up and down Billy’s body.

“You think you’ve got it all figured out,” Neil says. He is practically vibrating with the effort it takes to keep up his facade of amused superiority. “You think I’m nothing, and you can just drop me when it’s convenient for you, but you’re wrong. I’ve got potential.”

Billy can’t help it, he actually laughs. There it is, the great lie Neil tells himself. He needs to think of himself as special, because he can’t handle the knowledge that he is nothing, no more important than anybody else. “Potential? Neil, nobody gives a fuck about your potential. Nobody sees you. Nobody cares.”

“You’ll care.” He says it with such desperate confidence. “Nobody has any idea what I’m capable of, but that’s fine, I don’t need any of you.”

“Neil…” Billy finds his anger draining from him, leaving only exhaustion and bitterness. Neil looks small and deluded and very pathetic, standing in Billy’s hallway. “It’s over, just accept it. Now, get out of my flat, go back to work tomorrow, and get on with your life.”

Miraculously, he does, without so much as glancing back over his shoulder. Billy slams the door shut behind him.

[hellzyeahwebwielingessays]

The Not-So-Amazing Mary Jane Part 28: AMJ #3.2

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As with issue #2 (and all future posts) I advise you to read the prior instalment as I’m not going to recap the first half of the issue again here.

Moving on, we finally get to meet these new crewmembers. They consist of:

H.E.R.B.I.E. 1.05, a version of the F4’s robot buddy

Screwball, a “… self-styled as a performance artist and the world's first live-blogging super-villain. She was an Internet personality and social-media attention monger to such an extent that she committed crimes on camera.”

And Master Matrix. He's a whole mess. Basically he is the world’s most powerful LMD, and a highly dangerous weapon. He views Spider-Man and Deadpool as his ‘fathers’ in a weird way.

Beck starts to justify the hires, but MJ says that if they believe in the project as she does and have earnest intentions then she’ll reserve judgement.

Screwball tells McKnight that she’s leaked some fake photos to mislead the Savage Six and buy them some time. With that McKnight is eager to get to work.

Let me be upfront about this, I know little about HERBIE or Master Matrix. I’m not an F4 expert and I never bothered with the Spidey/Deadpool ongoing. So I will admit that maybe I’m missing some important context here. My research on the Marvel.wiki didn’t yield any results on who HERBIE 1.05 is beyond him maybe being the regular version of HERBIE. And last I checked the regular HERBIE wasn’t a bad guy. Master Matrix in contrast seems to have been a morally ambiguous character initially but grew to be a good guy. He has a kill switch he willingly handed over to SHIELD just in case he ever went rogue.

So 2/3 of them are perfectly fine. I don’t even know how much MJ would know about HERBIE or Master Matrix. However, Screwball?

Screwball is a straight up criminal. Not an especially dangerous one granted, perhaps not even a D-lister. But a criminal nonetheless. MJ has seen her before, as she witnessed Superior Spider-Man assaulting her on TV in Superior Spider-Man v1 #6.

Realistically, given how horrified MJ was by the incident you’d imagine it’d stick in her mind. Additionally, given how Screwball is an attention monger and very into social media I’d imagine MJ would have some awareness of who she is. MJ herself is very up-to-date with the latest trends and would be plugged into modern pop culture and social media.

However, for the sake of argument let’s say MJ doesn’t remember Screwball at all. Let’s say she’s never heard of HERBIE or Master Matrix. Given how in the first issue she was taking note of the criminal and super powered crewmembers, wouldn’t she at least suspect these people might be shady? Wouldn’t she double-check somehow that they are legit? It all leads back to the same complaints I made between my coverage of issues #1-2. She’s not even checked that Beck is out and about legally for God’s sake!

What’s so much worse is that the story acknowledges  that these hires might be shady. Beck is concerned MJ will have reservations. MJ decides to reserve judgement.

This means she doesn’t fully trust them, that she acknowledges they might  be sketchy.

And her conditions for reserving judgment depend upon even shakier criteria.

How the Hell can she tell in this singular moment, when she’s barely spoken to any of them, that any of these people:

a)     ‘Believe’ in the movie like she does?

Or

b)     Have earnest intentions?

She’s not verified any of them are reformed or on probation. She’s got no idea what they are fully capable of or if they are on the run.

Once more she is engaging in blind faith. She is trusting the word of a super villain who’s entire skillset revolves around lying.

The final thing to take note of is the fact that the crew are actively avoiding the Savage Six; hence the new shithole location.

Um…why aren’t they just contacting the authorities or organizing protection for themselves?

SIX super villains just attacked them and want to do so again. That’s surely grounds to bring in the police or the West Coast Avengers or somebody.

Surely, MJ herself could arrange that.

Alright, maybe you could argue they want to avoid arousing suspicion because of their criminal crewmembers. But this leads back to the fact that MJ wouldn’t stand for criminals working on the movie and Beck wanted press attention for the movie anyway. In fact if a civilian like Diperna knows about the movie how do the press not? How could no one have noticed that there are super powered people and criminals working on the set?

Everyone should know that about the movie anyway, so why not bring in help from superheroes or the authorities for protection?

The answer lies in the fact that this story is incredibly half-baked and inconsistent.

I will also add that on a purely personal note I dislike 616 Screwball so just seeing her annoys me.

The next day filming has been delayed again because of bad weather. Mysterio decides they should shoot in the caves.

Filming inside some caves nearby an abandoned zoo whilst it’s raining. Seems like a health and safety nightmare doesn’t it?

If so then it’s yet more evidence of how vain and selfish Mysterio is.

Days later, we see some crewmembers intimidated by Screwball. Their conversation with her reveals she hacked someone’s private information and threatened them to deliver food to them.

MJ overhears this conversation and learns that, in order to evade the Savage Six, Screwball arranged an unmarked truck. MJ decides to solve the problem by contacting Peter and asking if he knows any teleporters in L.A.

Later, Cloak and Dagger show up and deliver food to the cast and crew.

*pinches bridge of nose again*

God, where to start with this?

So, Screwball has definitely committed a crime in the course of her role as production manager. Hacking someone’s cloud server is very much illegal and an invasion of their privacy.* Depending upon whether you believe her or the truck driver she might also have threatened the driver’s life.

Screwball admits to having done this and MJ over hears it. And yet MJ is still ‘reserving her judgment’? 

I guess earnest intentions+believing in a movie>>>>>>>>>>>harming people in Mj’s book right?...

...what the fuck Williams seriously…

But the stupidity goes another level when MJ contacts Peter so she can get super powered assistance.

Let me get this straight, MJ and Beck are on board with using superheroes to deliver food to them, but not as protection for actual super villains who want to hurt them?

And MJ in particular doesn’t feel she should let Peter or other heroes know about Mysterio or his criminal crewmembers. BUT she will still contact them for a far less serious reason?

Anyone still arguing that for MJ to ask for help would be reductive to her/female characters no longer has a leg to stand on. MJ just used super heroes to solve a problem for herself. Scratch that, she asked her super hero boyfriend to solve a problem for her. And by bringing in characters like Cloak, Dagger, HERBIE and Master Matrix AMJ has arguably invited the wider Marvel universe into the story too. At which point MJ has no end of options available to her to ensure Mysterio isn’t a danger. She just isn’t using them because Leah Williams Mary Jane is not the Mary Jane we’ve known and loved. She’s this weird facsimile with all her social skills and charm but none of her deeper moral convictions.

Finally, if Beck and MJ (hypothetically) aren’t getting protection because they have crooks on staff then why bring in super heroes at all? I admit we never see what crewmembers are in Cloak and Dagger’s line of sight, so arguably MJ asked the criminal crewmembers to scram. But a hint of that would’ve been nice.

As filming inside the cave proceeds we see the Spidey actor struggling with his lines. The scene depicts ‘Spidey’ saying ‘You’ve gone too far this time, Mysterio. Now it’s personal.’ Amidst a street full of injured/dead people.

Mallorie is playing one of the injured people.

First of all, Mallorie wasn’t an actor or extra earlier in the story. But I suppose it’s not uncommon for crewmembers to have small roles in movies and with a reduced cast it’s likely she was just filling in.

More problematically, the scene is clearly depicting the fact that Mysterio has hurt (even murdered) people in his past. He’s done stuff so bad that Spider-Man, a hero, has been personally enraged by his evil acts.

