#Pride Month chain text

[chabothedino]

I sought slutty chain messages for Pride Month. I found them lacking. I made my own. Enjoy.

CALLING ALL EGGPLANT 🍆 GLUCKING DUDES🕺, CLAM 🐚 DIGGING GALS💃, AND GENDER BINARY BASHING BADDIES🚫🚻🤑⚧️ PRIDE MONTH🏳️‍🌈has MOUNTED💦🕳 and ain't leaving til we've all HAD OUR FILL😲💯

Big Daddy 🥺👨 corporations💰have SLICKED🤤up their logos with rainbows🌈 and are THRUSTING‼️them into your news feed🤳📩😩

March🦶your fine ASSES🍑🍑🍑to CHOKE🥴the streets🛣with the fruity🥝🫐🍍and allied✊️✊️✊️mASSES👯

CUNTinue your brick throwing🧱, suckin🍭, and fuckin🙊as the FOUNDING MOMMIES🫡🇺🇸intended❤️🤍💙

TRANSition🏳️‍⚧️to the BEDROOM🛏and SLAY💅🏽the night away🎆⏰️ from the CALIFORNICATORS🏜🥵 to the CONNECTICUMLICKERS🏕👅

LUST🫦joins PRIDE🙌as the TOP🔝 sins🙏we SERVE🫷, and we're RIDING🤠this wave til July🎇🌞CUMS🌊

Send this to🔟of your SWEETEST little SODOMISTS🤭🍑🍌If you get0️⃣back, you have WERK✋️to do! SASHAY AWAY🏃to the doghouse🐶🏚! If you get5️⃣back, you should feel GAY😊because ANYONE could see👀you've been on that GRIND(r)💪and you're straight as a CIRCLE⭕️ If you get🔟back, you're the DOM👑 of the Alphabet Mafia🔫🏳️‍🌈, and all the good little sluts🧎‍♂️🧎‍♀️will line up to kiss💋BOTH your rings😚❤️🩷🧡💛💚💙💜🤎🖤🩶🤍

[tealfruit]

another day another dealing with management scrambling about their own poor decisions and supply chain/budget issues even tho I'm really fucking not paid enough for all that

[memoiresofaneternaldreamer]

Midnight Bloom

Pairing: The Hermit! Seungmin x Dancer! Reader

Themes: Smut | Strangers to ? | Crime Syndicate AU

Wordcount: 5.8K

Playlist: 'Chimera' - HANA

Smut Warnings: Explicit sexual acts - Mutual masturbation - Thigh riding - Use of pet names - Slight degradation - Slight Dom!Seungmin

This story is intended for an adult audience only. Minors do not interact.

Previous chapter: Celestial Sin - The Lovers

The city was supposed to be your golden ticket, a place where dreams were spun into reality. You had arrived with a guitar strapped to your back, a suitcase filled with more hope than money, and the conviction that you would make it. But dreams, you learned, were expensive, and conviction didn’t pay the bills.

For months, you juggled odd jobs—barista, cashier, hostess at a seedy little diner—anything to keep you afloat while chasing auditions and open mic nights. But one by one, those gigs slipped through your fingers. The barista job went when a corporate chain opened next door. The cashier job cut your hours until you couldn’t afford to stay. And the diner? Well, that one ended last night, when your manager decided he could get handsy, and you decided to throw a pot of scalding coffee in his lap.

Your rent was overdue three weeks, and your landlord’s final notice lay on your tiny bedside table like a death sentence. Your phone buzzed beside it, a call from Mina lighting up the screen.

“Tell me you’re not still in bed.”

You groaned, rubbing your eyes. “Mina, it’s barely noon.”

“Exactly. Which means you should be up looking for a job.”

“I am looking for a job,” you lied, staring at the ceiling. “Manifesting one right now.”

Mina snorted. “You manifest a job the way I manifest a boyfriend—poorly.” She hesitated, and you could hear the shift in her tone. “Listen, I might have something for you. It’s… unconventional.”

You sat up, wary. “If you’re about to suggest OnlyFans—”

“Oh, please. You’re too much of a control freak. No, I was thinking something a little different.”

You frowned. “Mina.”

She hesitated. “You know where I work.”

You did. Vaguely. Mina never flaunted it, never dragged you into conversations about it, but you knew she was comfortable, lived well, and never seemed to regret her choices. “The club?”

“The Garden,” she corrected. “And before you say no, just listen. It’s not some sleazy backroom joint. It’s exclusive. Private. Everyone wears masks, even the girls, and no one touches you without permission. The money is insane. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Just dance.”

You ran a hand through your hair, exhausted. “Mina, I don’t even know how to work a pole.”

“You don’t need to. You already dance. You already perform. You’ll pick it up fast.” There was a pause. “Look, I wouldn’t suggest this if I thought it was a bad idea. I know you. You have standards. This place does, too.”

Your stomach twisted. You had always prided yourself on finding another way. On holding onto your pride. But pride didn’t pay rent. Pride didn’t fill your fridge. And you were tired—tired of fighting, tired of struggling, tired of clawing your way through a city that didn’t seem to want you.

“I don’t know…”

“Come on, just meet with the manager. If you hate it, walk away. No pressure.”

Your bank account balance flashed in your mind—$34.76. Your landlord’s final notice wouldn’t manifest itself into rent money. You exhaled sharply.

“Fine. I’ll meet her.”

Mina whooped. “That’s my girl! I’ll text you the details. Wear something cute.”

The Garden wasn’t what you expected. Tucked away in the heart of the city, it looked more like a high-end lounge than a strip club. The entrance was discreet, a sleek black door with a brass plaque etched with the name The Garden in elegant cursive. Inside, the air smelled like vanilla and something darker—something decadent.

A woman met you at the bar. She was dressed in all black, her sharp features unreadable.

“Mina speaks highly of you,” she said, eyes assessing. “You have experience performing?”

You nodded. “I dance. I sing. I’ve done stage work.”

“Pole?”

You hesitated. “Not yet.”

The woman smiled slightly. “You’ll learn.” She motioned for you to follow her further into the club. “The rules are simple. No real names, no personal details. You’ll choose a nymph name—Persephone’s court. We protect our dancers, and you control your performances. You strip as much as you’re comfortable with. No one touches you unless you allow it. If you ever feel unsafe, you walk away.”

It sounded… surreal. You expected something grimier, something desperate. But this? This was control. This was money. This was a way out.

“What’s my name?” you asked, pulse thrumming as the manager handed you a purple mask.

The woman smiled. “Ianthe.”

And just like that, you became someone new.

The first official night was a blur of nerves and adrenaline. You weren’t the best, not yet, but you knew how to move, how to hold an audience’s attention. The pole was foreign, but the music was not. You kept your boundaries, stripping only as far as you were comfortable, and to your surprise, no one pushed. The customers were eager but controlled, appreciative rather than entitled. When the night ended, you had more money than you had seen in months.

It was supposed to be just one night.

But one night turned into another.

And another.

You never expected to enjoy it. But in a way, you did. The thrill of performance, the anonymity of the mask, the way the world blurred into a haze of music and movement. The money was good—more than good. For the first time in a long time, you weren’t drowning.

You fell into the rhythm of The Garden quicker than you had expected.

What had begun as a desperate solution had become something familiar, something steady. Your schedule was set, your performances fluid, your movements more confident with each passing night. You moved through its velvet-lined corridors like you belonged, like you had always belonged. The dancers—Callisto, Thalia, Eurydice—had welcomed you in their own ways, offering tips and knowing glances. Customers came and went—some lingering longer than others—but all of them knew the rules. The Garden wasn’t a place for sloppy, drunken hands or crude demands. It was a playground for the wealthy, a sanctuary for indulgence and restraint intertwined.

And they watched you.

Some were expected—the older men in tailored suits, businessmen looking for a distraction with wallets fat enough to demand attention, lonely men with too much time and not enough warmth, younger ones pretending to be older, and older ones pretending to be young.

But one customer stood out.

You noticed him the first time by accident. You had been performing, body swaying to the slow, sultry beat of the music, when you felt it—the weight of an unwavering gaze. It was nothing new; you were used to being observed, scrutinized even. But this was different. His stare wasn’t leering, nor was it detached like those who watched simply because you were there. His focus was precise, deliberate. It sent a shiver down your spine.

But when you finished and made your usual rounds through the club, he was nowhere to be found.

You lingered longer than necessary, greeting patrons, and taking your time with the regulars who had learned to appreciate your boundaries. There was the IT mogul, a silver-haired gentleman who tipped generously and never asked for more than conversation. Then there was the Parisian, a man in his fifties who liked to pretend he was much younger, always eager for a private dance but respectful enough never to push. You indulged them, letting their hands rest on yours, laughing at their harmless flirtations, all while keeping an eye out for the man who had been watching you.

But he was gone.

Mina caught on quickly. She always did.

“You’ve got yourself a mystery man,” Mina’s voice cut through your thoughts as you lounged backstage, sipping water between sets. She perched beside you, looking effortlessly radiant in her barely-there ensemble, her mask pushed up to rest on her forehead for a moment.

You rolled your eyes. “He’s just another customer.”

“Oh, please,” Mina smirked, eyes glinting with amusement. “I’ve been here long enough to know the difference between a casual customer and whatever the hell he is.”

You rolled your eyes, but her words stuck with you.

She leaned in closer. “You know the manager knows him, right?”

That made you pause. “What?”

“They never talk much, but she acknowledges him. Which means he’s important. Rich, maybe. Maybe he owns the whole damn place.” Mina nudged you playfully. “Wouldn’t that be something? Our little Ianthe catching the eye of The Garden’s owner.”

You laughed softly at the idea, shaking your head. “You’ve been watching too many dramas.”

Mina winked before slipping off her stool and grinning. “Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that, Ianthe.”

The rhythm of the club became routine. Nights blurred together in a swirl of music, silk, and whispered propositions. The money flowed easily, and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t have to worry about rent, food, surviving. You weren’t just keeping your head above water—you were swimming.

And then, one night, everything changed.

You had just finished a set, the heat of the stage lights still clinging to your skin, when the manager approached you. Her gaze was unreadable, her posture relaxed but firm.

“A guest has requested a private room,” she said. “He specifically asked for you.”

