#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]

[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.

[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!

[arkbot]

1, 9, 12, 18, 31, 32, 34, 52, 86?

1: when you have cereal, do you have more milkthan cereal or more cereal than milk? - More milk than cereal for sure.Tbh I like to finish my cereal and have a glass of milk after. This milk isusually chocolate because my favourite cereals are chocolate

9: do you like singing/humming to yourself? -I pretty much always sing in the car when driving on my own. I also sing at mydogs and at @yourantagonist with my own substituted lyrics I’m a huge loserdeal with it

12: what’s your favorite planet? - Mars.It’s named for the god of war, to start. I like that despite being a fair bitsmaller than Earth, it has incredibly large features like Olympus Mons and VallesMarineris. I like that instead of dirt, the surface is covered in iron oxide,literally rust. At its most habitable, it would be like Antarctica withoutoxygen. I’m also fascinated by its proximity, and its chances of being thefirst alien planet man sets foot on.

18: tell us about something dumb/funny you didthat has since gone down in history between you and your friends and is alwaysbrought up. - One memorable occasion is the end of exams in my firstsemester of Uni. At the time, I was still finding my limits with alcohol, andwith cause for celebration we partied harder and longer than I had yetexperienced. As a result, by early afternoon I was already in a belligerent state.The residence building in which we were celebrating was triangular, and so fromthe common area extended three long hallways. Each was separated by one ofthose push-bar metal doors. For reasons unknown to all, myself included, I sawfit to joust the door in our hallway. Taking a running start from the other endof the hall, I built a head of steam towards the door.  Being quick and not relenting one bit in myapproach, I hit the latched door with tremendous force. This was the pinnacle ofmy intoxication, and I was made to nap afterwards.  Such was my inebriation that I was stilldrunk when I roused, went to a concert, and returned, some 8 hours after theincident.

31: what is your opinion of socks? do you likewearing weird socks? do you sleep with socks? do you confine yourself to whitesock hell? really, just talk about socks. - I’m a huge fan of socks. Tome, walking around barefoot is akin to walking around without a shirt:something I’d do at the pool, in the summer time, but definitely a state ofundress. Socks are comfortable and warm, like a hug for my feet. I don’t sleepwith socks, or a shirt, or pants, that’s silly, unless it’s super cold in whichcase all options are on the table. Most of my socks are gray, but I have a fewpairs of statement socks such as my storm trooper, starscape, and pink pairs.

32: tell us a story of something that happened toyou after 3AM when you were with friends. - I’m not sure of the exacttime but it was certainly late. I was at a smash tournament in Edmonton, andafter everything was done I took my carpool to meet with some Edmonton friendsat McDonald’s. We got there first, and as our friends rolled up behind us, westarted walking to the door. Being a large group, drive thru would be a hassle,so it made sense to at least check if the dining room was open. Turns out itwasn’t. So we walk back and are talking to the other driver, deciding what todo instead (we went to Denny’s) when a man walks up to our group and asks if we’vegot smokes. Being a bunch of nerds, none of us do, and he’s reallydisappointed. He asks us what we’re doing, and we tell him we were gonna getfood, but only the drive thru is open. He starts to explain this elaborate planwhere he’ll get us food if we get him smokes. We’re a little weirded out, likeno man, we’re not gonna go find smokes for you. So we say nah, we can get food ourselves,we just need to use the drive thru. He’s like well, you know what the problemis? You’re walking! At this point we notice that the other driver has rolled uphis windows. We quickly disengage from the conversation and get in our car.While exiting the parking lot, we see he’s still kind of wandering around,looking for someone with smokes. This encounter is well remembered as thesketchy guy at McDonald’s, not to be confused with all the strange encountersthat smashers have had at one particularly sketchy McDonald’s in Calgary.

34: tell us about the stuffed animal you kept asa kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it? -I had a lot of stuffed animals as a kid. Like, a LOT. In my teens, we did some renovations through the house, andI had to move out of my room temporarily. My stuffies all went into storage atthat time and I didn’t retrieve them when I went back, so there they sat. Lastyear we were making an effort to clean out storage space, so I was goingthrough the bag of old friends picking a few to keep and the rest to give away.One I picked was a very small shark. I don’t remember him being a big favouritebefore, but he was small and cute and I was happy to put him back in my room.We were happily reunited for a while, until a fateful trip. I went on a family tripto Hawaii, and being so tiny he was an excellent travelling companion, right inmy backpack. He went with me, and returned, safely, but remained in my bag as Iresumed normal life. One night, I accidentally left my vehicle unlocked on thecurb, and when I returned in the morning I had been robbed. Missing were somecheap sunglasses, a Wii U, and my backpack, complete with laptop, textbooks,and my fuzzy sharky friend. It was a sad day.

52: what are your favorite memes of the year sofar? - God, Star Wars prequel memes. They’re everywhere on Reddit, andas someone who appreciates both the prequel trilogy and bad memes, they’ve madea fine addition to my collection.

86: do you like concept albums? which ones? -I do! I’m a big nerd for prog rock, and I’m more of an album guy in general(over shuffle or picking singles). I almost always listen to albums in full,and often even sequentially for an artist’s whole discography. Personalfavourites:

The Human Equation by Aryeon, thesaga of a man who falls into a coma and spends 20 days (20 tracks!) wrestlingwith his emotions and working through a lot of buried traumas. Backstabbingfriendships, romantic issues, an asshole father, it’s all in there, with wellcomposed tracks, and a different guest singer for each emotion personified.

Metropolis Part 2: Scenes from aMemory by Dream Theater. In their breakout 1992 album Images and Words, they hada track called Metropolis Part 1: The Miracle and the Sleeper. Fans clamouredfor a follow up, and they went all out with a full sequel album 7 years later.It follows the story of a man who is being hypnotized in order to explore strangerecurring dreams. He discovers that he has been reliving a past life, where hewas a woman who was murdered when a love triangle turned sour. Aside from a twisting,non-linear storyline, this one just has kickass instrumentals that rank with DT’sbest.