This is in the movie. It’s in the script. MJ read this. MJ is seeing this recreated.

This eviscerates  even the slightest remnant of deniability on MJ’s part. As I’ve argued in prior instalments, MJ SHOULD know Beck is a killer and a violent person. There was no denying that. But even if you were being wilfully ignorant or belligerently insisting only the events of this mini-series ‘counted’, the mini-series just spelled out for you that beck has seriously hurt people and that MJ knows  that.

But she is still allowing him to make his vanity project. She’s still letting him walk free. She’s still chummy with him. She’s still showing no sign at all that she’s going to make Beck face justice.

On the last pages the actor playing Spider-Man quits after a light falls nearby. This leaves Beck and MJ sad, wondering how they can finish the film without Spider-Man.

I have nothing to say about this beyond a heavy light falling inside a wet cave should’ve been an obvious health and safety concern.

So, that was Amazing Mary Jane #3, quite possibly the single worst issue of the entire series thus far.

Honestly, I’m going to soldier on through this series, but I’ve made my points.

There is no hope of fixing this series now.

Not because there couldn’t be a justifiable explanation (or several) that could address all the problems. But because it’s become plain to me that Williams will not provide them to us.

Williams frankly seems like someone who understands aspects of MJ as a character. She knows how to make those aspects shine.

But there are other aspects she so fundamentally doesn’t get that it debilitates any good she might’ve done.

And more poignantly, even within the context of the story she is telling she has been incredibly inconsistent and at times downright baffling.

She either needs a better editor or she might be someone who ultimately wasn’t a good fit for this character/story.

*It’s extra bad considering several years ago in real life there was a major news story about the private photos of celebrities being hacked, perhaps the most notorious example being Jennifer Lawrence. I’m like 99% sure Leah Williams heard about that because I  heard about that just from tumblr and I’m not someone who used to work in Hollywood nor do I work in the entertainment industry in any capacity.

P.S. How does Peter not know about the Savage Six?

Super villain attacks aren’t that common outside of New York city and the villains in question are predominantly associated with operating in NYC.

Three of them are very recurring enemies of his, one of which committed some very violent crimes during a traumatic recent event; the ‘Hunted’ storyline.

They attacked the set of another of his very recurrent enemies that his lover is working on.

None of this happened in a secluded location, it was all perfectly public.

So how on Earth does he not know about this? Why hasn’t he contacted MJ to ensure she’s okay? Why isn’t he riding down there to see if he can help her or trying to arrange his Avengers buddies to provide some protection?

The only answers are that MJ has lied about that again, Williams is mischaracterizing Peter indirectly or this story is badly written.

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[charlottemadison42]

OK, today’s fic was fun to write. Aziraphale is very strong. Crowley is a snarly partner to tangle with. From https://archiveofourown.org/works/22592488:

In one motion Aziraphale picked him up, easy as scruffing a kitten. A belligerent, unwieldy kitten with terribly long legs wrapped around his waist. A kitten with a multilingual swearing vocabulary being put to good use.

"You do not fight fair! You unmitigated eternal bastard! Put me down you preposterous --"

Aziraphale obligingly dropped both arms, but Crowley clung to his torso like a flustered tarsier.

"I didn't mean -- don't **drop** me, you great lummox, you're supposed to --"

"I'm supposed to?" laughed Aziraphale. "Supposed to what, serpent?"

Crowley grabbed a fistful of angel hair hard and growled low in his throat. "You are so fucking infuriating. I should have known." He kissed Aziraphale hard, wide-mouthed, and bit his lip just a little. He bit back.

"Bed. That way. Now!" ordered Crowley, scowling and pointing aggressively.

-------

There’s an illustration somewhere of sketchy growly Crowley all wrapped like a monkey around a very chill Aziraphale -- I completely love it, but I lost it, should have made a locket out of it but here’s hoping it comes back around.

[tiffersthenerdyficrecs]

TodoBaku Misc. Fics

(*) Indicates my most suggested reads.

Runnin' with the Devil by Esselle*

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Bakugou Katsuki/Todoroki Shouto Characters: Todoroki Shouto, Bakugou Katsuki, Midoriya Izuku, Kirishima Eijirou, Class 1-A (My Hero Academia) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Music, Musicians, drummer Bakugou, violinist todoroki, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Todoroki is thirsty af, Seemingly One-Sided Crushes, Past Relationship(s), Bad Boy/Good Boy dynamics, strong hints of todobaku, kirideku OT4, Banter, Hand Jobs, Frottage, Dirty Talk, Sexual Fantasy, Past Relationships - BakuDeku(kinda), Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Semi-Public Sex, Blow Jobs, Feelings Realization, Nipple Play, Minor Kirishima Eijirou/Midoriya Izuku, First Time, Clothed Sex, Suit Kink Summary: 'Shouto starts to feel it—the hum in the air, the thrumming in the ground, mixing together inside him. One last person joins the band onstage. Shouto's stomach flips over.

This guy must be the drummer. He's got a riot of blonde hair partially covered by a faded grey beanie. Multiple piercings in each ear. Black, low-slung jeans with ragged holes in the knees. Black, sleeveless Van Halen t-shirt, the standard Douchebag Cut, made for the gun show. This can be forgiven. His biceps beg to be put on display. It would be a crime to cover them.

Holy shit, Shouto is glad he came out tonight.

Oh, he thinks. "Is that Bakugou?"

"Yeah," Kirishima says, "that's Bakugou." '

--

As the son of a huge rockstar, Shouto has grown up determined to escape being signed to his dad's record label. When he's accepted to a fine arts university to study the violin, three things become clear: he's free, he's tragically awkward, and he's thirsty as hell. Now that he can do whatever—or whoever—he wants, he doesn't know where to start. But when Bakugou Katsuki catches his eye from behind a drum set at a concert, Shouto starts to learn that making bad decisions can feel pretty damn good.

lover i don't have to love by clairesail

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Bakugou Katsuki/Todoroki Shouto Characters: Bakugou Katsuki, Todoroki Shouto, Kirishima Eijirou, Midoriya Izuku, Yaoyorozu Momo, Todoroki Rei Additional Tags: Friends With Benefits, Future Fic, Post-Canon, pro heroes, Explicit Sexual Content, Eventual Romance, Denial of Feelings, Getting Back Together, Fluff and Angst, Canon Universe, Pining, Switching, Roommates, Falling In Love Summary: Bakugou has rules.

No kissing, no hand-holding, no cuddles, no first names, and no one else must know about it.

Arsonist's Lullaby by BrightEyesEren*

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Bakugou Katsuki/Todoroki Shouto Characters: Todoroki Shouto, Bakugou Katsuki, others mentioned - Character Additional Tags: Bartender Todoroki Shouto, Singer Bakugou Katsuki, that tag won't stay capitalised and it's bothering me, anyway, Recreational Drug Use, Hate Sex, From Sex to Love, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Shotgunning, bktdweek18_vol2, Addiction, Alternate Universe Summary: Working at a bar isn't the hard part of Shouto's day-to-day life. It's coming to terms with his feelings for the bar's new singer, Katsuki.

-

For BakuTodo Week 2018 (Volume 2), Day Three: AU / Addiction

Just One Bite by Crossfire

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Bakugou Katsuki/Todoroki Shouto Characters: Bakugou Katsuki, Todoroki Shouto, Kirishima Eijirou, Midoriya Izuku Additional Tags: Jesus Fucking Help Me, Okay Just Bear With Me, it's a, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Succubi & Incubi, Nephilim, Feeding, Anal Sex, Starvation, Some Pretty Angsty Thoughts, If Starvation or Vague Mentions of Suicide Bother You Then This Is Not For You, Wing Kink, Wings, Bottom Todoroki Shouto, there's a cat, Overuse of the word magic Summary: This particular fuckup begins when he saves a cat from a demon in a sketchy alley.

Well, maybe slightly before that when his esteemed hedge-witch mentor turned out to be an incubus who coincidentally turned him and his stupid nerdy neighbor into incubi.

maybe when he was born to a non-magic family, but early on developed minor magical inclinations that turned out to be not-so-minor and kind-of-hugely-destructive.