You barely blinked. You had been requested before—it was nothing new. Some men preferred to watch, others preferred more direct entertainment. It was part of the job.

Still, something prickled at your skin, a whisper of anticipation curling in your stomach. “Which guest?”

She didn’t answer; she just tilted her head toward the hallway that led to the private rooms.

You took a breath and followed.

As you made your way through the dimly lit hallway, the hush of the main floor faded behind you. The private rooms were different—smaller, more intimate. A single platform with a pole for dancers stood in the centre, plush seating arranged around it in a way that made it feel personal rather than transactional.

You stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind you.

And then, you saw him.

The stranger from the shadows, now sitting comfortably on one of the benches surrounding the lone pole at the center of the room. His suit was dark, his posture relaxed, but his eyes—those same intense eyes that had watched you for weeks—followed your every move.

You hesitated, just for a moment, before stepping forward, keeping your mask securely in place.

“I suppose I should be flattered,” you said lightly, letting your fingers skim along the length of your torso. “I was wondering if you’d ever request me.”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he watched you, his gaze never faltering. Then, finally—

“I wanted to see you up close.”

It was an expected answer, but something about the way he said it made your breath catch. Not crude. Not demanding. Just... certain. His voice was smooth, low but not imposing. A beat of silence stretched between you. He made no move to touch you, no move to beckon you closer, and yet his presence was magnetic. His aura wasn’t suffocating or lecherous like some of the others—it was controlled, powerful in a way you couldn’t quite place.

You stepped onto the platform, the cool metal of the pole grounding you. The music started, slow and rhythmic, and you let yourself move—not just to entice, but to feel. You had grown used to how men watched you, but this was different. He wasn’t just watching your body—he was watching you.

Between movements, you dared to meet his gaze. “What should I call you?”

His lips curled into the ghost of a smirk. “I think the better question is—what should I call you?”

“Ianthe.” Even though you were used to it by now, uttering it out loud still felt foreign all the same—a persona that wasn’t quite you but close enough.

He nodded slowly. “Ianthe.”

Your pulse quickened. It was how he said your stage name, slowly, like he was savouring it, rolling it over his tongue to see how it felt. Your mask shielded you, but somehow, you felt exposed under his stare.

The dance continued, the space between you thick with something unspoken.

By the time the music slowed to a stop, you were breathless—not just from the performance, but from the weight of his attention. You met his gaze again, trying to decipher the quiet storm behind his eyes.

“I suppose I’ll be seeing more of you,” you mused as you stepped down from the platform.

His smirk deepened just slightly. “Perhaps.”

And just like that, you knew—this was only the beginning.

Something shifts after that first private performance.

The stranger still keeps his distance on the public floor. He remains in the shadows, watching you with that same quiet intensity, and he still disappears the moment your performances end. But now, he calls for you—again and again.

Private room. Your name. No substitutions.

At first, you try to ignore the way your stomach twists when the request comes in and try to treat him like any other customer. But he isn’t like the others. His attention is too sharp, too measured. He doesn’t gawk, doesn’t leer. He watches as if he’s learning something about you with every movement, every note in your voice.

And despite your best efforts, your walls begin to crack.

The first few private dances are much like the first. He stays seated, his posture always composed, his eyes always on you. He doesn’t touch, doesn’t speak unless you do first. But when he does, it’s with that low, steady voice that makes the air between you feel heavier than it should.

“You’re different when you dance.”

You circle the pole, dragging your fingers along the cool metal, letting the tension coil in your body as you sway. “That’s the point, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” There’s no amusement in his voice, just curiosity, like he genuinely wants to know. “Are you pretending?”

You pause mid-turn, catching his gaze through your mask. “Aren’t we all?”

Something flickers in his expression, something you can’t quite name. You don’t wait for him to respond—you move again, rolling your hips to the slow beat, letting the music wrap around you.

But the more time you spend in these private rooms with him, the more you find yourself slipping. You reveal more—not just with your body when you finally bare your breasts to him, but with your words. He asks small, precise questions, and somehow, you answer them.

“How long have you been in the city?”

“Two years.”

“Why stay?”

“Because I have to.”

He never asks for more than you’re willing to give. But still, you give.

And then, one night, you finally learn his name.

There was something about the way he watched you, something that made you feel like you weren’t just another performer. Like he saw something more than just a body swaying to the music.

“What should I call you?” you asked one night, mid-performance, emboldened by how he had begun to lean forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

His lips quirked into a barely-there smile. “You tell me, Ianthe.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He exhaled, a quiet amusement threading through his expression. “Seungmin.”

The name settles between you like a secret. You repeat it, soft but deliberate. “Seungmin.”

For the first time, his lips curve—just barely. But it’s there.

Mina notices the shift before you do.

She corners you in the dressing room one night, her arms crossed, an unreadable expression on her face.

“You’re different.”

You scoff, adjusting the ties on your lingerie. “I’m making good money. Maybe I’m just happier.”

“It’s not that.” Mina steps closer, her voice dropping. “It’s him.”

You roll your eyes. “Mina—”

“I’m serious.” She softens, reaching out to lace her fingers through yours. “I know you, babe. I know how you keep your distance. But you’re letting him in.”

You glance at her, searching for the right words. She isn’t wrong. You just don’t know what to do about it.

“I know what I’m doing,” you say finally, squeezing her hand before pulling away. “It’s just business.”

Mina doesn’t look convinced. But she doesn’t push. Not yet.

She does push a few nights later.

Mina is heading out of a private room when she passes by yours. You’re not inside yet; still due on stage in a few minutes. But the door is slightly ajar, and she hears voices.

She stops, just for a moment, and listens.

“…profits are steady.” The voice is female—your manager.

“Good. I want the reports by the end of the week.” Seungmin.

Mina’s brows furrow, but she stays still.

“Vendors have been settled, but the new shipment is delayed. It should arrive soon.” your manager continues. “Mostly thanks to certain… interventions from The Hermit.”

There’s a pause before Seungmin replies. “Good.”

Mina strains to hear more as she tenses, but the noise outside drowns out their conversation. Still, she’s heard enough. The Syndicate owns the Garden. She had always known this place was backed by powerful figures, but hearing it confirmed like this sent a shiver down her spine. Not only that, but now she knows that Seungmin isn’t just another customer. He’s connected somehow.

And she doesn’t like it.

She keeps this information to herself for the next few days, watching you closely from the shadows. You seem lighter, more at ease when Seungmin is around, but she sees the way he affects you, the way you hesitate when his name comes up, the way you search for him in the crowd. And she doesn’t like that either.

So when another request comes in—another private dance, another night in that secluded room—Mina pulls you into a darkened corner right before you can go in.

“Listen,” she whispers, urgency laced in her voice. “I need to tell you something.”

You sigh, adjusting your mask. “Mina, I—”

“It’s about him.” She grips your arm, eyes glancing at the door before forcing your gaze to meet hers. “He’s not just some guy, okay? I heard him talking to the manager a couple of days ago. He knows things—things about the club. About the business. About The Syndicate.”

You blink, thrown off by the seriousness in her tone. “What are you saying?”

“I don’t know yet. But I don’t trust it.” She exhales sharply. “And I don’t think you should either.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the call comes—your name over the speakers, signalling your time is up.

You hesitate, just for a second. Then, you pull away from Mina’s grip and shake your head. “I have to go.”

She looks like she wants to stop you, to say more, but she doesn’t.

And so you go—to him.

To Seungmin.

But you should have known the shadows don't keep secrets for long.

The moment you step into the private room, your eyes land on him immediately.

Seungmin.

He greets you with nothing but a look—intense, unreadable, but something about it is different tonight. There’s a tension rolling over his shoulders, something tight coiled beneath his usual composed demeanour. To anyone else, he might look the same as always: relaxed, leaning into the plush seating, his posture giving nothing away. But you’ve learned to read him, to decipher the smallest changes. The slight shift of his fingers as they drum against the seat cushion. The way his jaw clenches, just briefly, before smoothing over again.

Something is off.

You try to ground yourself, to ignore the sudden weight pressing into your chest, the whisper of danger suddenly stifling the air.

The music starts, a slow, intoxicating melody that seeps into your skin, pulling you back to the performance. This is where you excel, where you thrive. The weight of the outside world, of unspoken words and lingering questions, fades as you let your body take over.

Seungmin watches you like he always does, but tonight, his gaze is heavier, sharper. It burns against your skin, branding you in ways that make your breath hitch. You twirl around the pole, your hands gliding along your own body, teasing both yourself and him.

“You’re distracted.” His voice cuts through the haze, the deep timbre curling around you.

You blink, not missing a beat in your movements, though for a fraction of a second, your balance wavers. “Am I?”

He tilts his head slightly, his dark eyes unwavering. “You are.”

You don’t know how he does it—how he always manages to read you so easily when you can barely read him at all. You force a soft smile, letting your fingers trail down your thighs as you move, shaking Mina’s words from your head. “I’m just tired.”

His lips curve just a little, but it isn’t in amusement. “You expect me to believe that?”

You meet his gaze then, something defiant sparking in your chest. “Does it matter?”

A quiet pause. Then, “No.” But the way he says it—low, almost thoughtful—tells you that’s a lie.

You exhale shakily as the moment stretches between you, thick and heavy. You let yourself sink into the music again, forcing everything else to the back of your mind. If Seungmin is tied to The Garden, if he is something more than just a customer, then what does it really matter? You don’t have answers yet and won’t ask for them either. Because if there’s one thing you’ve learned, it’s that Seungmin will only reveal what he wants to, when he wants to.

And right now, it seems he wants something else entirely.

As your fingers tease the clasp of your bra, letting the delicate fabric slip from your shoulders, you catch it. The hard bulge pressing against the front of his pants.

Heat floods through you.

You’re not naïve—You’ve always known he finds you attractive—he wouldn’t be here otherwise—but Seungmin is a man of control, a master at hiding his impulses. Yet tonight, something is different.

He isn’t hiding it.

Or maybe, he doesn’t want to.

Something in you shifts. The power you feel at this discovery is intoxicating. Your own desire has never been in question—you’ve left this room more than once with damp panties and restless frustration. But this? This feels different. It feels like an opportunity.

So you test it.