Epica & the Black Halo byKamelot. This band is a recent revelation for me, and I’m so glad I found them.This is two albums to tell one story: a rock opera inspired by Goethe’s Faust.I’m only just exploring it now, and still piecing together themes and thedetails of the story itself, but the music is great.

A Thousand Suns by Linkin Park.This comes from a quieter time in Linkin Park’s legacy, and I don’t know manypeople who know about it, but I really liked it. It’s not as hard hitting astheir first couple albums, but I think it shows growth as writers, as it tells thestory of a near future after nuclear apocalypse. Many of the songs can be heardtwo ways, speaking about big political statements, or a second meaning ofpersonal conflict.

Ghost Reveries by Opeth. It took mya while to break into this band, and the was the album that was just accessibleenough for me to do it. That shouldn’t downplay the musicianship here, which isphenomenal, but coming from Dream Theater it was closer to a familiar sound.This one tells the story of a man who commits an unspeakable crime, murderinghis own mother. It follows him fleeing justice, spiralling into despair as heis pursued by both man and his own sins, until he surrenders to the Devil andtakes his own life.

[libertariantaoist]

What in the name of all that’s holy is going on in North Korea?

This question is always hard to answer because they don’t call it the Hermit  Kingdom for nothing. Very little comes out of the notoriously reclusive – and  repressive – Democratic Peoples Republic of Korea, and not that much gets in.  But occasionally there is a burst of activity that, like the eruption of a volcano,  is hard to miss  –  the recent  launching of four ballistic missiles being one of them.

The missiles landed in the Sea of Japan, about 190 miles off the Japanese coast,  sending shockwaves throughout the region. Both Tokyo and Seoul protested, while  the North Koreans characterized the action as a logical reaction to the perceived  threat of imminent military action by the US and South Korea. Pyongyang’s fear  is not unfounded.

The exercises, conducted jointly by US and South Korea and dubbed “Foal  Eagle,” are a dress rehearsal for all-out war with the North. In addition  to the USS Carl Vinson and a strike force of two guided missile destroyers  and a cruiser, the US sent in a squadron of stealth fighter jets as well as  B-52s and B-1Bs – these latter capable of carrying nuclear payloads. “Foal Eagle”  is an annual exercise, but every year the amount of US firepower gets bigger  – and in the context of rapidly rising tensions between Pyongyang and the rest  of the world, this does nothing to ease the former’s well-known paranoia.

But it isn’t just paranoia that is motivating North Korean behavior: for the  first time, there is open talk  in US ruling circles of launching a preemptive strike against the regime of  Kim Jong Un. As Time magazine puts  it:

“Taking out North Korea’s two major  nuclear sites with air strikes would be dangerous but probably not too difficult,  U.S. officials say. The possibility of North Korean retaliation against Seoul,  South Korea’s capital of 10 million and only 35 miles from North Korea, would  be a complicating factor, they concede.”

Yes, the continued existence of 10 million South Koreas, not to mention the  30,000 or so American soldiers stationed on the peninsula, is indeed “a complicating  factor.” That’s one way of putting it.

The reality is that Pyongyang has a crude but workable nuclear arsenal. This  means that, in a sane world, military action is off the proverbial table. The  problem is that we don’t live in such a world. And as crazy as Kim Jong Un may  be, the talk of a preemptive strike proves the insanity is not limited to Pyongyang,

Right now, US policymakers must ask themselves two questions: how did we get  here, and how do we get out?

We got here because the administration of George W. Bush quashed the beginnings  of a political solution to the Korean conundrum.

Remember that the Korean War never officially ended: the fighting stopped when  a truce was declared. A peace treaty was never signed: officially, we and our  South Korean allies are still at war with Pyongyang. The demilitarized zone  (DMZ) separating the two Koreas has been described as the most dangerous place  in the world, and there have been a number of shooting incidents over the years,  rising and falling as tensions between the two Koreas waxed and waned.

Yet there was a moment when the tensions were at a low point, and the possibility  of a political solution was raised: this was the result of the so-called “Sunshine  Policy” initiated by South Korean President Kim Dae Jung. The goal: reunification  of the Koreas, a project both the North and the South have officially endorsed  for many years. The Koreans are a fiercely nationalistic people, and the halving  of the nation has been a painful affair. Then North Korean leader Kim Jong Il  (Kim Jong Un’s father) agreed to meet the South Korean President at a three-day  summit, at the end of which they signed a nonaggression pact and agreed to pursue  the path of reunification.

This made sense from the North Korean perspective: the Communist state was  strangling on its own repression, famine was sweeping the land, the economy  was tanking, and people were literally eating the bark off the trees. The infusion  of South Korean investment that followed the summit gave them a lifeline, and  tens of thousands of South Koreans visited the North: factories were set up  in the North that employed thousands of North Korean workers. Slowly but surely  the Hermit Kingdom was letting down its defenses and opening up to the world.

And then came George W. Bush, who received the South Korean President in Washington  in March of 2001 and promptly threw shade on the Sunshine policy. As the late  Mary McGrory put  it:

“Bush, as he was eager to demonstrate, was not a fan. Kim’s sin? He was  instituting a sunshine policy with the North, ending a half-century of estrangement.  Bush, who looked upon North Korea as the most potent argument for his obsession  to build a national missile defense, saw Kim, a Nobel Peace Prize winner, as  nothing but trouble. He sent him home humiliated and empty-handed.”

The North Koreans pulled back, and announced a military buildup. Bush upped  the ante with his “axis of evil speech,” naming Pyongyang as one of the spokes  on the wheel of wickedness. The North Koreans responded that this sounded to  them like an outright “declaration of war,” a not unreasonable interpretation  of Bush’s remarks.

Just to make sure he had crushed the last hope of a political solution, Bush  visited South Korea in 2002, where he paid a  visit to the DMZ:

“Standing atop a sandbag bunker and protected by bulletproof glass, US President  George W. Bush peered through binoculars at North Korea on Wednesday and bluntly  called it ‘evil.’