Wherever this fuckup was born, it’s culminated as follows: Bakugou has been an incubus for one hundred and twenty-two days, seven hours, and thirty-six minutes, has not had a single successful feed, and is essentially slowly starving to death. His mentor is suspiciously MIA and that stupid shitty nerd has managed to secure himself a two-person harem so it’s just Bakugou, starving. To death. Slowly.

[janinereadsanimorphs]

Okay.

Jesus.

So I work in city government, doing customer service at a transit station that serves several different public transport systems, including Amtrak and Greyhound. Basically, I work in a train station in a sketchy part of town, so our security guards have a big job here.

We have five security guards, four of whom are men and one of whom is a black woman. Since she's been here, the woman has been treated HORRIBLY by the other security, caretaker and custodial staff.

She had her tires slashed - an incident that was not caught on camera, because of the other security guards had the camera zoomed in on his own car.

She got a negative performance review because the custodial staff repeatedly filed complaints about her when she refused to kick people out of the bathroom for bringing luggage in with them. It is not against the rules to bring luggage into the bathroom, because OF COURSE it's not, because it's a TRAIN STATION. People are traveling from out of state and have been holding it for hours, and they don't want to leave their luggage unattended while they pee.

Her performance review also stated that she refused to do parking lot checks after dark, but she has not been provided with a reflective vest, a light, or any protective gear. The other nighttime security guard was provided all of those things. Not to mention...

She was ASSAULTED by a customer. An angry, belligerent transit customer physically attacked her for doing her job. And the transit director had a meeting with her afterwards in which he explained to her the steps she should have taken to NOT BE ASSAULTED. The transit director is not even her supervisor. (Security, caretaker and custodial staff are building employees who considered a separate department from transit employees.) It is completely inappropriate for the transit director to be meeting with security staff to tell them how to do their jobs, let alone BLAME THEM FOR BEING ASSAULTED.

You cannot convince me people are not trying to drive her away, and it's working, because she's looking for different employment. My customer service supervisor has advised her to go to HR before leaving here and I hope to god she does because BIG yikes, wtf.

[imaginitiveescapism]

You Walk Into a Bar

Summary: Lafayette x Reader. A sketchy guy hits on you while you’re out by yourself. You don’t really have time to be scared before a charming Frenchman is getting rid of the guy and sweeping you off your feet all in one go. Maybe this will be a good night after all.

You rarely ever went places like this by yourself, and now you were remembering why. You’d had a long day. You just wanted to be able to eat some shitty nachos you didn’t have to make and have a drink. Preferably something with rum. And now some guy was hitting on you at the bar before your first drink had even arrived. You went for the totally ignoring him angle, but he just kept chatting your ear off as you waited. You were relieved when the bartender handed you your drink.

The man moved forward with his wallet. “I can get that for you, sweetheart.”

“No, thank you.” You handed the bartender a twenty before the guy could take over. “I’m not your sweetheart.”

“Aw, don’t be like that.” He moved his body between you and your exit in a way he clearly thought was subtle. You wondered how intoxicated he had to be already to believe there was anything subtle about what he was doing. “I just wanna get to know ya.”

“There you are, mon cherie!” An exuberant Frenchman pulled you into an embrace, resting his lips next to your ear. “Are you alright?”

You felt yourself relax as you admitted, “This guy won’t take no for an answer, and he’s kind of creeping me out.”

“Play along and consider it taken care of.” The handsome stranger stood back up to his full height and faced the other man, though he kept his arms wrapped around you. “I see you have met my lovely lady?”

The dude who had been hitting on you looked between you and the frankly buff guy you were allowing yourself to lean against and frowned. He focused on you. “You coulda just told me you had a boyfriend you know.”

Feeling bolder now that you had backup, you raised an eyebrow at the guy. “I already told you no. Why should I have to tell you I have a boyfriend?”

“I mean...” He looked a little confused, but also still belligerent. “It’s just not nice to lead a guy on, you know? I would’ve left if you told me you already had a boyfriend.”

You glared at the man, feeling your fury rise. You took a few steps away from the helpful stranger and felt vindictive pleasure at the way your opponent stepped back as you were now the one invading his space. “Please, explain to me how telling you no without the endorsement of another man is leading you on. Use small words so I can understand.”

“I... uh...” The guy turned and walked all the way out of the bar.

The man who had been helping you let out a booming laugh and applauded. “That was glorious, mon ami.”

Grinning, you took a bow before holding a hand out to him. “I couldn’t have done it without my well-muscled supporting cast.”

“Glad to help.” The man accepted your hand, shaking it but then not letting go. “Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette. But you may call me Lafayette. And may I ask the name of our lovely leading lady?”

You gave him your name almost absentmindedly, still focused on the monster of a name Lafayette had just given you. “Were they having an everything must go sale at the name store?”

Lafayette laughed again, and you found you rather liked the sound. “Non, I believe my parents thought I needed a name large enough to match the personality. You may come sit with me, if you’d like? I’d be more than happy to chase away any more unwanted suitors.”

“Sure, that would be great.” You let Lafayette lead you to the table he had been sitting at. “Thank you, by the way, really. He was creeping me out.”

“Do not mention it, mon ami.” Lafayette easily waved off your gratitude. “I barely had to do anything. The fire was all yours.”

“I still appreciate your being there,” you insisted. “Not everyone would do that for a stranger.”

“Yes, well, perhaps everyone should.” It was the first time you had seen Lafayette serious since the moment he first approached you, worried for your safety. “Anyway, what brings you here tonight, mon ami?”

“Long day at the office and a desire for rum and nachos,” you admitted. “You?”

“Ah, just seemed fun.” Lafayette called a waiter over, grinning at the man. It seemed everything Lafayette did he did with excitement. “May we have some nachos please?”

You smiled at him. “Thanks.”

“It is no worry.” He turned his attention back to you, and you could see genuine happiness in his eyes. “You have made my night much more interesting, mon ami.”

The two of you chatted for a while over the shared nachos. You learned that he was from France (duh) but had come to America for college and fallen in love with the place, and with his rowdy group of friends. Despite the protests of his family, he had decided to stay, at least for a while. There was so much left to see, he explained, so much left to fall in love with, and he was going to do it all. His friend Alexander, in particular, had some big ideas for the things that should change.

“Wait...” There was no way. “Alexander as in Alexander Hamilton?”

“Oui!” Lafayette’s face lit up with excitement at the recognition. “Do you know him?”

“Not personally.” You ate another nacho. Almost half the basket was gone by now. “I’ve read some of his stuff. It’s good.”

“He is very brilliant,” Lafayette agreed with the air of a bragging sibling.

It made you a little nervous to say what you were going to say next, but fuck it, you said it anyway. “I agree with all of his ideals. He obviously has a really good heart. Some of his plans for implementation need work, though.”

Instead of upset like you were fearing, Lafayette looked intrigued. “What kind of work?”

That was all the encouragement you needed to launch into a lengthy explanation of your own ideas, often building off of Alexander’s and sometimes not. Even when you drifted off topic, there were clear parallels. It was something you had thought about a lot. “He’s a really smart guy. Clearly going places. But this would help.”

By the time you were done speaking, Lafayette was grinning. “Seems like you have some brilliance of your own, mon ami. I must get you and Alexander in a room together one of these days.”

It didn’t go over your head that this meant Lafayette wanted to see you again. You gave him a pleased smile at the thought. “I guess you’d need my phone number for that, huh?”

“Oui!” The two of you traded numbers. Lafayette reached across the table to take your hand. “I would love to see you without Alexander again as well, mon cherie. Perhaps on a real date?”

“Oh, so that’s your game,” you teased playfully. “Come in and play the hero card, then ask me on a date yourself.”

Lafayette looked crestfallen. He took his hand back, and his large sad eyes cut straight through to your heart. “Non, mon ami. I am so sorry if that is the impression I gave you now. I had approached you before because I was concerned for your safety with that man. He kept getting closer to you when you said no, and honestly it frightened me. And then we spent all this time together, and you are lovely, and charming, and I thought-“

“Hey hey hey!” You reached out and reclaimed Lafayette’s hand with both of your own. “I was just teasing. I don’t think that of you at all. I’m sorry. It wasn’t funny.”

“It was not,” Lafayette agreed, but he didn’t take his hand away from you. Instead, he reached out with his other hand so he could hold your hands as well. “The way that man was treating you was horrible. I do not want to believe you think the same of me.”