Your movements become slower, more deliberate. You let your hands ghost over your breasts, your fingers grazing your sensitive nipples as your hips roll with precision. You take your time, watching his every reaction, every flicker of his expression. And there it is again—the tightening of his jaw, the faintest twitch of his fingers resting on his thigh.

Not enough.

You want more.

And so, emboldened by your own rising desire, you do something you’ve never done before. Not for anyone.

Turning your back to him, you hook your thumbs under the thin straps of your panties and, with an agonizing slowness, you slide them down your legs. You bend, giving him an unobstructed view of your bare, glistening core, knowing precisely what he’s seeing.

The hitch in his breath is unrestrained. Uncontrolled.

Got him.

A slow, victorious smile curves your lips as you straighten, turning to face him. He’s still composed—just barely—but the shift is undeniable. His control is slipping. His hand has moved, no longer resting idly on his leg. Now, it’s in his lap, palming his hardened cock over his tailored slacks.

His eyes are darker, pupils blown wide, fixed on you like you’re something dangerous. Like you’re something he wants.

The space between you is charged, buzzing with an unspoken challenge. You step off the platform, moving towards him, completely bare now, feeling more powerful than ever before.

His fingers twitch as he squeezes again, and you almost expect him to stop you. But he doesn’t.

So you push further.

Straddling his lap, you settle yourself over him, close enough that you can feel the heat from his crotch against your bare skin.

You lean in, your lips close to his ear. “What do you want from me, Seungmin?”

His fingers grab hold of your hips in response. He doesn’t answer immediately, his breath warm against your naked shoulder. When he finally speaks, his voice is lower than before, rougher, laced with something dangerous and wanting all at once.

“Are you sure you want to know?”

The words send a thrill through you, igniting something deep in your core. There’s no doubt now—no second-guessing. Whatever has been building between you both has reached a point of no return.

Your breathless “Yes” barely leaves your lips before Seungmin is on you.

His mouth crashes against yours in a kiss so deep, so consuming, it knocks every lingering thought from your head. It’s bruising, raw, his lips parting yours with ease as his tongue sweeps against yours, pulling you deeper into him. His hands grip your hips tightly, fingers digging in as he drags you closer, pressing your bare body against his fully clothed frame. The contrast is dizzying—the warmth of his body seeping through the fabric, the friction setting every inch of your skin ablaze.

You fist his hair, tugging just enough to earn a low groan from him, the sound vibrating against your lips. Your other hand clutches his shoulder, feeling the flex of muscle beneath his suit, the sheer power coiled beneath his perfect composure.

Your hips move instinctively, grinding against him, desperate for friction. You don’t even realize how lost you are in the moment until Seungmin suddenly shifts, adjusting your position with ease. A moment later, you’re no longer straddling his lap, but perched on just one of his thighs instead.

The new position sends a shock of heat through you, and you gasp against his lips at the sudden pressure of his tight muscle against your aching clit. Seungmin pulls back from the kiss slightly, his breath hot against your mouth as he murmurs, “Ride my thigh, doll.”

Your stomach tightens at the command, the heat pooling within your core. You swallow hard, but something keeps you still—a hesitation that isn’t like you. Seungmin notices immediately. Of course, he does.

His fingers flex against your waist, firm but coaxing. “Don’t make me repeat it.” There’s a teasing lilt in his tone, but beneath it, something darker—a threat.

Your breath hitches. Slowly, hesitantly, you start to move.

The first slow drag of your slick folds against his pants makes your breath catch in your throat. The friction against your clit is sharp, teasing, just enough to make you whimper softly. Seungmin exhales sharply, his grip tightening.

“That’s it, doll.” His voice is low, almost reverent. “Look at you. Already making a mess of me.”

You shudder, but you don’t stop.

Your movements become bolder, each grind more desperate, chasing the pleasure coiling tighter inside you. The fabric of his trousers beneath your pussy is damp now, soaked with your arousal, and when you roll your hips particularly hard, Seungmin lets out a quiet, satisfied hum.

“Fuck,” he groans, his hands squeezing your hips as he watches you move. “So fucking wet, doll. You feel that?”

You nod, biting your lip. You feel everything—the heat of his thigh between your legs, the way his pants are now sticking to his skin from your slick, the way every grind makes your clit throb harder.

You’re unravelling. And the worst part is that he knows it.

His voice drops lower, rough and teasing. “You’re soaked. Desperate little thing, aren’t you?”

You let out a choked moan, your thighs clenching around him. Seungmin smirks, his fingers guiding your movements, making you grind down harder. But it’s not enough.

You slow your pace, meeting his gaze through heavy lashes. “Take it out. Please.”

His jaw flexes at your request, something dark flickering in his eyes, but then he moves. His hands leave your hips, undoing his belt, his fingers working with practised ease. The sound of his zipper lowering fills the thick silence before he finally reaches in, pulling himself free.

Your breath hitches in your throat at the view.

Seungmin’s cock is thick, flushed, the tip already glistening with the first drops of precum. He wraps his hand around himself and strokes once, twice, his breath growing uneven as his gaze stays locked on yours.

“Keep going,” he murmurs. “I want to see you come like this.”

You obey.

Rolling your hips, you find your rhythm again, your slick folds dragging against his thigh as he watches you with hooded eyes. The sight of him stroking himself, matching your movements, sends another rush of arousal through you. His hand tightens around his cock, and he groans low in his throat.

The pace builds. You move faster, rocking against him, gasping as pleasure sparks through every nerve. Seungmin grips your waist again with his free hand, his fingers pressing bruises into your skin. “That’s it, doll. Fuck yourself on me.”

Your whimper is near desperate now. Every grind drags you closer, the pressure unbearable. And then, his voice, dark and commanding— “Touch yourself.”

A shiver runs down your spine, but you obey again, slipping a hand between your legs. The second your fingers find your clit, you cry out, pleasure slamming into you like a tidal wave.

“Fuck—”

Seungmin’s groan is wrecked, his strokes turning rougher as he watches you fall apart. “That’s my girl.”

You’re spiralling now, grinding against him with reckless desperation, your fingers circling your clit, the pleasure cresting higher, higher—until finally, it snaps.

A strangled moan rips from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you. Your body trembles, thighs shaking as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you. Seungmin watches every second of it, his gaze dark and hungry as you come apart on top of him.

Through the haze, you hear him curse, his grip on his cock tightening. His strokes turn erratic, his breathing ragged. Then, with a sharp inhale, his jaw clenches, and his body goes rigid.

“Fuck,” he groans, his head tipping back as his release spills over his fingers.

Your body is still humming, the remnants of pleasure leaving you heavy-limbed and breathless. Seungmin exhales deeply, his head tilted back against the couch, his fingers still curled loosely around his softening length, streaked with his own release. Then, with practised ease, he tucks himself back into his pants, the quiet sound of his zipper breaking the silence between you.

You blink slowly, reality creeping back in as you shift, your legs weak as you carefully move off his lap. His warmth leaves you too quickly, making you feel bare, vulnerable. You settle beside him on the couch, wrapping your arms around yourself, watching him as he adjusts his clothes.

Now. Now would be the time to ask.

You hesitate before speaking, your voice softer than you mean it to be. “Seungmin.”

He doesn’t immediately respond, straightening his cuffs, his expression unreadable. But you see it—the small flicker in his eyes that tells you he knows what’s coming.

You tread carefully. “Can I ask you something?”

This time, his gaze finally meets yours. It’s softer now, the sharpness from before mellowed, but there’s something distant in the way he looks at you. “You can ask.”

You chew on your bottom lip for a moment before speaking again. “What do you do outside of this?” Your tone is light, casual, but intentional. “I don’t see you with the other dancers. You don’t act like other clients. You don’t even look at anyone but me.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he shifts forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely together. “You’re not asking what I do,” he muses, voice low. “You’re asking who I am.”

A beat of silence. Then—“Maybe.”

His lips twitch, almost like he wants to smirk, but it doesn’t quite happen. “And if I told you I’m just a man who enjoys watching you?”

You exhale, rolling your eyes slightly. “I’d say that’s bullshit.”

He chuckles, but it’s quiet, brief. “Would you?”

“Yes.” You shift slightly, watching him. “I know when someone is lying to me.”

Seungmin hums, tilting his head as he finally looks at you again. The air between you is charged, but not as it was before. There’s something unspoken hanging there, something he’s waiting for you to let go of.

You hesitate, then try again. “Mina told me something today.”

At that, his jaw tightens—so subtly you almost miss it.

Bingo.

“She’s worried about me,” you continue, watching him closely. “She thinks you might be someone I should be careful around.”

Seungmin doesn’t react at first. He breathes, slow and steady, as if weighing his words carefully. Then, finally, he straightens, standing from the couch.

The shift in his demeanour is subtle but noticeable. Where there was warmth, there is now a cool distance. Not cold—not regretful—but something else entirely. Something like a retreat.

You watch as he adjusts his jacket, his expression calm, unruffled. The same Seungmin you always see. The one who never gives away more than he wants to. The one you can never quite pin down. The enigma.

“You should listen to her,” he says finally, his voice quieter now. “Mina is a good friend.”

Your stomach tightens. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I’m giving.”

There it is. The wall. The carefully constructed barrier he’s so skilled at building between himself and the rest of the world.

You don’t push. You could—you could demand, press further, chase the truth he so obviously doesn’t want to give. But something tells you that if you do, he’ll disappear entirely.

So you let it go. For now.

Seungmin watches you for a moment longer before stepping closer. You don’t move as he leans in, his lips pressing softly against your forehead. It’s gentle, intimate in a way that somehow holds more weight than the heat you shared moments ago.

When he pulls back, his gaze is unreadable again, but his voice is warm. “I’ll see you again soon, doll.”

And just like that, he turns, heading for the door. You watch him leave, something twisting deep in your chest as the door clicks shut behind him.

The silence is deafening.

You exhale, running a hand through your hair as you finally move to your feet. The events of the last hour settle over you like a weight, leaving you dizzy, uncertain. You should be getting dressed, but your mind is elsewhere, your thoughts too tangled to focus.

Then—something catches your eye.

Something small, matte black, tucked into the crease of the couch where Seungmin had been sitting.

Frowning, you reach for it, fingers brushing against the sleek surface. When you turn it over, your breath catches.

A tarot card.

The gold lettering gleams under the dim lighting, the illustration strikingly familiar.