“… Among the things Bush could see were North Korean signs written in  large, white Korean characters with slogans such as: ‘Anti-America’ and ‘Our  General is the best"’  –  a reference to North Korean leader Kim Jong-il.

“Bush spent about 10 minutes atop the bunker and then he and Secretary of  State Colin Powell sat down to a lunch of cold cuts, potato chips, fruit and  cookies with about a dozen US soldiers who help man the post 24 hours a day.

“Asked what he thought when he looked out over the North, Bush said: ‘We’re  ready.’”

Ready, that is, for war. So much for the Sunshine policy.

Yet the US and the North Koreans were still bound by an agreement, reached  under the Clinton administration, by which the latter would refrain from building  nukes as long as shipments of oil and the lifting of sanctions was permitted.  Yet this agreement – initiated by former President Jimmy Carter and signed by  Pyongyang in 1994 – was nixed by Washington’s sudden announcement that the North  Koreans had violated it, and that therefore the deal was off.

But did the North Koreans really violate the agreement? Selig Harrison, writing  in Foreign Affairs, didn’t think so:

“Much has been written about the North Korean nuclear  danger, but one crucial issue has been ignored: just how much credible evidence  is there to back up Washington’s uranium accusation? Although it is now widely  recognized that the Bush administration misrepresented and distorted the intelligence  data it used to justify the invasion of Iraq, most observers have accepted at  face value the assessments the administration has used to reverse the previously  established US policy toward North Korea.

“But what if those assessments were exaggerated and blurred the important  distinction between weapons-grade uranium enrichment (which would clearly violate  the 1994 Agreed Framework) and lower levels of enrichment (which were technically  forbidden by the 1994 accord but are permitted by the nuclear Nonproliferation  Treaty [NPT] and do not produce uranium suitable for nuclear weapons)?

“A review of the available evidence suggests that this is just what happened.  Relying on sketchy data, the Bush administration presented a worst-case scenario  as an incontrovertible truth and distorted its intelligence on North Korea (much  as it did on Iraq), seriously exaggerating the danger that Pyongyang is secretly  making uranium-based nuclear weapons. This failure to distinguish between civilian  and military uranium-enrichment capabilities has greatly complicated what would,  in any case, have been difficult negotiations to end all existing North Korean  nuclear weapons programs and to prevent any future efforts through rigorous  inspection.”

As Donald Trump said  of Bush’s “evidence” for Iraq’s “weapons of mass destruction”:  “They  lied, they said there were weapons of mass destruction. There were none and  they knew that there were none.”

Here is another mess the neocon-dominated administration  of George W. Bush has left us, which Trump is now supposed to clean up. But  he can’t do it if he reenacts Bush’s belligerent bone-headedness. The author  of The Art of the Deal has got to make a deal – or face the prospect  of a nuclear catastrophe on the Korean peninsula and perhaps beyond.

Part of the deal-making process is understanding  the psychology of those you are dealing with, and in the case of the North Koreans  this is absolutely essential.

Since Bush torpedoed the Sunshine policy, the North has been on a downward  spiral, not only economically but also in terms of the regime’s stability. The  death of Kim Jong Il and the succession of Kim Jong Un to the role of supreme  leader has not made for a smooth transition. Since the regime cannot provide  for even the most basic material needs of its subjects, it must maintain legitimacy  by other means, which boil down to 1) supporting a quasi-religious cult centered  around the worship of the hereditary Supreme Leader, and 2) the invocation of  a permanent threat from the West.

Fulfillment of the first part of this formula has gotten more difficult unto  the third generation of the “royal family.” Kim Il Sung, who established the  DPRK, won his legitimacy by beating the Japanese invaders and fighting off attempts  by the South to dominate the North. He subsequently established the Communist  dictatorship, eliminated all factional rivals, and even resisted both the Soviet  Union and the Chinese when they tried to interfere in his nation’s internal  affairs. His cult retained enough sway after his death to ensure that his son,  Kim Jong Il, would succeed him unopposed, although there were some rumored purges.  However, by the third generation, and under the pressure of an economic downturn  – and even widespread famine – the semi-mystical theology of “Kimilsungism”  has lost much of its mystique. The result has been signs of increased political  instability and a ruthless crackdown on Kim Jong Un’s part.

Rumors of an attempted  assassination, pitched gun battles between rival factions in the army, and  signs of a Chinese plot to replace the increasingly nutty Kim Jong Un with his  estranged half-brother, Kim Jong Nam, provoked a wave of violent purges. Top  figures in the regime, such as Kim Jong Un’s uncle, have been killed:  the uncle was reportedly shot with an antitank gun! Another high-ranking figure  was purged and killed for having “bad posture.”  And finally the half-brother was assassinated  at the Kuala Lumpur airport when two women approached him and sprayed him with  poison. Although Pyongyang denies doing it, no one doubts this was done under  Kim Jong Un’s orders.

While the North Korean regime has a  long history of conducting periodic purges against perceived internal enemies,  high-ranking victims were rarely killed: instead they were either sent to the  country’s ever-expanding network of prison camps or else exiled. The current  wave of executions signals a new phase in the ungluing of the regime.

Besieged on every side by enemies both real and imagined, Kim Jong Un has one  card left to play: the threat from the West. As long as he can present himself  as the bulwark protecting the people from the “Yankee imperialists” and their  “running dog lackeys” in the South, he retains his hold on legitimacy. The “Foal  Eagle” exercises and rumblings of war emanating from Washington bolster his  faltering regime.

Just as George W. Bush’s spiking of the Sunshine policy was motivated by the  need to appease the neoconservative wing of the Republican party and thus retain  legitimacy on the home front, so Kim Jong Un’s belligerence is dictated by the  need to legitimize his dynastic succession to the throne of Pyongyang. North  Korea’s foreign policy, like that of any other state’s, whether despotic or  democratic, is determined by the political needs of the rulers at the time.

Once we begin to understand the implications of this universal principle, and  apply it to the Korean conundrum, the outlines of a solution are visible.