“I really, really don’t,” you promised. You felt terrible for making Lafayette feel that way. “It was a stupid, bad joke and I shouldn’t have made it. But you know what? I wouldn’t have made it if I thought for a second that it was true. I wouldn’t have made it if you didn’t make me feel so safe. If you’ll still have me, I would love to go on a date with you.”

Lafayette melted. He kissed the back of one of your hands and gave you an incredibly soft smile. “Of course I would still have you, mon cherie. I am very glad you feel safe with me.”

You were glad the night had been salvaged. Great guys like Lafayette didn’t just walk into your life every day. The two of you chatted for a while longer before you caught sight of the time. “Shit. I have work in the morning. I really need to be going.”

“I understand.” Lafayette stood with you. “Let me walk you home?”

“Such a gentleman,” you complimented, allowing yourself to thread your arm around his and lean against him. “I’m only a couple of blocks away.”

The two of you walked out into the night together. You lead the way to your home on a mostly empty street. When you stopped outside your door, you turned to Lafayette, only now realizing how tall he was. He leaned down and kissed your forehead, giving you another tender smile. “Until we meet again, mon cherie.”

[nth-generation-kpop]

Stray Kids as stray kids AU

@yes3racha and I say we’re sorry/you’re welcome in advance... ♡♡

Jisung: Part I

·        Jisung is born to working class parents who have had substance abuse issues in the past, but they think it's behind them and they want to start a family together

·        A year later, his mom is back on non-prescription painkillers and his dad has started drinking again

·        At age he's 2 he's been removed from the house twice, and by the time he's 3 he's been removed from their care and put into a foster home.

·        At first he gets bounced around between a bunch of boarding houses and group homes, and he learns that it’s essentially free for all

·        The people running the foster homes put out food and the older kids essentially decimate it before the younger ones can get there, and the adults don't really give a shit

·        Theme of this AU: SOMEONE FEED STRAY KIDS

·        Jisung adapts-- he grows up very versatile, independent, and sneaky as hell. He learns street tricks and sleight of hand here to steal food from older kids or to slip into the kitchen early

·        He gets moved to a new foster family, one that doesn’t put much emphasis on personal hygiene. It’s Jisung and 3 other kids of varying ages and one of them gets a bath every night, regardless.

·        One of his teachers in school notices and starts taking him to the bathroom to wash his face every morning so he looks semi-presentable for class

·        They're all put in hand me down clothes that don't quite fit right, so he gets teased nonstop for being a foster kid and being poor and being raggedy

·        He changes foster homes when he turns 12, and while he doesn't remember living with his biological parents at all from what his file says he imagines this home is a lot like what it would have been

·        The foster mom takes valium like it's candy and the dad is a belligerent drunk

·        But this time he's dressed well, he's kept clean, and the family presents this perfect public image at church and in the community. The abuse is mostly verbal.

·        At this point, Jisung has a total fend for yourself mentality. He doesn’t bond with the other kids anymore. He doesn’t understand why they treat him so nicely in front of other people and so bad at home, and at 13 it gets so bad, so confusing and upsetting, that he runs away

·        He packs what he needs, steals some cash (which he feels a little bad about) and catches a bus to the middle of a city far far away. He stays in one place as long as he can but when he has to leave, he hitchikes.

·        He bounces between shelters for a while, until people start asking questions about his age, and about a year into being there he's exhausted all the shelters in the city including church programs, and he's had to escape from DHS workers who are sent to question him no less than 5 times

·        He turns 14 and finds someone who will hire him off the books and won’t ask about his age. It’s horrible pay, but it’s something, and he meets Bang Chan who’s 16 and doing the same thing.

·        He thinks "woah I like this guy, I relate to him" and then BAM, Chan stops showing up to work and he's all alone again... which is what he's used to

·        *clutches heart*

·        He’s able to rent a part of a room in an apartment with like 4 other people. This turns into living with however many people it takes to cover rent, so it's a rotating cast of sketchy characters

·        When Jisung is 15 nearing 16 the apartment turns into a bit of a drug den and he gets scared and leaves, landing back on the street sleeping in alleyways and showering in convenience store bathrooms

·        He buys a (thin, cheap) jacket that's better than anything he's had before, because now he's sleeping outside and it's almost winter

·        He ends up kinda close to a certain rainbow bakery and he finds a little space between two buildings that's shielded from the wind for the night

·        It's kind of on a side street with not a lot of traffic and it's not quite in the swanky area of town so he's not too worried about getting hauled out by the cops

·        And then suddenly this guy is jogging across the street, right towards him, and when he gets close enough that Jisung can see his face, he recognizes immediately someone from his past…

·        Jisung is born to working class parents who have had substance abuse issues in the past, but they think it's behind them and they want to start a family together

·        A year later, his mom is back on non-prescription painkillers and his dad has started drinking again

·        At age he's 2 he's been removed from the house twice, and by the time he's 3 he's been removed from their care and put into a foster home.

·        At first he gets bounced around between a bunch of boarding houses and group homes, and he learns that it’s essentially free for all

·        The people running the foster homes put out food and the older kids essentially decimate it before the younger ones can get there, and the adults don't really give a shit

·        Theme of this AU: SOMEONE FEED STRAY KIDS

·        Jisung adapts-- he grows up very versatile, independent, and sneaky as hell. He learns street tricks and sleight of hand here to steal food from older kids or to slip into the kitchen early

·        He gets moved to a new foster family, one that doesn’t put much emphasis on personal hygiene. It’s Jisung and 3 other kids of varying ages and one of them gets a bath every night, regardless.

·        One of his teachers in school notices and starts taking him to the bathroom to wash his face every morning so he looks semi-presentable for class

·        They're all put in hand me down clothes that don't quite fit right, so he gets teased nonstop for being a foster kid and being poor and being raggedy

·        He changes foster homes when he turns 12, and while he doesn't remember living with his biological parents at all from what his file says he imagines this home is a lot like what it would have been

·        The foster mom takes valium like it's candy and the dad is a belligerent drunk

·        But this time he's dressed well, he's kept clean, and the family presents this perfect public image at church and in the community. The abuse is mostly verbal.

·        At this point, Jisung has a total fend for yourself mentality. He doesn’t bond with the other kids anymore. He doesn’t understand why they treat him so nicely in front of other people and so bad at home, and at 13 it gets so bad, so confusing and upsetting, that he runs away

·        He packs what he needs, steals some cash (which he feels a little bad about) and catches a bus to the middle of a city far far away. He stays in one place as long as he can but when he has to leave, he hitchikes.

·        He bounces between shelters for a while, until people start asking questions about his age, and about a year into being there he's exhausted all the shelters in the city including church programs, and he's had to escape from DHS workers who are sent to question him no less than 5 times

·        He turns 14 and finds someone who will hire him off the books and won’t ask about his age. It’s horrible pay, but it’s something, and he meets Bang Chan who’s 16 and doing the same thing.

·        He thinks "woah I like this guy, I relate to him" and then BAM, Chan stops showing up to work and he's all alone again... which is what he's used to

·        *clutches heart*

·        He’s able to rent a part of a room in an apartment with like 4 other people. This turns into living with however many people it takes to cover rent, so it's a rotating cast of sketchy characters

·        When Jisung is 15 nearing 16 the apartment turns into a bit of a drug den and he gets scared and leaves, landing back on the street sleeping in alleyways and showering in convenience store bathrooms

·        He buys a (thin, cheap) jacket that's better than anything he's had before, because now he's sleeping outside and it's almost winter

·        He ends up kinda close to a certain rainbow bakery and he finds a little space between two buildings that's shielded from the wind for the night

·        It's kind of on a side street with not a lot of traffic and it's not quite in the swanky area of town so he's not too worried about getting hauled out by the cops

·        And then suddenly this guy is jogging across the street, right towards him, and when he gets close enough that Jisung can see his face, he recognizes immediately someone from his past…

<<Previous     ~~~~~     Next>>

Also in this Verse

[cherryrehab]

Lanceolate | Chapter 2

POV: You're a Zaunite fishmonger/fishwife and a blue-haired gangly girlchild comes to buy a fish in a bag from the tank because she found out her dad is into fish.

(PREVIOUS CHAPTER) | (NEXT CHAPTER) | AO3

Turns out, even at the tail-end of summer the wind weaving around the port is still unberably crisp. You blink a handful of times, trying—in vain—to lubricate your eyes. The coat you're wearing is made of lambswool, expensive and snug, but its diminutive length barely does anything to keep your legs warm.