The Hermit.

Realization slams into you like a forceful wave, knocking the breath from your lungs.

You stare at the card, your heart pounding, your grip tightening around it as everything clicks into place.

Seungmin hadn’t dodged your questions.

He had answered them.

A/N: Soooooo, chapter 5 of The Syndicate is officially finished. What did y'all think of it? I tried to emulate Seungmin as The Hermit as well as I could, and hope some questions have been answered. 💟

Send me your thoughts - feedback/fangirling is always welcome.

taglist: @hanjisungs-bitch66 - @smartie-pants - @inniesfanblog - @skzittomebabyuhhuhx3 - @skzthelomlhehe - @tirena1 - @sp4ceboo - @hanniebunch

(Collage created by me. Credits to owners of the pictures taken from Pinterest)

[hotchfiles]

we've got no worries in the world,

aaron hotchner x gn!reader

drabble // 357 words // angst // cw: breakup fic basically, but it's more bittersweet.

It’s too cold and too late to be doing this, his hands find little warmth inside the pockets of his coat but at least his heart finds some peace when he spots you barely swinging in the playground, clearly not made to fit you.

That’s the place he met you months before, tears streaming down your face as Jack delightfully built sandcastles in the sandbox. He didn’t want to intrude and Aaron isn’t usually inconvenient, but as bad as it could sound, he felt too bad seeing someone so beautiful crying alone. He sat by your side and you two talked, he even made you laugh (he took pride in that).

He wouldn’t be able to make you laugh tonight, he was sure of it before he even sat at the known swing, his legs and arms squished and uncomfortable, but not much worse than what Aaron knew was about to come.

It’s what always comes after some time, and he tries, he tries to be present and to come home earlier and to charge his phone to reply to your texts, and he knows, he knows how much it hurts you because you understand, you do, the job is too important, it comes first in action even if it doesn’t in his heart.

It hurts him too, because he loves you and he feels carefree with you, weightless, happy. But none of that matters if soon enough he’ll forget an important dinner, or he will be four states away when you get promoted.

And you’ll be here, alone at night, crying in the playground he met you at.

“Thought I would find you here.” He finally breaks the silence and you smile. To be loved is to be known, too bad sometimes that isn’t enough.

“Things feel less real here, less…” Huge. Impactful. Life changing. You don’t have to finish your sentence, Aaron knows all about that already.

“We can just be here for a while then, before…” Before it’s over, before it ends. You nod, a loud sniff escapes you and he pulls you closer by the swing’s chains, side hugging you awkwardly but lovingly.

[howdeepthegrave]

Agathario AU where Wanda, Alice, and Lilia learn on a rather drunken Girls' Night that Agatha has not gotten laid in nearly a decade (the last time was four years before she had Nicky.) The crew make it their personal mission to get her into bed with someone within the next six months.

"Or what?" Agatha asks when they tell her. "I'll explode or something?"

"Well, getting laid might take down some of your bitchness a notch or two," Alice says.

"I'm not bitchy. I'm a perfectionist."

"Agatha, you once threatened to flatten a traffic cop for looking at you as you crossed the street."

"ACAB, Alice."

"Hey, I was..."

"You were a cop once, yes, I know. But you left the force, thus reducing your bastardy by at least 0.8%. Anyway, when was the last time any of you got laid?"

"Jen and I went a little wild last weekend," Alice says.

"Vision and I are in counseling, okay?" Wanda grouses.

"Michfest 1982," Lilia says, "but of course Lorna and I were really only friends with benefits by then."

Alice audibly gags.

"You slept with my mom?"

"Alice, dear, your mother and I were in a committed relationship for a decade."

"So, after this evening of exciting revelations," Agatha declares, "I think we can all agree that there are others in this world who need to get laid far more than I do."

A week later Agatha, having acknowledged that she kind of is lonely, having not even gone on a date since Nicky was two, agrees to let Alice set her up on a blind date with someone Alice knew in college. The night arrives, a sitter is procured for Nicky, and Alice's old friend arrives to take Agatha out to dinner.

"Hey, I'm Rio Vidal. You Agatha?"

"I am," Agatha manages.

The person at her door is gorgeous, and she's actually a little afraid she might explode if they even seem inclined to kiss her, let alone take her to bed.

The date goes well: an excellent meal, a lot of good conversation. Rio is a restauranteur, which Agatha finds fascinating.

"Nothing so fancy as this place, though," Rio says. "Just a couple of pizza places. Non-chain."

"Oh, well, Nicky and I do love pizza."

"Nicky. That your little boy? Alice said you have a kid."

"Mm-hmm. My pride and joy."

Rio smiles at that, and Agatha feels her heart almost melt at the sight.

At the end of the night, Rio takes Agatha home and walks her to the door.

"This was good, I think. Can I see you again some time, Agatha?"

"Uh, well, sure. I had a really great time."

She's sort of wondering if maybe Rio will kiss her or something, but all she gets is what she thinks will be simply a handshake...

Until Rio lifts Agatha's hand to her lips and kisses the back of it softly.

"I'll call you, Agatha. Te veo."

They end up going out to a folk music concert in the park the very next weekend. It's fun, and when Agatha is shivering at one point near the end of the evening, Rio offers up her jacket.

"Can't have a beautiful woman like you freezing."

That night, Rio does kiss Agatha good night, and it's a good one. Long and soft and warm and... Well, Agatha has some dreams that night which go way beyond kissing.

Three months in, they're properly dating, as far as Agatha is concerned, and she's very happy about it. Rio is kind, considerate, funny, and very sweet. She almost always brings Agatha flowers, and she goes out of her way on all of their dates to make certain Agatha is comfortable and having the best possible time.

Then, one day, Rio stops answering Agatha's texts and calls. At first she figures things are busy in the restaurant game. She would go ask Alice if anything's up, but Alice's band is touring the west coast for three months and communication on that end has been spotty as well. After a month and a half, Agatha figures maybe Rio got tired of her and decided to ghost her, and she moves on.

Another month after that, it's just a quiet Friday night at home for Agatha and Nicky when there's a knock at the door. When she answers, who should Agatha see but Rio.

"I... I'm sorry I haven't been in touch," she says. "There's been a lot of family stuff. I had to be down in Puerto Rico a while and take care of things, and at first I was too busy to really get back to your texts and stuff, and then I figured you would be pissed I had gone silent and..."

Rio trails off, and Agatha notices that she looks worn down and tired.

"I... I thought you might just be busy or something. Would you like to come in? I was about to make dinner."

"I don't wanna disturb you."

"It's fine. C'mon, you look like you need to sit down for a while."

So Rio comes in, and Agatha introduces her to Nicky.

"This is my friend Rio. Rio, this is Nicky."

And Nicky instantly does that thing a lot of little kids do.

"Hi! Would you like to see my toys?"

Rio looks sort of nervous, but Agatha goes with them and stands in the doorway of Nicky's room while he shows Rio all of his stuff, and right away Rio seems really relaxed. She's acting genuinely interested in everything Nicky says, and she doesn't talk down to him like many adults do with small children. After a while, Nicky goes over to Agatha again.

"Mama, can Rio watch TV with me while you make dinner?"

"If she wants to, sweetheart."

"I like television," Rio shrugs.

So Agatha makes dinner, and when she goes to tell Nicky to wash his hands, she sees that Rio has fallen asleep sitting in the big armchair.

"Rio. Rio, are you hungry?"

"What? I... Oh. Oh, I'm... I'm sorry I fell asleep."

"It's okay. Would you like to have dinner, or do you need to rest a little longer?"

"I'm sorry, I'll go, I..."

"Hush. Here, why don't you stretch out on the sofa?"

Agatha goes and gets a spare pillow and a blanket and gets Rio settled on the sofa. Later on, just after Nicky goes to bed, Agatha is washing the dishes when Rio wanders into the kitchen, the blanket around her shoulders.

"Hungry?" Agatha asks.

"Starving."

Agatha warms up some of the leftovers and Rio sits and eats while Agatha finishes cleaning up.

"You feel better after your nap?"

"Yes," Rio says, "thank you. And again, I'm really sorry..."

"Don't be. You clearly needed it."

After Rio eats, she insists on washing the plate and utensils she used herself, and she starts to say she needs to leave, but Agatha is still worried.

"Stay the night. Just so I know you're not out driving tired in the night."

So Rio spends the night on the couch, and she has breakfast with Agatha and Nicky in the morning, then heads out. She calls Agatha that night and thanks her for being so kind, then asks if maybe they can go on another date in a few weeks.

"I'd like that, but don't rush yourself."

"It's no rush. I know I'll feel better if I can get back to spending time with you."

Their next date is actually taking Nicky to a carnival. Well, Agatha takes Nicky to the carnival, and they run in to Rio, who was about to leave after going there with friends who already left. Instead Rio stays and spends the afternoon with them. Three days later Agatha and Rio have another official date, and when they get back to Agatha's, Rio ends up spending the night in a more romantic way. It is glorious and soft and amazing.

They go on dating for three years before Agatha's friends start bugging her about "reeling in the big fish." Agatha ignores them, because the relationship is what it is, and it's wonderful. She would love for things to progress to perhaps marriage, he's not sure how Rio would feel about that. They've sort of avoided the topic, just because it felt rushy to both of them.

Finally one night, they're doing the dishes together after dinner at Agatha's, and Rio just casually reaches over and places something on the little ring holder that sits on the inner ledge of the kitchen window. Agatha looks and sees this gorgeous ring, a diamond surrounded by little amethysts.

"What's that?" she asks.

"It's yours," Rio says, "if you want it."

"Are you... Proposing?"

"Not if you don't want me to. Do you want me to, Agatha?"

And Agatha realizes she does want it. She's so deep in love with Rio, and Rio is so good to her, so sweet with Nicky. And Rio proposes to her right there at the kitchen sink. When they get married six months later, Alice takes all the credit.

[these-posts-arent-real]

I'm ✨️completely fucking exhausted✨️ but decided I needed to do something for pride month anyway, so... take it. Take it and feast.

#:,) #im.so tired

20 notes

🐍 xviper-the-fagx

HAPPY PRIDE MOON!

WAAHOOOOOO!!!!