To begin with, it’s time to face facts: there  is no military solution to the problem posed by North Korea. Pyongyang is  holding the entire peninsula hostage. War is unthinkable – although, unfortunately,  far from impossible.

As dire as the situation may seem, it’s not too late to prevent a catastrophe:  a political solution is still within reach. The recent impeachment  of the South Korean President – the daughter of a former right-wing military  dictator – means that her successor will be a liberal  politician in the tradition of Kim Dae Jung. With the South Koreans ready  to give the Sunshine policy another chance, and an American President famous  for making deals, it’s entirely possible that a deal with the North can be struck.

However, this depends on the Trump administration  having a) some knowledge of the intricacies – and particularly the history –  of the two Koreas, and b) the imagination to reject the old Bush-neocon policy  of confrontation.

Also, it won’t be along before the Trumpians  realize that Trump’s oft-stated policy of depending on the Chinese to bring  Pyongyang to heel is a non-starter: relations between the two ostensibly Communist  regimes haven’t been good for a long time, and they just got worse with the  missile tests and the death of Kim Jong Nam.

Indeed, the North Korean leader’s half-brother  had long been under the protection of China, where he had lived with his wife,  his two daughters, and his mistress in Macau. Beijing was reportedly nurturing  him as a possible replacement for the troublesome Kim Jong Un, which is why  he met such an untimely end.

No, China is not the key to ending the impending North Korean crisis: with  the installation of an antimissile system in South Korea, which the Chinese  think is aimed at them, they aren’t likely to cooperate in any meaningful way.  And, in any case, their influence is very limited, since their relations with  Pyongyang have never been worse.

The initiative is going to have to come from Seoul, which has the most to lose  if war breaks out. And when this initiative does come, Washington must welcome  it, and do everything to foster it. When Trump was campaigning for President,  he questioned the US presence in the South and wondered aloud why we had to  risk war and bankruptcy providing for Seoul’s defense. His instincts were right:  now perhaps we’ll get to see if his policies match his campaign rhetoric. I’m  not optimistic  –  pressure from the John McCain wing of the GOP is relentless,  and Trump may not want to fight on this terrain  –  but you never know..

The ultimate goal of any negotiation must begin the process of reunifying the  Korean nation, a process that can only end with the withdrawal of all US forces.  This would pull the rug out from under Kim Jong Un’s nightmarish regime, depriving  it of an external threat on which it bases much of its legitimacy. It’s long  past time to bring the Korean war to a formal end – because the only alternative  is a resumption of hostilities. And in the nuclear age, the meaning of that  ought to be clear enough.

Secretary of State Rex Tillerson is now in South Korea as part of his trip  to the region, where he met with Japanese leaders as well. He is declaring that  we need “a new approach” to North Korea. As to what this means, exactly, is  not at all clear: Tillerson is not currently revealing any details, although  his statement that “the people of North Korea have nothing to fear from us or  our allies” is encouraging. He is reportedly headed for the DMZ, where hopefully  he’ll react in a far different way than George W. Bush did.

[rolandfontana]

Minnesota’s ‘Hybrid Court’ Offers Addicts an Alternative to Jail

Jason Drift’s drug use seemed to increase every time he suffered a death in the family.

A 44-year-old environmental services worker on the Bois Forte Indian Reservation in northern Minnesota, he had begun taking prescription pain pills for knee problems in the early 2000s.

Hydrocodone, Oxycotins and Percocets eased his physical pain.

But then his sister died and he found himself snorting 20-plus of them per day. Pills became hard to come by when users got flagged at pharmacies. So he started spending half his paychecks buying them from low-level dealers in the area.

A blurry two years later, he had turned to snorting meth. In the fall of 2017, after a police officer found marijuana and a gram of meth in his car, he found himself facing imprisonment if convicted of a felony crime of fifth-degree possession of methamphetamine.

But there was an alternative.

He could avoid prison if he were accepted into the 13-month Range Hybrid court program, operated by the Sixth Judicial district in northern Minnesota. The program is designed to provide people accused or convicted of non-violent, felony drug and alcohol related crimes an alternative to traditional probation supervision.

Participants who complete the program successfully can have their charges dropped from the record.

Drift, an enrolled member of the Bois Forte Band of Chippewa in northeastern Minnesota, was accepted as a candidate.

But over a year ago, when he first found himself face to face with Judge Michelle Anderson, who presides over the court in the St. Louis County Courthouse in Virginia, Mn.,—and the team of assistant attorneys, public defenders, probation officers and chemical dependency and mental health experts who told him they were there to help him—he was wary.

“It sounded sketchy,” he remembered. “I didn’t want to be there.”

The Choice: Incarceration or Treatment Court

Judge Anderson has garnered praise from prosecutors and defense attorneys who say it is a proven system that gets adults charged with drug possession and driving under the influence of alcohol out of jails and prisons and into rehabilitation.

The state court administrator for Minnesota Treatment Courts reported last year that 54 percent of statewide participants graduate, while 94 percent receive treatment and 80 percent complete at least one phase of the five-phased program.

New charges and convictions are lower for participants who spend half as much time in prison and two-thirds as much time in jail compared to non-participants.

Since its creation in 2006, the Range Hybrid court served 292 people, of which 67 percent graduated from the program, according to the area court’s recent studies. Eighty-three percent entered the program with a drug felony and 17 percent for a DUI. Fifty-five percent of them were men and 45 percent women. Ages ranged from 19 to 54.

Between 2017 and 2018, the court estimated that 45 percent of the participants were white, 26.21 percent Native American or Alaskan Native; 6.80 percent Latino; 4.85 percent black and 16.5 percent other.

About 91 percent had co-occurring mental health and substance abuse disorders, 70 percent experienced trauma or violence and 65 percent did not have money to meet basic needs.

The program handles a maximum of 50 pre-and post-adjudication cases at a time from Minnesota’s “Iron Range” region, and uses therapeutic principles of addiction programs that have become popular in similar courts across the state of Minnesota and the U.S.

Participants like Drift must agree to weekly treatments with the team.