On your way to the docks you belatedly wonder if showing up tonight was a mistake.

Mikhail had come in the shop that morning looking even more disgruntled than usual, and had asked you for a vague favour. His ambiguity should've been your first clue that something was off.

Your boss had instructed you to go down to the docks and look for a vessel called the Bluebird, striped with violet and white lines. You were supposed to meet the son of the ship's captain—the boy Mikhail had put the fear of Janna into about a week ago—and upon meeting you the kid was supposed to hand you a shipping ledger.

As you pass by all the vessels in the dockyard you wonder if you're really as smart as you've always believed yourself to be. After all, what kind of intelligent person shows up to a dockyard alone, unarmed, way past sunset to fulfill a sketchy request from their belligerent boss?

It also turns out most colors look to be an uniformly unidentifiable dark hue by the moonlight.

Does this even count as overtime?

As you being tracking the vessels; The Red Wing, The Missus—you roll your eyes—Kalpina, you spot a striped one. It's not only the right pattern but a yellow lantern is illuminating the stern. Barring the hint of human life before you, the dockyard is completely deserted, something you would've noted as strange had you not always picked up morning shipments.

You take a deep breath. I'm sure I'm just being paranoid. I just have to pick up one damn shipment ledger. It's just the boy —Janna, I don't even know his name.

...

When you'd made your way into the cockpit you were sure the perturbed yet cowed look on the kid's face matched yours to a tee. Dark skinned and broad shouldered, with an arguably envy-enducing head of hair the nervous rapping of his fingers and shifty gaze told you all you needed to know.

Silence permeated the dark, cramped room like fog.

"So...um," you swallow and look away. The question you're about to make cannot be asked while maintaining eye contact. "Your name?"

"Damien." A soft creak beckons you. He's holding the book out for you.

It's heftier than you'd expected. Dark, creamy leather wraps around the book block, its pages uniformly cut. Something about the its methodical aura is unnerving, and the muscles of your hands twitch intermittently as you quell your desire to rip it open in front of an audience.

You cough and take a deep breath. So fucking awkward.

Keeping your voice soft, as not to spook the boy who looks like he's about to keel over at a moment's notice, "Is there anything else, Damien?"

His eyes bug out and shift from your left shoulder to your right. Briefly you wonder what karmic crime a boy of such a meek temperament could've possibly commited to justify having to interact with your powder keg of a boss on a weekly basis.

Damien shakes his head. The ledger burns in your hands.

...

What a strange kid.

Maybe he's always this twitchy. Maybe everyone who comes to this terrifying dockyard in the middle of the godsdamned night is this twitchy; you certainly are. Left hand holding onto the boat's cleft, right one gripping the ledger, you make it to the cobblestone on two feet.

Once you're a respectable distance away from the Bluebird, its lantern but a speck in the distance, you turn your eyes to the shiny ledger. Slowly, you unwrap the twine holding it shut and wind it around your fingers—scared of it losing it to the dark water below you.

Thumbing through the pages you begin to deflate, embarrassed. This curiosity was childish. It's just a shipping ledger and nothing more. But as you look closely you realize that you really don't give your instincts enough credit.

Oh, it's a shipping ledger all right.

The dates make sense—the rainbow fish shipment jotted down in one of the most recent pages—and so do the origins and destinations. But the payments are inflated by quite a few zeros and...the shipments are measured in liters and not kilos.

Now, you might not be the smartest woman in Runeterra, but neither are you a fool. 30 pages worth of near-daily entries, written black on white are pretty intelligible.

That moron, Mihkail, has been smuggling Shimmer along the damn fish.

...

Who'd have thought working for a fishmonger's isn't for the faint of heart?

You can feel said heart pulsing in your throat. At this point you're practically skipping across the dockyard, praying you'll make it home in one piece. Even though it remains deserted it's hard to convince yourself you're overreacting again.

Lambswool notwithstanding, cold rivulets of sweat dampen your back but thankfully your silent panic attack has numbed your face so completely the icy breeze isn't even registering anymore.

Oh please Janna, please, please be merciful. If you let me make it out of here I'll start attending services, I'll set up a shrine if I fucking have to—

"That's not what we agreed on." A muffled voice transudes from one of the docked boats.

Hand slapping over your mouth, reflexively silencing your humiliating squeal, you frantically look around for a hiding place. Sure, the rotten pile of wooden crates is not the most safety instilling sight but beggars can't be choosers I suppose.

Clutching the ledger to your chest—fucking Mikhail—you take cover and peer between the gaps of the decomposing wood. The vessel in front of you is middling in size but not in luxury. A clean alabaster white, the moonlight coats it in a shine that makes you wonder how many organs you'd have to pawn off to afford such a beauty.

The cockpit is dimly lit. Squinting, you can barely, just barely, make out a silhouette of a prodigious height and girth. Next to it resides a slimmer, shorter one. Suddenly the slimmer one strikes forward, out of the vantage point the window provides you, and you hear a blood curdling scream.

Behind you there's not much but a cobblestone wall and you wonder if anyone will clean up your viscera from it or just let it dry there.

Mercifully, cockpit's door slams open with a loud bang and the screaming has died down into whimpers. Shuffling silently behind the boxes in an attempt to camouflage better, your eyes rove over the figures edging their way to the stern.

A man and a woman. She's tall, so tall that your neck itches at the thought of ever having to look up at her yet the thick, broad line of her shoulders is so imposing you're having a hard time even glancing at her. The man, however, is a little easier on the eyes.

Just as intimidating, if not perplexingly more, than his companion, the lines of his body posess a fluidity that sends a shiver down your spine. Half lit under the moonlight they look more like terrifying spectres than people. Their words are hushed and you can barely make out what they're saying.

"—can't belive—"

"—now, Sev—"

"—what do you—"

The argument comes to a close. Huffing, the giantess makes her way out of the boat and onto the cobblestone, heading straight for the underpass. The man who'd shut down her arguments bends his face forward, rifling though his coat pockets, and it gives you a better view of his visage. A long nose and a strong brow, one of his eyes dark, the other shining, you assume, because of the moonlight. His teeth are glinting as he sneers, failing to find whatever he was searching for.

Sighing, a little dramatically, the man soothes his apparent headache by crading a deft hand through his hair. Your eyes track his hands single-mindedly. Perhaps you're a little too touch starved, perhaps tonight was just the last nail in your sanity's coffin, but all you can think about is those dexterous hands gently sliding over your ribs.

It's possible that had you not spent so much time doubling back to look at his hands with such a dreadful hunger in the pit of your stomach you'd have noticed sooner.

He's looking at you.

Beep beep. New chapter incoming.

[bebecue]

28 messages (II)

Anonymous said: “Can I please have a continuation of 28 messages? x”

(I’ve also had a few other requests for an ending to this, so here it is I guess??)  

A/N: I needed a break from writing all that fluff

WARNNINGS: angst (obviously), violence, some mentions of cigarette use (lol this fic went place I wasn’t expecting it to go to)

Word count: 1k

Part 1

It’s been almost an hour since Shownu and Hyungwon had chased after Changkyun. You had tried calling all three of them, but none were answering their phones. The tension inside the apartment was palpable. Jooheon was on the phone with someone - you assume it was their manager, from his nervous tone and the way he used honorifics.  Minhyuk was on the couch, shaking his leg, and Wonho sat next to him, unmoving, staring at the carpet.

Kihyun is in the kitchen with you, rearranging mugs in drawers and snacks in the pantry. You put your phone down on the counter and you look at him.

“Kihyun, what are you doing?”

He smiles at you briefly. “I clean when I get nervous.”

You’re about to reply when you hear the front door open. You run towards it, and so do the other members. You’re greeted by the solemn faces of Shownu and Hyungwon.

“We can’t find him,” Hyungwon says, wiping sweat off his brow.

You feel like crying. “This is my fault,” you manage to whisper. The others look at you, sympathy on their faces

“Don’t say that,” Minhyuk replies, but you cut him off.

“I’m going to look for him,” you say, and you gain looks of disbelief from the others.

Before they can physically stop you, you grab your phone and your jacket, and you sprint out the door, ignoring the shouts of members. 