#pride #pride moon

12 notes

🪺 robbbinpaw Follow

Since it's that time of year (pride moon <3 the second moon of greenleaf is my favorite for a reason...) my brother and I decided to make a bisexual colors flower chain... which reminded me, I've never officially come out, have I?

Well, there you have it. My brother (left) and I (right) found out we were bisexual at about the same time. I'm glad I live in a safe environment where I get to share that part of myself with all of my friends and my family.

#pride #pride moon #bisexual #queer #bi pride

40 notes

🌠 nightshade-tast3s-yummy Follow

>:3 so excited for pride moon, aka the one time I get to make all of my friends and family be extra nice to me because i'm intersex and therefore deserving of much love and appreciation for being queer.

🦋 lalala-bluegaze Follow

Intersex isn't lgbt... intersex is a physical deformity. I hate when cats say things like this and just completely ignore the real implications... like, you don't get to be lgbt just because your body is fucked up

🌠 nightshade-tast3s-yummy Follow

Anyway, intersex is queer no matter what exclusionists say !! What do you think the "i" in "lgbtqia+" standa for?

To my intersex followers, I <3 you and we are all sharing tongues in a queer little circle.

#i just blocked her fyi #i advise my followers to do the same #idiots get blocked #intersex

3,073 notes

🌻 l1llyst3m Follow

In honor of pride, I took some selfies with the trans flag painted on with crushed flowers and herbs! ^^

🌻 l1llyst3m Follow

Since posting this, I have recieved multiple asks stating that they would have known I was trans even if I didn't say because I don't pass very well/my face shape is too tom-like? I have also recieved several asks accusing me of faking being trans because I look too feminine and "calicos can't be amab" (I'm a chimera, fucking mouse-brains).

So yeah. Transphobes really will just say anything.

#trans #transfem #trans she-cat #trans issues #transgender

234 notes

🥬 rxttencatmint

So, it's pride moon... and I'm unable to be out to almost anyone irl except my mentor. And. It sucks. I hate not being able to be loud and proud like I feel like I'm supposed to be... but I'm looking forward to a time when I'll be able to. Someday.

#transgender #trans #pride moon #queer pride #pride

3 notes

🍲 ex-thunderclan-kipper Follow

My housefolk are setting up for pride moon... so here's a photo of my mate and I sitting underneath their decor :3

#gay #gay pride #kittypet life #lgbt #queer pride #collar tw #collars #queer #id in alt text

10,045 notes

🔆 the-post-maker

Hope you enjoyed this post :)) likes/reblogs appreciated, and here's the discord server to talk about this world and the world within this world if you find it interesting enough.

[elhopper1sm]

Trans FTM! Jess Mariano x Male Reader

Title: If This Gets Out

TW: Transphobia, mentions of outing, child neglect

Summary: Jess had been getting close with his beloved tutor. And he decided to come clean about the real reason he moved to Stars Hollow.

Jess Mariano was not usually fond of his tutors. He had a thing against everything about school. He hated being controlled. He loved learning but only if it was on his terms. He was failing his classes surprisingly enough English literature was on the list. Which made no sense because he was more than able to write perfectly fine and speak coherently. That's when the school requested he see a tutor. While you weren't the brightest student you had a way with relating to more difficult students like Jess. After you guy's first meeting in the library your cold approach of understanding why he doesn't want to learn and do things and reverse psychology methods of encouragement get to him and he speaks to you about what he cares about. He likes how you can keep a conversation and how you can discuss very high level ideas. You help give him the courage to branch out into things he's interested in. But he's still not fully comfortable. After your first official date with Jess you decide to ask him why he moved to Stars Hollow. After shoving mouthfuls of food in his face from Luke's Diner he opens up but not too much.

"My mom she had other priorities. Chasing some guy across New York. And my uncle Luke lives here and is far more equipped to handle me so I... Instead uh thought it would be best to come here and live with him" Jess tried to keep the conversation brief he hated talking about his past.

You smile and nod. But you're so curious you can't help but ask more. Your whole first date was filled with questions

"What do you miss about New York" You asked.

He smiled still mouth full of food stuffed to the brim.

"The many places you could just find one of a kind shops and pop ups surrounded by large chains. It was something else. Oh and the cheap street food".

After your first date you get the feeling he doesn't like talking about his life in New York. There's something he's hiding. And you don't know what it is but you're determined to figure it out.

After a few months into dating the conversation comes up of "what are we". He's even introduced you to Luke but with Jess' playboy past you decide it's good to have things official. Jess seems uncharacteristically nervous. He knows making it official means being honest about some things he's been hiding.

"We're hanging out" Jess replies with his arm around you.

You almost feel like crying. All this time you thought it was certain you both were dating and he hits you with the 'we're just handing out'. You swallow your pride and respond

"Yeah that sounds good. Just hanging out why not" You choke back some of the tears from your face you hated Jess seeing you like this. But you hated him more for doing that to you.

Over the next few weeks after that conversation you've grown distant. You stopped going to the library with him and only really spoke to him at Luke's. Jess suddenly can't take it anymore and he comes in through the window.

"Y/N what's going with you?. You won't respond to my calls or texts or anything. We barely speak. What's up?" He says. He was desperate for an answer.

"Jess you know what's wrong!" You scream at him.

He seems shocked you've never screamed at him before. Even when he was the difficult kid you were forced to tutor you never screamed at him.

"Y/N. Sweetie what's going on?"Jess says as he moves closer to you sensing that you're upset.

You wipe the tears from your face and look up at him.

"You said we were 'just hanging out'. You don't want to be seen with me is that it? You don't want Uncle Luke to think of you different if you're dating a guy right? That's what it is. So if you claim we were never official you don't have to right?. I should've known you'd never commit to anything"You said

You hold back from screaming you were crying silently and trying to do that for long makes your throat hurt.

Jess put his face in his hands. He didn't know what to say. But he needed to make things clear

"There's something I've been hiding. But it's not you it's me" He says before you cut him off

"oh don't give me that bullshit! Jess Mariano I think you know better than something so fucking cliche. This is pathetic just spit it out!" you were screaming now at him

"OK FINE! ALRIGHT FINE Y/N. YOU WANNA KNOW WHY I ACTUALLY LEFT NEW YORK! I'LL TELL YOU."He says

His tone loosens up and he relaxes his voice he's no longer screaming

"When I was ten my mom got out of a bad relationship and so we moved across the state of New York to New York City.I realized I could be someone else there. Someone different. I could be Jess. I started a new school and everything went super well. Until I got outed. Not as Jess but as Stephanie. Stephanie Mariano. I was outed as trans. I just could barely show my face at school. I skipped class all the time and my grades were slipping. Then my mom decided she wanted to send me here to check with my uncle Luke. She wanted to cause a new guy and thought I wouldn't make it on my own in New York. And it was my chance to leave. And no one here knows that I'm trans. And it's been nice ok. And I couldn't make it official with you because that would require opening up about it. I'm sorry ok! Are you happy? Are you happy now Y/N?" He says finally letting all that off his chest

You cup his face and hold him....

"I love you Jess Mariano. I'm so sorry that happened to you. Your secret is safe with me" You tell him as you smile. You finally had what you wanted honesty. You were beyond proud.

"Good because if this gets out...."He says before you interrupt him

"Let's not think about that. I won't tell a soul. What's said in this room between us is like confession. We don't talk about it. It stays between us. This room is like Vegas. What happens in here stays in here" You cut him off.

He feels relieved.

"So can I make things official now?" He asks

"Yes" you respond

"Will you Y/N Y/L/N be my boyfriend?" Jess finally said.

"Of course" I replied.

[coraniaid]

Buffy for the character asks?

General opinion/how much I care about them:  What can I say about Buffy Summers? When she was fifteen years old a representative of an ancient mystical order told her that she alone had the power to stop bad things from happening in the world, thereby confirming something she had hitherto only strongly suspected.  She had to keep a fundamental part of her life secret from the world for years but she never learned how to tell a convincing lie because she was too busy thinking up puns.  She had a 95th percentile SAT score despite mostly studying in between fighting vampires in a cemetery every night and cutting classes to sneak out of school and fight yet more vampires during the day.   All her favorite teachers died or never noticed she existed.  She is both a quintessential only child and somebody who would fight a god to save her annoying little sister.  She blackmailed the management of a fast food chain so that they would let her keep doing a minimum wage job she hated with co-workers whose last names she can’t remember.  She burned down her old high school gym and blamed it on mice and blew up her new high school library while she was at her graduation ceremony and she sunk her hometown into a giant hole in the desert and drove away in a school bus.  She died twice before she turned twenty-one.  She is one of my favorite fictional characters in any medium.

A ship I love: I didn’t really talk about why I love Fuffy in my Faith answer, so let me try now.

Of all of Buffy’s shadow selves, Faith is the one who spends the most time actually in her shadow.  She doesn’t get later character development that takes her in a different direction and makes her her own person; she didn’t start out as something else entirely and get reworked later when the plot required it.  She doesn’t even get the illusion of a family and moments of happiness, like Drusilla has in Season 2.  When Faith’s not hanging out with Buffy she’s sitting alone in her motel room or lying in a coma or counting down the months in jail.  She exists to be a version of Buffy who is not Buffy, who is worse than Buffy, who doesn’t have friends or family or any external support.  That’s really all she is.  And she knows it.  And she hates it.  How could she not?  “You get the Watcher, you get the Mom, you get the little Scooby gang … what do I get?”

Because Faith is Buffy – the part of Buffy who never came back after she ran away from home and got kicked out of school; the part who can admit to craving a little more than low-fat yogurt after a night patrolling; the part that never got to make friends with Xander and Willow in Season 1 and never had a Watcher who cared about her –  so on a fundamental level Fuffy is about Buffy accepting those suppressed and hidden angry parts of herself.  But it’s also about Faith accepting the forgotten and ignored parts of herself that are present in Buffy: the idea that she can be a hero, that there are people in the world who care about her, that there are people who she can trust.  It’s about asking what if all of the Season 3 subtext – Faith’s whole arc this season paralleling Angel’s a year ago, and “what are friends for?” and “It’s kind of a Slayer thing”, and Joyce marching in the Slayer Pride Parade – was text, and what if the show existed in a world where the characters could act on it?