When asked later about the court proceedings, Drift recalled feeling “a little bit leery” when standing before the judge and hearing her ask him, “How are you today?”

But his feelings have since changed after nearly one year of meeting with her as well as members of the Treatment Court Team, some of whom are open to participants and the HDT about their own experiences in recovery programs.

“When I entered the program, I was still feeling fidgety with meth in my system and the judge could see me because I couldn’t wear my glasses. My pupils looked like two piss holes in snow banks,” Drift said.

“I’d seen a lot of people fail their UAs or have to go to treatment again, but she gives them chances. I think she’s a good judge for the program. She’s fair. She’s honest. She gives you a chance to turn your life around.”

Keep Your Guard Up

Anderson depends upon her legal experience and the Treatment Court Team to uphold the rules of the program and help navigate somewhat contentious issues, such as monitoring the use of medication-assisted treatment, including Suboxone, the most common form of buprenorphine.

Three months ago, the Minnesota Department of Corrections approved a new policy to allow people on parole or supervised release to use medical marijuana. The move has been a hot topic for the judge and her team.

Anderson also depends largely on the court’s two probation officers — Gary Flannigan and Jeff Oja— who increased their typical caseloads to include up to 50 more cases from the treatment court program.

Reflecting on the services, David Holmbeck, a supervisor of Arrowhead Regional Corrections said that the St. Louis County territory covered by his officers, at 6,860 square miles, represents one of the largest counties in the nation.

Because of its vastness, the county is the only one in the state that has chambered judges working in separate courthouses in three cities: Duluth, Hibbing and Virginia.

“Staffing alone is also an issue,” Holmbeck said. “And the caseload numbers are relatively the same, but the involvement with clients has dramatically increased. The level of needs for our clients has increased because of the increase in opioid addiction, meth and mental illness.

“About 25 years ago, it was a DUI offender. Now, we’re running into more people with psychological distress.”

But officers have improved to meet demands.

“We’re better at what we do because we’re incorporating more cognitive-based programming to help reduce recidivism and changing criminal thinking and behaviors,” Holmback explained.

Fifteen years with Arrowhead Regional Corrections has shaped Flannigan into a seasoned officer with enough experience to believe that the “difference between parolees from prison and clients on probation is that instead of being hardened, a lot of the treatment courts participants are desiring to change in life.

“Really it’s an addiction that’s bringing them into the criminal justice system.”

He maintains his outlook despite the Range Hybrid court evolving from taking on low-risk offender to high-risk, high need individuals that might carry longer criminal histories.

“We want people who have serious chemical dependency addictions and are struggling with the disease,” he said. “Some people might opt out and choose jail, but that’s very rare. People are talkers until they’re sitting in jail. In the beginning, a lot of people fight the system. But most of them are thankful down the road.”

During their scheduled and random visits, Flannigan and Oja are seldom paired up together.

Neither of them are permitted to carry firearms. Instead, they arm themselves with bullet-proof vests, pepper spray, radios and handcuffs. Most importantly, they are trained in de-escalation tactics and use of force; yet they are comforted knowing that law enforcement can be called upon when needed.

“We’re mindful and we know we’re not a force like law enforcement is when they kick in doors and make extractions,” Flannigan said. “If we find violations, we make arrests. If someone is extremely violent or belligerent, we are trained to get out of the situation. Our safety is paramount.”

He added: “Do bad things happen? Yes. We’ve had close calls and scary situations. But it’s amazing how rare we run into violent situations.”

Flannigan’s focus in the beginning stages of the program is to establish a rapport with his clients. But trust is difficult when it comes to people often suffering from co-occurring chemical dependency and mental health issues.

“Addicts are some of the most manipulative, tricky, savvy people that I work with,” he said.

“They’re addicted to very powerful drugs and you don’t expect complete 100 percent sobriety. We take a therapeutic approach to relapses and then sanction them if they’re lying or we might put them in jail for a weekend.

“Absconding is common. And when we’ve exhausted every avenue, then they are labeled ‘Not Amenable to Probation’ and are kicked out of the program.”

Why does Flannigan work a job where he always has his guard up?

“People change. We see the transformation in front of our eyes.”

Fatherhood Revisited

During the second phase of the Range Hybrid court program, Drift began Moral Reconation Therapy in addition to attending weekly recovery meetings, bi-weekly court hearings and complying with treatment and supervision.

“I realized then that it’s for the best that I turn my life around and get my kids back in my life,” he said.

After his decision, he was able to secure another job from a supportive group at Fortune Bay Resort and Casino, and worked with a county social worker who helped him figure out the maze of paperwork needed to retain his driver’s license and pay child support again.

She also helped him move out of his brother’s house and into a 12-step house and then into his co-worker’s sober house in Virginia, which is half a block from the courthouse.

“Alex pointed me in the right direction,” he said. “This program is making me more responsible.”

For Drift, the month of July marks nearly one year clean and sober. He owes the court $100 to move into the final phase of the program and sometimes struggles to afford the $1,200 program cost, child support, rent and other bills. But he counts himself lucky to have dodged transportation troubles.

Plus, it beats doing time. If all goes well, he expects to graduate in September.

It was about one year ago when Drift first saw his two youngest daughters again. It had been several years.

“They didn’t barely know me,” he said. “The older one called me Dad. But the younger one didn’t know me well. Now they will call me up to chat with me.”

Drift is now gearing up to celebrate his birthday later this month.

“I reserved a pontoon boat for my two girls on Lake Vermilion so we can have some fun.”

Looking forward, he prays that he can reconnect with his oldest daughter.

Eric Killelea, assistant editor of the Hibbing (Minn.) Daily Tribune, is a 2018-2019 John Jay/Rural Justice Reporting Fellow. This is a condensed and slightly edited version of a story prfoduced for his fellowship reporting project, part of a series examining the state of rural justice in Minnesota. The full story, and other parts of the series, are available here.