---

Desperate and tired, you lean against the wall of a small side street. You had looked at all the possible places Changkyun could have gone to. He wasn’t at his usual drinking spot, and he wasn’t at the 24/7 coffee shop he frequented when he had to pull all-nighters to work on lyrics. This was the last place on your list.

It was in the sketchy part of town, just outside your neighbourhood. Changkyun had taken you here once, because he wanted to try smoking cigarettes for an acting role he was eyeing. He had wanted to do it under your supervision, just to make sure he didn’t do “anything else that was stupid”. You had rolled your eyes and told him that not being stupid was impossible for him. He had chosen that specific area to buy and smoke the cigarettes because he felt that no one there would recognize him. It didn’t go well, and he had coughed and spluttered for several minutes after his first puff. 

Changkyun had confessed to you a few weeks ago that he liked to walk around this part of town when he was stressed, because no one recognized him. The shady-looking people who hung around here mostly ignored him, and he could be quietly alone with his thoughts. 

“But I won’t let you hang around there by yourself,” he had said, much to your annoyance.

You’re about to give up and go back home when you hear shuffling behind you. You turn around quickly, hoping to see Changkyun’s face, but you’re greeted by the face of a slightly drunk, large older man. He walks up to you, and you stay rooted to your spot, unsure of what to do.

“You got money, kid?” he says, slightly slurring. “i need to buy a few more rounds for my buddies.”

You shake your head. “No, sorry.”

You would give him whatever he wanted, just so he would leave you alone, but you had left your wallet at home. So stupid.

“You’re lying!” he yells, getting belligerent. He comes at you aggressively, but you’re frozen with fear. He tackles you to the ground, and you both go down, the wind knocked straight out of you. You can’t even scream for help.

Suddenly, the weight of the man is lifted from your body, and you can breathe. You hear shouts as your assailant and your savior scuffle with each other. You’re still on the ground, confused and shocked, but you hear Changkyun’s voice.

You look up and you see him swinging his fists at the man. The drunken man lands a few blows on Changkyun’s face and he knocks Changkyun down. The man kicks Changkyun in the ribs repeatedly, and you can hear his breath leave him. 

Wheezing, Changkyun quickly stands again, clutching his side with one arm. He’s about to swing at the man again when Shownu and Wonho appear, seemingly out of nowhere, and tackle the large man to the ground. The man tries to resist, but Shownu and Wonho have the mass and the strength to hold him down. Suddenly, Kihyun is kneeling on the ground next to you, his phone to his ear.

“Are you okay?” he asks, helping you up with one hand. You manage to nod, and he talks with the emergency operator on the other end of the line.

You let your eyes scan the area, and you see Changkyun leaning against one of the cement walls. He looks pale, and a little bit of blood trails out of the corner of his mouth.

“Changkyun!” you yell, running to his side. “Are you hurt?”

He gives you a forced smile. “I’m fine,” he gasps, but as he does so, pain flashes across his features.

You help him sit down on the ground, and he groans. “I’m sorry,” he whispers to you, before passing out.

---

You sit in the chair beside the hospital bed, stroking Changkyun’s hair. He glares at the other members, who surround his bed while they tease him about not being able to take a punch.

“I took a lot of punches, right?” he asks, turning to you. You laugh, and you nod. “Sure did. All of them for me.”

The other members groan. Changkyun sighs and looks at his members again. 

“I’ll be fine. Just a few bruised ribs. Go home.”

Shownu shrugs. “If he says he’s fine, he’s fine. Let’s go guys.”

The other members file out of the room, and you try to follow after them, but Changkyun grabs your hand.

“Not you,” he whispers. “Will you stay until I fall asleep?”

You look at Shownu, who shrugs again, and you sit back down in your chair. After the members leave, Changkyun turns to you.

“I’m sorry for not telling you...” he starts to say, but his voice trails off.

You pat his hand. “It’s all right. We can talk about this when you’re better.”

He gives you a quick smile. “Thanks,” he says, yawning.

He closes his eyes and you stroke his hand, watching him as the morphine gradually takes him away.

[soundofez]

spines to light the deep they walk (1c)

(warnings as always for out-of-focus Sketchy Siren Shtuff, because seriously, they are alien and weird and more than a little bit Yikes.)

[ 1a | 1b | 1c | 1d ] [ 2a | 2b | 2c | 2d ]

Wes has always been sly, but he is also your only family, and you know how to read his movements for lies, so you know the moment you ask that he did not send Ma Ka. The revelation sends you back to the human, following the faint echoes in the currents left by her little island.

(You should have known that Wes would not be responsible for Ma Ka. He is not so cruel, and she is like no siren nor thrall you’ve ever heard of, anyway.)

When you find Ma Ka, the above is conspiring once more to give her to the ocean. This time, though, she is awake and clinging to her island, so you wait for the fickle currents of the above to calm before you offer your aid.

“I thought you were gone,” Ma Ka says once you’ve righted her island.

“I thought you were thrall,” you reply, “but it makes no sense for a thrall to stay in the above.”

“Why were you surprised that I could talk?”

You shrug. “Humans don’t speak,” you explain, because it’s obvious.

Ma Ka looks skeptical. “Who told you that?”

What a bizarre question. “No one told me,” you scoff. “Thralls speak only what their owners have told them to.”

“… Thralls? Owner?”

Whoever this being is, she knows surprisingly little. “Humans are enthralled by the first siren they hear,” you tell her. “Thralls are very loyal, and very affectionate, and very territorial of their owners. You are not enthralled, so you are not a human.”

Ma Ka is very still, but her brows are furrowed so that you can barely see the green of her eyes. “So we’re dogs to you.”

You mirror her stillness, wary of the fury in her voice. “You are not a dog,” you say hesitantly, though you do not know what a dog is. “You have not come to my song.”

“You meant to make me a dog,” Ma Ka hisses, standing, and you nearly fling yourself away from the island to escape her boiling rage.

“Soul!” Wes calls, and you follow Ma Ka’s distracted gaze to where the mere pokes his head out from the waters. “About your question— oh, is this the one you were talking about? Haven’t you enthralled her yet?”

“I’m not his thrall,” Ma Ka snaps.

Wes lifts a brow, opens his mouth, and sings. He is sly and soothing and mere, and you are jealous, because Ma Ka is yours—

“Shut up!” the human roars, and you and Wes both flee, terrified.

Once you both have regained your wits, Wes rounds on you. “What was that?” he demands. “Why didn’t she listen?”

You frown at him. “You knew that she could speak,” you realize. “You’ve known that humans can speak?”

Wes crosses his arms. “Well, yeah. You’ve heard my thralls, haven’t you?”

“Your thralls can barely string a sentence together,” you protest. “Ma Ka… she speaks as we do.”

Wes closes his eyes at you. (You narrow yours in surprise— he’s never been this angry at you.) “She is not enthralled,” he explains, as if to a child. “If she were, she would be the same as my thralls.”

You try to think of an enthralled Ma Ka, docile and loyal, speaking only your name. The idea fills you with horror, and you suddenly understand the fierce disgust with which Ma Ka had filled her roar. If she had not been resistant to your song, you never would have learned the cleverness of her tongue, of the quickness of her mind. You’d been singing to her thoughtlessly barely an hour ago, oblivious to the true nature of humans, oblivious to the true nature of siren song.

“They’re people,” you breathe, horrified.

Wes gives you a strange look. “They’re humans,” he reminds you, as though he knows better than you what that means.

“They’re people,” you repeat, insistently, and this time a flicker of understanding crosses Wes’s face before belligerent confusion takes over instead.

“What did you just do?” Wes demands, seizing your shoulders.

You kick at his tail and he lets go, cursing. “Don’t touch me,” you snap at him. “And what are you talking about? I’m not—”

Wes rushes at you, and you barely dodge, your arms and othersome legs working in panicked rhythms through the ocean water. “You sound like a maid,” Wes cries, desperately furious as he surges at you again.

“Stop!” you bellow back, and to your surprise, he does.

He turns to look at you, his face twisted in horror. “This is why othersome should not be,” he declares lowly, and flees.

[|<<] [ < ] [ > ]

[fictionfromgames]

Routine Concerns (ATLA/LOK fluff)

“Gran, you’re not gonna get arrested!”

Hiyara balled her fists as her grandmother continued packing a bag. The elder didn’t stop.