And because of how Season 3 turns out, it’s also about Buffy and Faith forgiving themselves, and each other, for doing almost unforgivable things to each other.  Because there were never meant to be two of them, and they’ve never been able to tell each other what they mean, and because “kill me, you become me”, but she tried and it didn’t help.  And it’s about crappy presents and knives to the throat and forehead kisses and shared dreams and hopelessly entangled destinies.  It’s ”She could be terrified.  Maybe [...] she’s sorry and she’s alone” and “You think you matter, you think you’re a part of something, and then you get dumped” and “All my life there was one person who tried to be my friend” and “I tried so hard to help you and you spat on me” and “Willow said you needed me.  Didn’t really give it much thought.”

As much as I wish Faith was in Season 7 more, part of me is glad that this is all we got, because I really don’t think the show could ever have done all this justice. And the little we get is enough to make me a bit crazy.

A non-romantic relationship that I love: I already talked about Buffy and Willow, so I will try to subvert expectations a little here and go with Buffy and Giles.  Not the fandom version of their relationship I like to complain about where Giles is an uncomplicated Good Dad, but the messy and complicated and heartbreaking version where he just won’t allow himself to be that person.  

I mean, I think it’s very clear from the show that Giles really does care about Buffy far beyond the extent he is supposed to as a Watcher (he tries to go and fight the Master in her place! Even though he knows it would kill him!  Even though this is Season 1 of the show and we’ve not yet seen Giles fight a single vampire!) but that everything about his training and his past tells him that he shouldn’t.  Buffy cares about Giles a lot (“You can’t leave me, I can’t do this alone” / “it’s a little like having Mom back”) and it’s clear that she would really like Giles to be more involved in her life (she wants her Mom to invite him around for Christmas, she goes to his house for Thanksgiving, she tries so hard not to show how hurt she is when she confuses his attempts to be dispassionate with genuine disinterest) but Giles is convinced that he cannot be that sort of parental figure for Buffy and it would only hurt her if he tried, and so – by purposely distancing himself from her and not letting her get close to him– he ends up hurting her in exactly the way he fears.

And the tragedy is that I think Giles really does believe the line he keeps feeding Buffy about how important it is not to be “distracted” by “personal concerns”.  When Quentin Travers told him he had “a father’s love” for Buffy, Travers meant it as a rebuke – and that’s exactly how Giles takes it.  He thinks getting closer to Buffy would be bad for her!  He thinks by leaving her in Season 6 he is helping her become self-reliant and a better Slayer!  Of course he is wrong, but that’s what he thinks, and it is consistent with how he’s always thought.  It’s not character assassination or some unjust subversion of his previously established personality: it is a natural and predictable and awful thing for him to do.  And he does it because he cares about her and doesn’t know what to do about that!  He thinks she’s a much better person than he is (“she’s a hero, you see.  She’s not like us”) and he doesn’t want to bring her down to his level!  “If you care so much about [these people], why didn’t you leave town?” Ethan asked him in The Dark Age, and Giles didn’t have an answer!

The NOTP: Going to cheat a bit here (honestly, mostly because it feels a bit mean to keep picking on Xander at this point), and say that the ship I don’t like isn’t with a specific person but rather with an idea that I see applied to all sorts of ships.  Namely the idea – not supported at all by the text – that Buffy’s various romantic interests are Good People who teach Buffy important life lessons and make her a better person or protect her from the dangerous world around her.  I mean, sorry, but this is not how it works! This is a boring fantasy you have projected onto the show in place of what it was actually telling you.  The feminism of BtVS is paper-thin, but give it some credit!

In canon, Buffy absolutely does not learn from her boyfriends.  She does not rely on them for emotional support.  They all cause her more problems than they help her.  She rescues them.  She makes them better.  Honestly her boyfriends all kind of suck.  Because that’s her type!  She likes losers with no friends who are kind of obsessed about Buffy Summers! (Losers just like Faith!)

Buffy textually hates it when Angel talks down to her: we see repeatedly how furious she gets when he treats her “like a kid” or makes important decisions about their relationship on her behalf.  She doesn't mind physically upstaging Riley (“I was holding back a little”) and secretly likes it when he gets hurt because, to quote Dawn, “she says you look even cuter when you’re all weak and kitteny”. The iconic twin shots of Spike and Buffy in The Gift and After Life are deliberately staged so that Spike is looking up the stairs at Buffy and she is looking down at him (“you’re beneath me”, as she told him in Fool For Love).  And as she says later in Conversations With Dead People:  “Their opinions don’t matter.  They don’t know.  They haven’t been through what I’ve been through [...] I feel like I’m better than them.  Superior.”

So, you know, the preferred power balance is pretty explicit here! I don’t think the show is being excessively subtle. And yet people keep insisting that, oh no, Buffy learns a lot from her boyfriends, or that she can’t possibly cope without their support, or writing fanfics where they swoop in to town to rescue Buffy from trouble. But that is not who Buffy is!  She is not some unsophisticated naif or damsel in distress.  She would hate that so much!  Ship Buffy with whoever you want, but let her be Buffy!

… but also, yeah, rewatching the second season really reminded me how awful I’d have found Buffy/Xander and how glad I am that the show stops hinting at that after Becoming.  Sorry, Xander.  You can take solace in being … well, a loser with friends?

My biggest headcanon about them:  Some time after Chosen Buffy definitely goes back to college and gets that English degree she deserves.  I don’t want to think about Buffy living in a gloomy castle in Scotland and still being forever isolated from the world or about her becoming a cop with superpowers or whatever other nonsense the comics insist happens to her after the show ends.  I want her to be able to have some time off and read some poetry and make Willow jealous academically.

An idea for a fanfiction I would like to write/read about them: One day I will finish my Season 7 rewrite in which Drusilla is the Big Bad and Faith gets broken out of prison earlier and Amy and Willow get to have a proper resolution and Kennedy is another Slayer from the start and Marcie and Ethan come back for cameos and people remember that Jesse and Kendra ever existed and Dawn actually gets something to do.  But first I will probably have to start writing it.

Something that makes me think of them: Nothing makes me think of Buffy.  I choose to be like this (for some reason).

[directionerplusgleek]

2024 Writing Year in Review

Thank you so much for tagging me @fili-is-gone ! But oh boy, this is gonna be long...

The start of the year was fairly normal, but then I participated in things like AU-Gust, Flufftober, and Fluffcember... There are numbers there.

February

Not My Type - Thomally, modern AU. My first posted Maze Runner oneshot.

March

Hips - Thomally, modern AU

Be Our Guest - Luca/Reader, The Bear (First chapter posted Dec 2023)

April

Thomally Week

Guarded (He)art - Thomally, modern AU, artist Thomas and bodyguard Gally (Ongoing)

Pixie Dust - Thomally, modern fantasy AU, pixie Thomas. Part of an ongoing series of fics that I'm absolutely in love with

The Lies of a Mirror - Thomally, modern AU

To Hunt and Fall Prey - Thomally, supernatural, incubus Thomas and hunters Gally, Minho, and Alby (Two more chapters to be added soon-ish)

Safety in the Dark - Thomally, post-canon

No Matter the Distance - Thomally, high school/college AU

Like a Cat - Thomally, modern AU

In the Shadows - Thomally, post-canon, vampire Gally (First chapter posted Jan 2024)

May

Rarepair Bingo

For Once in My Life - Vinge, post-canon

Meet Me - Alby/Harriet, 50's Greasers AU. The first of a few fics in which Gally, Thomas, Newt, Minho, and Teresa all work at Alby's mechanic's workshop

Be Mine - Brendinho, 50's Greasers AU

What You Want - Garis, post-canon. The beginning of an obsession

A Chance to Try - Brenderesa, canon compliant and post-canon

You Took My Breath Away - Minally, canon compliant

Show You My Love - Gally/Minho/Newt, modern AU

I Died and Yet I Live - Brenda & Newt, post-canon, Newt lives

Never Alone - Naris, 50's Greasers AU

Why Can't We Be Like That? - Thomally, modern AU, hidden relationship (Ongoing. First chapter posted April 2024)

June

Pride Month Bingo

Something to Tell You - Lucus, The Bear. Another obsession began here

In Your Head - Minally, post-canon. Inspired by @scorchedmazes and @winged-bat

Boys, Interrupted - Thomally, 50's Greasers AU, 5+1 things

July

After Forever, Forever After - Lucus, The Bear, post-S03E10

August

AU-Gust; a month of posting a fic every day

Don't Look at Him (Look at Me) - Unrequited Gallesa, post-canon, everybody lives

Blue - Minally, post-canon, soulmate AU

A Safe Haven - Naris, dark academia AU

Take the Long Way - Minewt, zombie apocalypse

A Game of Strategy - Ava and Janson play chess

The Rose - Newthomally, The Bachelor AU

Almost Perfect - Minewt, farm AU

It's a Trainwreck, and I'm the Train - Thomas reflects on his mistakes, modern AU

Babysitting - Thomally, modern AU

The Enemy of My Enemy - Newthomally, future war AU

Cold Feet - Thomally, retail AU

Missing You - Nally, modern AU. The beginning of an obsession with a pairing most people seem not to engage with, but I love them too much to care.

Sparks - Minally, modern AU. Animagus Minho

Her Brother - Nally, royalty AU (Ongoing)

Secrets - Minally & Newtmas, modern AU

Out of this World - Thomally, modern AU. Brothers Gally and Chuck, my precious

Say it with Flowers - Minewt & Thomally, modern AU

A Ghost - Vinge, space AU

I Spy - Minewt & Thomally, modern AU

Seeking Serenity - Minalby & Thomally & Vinge, Firefly AU

Protect You - Garis, fantasy AU

Movie Night - Minewt, modern AU, orphan Newt

Music to My Heart - Thomally & Minewt & Brenderesa, musician AU

Fantasy - Thomally, modern AU

Stress Test - Aris/Gally/Thomas, scientist AU

Meet Your Hero - Minewt & minor Thomally, time-travel AU

Beating Wings and Hearts - Thomally & Minewt, wingfic. (Ongoing, more to be added)

Nurse Please - Minewt, post-canon, Newt lives

You Come Here Often? - Thomally, modern AU

Petal and Patch - Nally, post-canon, everybody lives

September

Deserve It - Nally, modern AU, based on the Tanner and Joseph text chain video

Soultember

Questions - Garis, post-canon, soulmate AU

Beaten and Bruised - Thomally & Brendinho, soulmate AU

October

Flufftober; a month of posting fluff fics

Feo - Brenderesa, modern AU

Corn Maze - Thominally, modern AU

Cardamom - Lucus, The Bear

Maker's Market - Nally, modern AU

Tokens of Love - Thomally, post-canon

Prisoner of Love - Newthomally, modern AU. The first in a few fics surrounding the beginning of their relationship as a three.