Minnesota’s ‘Hybrid Court’ Offers Addicts an Alternative to Jail syndicated from https://immigrationattorneyto.wordpress.com/

[likestoimagine16]

Raskovnik AU, aka my hanahaki-spite AU

So I’ve been sitting on this Yuri on Ice AU for something like 2 years by this point, and I’m probably not going to be finishing it, so here’s the (very long) run-down

(the reason it’s called hanahaki-spite is because I really do not like hanahaki. If you like hanahaki AU, that’s entirely your prerogative and you’re free to do as you like, but I’m not sure how much you’ll appreciate this one

The disease: 

First off, the reason why it’s called Raskovnik is because of this cryptid plant, which is based on an aquatic fern. Supposedly, it unlocks/uncovers whatever is locked/closed, but can only be identified by chthonic animals in Slavic tradition (eg tortoises, snakes, or hedgehogs)

The disease is NOT based off unrequited love, because that honestly skeeves me out for a number of reasons, including but not limited to the idea that ‘unrequited love’ is enough to disease someone and the fact that the ‘cure’ is kind of sketchy in regards to the fact that the target of the unrequited feelings has apparently has to reciprocate them or they’re implicitly responsible for the victim’s death in-universe

Oh yeah, the disease doesn’t kill you unless you let it grow way too long and the surgery to remove the plants, while causing a minor depressive episode, does not ‘surgically remove the feeling of love’ for anyone, because love really shouldn’t be something that easy to excise from a person

Basically, what happens with the disease is this aquatic fern thing (a red four-leaf clover type thing with heart-shaped leaves, in this 'verse) grows in some people’s lungs if certain conditions are met. It’s not very well understood in-universe, but there’s lots of (scientific and popular) speculation, which is where the idea of ‘unrequited love’ being the cause comes from

‘hanahaki’ is the popular general term for the disease, and most scientists/doctors hate it because it’s generally associated with the ‘romanticized’ version of the disease with the unrequited love and the cure being the confession and the surgery removing love along with the plant nonsense - similar to how tuberculosis was romanticized for making ladies ‘pale and faint’ like it wasn’t a frickin disease

The actual conditions are that 1) you’re genetically susceptible (usually associated with ‘green thumb’ types of people who are really good at talking to plants and helping them grow, 2) you’re trying to ‘box’ your relationships in some way that simplifies or generalizes what love is, and 3) you’ve encountered the Raskovnik spore at some point, so it’s like... actually in your lungs

Basically, the idea is that people produce some kind of particle in their lungs (I don’t have a name for them, so they’re just ‘love particles for now I guess) that’s good for plant growth, and it tends to be produced more when you’re like, lovingly talking to plants or just loving in general (kind of like oxytocin but not really)

Normally the love particle is kind of just made and released as produced, but people who end up metaphorically locking their love away subsequently lock these particles in their lungs - this creates a buildup of the particles in your lungs that Raskovnik then grows off of it

When you’ve resolved your love-boxing issues, the Raskovnik has done its job and ‘unlocked’ your heart, so the particles are exhaled as normal and the plant eventually dies out

The reason why the surgery creates a depressive episode is because it’s not very precise, so taking the Raskovnik roots out of the heart can damage the nodes that produce the love particles - they recover eventually, but until then your body’s kind of just not happy with the imbalance that causes

(If you want a brief snapshot of ‘hanahaki’s’ impression on society, here you go: Viktor reads as far as “her breath is perfumed with the scent of wild roses as she confesses, ‘I hate Valentine's day because it reminds me of my incurable disease and the curse I must suffer,” before he throws his cheap airport romance at the wall.)

Anyways, the actual Yuri on Ice plot

So it starts with the banquet, because duh

But really, when I say ‘start’ I mean, this is the very beginning, because Viktor’s been feeling that ice-skating burnout for a while, so he’s been a little too grey to really remember what it was like to love ice skating. He knows he used to love it, and he knows that he used to remember what love was, but nowadays it's really hard to care

Then the banquet happens, and everything’s champagne-gold bright and warm, because Viktor gets to dance with one Yuuri Katsuki and he feels a bit more alive

Except after that, he’s got radio silence from Yuuri, so he figures it was kind of a one-time thing

He doesn’t actually have the disease at this point, but this is where it starts. This is where his personal fondness for Yuuri starts at least, beyond his professional fascination for his artistry and emotive skating, and this is where he manages to find hope, even despite the radio silence

at this point, the love particle build-up is pretty slight, and he doesn’t actually have the spores in his lung, so there’s a groundwork for it, but no disease

Anyways, that kind of liminal state lasts about as long as it takes for Stammi Vicino a la Yuuri to happen, because well. Canon happens.

Viktor arrives full tilt in Hasetsu and, under the impression that Yuuri actually remembers the banquet, is concerned about Yuuri’s... less than ecstatic response to his arrival

so he figures okay this wasn’t as magical as he’d been hoping, but it’s still better than the utter gray that he was feeling before, and he really does want to help Yuuri reach his full potential.

besides, even if it’s not shaping up to be a fairytale, he’s still thankful that Yuuri gave him that spark anyways, so he can still do this to show his appreciation anyways

so that’s not the problem, the actual problem is when Viktor figures that, since Yuuri’s not really happy with Viktor, he’s going to figure out which version Yuuri would be happiest with and do that

... it doesn’t really mesh well with the ‘don’t box in love’ type of thing for the disease, though to be fair no one really knows that’s an actual condition by this point

Yeah this is when the disease really takes root, both because he’s now fueling the disease a lot more actively with his mentality and because he has the actual spore in his lungs

Viktor tries to hide this. Considering that he’s periodically coughing up Raskovnik leaves and his lung capacity is shrinking, he doesn't hide it very well. He manages something like a week at most

No one in the family buys into the popular ‘unrequieted love’ explanation for Raskovnik, because they know better

Yuuri, in particular, has listened to many of Phichit’s rants about how dumb it is to romanticize a poorly understood disease, because he was there for all the research Phichit had to do for one of his class assignments

Anyways, that goes on for the like, week or so it takes for Yurio to arrive and kick off the whole Onsen on Ice thing