“Soon enough,” she stated matter-of-factly, “Remember a few years ago when I ‘went to the North’ for a week? When the Avatar was visiting?”

“Yeah,” Hiyara looked skeptical, “Your first vacation in two years at that point. Are you saying you went to jail?”

“Yep,” gran smiled, “Well, sort of a house arrest, wherein they lent me a lush mansion on the other side of the world while Avatar Weiyong was in Harbor City.”

“What could they possibly have against you, gran? You’re a healer.”

Gran turned and looked at Hiyara with a professional smile. She was always good at dealing with belligerent people, patients or otherwise, so she was practiced well enough by the time she had a family. Still, it annoyed Hiyara.

“You know my illustrious career, of course, but do you know much about history?” gran asked. At least she’d stopped packing.

“History is a broad term, gran, what kind of history?”

Gran shrugged, “Oh, like Avatar Korra, Amon. Bloodbending?”

“Some, iittle, and none, in descending according to the legality of each subject,” Hiyara started to frown, “You’re not a bloodbender, are you?”

“Not really?” gran shrugged, though she sounded unsure, “But my thesis on Amon’s ability to take away people’s bending is the theoretical foundation of my practice today.”

“You’re a bloodbender,” Hiyara was stunned.

“No, not really, I promise!” Gran moved closer, “I just... I was fascinated with Avatar Korra since I was little, all the things she achieved and survived even by your age now. But one of the things we’d always hear about in the healing huts was Amon. born Noatak in the Northern Tribe. Bloodbender, bending stealer, everyone knows that part, But no doctor, and no waterbender had figured out exactly how he’d stolen people’s powers. The standing, unimpeachable answer was always “vascular and/or neurological damage caused by bloodbending,” and was not subject to question due to the ethics and, yeah, legality involved. It was generally supported by head wounds that rendered much more than bending unusable, and wasn’t to be investigated otherwise.”

“Can you take bending away??” Hiyara was starting to feel a little horrified.

“Only theoretically!” Gran pointed enthusiastically, “There are a lot of things I wanted to avoid-- being stuck in the healing huts with all the old women back home, being called a ‘guru’, or a ‘mad scientist,’ and most definitely charges of bloodblending. I wanted nothing except to be Doctor Kayada. But... for as much as I wanted to get away from home, I remembered two things. The way Amon would access bending through the forehead, and the old healing dummies I was started on. He was using the meridians we used for water healing, just as conduits to the appropriate chakras through the Light chakra itself!”

“Gran you still haven’t said how this isn’t bloodbending!”

“Oh, that’s easy, I used a saline solution and sort of push that around,” Gran continued, almost ignoring the conflict in the conversation, “It somehow satisfies their strictures. But chakras, Hiyara, they’re opened and closed through emotion, and what emotions govern the Light chakra?”

Gran pointed again, waiting for the answer, but Hiyara just shook her head. She wasn’t in school for religious studies or medicine.

“Insight and illusion!” Gran cried, “Amon created illusory wounds to those areas through the chakra most susceptible to them, which is why no one but the Avatar figured out how to fix them! Lies they and their bodies believed! And he used water healing principles to accomplish it!”

At this point gran’s arms were in the air, as if reliving the revelatory moment. Hiyara just looked at her normally reserved grandmother with confusion and a little fear.

“But why would they arrest you?” she asked quietly.

“Oh, the White Lotus just thinks your genius gran could be a threat to the current Avatar because of the one time I stopped him.”

Kayada returned to packing. It was maybe a bit too hopeful to assume she could have gone to see the rocket launch if Weiyong was going to be there.

“Stopped him from what, gran?!”

******************

Kayada M.D.

Kayada’s theory is not mine, I stole it in whatever form I internalized it from Hello Future Me’s video in this link, but I wanted to have someone in the setting to realize that, as a potential conflict from either Kayada herself or an a new external threat. I imagine Kayada as generally genial, well-meaning, and not as invested in mysticism UNTIL it intersects with medical science. She has a practice in Shaomen, a newer United Republic City in the Hu Xin provinces. Shaomen is not canon except to this setting, and because I am running out of United Republic place names.  Kayada’s clinic is like, 1/3 general practice (water healing is generally very useful), 1/3 sports medicine (pro-benders seek her out in particular because what if their loss was bending related rather than injury or skill related????? Big money there), and 1/3 “psychiatry” (because manipulating positive emotions through waterbending is at least palliative therapy, and at best, an actual ATLA-unique version of psychiatric medicine).

Kayada vs. Weiyong

Why would someone who’s only ever trying to help cross the Avatar and be subsequently banned from any and all contact within a number of miles?

Political Differences

In one scenario, I think of Kayada as having been a witness to some massive infrastructural damage to Shaomen, and going out personally to close off some bending to make it stop, getting mixed up about who’s who and accidentally closing off some of Weiyong’s bending until things are cleared up. This one incident meshes with her standard do-gooding persona, and explains why her family doesn’t always know why she keeps avoiding the Avatar (willingly or by state order). The realization of her abilities by the White Lotus with regards to Weiyong have placed her on a watchlist.

Trade Secrets

A colleague or academic rival has learned Kayada’s methods and has used it to profitable and definitely unethical ends. I am leaving a lot of details ambiguous in this scenario, just because a new bending-stealer could easily be used in “present day.” You could still have Kayada and Weiyong’s now-genial relationship as a background distance between them, and calling off the minimum distance order she has to keep in order to help hunt down your new antagonist. However. I envision this as being Kayada’s “real” backstory. Tesroq, a water bender and Kayada’s number one at her practice, was taught how to heal her way and fill in for her while she was on Team Avatar during the Deep Spirit crises. And rather than open abuse, he’d covertly mess with pro-benders in order to help fix matches, which drew the considerable attention of Boss Shai and the Agni Kai Triad. The technical prowess of Kayada being passed on to someone less incorruptible also drew notice from the Dai Li, who had hoped to recruit Tesroq for some super shady shit regarding the situation of the Earth States, but Tesroq himself was enamored with the metropolitan lifestyle in the United Republic, and refused. Of course, the Deep Spirits crises weren’t constant or all at once, and Team Avatar started heading home, first visiting Shaomen, since Kayada was less combat oriented than the rest. The timing for Tesroq couldn’t have gone better-- with the Dai Li sending alternating offers and threats, the Agni Kais thoroughly pissed regarding an undefeated pro bending team, and Kayada starting to wonder what was amiss, his escape was provided by the threeway battle over his capture. Even with help from the White Lotus, Tesroq was never caught. Weiyong did get some of his bending blocked, but the White Lotus arranged a cover story and confiscated all scholastic papers regarding Kayada’s methods. She was still allowed to practice on the condition that she would be portrayed as the danger to the Avatar, avoiding all mention of Tesroq. She and Weiyong still correspond though, since they were close as comrades and confidants, and Weiyong always sends photos of an event related to his latest obligations. She’s Definitely a Mad Scientist

In this scenario, I kind of see her as morally ambivalent and always chasing the goal of learning more, kinda like Entrapta in She Ra, where the sides don’t matter as long as she keeps Doing the Thing, that maybe she’ll finally unlock something amazing. Her practice is more or less a front for capital, and while she may only take willing subjects, it’s still fucking sketchy, and requires a stronger synthesis between bloodbending and water healing. Perhaps here she’s looking for a way to actually produce bending in subjects that never had it, or add new elements to existing benders, since they already possess energy bending of any kind and it’s just easier or something. I like Kayada as a friend and ally but there are seeds for so much mischief.

Mechanically Speaking

No player character should have the ability to block bending beyond Ty Lee levels, which exists in the game already. But, should your characters have their bending blocked, it should be a several Chi-cost adventure to regain it. It’s also hard to manage since you don’t need bending to access every move in a playbook, so it’s more of a GM fiat move than systematic usage.

You can check out Legend of the Elements on DriveThru RPG and their page full of extra resources, Actual Play links, and essays at the Logbook Project!

[stagedelight]

"On the other hand, some – especially in the vicinity of red neighborhoods – are extraordinarily friendly and will even try to give you free food. (I turn it down and explain, of course.)" I'm a dumbass with implications, could you clarify why this happens?

Of course! :) (And don’t worry about it, it didn’t click with me until I’d been out in a gray wig more than once – and most people’s jobs don’t involve paying as much attention to how different castes interact as mine does!)