Hoodies - Lucus, The Bear

Chocolate Kisses - Vinge, modern AU

Let You Help - Minewt, post-canon. Sequel to Nurse Please

Competition - Thominally, post-canon

Fairy Dust - Thomally, modern fantasy AU, sequel to Pixie Dust

Coffee for Three - Newthomally, modern AU, part of the series

My Attic - Vinge, modern AU

Get in My Way - Minally, DnD/fantasy AU

Laundry Day - Newthomally, modern AU, part of the series

Maybe - Garis, modern AU

Sleep Through - Thominally, post-canon

Bewitched - Brenderesa, modern fantasy AU, further Pixie Dust fic

Self-Care - Vinge, modern AU

The Paw of Friendship - Newtmas, modern AU

Fires Everywhere - Nalby & Thominally & Vinge, canon compliant and post-canon

To Remind You - Jorge and Minho father/son, modern AU

Signs of Life - Thominally, post-canon

Shakshouka - Lucus, The Bear

Take a Bite - Minewt & Thomally, modern AU, vampire Newt

Tell Me a Lie - Nally, modern AU, soulmate AU

Infant Simulator - Minally, modern AU

Organ Donors - Minally, modern AU, biker Minho

When We're Twenty Five - Garis, modern AU

Minimal(ly) - Minally, modern AU. Based on a typo from the Discord

Wishful - Thomally, post-canon

November

Anything for You - Vinge, modern AU. Written for @nxwtonsxngster

Please bear with me while I reblog my own post to add December because I've hit a limit I didn't know existed; no more than 100 links per post...

[burberrycanary]

For the fic commentary game...I want to ask about so many lines, but ok. I've narrowed it down to three from Lost Vocabularies..., so you can pick—I'd be so interested to get your author's commentary on any (or all) of them! 💛

He will never forget nine months of stock prices from 1950.

(this is the one I'm probably least likely to get an answer to, which is fine, but I'm so very curious about what Steve did during those months in the past, and a girl's gotta try! 😜)

2. But he sure as hell doesn’t want them back, not so long as Bucky is willing to carry them, whatever they mean to him now—though Steve doesn’t like to think how Bucky must have found them and when.

(Basically, I just like to make myself sad about Bucky Barnes, so hey: talk to me about the dog tags!)

3.

“Why were you always signed up for something? You already took more vocational classes than about anybody.”

[…]

“Trying to impress my dad,” Bucky admits on a slow breath out. “But not in the way he wanted. ‘One of the laborin’ Barnes with a proper education,’ he liked to say. ‘Bastards won’t know what hit ‘em.’ He wanted me to live out that better American life he was chasing. Be respectable.” Bucky gives a faint dry laugh. “Sorry Pops.”

(I know this is more than one sentence...but I'm just endlessly fascinated by Bucky's (and Steve's) pre-war life and especially Bucky's relationship with his parents and how he feels about them now, after everything. So, if you'd be willing to elaborate on that snippet up there (I'm particularly intrigued by But not in the way he wanted), I'd be ecstatic!

(📦&🧼&◼&⬜-🔪)

2. But he sure as hell doesn’t want them back, not so long as Bucky is willing to carry them, whatever they mean to him now—though Steve doesn’t like to think how Bucky must have found them and when.

Crying into our beers over Bucky Barnes should be the name of our band. 😭🍻😭

The dog tags were such a distinctive element in TFATWS that I knew I wanted to use them in this post-Endgame fix-it series that ended up sprawling out to a bigger scope than I originally intended. But the first question from canon to consider is: whose dog tags are they, anyway?

In the surgery flashback from CATWS, we see that Bucky is no longer wearing his dog tags, which means they were taken away by Hydra. And this makes sense since Hydra was starting the process of completely stripping away Bucky’s identity. What Hydra does with Bucky’s dog tags depends on what kind of organization Hydra is, culturally and administratively. While you could write any number of stories here, especially since Bucky, as a specific known recovered asset, isn’t what the Japanese scientists in Unit 731 called “maruta” (“wooden logs”) or what the CIA-run black sites in West Germany under Project Bluebird called “expendables,” you could argue that Zola might keep Bucky’s dog tags for any number of reasons: spite, gloating, pride, or a perverse attachment to his greatest success. But the most rational course of action would be to destroy anything that could identify Bucky as a well-known American soldier—because this era of American history shows you could get away with not just murder but crimes against humanity as long as you played by certain bureaucratic rules. And this is the organization that Peggy Carter built, canonically, and the era that Steve returns to in Endgame—"the dark and bloody heart of the twentieth century [that] beat and maimed all the unsteadiness out of Bucky’s hands long ago." 

I’d argue these aren’t the dog tags that we see Steve wearing when he wakes up in the fake recovery room, which would have been replaced as part of the attempted deception, but instead the ones that he was wearing when he went into the ice, which would’ve been returned once the jig was up: 

Hanging around Bucky’s neck on a bright beaded chain are tarnished dog tags with the raised text turned, here and there, the pale green of copper eaten away by time.

I’ll admit I did look up the composition of WWII dog tags and scanned through some research papers on the corrosion levels in metal equipment used in the Arctic before deciding that I could just take a little literary license here and have Steve’s old dog tags be thematically “tarnished,” which in the text is explicitly tied to the theme of things being transformed over time, but the word also carries the connotation of something that’s sullied. For the dog tags, both meanings hold. 

My backstory headcanon is that Sam, who was the executor of Steve’s will and his chosen next of kin, invited Bucky to go through Steve’s surprisingly few personal effects for anything he wanted to keep before Sam donated the rest to museums. All Bucky took was the last, unfinished, mostly empty, little notebook and Steve’s old dog tags, which he restrung on a new chain. That’s it. That’s what Bucky is left with as a stranger in this strange land of the present. 

In the first glimpse Steve gets near the end of Still Left with the River, he interprets Bucky wearing his old dog tags as indicating that Bucky never stopped caring about him, which is true—Bucky kept on caring a whole hell of a lot. This is Steve’s “it taught me to hope” moment in the text that helps push him toward being honest with Bucky about how he feels after several decades of alternating between pining and grieving, pining and grieving. How many times has the worst already happened between them?

There is always an end to the line where the same big black pit is waiting. And eventually Bucky won’t crawl back out.

But the dog tags are deliberately ambiguous as a symbol, since they equally represent the grief that we see Bucky struggle with in TFATWS. They are Bucky’s chosen gesture of mourning when Steve buries himself in the past. It’s telling that even after Steve returns, Bucky doesn’t take the dog tags off or offer to give them back to Steve again. Whatever they mean, they’re Bucky’s now. And Bucky on some level continues to mourn a faith between them—ineffable and up to that point mutually committed to despite the worst the world could do—that Steve broke when he decided to go back to the past and which returning doesn’t unbreak. Because that’s the problem: “Time only moves in one direction.”

(“There’s a creepy stone somewhere that says otherwise.”

“Exactly.”)

Significantly, over and over, these fraught identification tags are described as occupying the space between Steve and Bucky:

Tipping Steve’s chin up with his thumb, Bucky kisses the blazes out of him while the old dog tags swing a little on their glinting new chain in the space between them.

How Steve left is still very much between them throughout this whole series. 

The scene where the dog tags are revealed as Steve’s is significant:

...Steve’s old dog tags swinging in the space between their bodies; then the warm tender weight of Bucky’s forehead, pressed just off-center against his chest, overlapping with the light touch of metal and the pooling chain; [...] Bucky pressed close, and his face hidden.

The contrary actions of Bucky pressing close but still hiding is how Bucky has chosen to deal with the complicated emotional situation Steve has put him in—the combination of intimacy and distance that shades through most of this series. Bucky is trying to both protect himself and give Steve a good-faith chance to do better. Bucky’s strength and generosity win out in the end, because that’s who Bucky is at heart: the bigger person in a way that has nothing to do with being tall or strong or healthy. But part of the problem of any post-Endgame fix-it is that no one fight or confession or “being shoved in a closet together” shortcut could solve these emotional sticking points. 

Steve really did that. Whatever his reasons or motivations, which this series digs into a lot in the subtext, in the moment Steve meant it. And there’s no way to undo the choices that have been made, not without recourse to an ethically flawed concept that’s the opposite of living: because trying to undo past losses is exactly what Endgame gets wrong by attempting.

Fuck Endgame: the only way out is through. And by “through” I don’t mean Steve passively playing white-picket-fence house with Peggy through the ugly back half of the 20th century and then getting some sort of science-fiction second chance for a life with Bucky, once all that’s over. That’s doubling down on the flawed ethics of Endgame.

Life is a process of making choices, over and over. And living with the consequences. How you live with them is another ethical choice you get to make, over and over. That’s the constant and inescapable ethical action inherent in being alive.

This series is deliberately full of minor characters with losses just as profound as Steve’s: loved ones gone, former ways of life lost, all the small gathered-together pieces that we each painstakingly build into a life vanishing, whether bit by bit or calamitously all at once:

Her face lights up. “Thanks, I make them myself. I’m thinking of going to fashion school, maybe. Textile design. I’ve already died—fuck being scared, right?”

Between war, the Blip and the Return, she has lost every member of what was once a huge family. And life just keeps going on.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Fuck being scared.”

Or:

“Been walking since Greenwood Cemetery. I can’t get to where any of my people are buried so you know what I’ve decided?”

Steve gives a hum, meaning what’s that?  

“I’ve decided to collectivize. Every grave on earth with the first name George is my boy’s. I’ve claimed every Elizabeth—in all forms—and Rachael, Robert and Joseph. Never cared for my husband’s people so I don’t bother with them. But I’ve got some favorites down in Greenwood picked out for my boy. ”

“I’m sorry for your losses,” Steve says, quiet, and thinking briefly of his own most recent dead. He doesn’t add, I know what it’s like to let grief triumph over reality. “So you visit.”