At which point Yuuri’s adorable ‘I want to eat Katsudon with you’ thing happens - it doesn’t quite spark a realization in Viktor, but it’s one of the first steps for him changing his perspective on things

Anyways, the general thing with Onsen on Ice is mostly little bonding snapshots. Yuuri’s... not exactly open but he’s not jumping, screeching, and finding the nearest dark place to hide anymore, while Yurio is kind of failing to aggressively dislike the Katsukis in general, and Yuuri in particular (he follows Yuuri around like the world’s most belligerent kitten, but he’s also very clearly growing attached to everyone). Viktor is getting along well but somewhat tentatively with the other Katsuki’s, considering he’s in a bit of a weird guest-but-also-not-really phase with them

The beach thing from the ending happens - Mari finds some old sprinklers from last summer in storage, and she suggests Yuuri can take the Russians out to the beach and show them how they work (“Yuuri,” Mari says, “they’re Russian they can probably handle a little Japan spring chill”)

Anyways, Onsen on Ice happens and Yuuri wins, so after they eat katsudon in celebration Viktor gives Yuuri the weekend (Fri, Sat, Sun) off

which means less ‘no work’ and more ‘you don’t need to wake up at 6 for warmups anymore, we can keep a lighter schedule and start whenever you wake up’

Yeah, so Yuuri’s been pretty good about waking up at 6 for warmups (or at least about staying up once he’s gotten moving), so Viktor doesn’t actually realize that Yuuri’s a night owl until he gets worried two days later and Yuuri’s still not awake at 10 AM

Viktor’s a morning person

Anyways, this and other little things helps Viktor to see more of Yuuri-the-person rather than Yuuri-the-banquet-dancer. This is important because it helps him to realize (much later) that like... you don’t have to be an idealized version of yourself to be loved. Even if that’s kind of what skating fandom has pushed at Viktor, he’s kind of seeing otherwise - he sees Yuuri as less of his idealized image and falls more in love, and eventually realizes that it probably works the other way around, too

Which leads to the beach talk in episode 4, where Viktor starts chucking different masks at Yuuri and asking which one he wants, and Yuuri says he just wants Viktor to be Viktor

He’s not sure why his heart flutters at Yuuri’s declaration, but it does. It takes Viktor a little while to figure out that he also wants to know who ‘just Viktor’ is

This is the major turning point for Viktor. Yes, we’re not even halfway through the season. Yes this is still the major turning point because this is where Viktor stops using his masks

Not to say he’s cured at this point, because he still has other things he needs to work through, but like this is the peak of the Raskovnik growth - it’s only going to get smaller from here, though there’s some confusion as to why it never quite dies out (that happens shortly after the GPF)

Most of the time between here and the GPF is for like, small things that highlight the slow burn, fall-deeper-in-love YoI goodness, but one of the more relevant things is Viktor starts helping out with the plants in the hot spring

Most relevant are the cherry blossom trees, cuz like... they’re beautiful, but they don’t bloom that long. Normally. Basically, Viktor talks to the tree as he tends to it, mentions offhand that he’d like to see the cherry blossoms again but he’s not sure he’ll still be there by next year, and boom. Cherry blossoms everywhere. In something like the middle of summer. This is because of Viktor’s ‘green thumb’ thing, which subsequently makes him susceptible to the disease

I also imagine that, either after the beach or after the Cup of China, Viktor and Yuuri start sleeping in the same bed at night (and I do mean actual sleeping, though I suppose if you wanted to do otherwise that’d be up to you)

You know the airport scene? It’s beautiful, it’s romantic, Yuuri asks Viktor to coach him until he retires and Viktor says he wishes Yuuri would never retire? Yeah, this is build up to the climax

Because it is exactly everything I described, but also like. Viktor’s been getting better about the *Edna mode voice* ‘no masks’ thing, but that doesn’t mean he’s really completely resolved it. Understandable, considering it’s something like a half a year unlearning that compared to something like ten years of consistently wearing masks for the public and being isolated from even your peers in private, but not great for the disease that feeds off it

So here’s where Viktor accidentally solidifies the thought that he’d be willing to give up everything for Yuuri - even himself. If being Viktor-the-coach is what Yuuri needs, then that’s who he’ll be

This isn’t actually a conscious decision, or like, a rational one, but well. People aren’t always rational, and as they’re nearing the end of the skating year, things are looking a little more muddled. Viktor would like to stay with Yuuri for the rest of his life, but that’s not a certainty like coaching is, and Viktor’s not really used to not having a plan

that being said, I do think Viktor’s a lot more confident in their future together than Yuuri is, because Viktor doesn’t have Yuuri’s anxiety brain - in my mind, Viktor’s natural fears for the future are kind of colliding with Yuuri’s unease (which Viktor isn’t consciously aware of, but is still picking up on)

honestly if you have a better idea 

Anyways, while that’s kind of percolating in the background, episode 10 happens, with all proposals and banquet revelations that entail. Also Viktor accidentally spiking Yuuri’s anxiety with the whole “we'll get married once he wins gold” because like, Viktor meant for it to be something along the lines of ‘I have complete faith in Yuuri’s skill and ability to win’ and uh. Yuuri heard differently.

So Viktor’s talk with Yurio goes here, including the bit of his internal monologue of “If I’d stayed in Russia, Yurio wouldn’t be as motivated and neither would I”, because it’s still very indicative of how he’s grown - his potentially backsliding on some of those lessons doesn’t mean he didn’t learn, and it doesn’t mean he can’t pull himself back up. 

Anyways the GPF short program happens, and Yuuri trips up because he’s unbalanced - he can’t get in the right mindset for his skate, though he’s skilled enough with it that he still does really well - Viktor notes this, but he doesn’t connect it to his whole ‘we’ll get married once he gets gold’ thing until their confrontation that night. 

Also relevant, Viktor’s looking at all these skaters and remembering what he loved so much about competing, and about making his own programs. He’s not thinking about it at this point, but this is what Yuuri sees when he thinks Viktor wants to go back

"Let's end this” happens because of Yuuri’s anxiety brain

Viktor’s all sorts of distressed about this, but one of the biggest things is just... what did Yuuri see that convinced him Viktor wanted to go back? Was there something he missed that Yuuri had seen?