People tend to associate grays with police and the military (though of course not all grays are involved with either). So if your restaurant is in a slightly sketchy neighborhood, you and your customers are likely to feel much safer if there are grays around, even if they’re just there to eat lunch too. People feel that unsavory sorts are less likely to start trouble if they see a gray nearby, and that even if they do the odds are good that the gray can react quickly and subdue them.

All this goes double if the restaurant is near a red neighborhood. People worry about some kind of conflict spreading out of the red neighborhood and reaching them, or about a red wandering out of their neighborhood and into the restaurant, or something like that (no matter how unlikely those things are to happen!) Most people aren’t at all sure what they would do if they were confronted with a belligerent red, and that adds to the anxiety. But, again, people think of grays as police or soldiers, so they expect them to have training in dealing with that sort of situation.

The restaurant owners don’t want their customers feeling nervous, and they definitely don’t want them dwelling on anxious thoughts about reds (that’ll ruin their appetites like nothing else!) So it’s in their interests to encourage grays to frequent their restaurant, whether that’s by having a policy of comping their dessert, or just by reminding the servers to extend them a welcoming attitude.

I turn down the free food when it’s offered because I’d feel dishonest accepting it when I’m not really gray. Although I bet I’d be more use than nothing at defusing any kind of trouble that started up – one side benefit of being an actor is developing a very good “everyone shut up and pay attention to me” voice!

[toldnews-blog]

New Post has been published on https://toldnews.com/lifestyle/in-studio-a-painter-who-left-the-art-world-in-order-to-actually-make-art/

In Studio: A Painter Who Left the Art World in Order to Actually Make Art

WHEN VIVIAN SUTER arrived at the lake in the early 1980s, it took her three days to summon the courage to look at it. At the time, the Swiss-Argentine artist was in her early 30s and recently divorced. She had spent the previous few months driving through Central America on a solitary tour of Mesoamerican ruins. In Guatemala, where she’d come to see the Mayan Tikal architectural site, she arrived one night in a town on the outskirts of Lake Atitlán, which fills the crater of a volcano. Though she couldn’t see the lake, the thought of it unsettled her. “I was very emotional about the lake, and I didn’t dare to go and look at it,” she remembers, sitting in her garden on the northeastern side of Lake Atitlán, across from an imposing matapalo, or strangler fig. “I felt it would have an incredible attraction. I felt it would be powerful.”

That early premonition held true. Suter, now 69, has ostensibly never left. For 33 years, she has found sanctuary in a two-bedroom adobe house that she built on a wild, overgrown property at the foot of a mountain facing the lake and the dormant volcanoes beyond. Her house and gardens are haphazardly functional, and at times a little menacing. (Scorpions sometimes sting her in her bed at night.) The house is built on the site of a former coffee plantation, and the evidence of its previous life can be seen in the modest coffee harvest that her garden produces; when I visit, deep red beans are drying out in the sun. In the living room, skylights are covered with bamboo shades. Thick patterned carpets made by the country’s Momosteco weavers cover the doorways as curtains, and the walls are hung with Suter’s own work and that of her mother, Elisabeth Wild, and her son from her second marriage, Pancho.

[Coming later this spring: the T List newsletter, a weekly roundup of what T Magazine editors are noticing and coveting. Sign up here.]

Suter is small and slight, with feathery red hair and low-slung eyebrows that give an inquisitive air to her warm and gentle demeanor. Walking the rambling grounds and trampled pathways — she shares the house with her mother and three spirited dogs — she points out plants as if they are old friends. We stop to admire the way another matapalo has wound its muscular roots around a great clod of earth, binding it together and giving it a makeshift pedestal from which to surge up into the sky.

Up a steep, verdant incline and through a fragile, low wooden gate is Suter’s working studio — a light-filled space with screen doors that open onto a deck overlooking the thicket of plants that now obscures her view of the lake. It’s here — outside, and usually in the morning, or after dark, by lamplight — that Suter makes her raw, vivid paintings, which are filled with fiery lashings or translucent washes of paint, meditative columns of circles and dense greens, browns and reds, like chromatic distillations of the tropical environment. She works quickly and attentively, surrounded by a mess of paint pots and a chorus of bird song, church bells, the occasional belligerent rumble of a passing tuk tuk and the gentle knocking of wind-rustled bamboo.

A painting can sometimes take her just 20 minutes, “but it needs a whole lifetime,” she says. It has taken Suter about that long to find her way back to the international art world. She is in the midst of a run of exhibitions that have come her way over the past few years, including recent presentations at Art Basel Cities in Buenos Aires and the Power Plant in Toronto. Earlier this month, 20 of her paintings were installed on the High Line in New York, where they’ll hang for almost a year like a canopy, raw and unstretched, as she likes them, over the staircase that leads down to Gansevoort Street, near the entrance of the Whitney Museum of American Art. Her first solo gallery show in the city is currently up at Gladstone Gallery and closes in June.

Suter might have achieved this level of success decades ago if she had wanted it, but art, not the art world, was her calling. She was given her first solo show at Stampa gallery in Basel, Switzerland, in the ’70s, and in 1981, the curator Jean-Christophe Ammann placed Suter in a group exhibition at the prestigious Kunsthalle Basel. It was then that she made the decision to walk away. The art world’s endless social obligations depressed her. “I thought, ‘All of this I don’t want,’” she recalls. “I want to get to the center, to the bottom of it.” So after the show came down, she headed west, beginning in Los Angeles and working her way down through Mexico and civil-war-era Guatemala until she found her way to the lake.

SUTER WAS BORN in 1949 on the outskirts of Buenos Aires, but after Juan Perón and his Justicialista party rose to power in the 1940s and began to nationalize the country’s industries, her father sold his printing factory and the family moved to Basel. It was a difficult transition for the young Vivian Wild, but she entered art school at 17 and was married at 19 to Martin Suter, a writer. (They divorced a few years later but remain friends, and her ex-husband also has a house on Lake Atitlán.)

The paintings Suter made in her 20s were tighter and more structured; she layered paint and paper to form crowded compositions that curved and buckled into strange shapes. Her art has adapted partly out of necessity; she discovered that not only was it difficult to ship work that was thick with pigment but she had fewer materials at her disposal. Her strokes became looser, the paint thinner, her process freer. As an alternative to layering paint, she began to layer the manta, or cotton, that she now paints on, hanging compositions in airy, overlapping arrangements. “I didn’t want to make a concept ahead of my paintings,” as she often used to do, she says. “I wanted the painting to show me, not to force myself the other way. I wanted to be surprised by what I did.”

For years, she worked largely under the radar, showing the occasional work here or there. But it was in Basel, again, that another opportunity emerged. In 2011, Adam Szymczyk, then the director of Kunsthalle Basel, recreated the 1981 group show that Suter had appeared in; he soon gave her a solo show at the institution, placed her in an exhibition at the Museo Tamayo in Mexico and, most crucially, showed her work in both the Athens and Kassel editions of Documenta 14 in 2017. This time, she was ready for the exposure.

IF SUTER’S EARLY paintings expressed a more labored effort to find her voice through natural forms, the environment now seems to speak through her in bursts and sighs — and Suter welcomes the elements into her work. When Guatemala was struck by two hurricanes, Stan and Agatha, in 2005 and 2010, respectively, her house was flooded and much of her work drenched in water and mud. But the catastrophes also brought restorative discoveries. When she opened up an unpainted, waterlogged manta, she found the earthy residue had expressed itself in a series of delicate Rorschach-like forms that resembled X-rays of plants or exotic insects. “It was like a miracle, you know, just beautiful,” she says. “This was very special, like a gift.” She calls the painting the Virgin Rorschach.

Echoes of that form now appear in several other recent works, one of which hangs over her bed. Its loose, orange-red circles and swoops are bifurcated by a wobbly white line running down its axis. “Like a spinal column,” she says. There are other occasional allusions to animal or human life in her work, as in a painting that is currently leaning against the wall of her studio. It shows the sketchy form of a figure in profile that emerges from a big glop of white paint. There are also paintings of dogs. In one, their faces form a near allover pattern, their disembodied heads floating in the pictorial space. There is very little separation between mammal and plant life, between Suter and the sapote palms and the monarch butterflies in her garden. Being in nature, moving, making the art she wants — “This,” she says, “is the freedom I give myself.”