He loves coaching Yuuri, but he loved skating first. Seeing everyone skate so passionately made him remember that viscerally, so that new revelation along with Yuuri’s insistence on not stealing him away from the skating he loves makes him doubt himself 

Look, Viktor barely even knows himself as it is, after ten years of putting on one mask after another - maybe Yuuri really does know him better, he was already the one who told Viktor there was a person to be loved under all the masks (he doesn’t, but also anxiety brain)

Anyways, Viktor and Yuuri end that talk on a... tense note, but with a promise that they’ll both think independently on what they want personally, rather than what they think would work best for their fairly young relationship

The free skate happens, in all it’s beautiful glory, and Viktor realizes what Yuuri wants - Yuuri’s always been a beautiful skater, but he’s been mired down by his doubts and anxieties. This skate is quite literally the best he’s ever done, and Viktor knows Yuuri well enough to know that Yuuri wants to be even better. He hasn’t reached his zenith yet, but he still has the drive to improve, and enough determination that Viktor won’t have to sacrifice his dreams to help Yuuri with his goal

also YUURI WINS GOLD which isn’t so much a Raskovnik thing as it is me still being slightly salty about the ending thing

I’m just saying Yuuri deserved gold and also it would have fit the narrative journey better

(The matter of his dream is a different story)

Okay, here I have two potential endings, depending on how I’m feeling about Yuuri getting the wrong medal in canon

The first one is further from canon, in that Viktor decides wholesale that he doesn’t want to skate competitively. He remembers why he loved it because of the passion everyone (and especially Yuuri) showed, but it's in a nostalgic way. It’s not what he wants anymore, but it’s good to know that he wasn’t imagining it when he thought he used to love skating competitively

The other one is actually my saltier one, because like... you didn’t actually need to steal Yuuri’s gold to have Viktor skating in the next season. Specifically, this ties into the fact that Viktor ended his last season with gold shackles clamped around his throat

it’s... it’s not really the high note that one might want to end a competitive season

It’s also going to be how he ends his career if he doesn’t choose to skate next year

considering that Viktor’s recently recaptured his love for competitive skating, and considering the fact that he only really has this year to try it, he’d like to end on an emotional high note, regardless of how he scores, so he chooses to skate next season as well

Considering how much he’s learned from Yuuri and how much Yuuri’s learned from him, they can both kind of teach each other while also training under Yakov, assuming that doesn’t cause problems

I have to admit, I’m not too clear on skating regulations, except that it seems like there’d be issues regarding the idea of having a competitor also coaching as a massive conflict of interest

In any case, the season basically finishes with Viktor being cured of the disease, since he finally figured out the balance of loving Yuuri without sacrificing himself (and like, there’s nothing wrong with sacrifices for the one you love, but they very much shouldn’t be because you think you’re worth less, or because you don’t value your own joy and happiness)

it takes a few days for the plant to well and truly starve, at which point it dies and Viktor ends up hacking up a bunch of roots along with the Raskovnik ‘petals’

It’s not exactly romantic, but its also the end of the disease, at a very convenient timing because Viktor’s lost a fair amount of lung capacity from it, he’s going to need to train himself back up for the next season (NOT for Worlds, that’s way too soon)

Additional notes

As mentioned before, Phichit has done quite a bit of research and gone on quite a few angry rants about “hanahaki, as it’s wrongly called” - Yuuri ends up introducing him to Phichit through video chat so they can talk about things

I was debating whether or not to have Viktor journaling in the meanwhile, to track his mental state and the state of the disease. If he did the journals, they could be good case study material for in-universe scientists studying Raskovnik, but it might also be extraneous to the story, so who knows

The fact that Yuuri rightfully wins gold means that Yurio doesn’t, which I honestly think fits better for his arc as well - part of the problem for the show is that he’s very much trying to fill in Viktors (and Yuuri’s) skates, and he’s being pushed to skate ‘beautifully’ when it goes against a lot of his nature

that’s not to say he doesn’t like being beautiful, but Yurio is fierce and passionate more than he is beautiful, and that’s the way he likes it (side note, I tend to headcanon Yurio’s theme for the season as ‘passion’ or something similar, due to the juxtaposition of the holy passion of his SP and the firey energy of his FS

Anyways Yurio pushes himself too far, as was foreshadowed for the entire season, and tires out too much to skate his FS perfectly

He still does really well, though, because he managed to skate the way he wanted, in his determination to convince Yuuri to stay (it’s not exactly a game-changer, because he was already going to, but it’s very encouraging for Yuuri nonetheless)

His skate is fiery and elegant and fierce in a way that it hadn’t been before, at least until he tired out - it contrasts pretty distinctly with Vitkor’s skating, which tends more for a more smooth, serene type of elegance, which Viktor and Yuuri both bring up at separate points

This ends up being why Yurio changes up his exhibition - he’s been kind of thinking about this for a while, but he never got the chance to perform as he wanted and well. He’s impatient, so he’s going to take that chance now

And that’s how he ends up mixing brainchild skate ideas with Otabek’s music and their combined teenage fashion skills to make Welcome to the Madness

Despite the fact that Yuuri did, in fact, win gold, the wedding needs to be postponed because the entirety of Hasetsu might actually try to murder them if they’re not at least involved.

also, planning a proper wedding at the same time as multiple skate programs (three to six, depending on your ending of choice) and also a good amount of coaching seems like a really bad idea

So anyway, this entire mess of an AU is brought to you by my brain rebelling against one too many hanahaki AUs, with Yuri on Ice ending up as the inadvertent victim. I have a few things written for this, but not near enough to post in any really coherent form, so I figured I’d release the thing to the wild in this way instead

(If anyone wants to do anything with this, I’d just like credit and a link so I can see your stuff. If you want to use the idea for anything outside of Yuri on Ice, that’s perfectly fine, too)