“Every day that I can. Lots of graveyards in this city. But Greenwood is nice. All the flowers and so forth.”

This is a story about grief.

Steve is trusted with great power to help set right wrongs the Avengers did during Endgame, setting all these other timelines on roads to destruction to save their own. And in the face of the temptation of that great fantastical power: the possibility of easy facile answers to unsolvably hard problems about change and loss so many people equally have to confront and hurt over and struggle with—all the time, right now, forever, constantly—Steve Rogers falters:

Preemptive—that idea is never going to seem right to him. But isn’t that what he’d tried to do when he’d stayed in the past? Get the preemptive good life by side-stepping the possibility of more loss? Because, for him at least, one way or another everything that mattered would have already happened.

And still the same old story at the bottom of whatever idealized notions got papered over top: trading other people’s lives for your own security.

He’ll never know whether, if his plan had worked, he would have stayed in the past for good.

And now he’s got to live with that.

If the dog tags in this story stand for anything, it’s living with the consequences.

You can make mistakes. We all do, individually and collectively. But there’s no undoing the past—not even in the MCU’s confused theory of the multiverse. All you can try is to do better: to make right what’s been put wrong as much as you can; or find things that are good and help them be better for more people.

There are deliberately four apologies offered in Lost Vocabularies: two from Bucky and two from Steve. But this is the climactic and closing apology that echoes the same language used to introduce the dog tags into the narrative: 

Pushing Bucky back, he touches the tarnished dog tags where the raised text has turned, here and there, the pale green of copper eaten away by time.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, meaning a whole lot.

Bucky’s response, “We got here,” deliberately sidesteps the question of forgiveness and is designed to be read in two ways. The first reading challenges the relative significance of the past—we reached here however that happened—while the second rejects the past more completely: all we actually ever have is right now.

The thing is, Steve has been angry his whole life and he’s trying so hard to be a little more grateful for a change. 

He’s been doing better and he’ll keep on trying.

But there’s still just so much to be angry about everywhere he looks, from the past all the way through to this moment, burning up in front of him right now: this crawling-forward world that should be better, and isn’t, and won’t be unless people step forward to shoulder the hard slow work with no one to punch and no climactic battle you win or you lose.

This sort of work requires the splendid terrible patience of the tide eating away at a face of rock: mighty and irresistible, but wearisomely slow.

You gotta do the work. You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it.

A Man Takes His Sadness Down to the River (The Consolation of Philosophy)

[lostonehero]

Hey remember that QuickQuestion fic I have?

Yeah, it's pride month. Here's a short from that universe.

"Tim, aren't you being a bit paranoid?" Bernard held Tim's hand as they walked through Hub city. "Gotham isn't that bad to have a date in."

"Bernard, I don't need my family interrupting us every 5 seconds. They won't go here, and it's during the day we'll be fine." Tim huffs.

"I'm just saying Hub City isn't excatly known for being a great -" Bernard stops accidently walking into a red-headed man. "Oh, I'm sorry."

Tim knew who the man was immediately. "Shit."

The redhead man smiles. "Oh my god, hi Tim! Are you on a date?"

Bernard raised a brow. "Thought you didn't know anyone in Hub City." He smirks.

"Oh, I'm not from here, I'm from Central City. I'm Wally." Wally smiles and holds out his hand.

Tim groans. "Why are you even here?"

"I'm going on a date?" Wally clicks his mouth shut. "Wait, wait, you didn't hear that!"

Bernard and Tim exchange a glance, and both share a smirk. "A date, huh?" Tim hums. "So you're dating someone, and you don't want the league to know."

Wally covers his face. "Shush! I will tell Bruce you're here!"

"It would be worth it." Tim's smirk only grows.

A taller redhead approaches the three men. He scans over the three and raised a brow. His expression is tired from the eye bags alone, and he's wearing a punk shirt of his own band. He has spiked thick bracelets and jeans with chains. He rubs his eyes and yawns. "Hello."

Bernard gasps. "You're the lead singer of Devil in the Church! Holy shit!"

Tim, who has no idea who that is. "What."

The other redhead hums. "It's Vic, but yes."

"You're afraid of them knowing you're dating a punk singer?" Tim raised his brow.

Wally huffs. "You can not tell them!"

Bernard nods eagerly. "Yeah, yeah, are you playing tonight?"

"No." Vic sighs clearly not bothered in the slightest and seemingly grateful for this type of interaction. "Do you want to join us?"

"What?" Wally blinks.

"What?" Tim looked bewildered.

"Yes!" Bernard looked ready to explode from excitement.

Vic smiles. "Cool, there's a cafe down the way we're heading to."

Wally grabs Vic and whispers in his ear. "What are you doing?"

Vic is not missing a beat. "This is going to be hilarious."

"Vic, we're meeting with Oliver and Dianah for... oh.... OH." Wally bites his lip.

Vic takes the kead as he starts a casual conversation with Bernard as Tim tries to butt in but has no idea about his music.

.......

"I hate that I'm starting to feel comfortable in this city." Oliver crosses his arms as he sinks into the booth.

Dianah laughs. "Oh, come on, this is our double date spot. I would be surprised if you weren't getting comfortable."

Oliver huffs again. "It's like another planet here. I can literally be in public, and nobody cares."

"It's Hub City. What do you expect?" Dinah smiles waving spotting Vic then pauses seeing Tim and Bernard and then Wally. "Ollie." She grabs his arm and points.

Tim stares at the pair like a deer in headlights. "Fuck."

Vic has a shit eating grin on his face as he approaches the booth. "Ran into Wally's friends on the way also on a date."

"You're a devious motherfucker." Oliver bites back a laugh. "Hey Little Timmy, grab a seat and bring your boyfriend."

Tim covers his growing red face.

Bernard stops. "I'm sorry, is that Oliver Queen."

Tim groans. "Yes."

"Wait, does that mean Vic is also yaknow." Bernard stops and Tim whips his head up.

Vic smirks. "Am I what?"

Wally sighs. "You're enjoying this way too much."

Dianah laughs and snaps a picture of the two. "I'm texting Bruce."

"If you do, I'll expose who Vic is!" Tim shouts.

"Good luck with that." Vic smirks.

Oliver chuckles. "Old Bruice doesn't even know."

Tim quietly. ".....fuck."

[abyssalaquarist00]

WIP, TBD

Sheikha Hanaan waits for her father to announce his heir. Her loyal lapdog, Sa'ud waits beside her

excerpts from the source text in read more

And then there was poor Sa’ud, who started each morning filling his mug to the brim with a metaphorical sugary red drink. In reality, it was coffee; the nation's pride and joy which he exclusively drank black as to not sullen the taste. He who saw beauty in the treachery, because he believed it would never touch him. But like his colleagues, he too had his secrets, especially as the Sheikha’s liaison.

--

Sa’ud was given mercy on the playground by Sheikha Hanaan, his closest friend in life. He was not on the same payroll as the other two as he worked directly for Her Excellency. He was treated as well as any loyal dog would be; showered in conditional affection and lavished with luxuries that could be revoked after one unfortunate misstep. Sa’ud’s job was to enforce her wishes on a whim, and to make sure she was always in a favorable light.

No matter who they reported to, at the end of the day it was she who had the final say. Hanaan bint Waleed al-Ghayoum; the fourth ever president of her nation, the youngest to hold title and the first woman to hold such a formidable position on their side of the peninsula. She was mere months into her presidency, one which could last decades if she lived long enough. Her Excellency was just shy of 40, but her father had decided to end his reign early due to health complications.

--

Then there was the first-born, Hanaan. She wore a flared dress as deep in blue as the pelagic with matching pumps. The bodice had a circle cut from shoulder-to-shoulder that revealed intricately laced cloud-like patterns of overlapping greys and white that covered her chest and neck. Thick, gold bangles clattered against eachother with every move of her hands, but complemented the rest of her jewelry well. A golden net of chains and coins adorned her head, keeping her gently curled, brilliantly brown hair in place. She wore a few rings, but a modest amount so as to not distract from the henna on her hands. The golden scales which hung from her ears were like windchimes bated by her every step. Of course, nothing says high status than a pet as an accessory; which Sa’ud would fulfill trailing behind her silently in his matching blue suit with silver cloud cufflinks.

[tartquez]

assumptions!

you give really thoughtful gifts and people tend to go to you for recommendations and advice. Also you're prone to collecting little mementos from trips and experiences

Ahhhh I do pride myself on giving a good gift (don’t we ALL) 🥹I am also often the friend who gets the “omggg do u think I should get this” changeroom texts when someone is shopping lmao

And I do love a memento from a trip!!! There was a brief period where I would buy a copy of a local fashion magazine whenever I visited a new country (pros: fun memento that captures what’s popular at that moment in time and will be dated by the month you were in said country, cons: can be heavy and bulky if you’re packing light). I had a good run but now collect smaller little trinkets like cheesy key chains lol

[dailydemonspotlight]

It might be cool to see dullahan for pride month. I don't think any original stories about dullahan are particularly queer but her depiction SMTIV is something I think about a lot. Taking a red pill and changing gender is definitely a more accurate interpretation of the matrix than other times people talk about the red pill at least lol

Dullahan - Day 49 (Request)

Race: Haunt

Alignment: Neutral-Neutral

June 6th, 2024

Yeah, shoutout to the random NPC in SMT IV who eats a red and instantly transes their gender. A true icon. Today's Demon of the Day is a very common fixture of medieval fantasy, however, and not just a bit of someone's true identity- the headless knight of no renown, Dullahan. Headless Horsemen are a common sight in many tales spanning Europe, the subjects of many a legend or fairy tale, but each of these halloween fables can trace their roots all the way back to Celtic myth, in the form of this unseelie fairie... or so some think. In truth, the origins of the Dullahan are unclear and murky, much like the foggy skies it mingles within, so let's dig in!

Ireland is no stranger to weird fairy tales- as the place where the term fairy originated from, Celtic myth is filled with tales upon tales of weird, loveable goons that paint stranger and stranger pictures of the times each time one thinks about them. Whether it be the oh-so-elusive Cat-Síth or the inanely wailing Banshee, Celtic folktales are filled to the brim with creatures at the forefront of each and every story... which is what makes the Dullahan so bizarre. While the concept of a headless horse-riding knight isn't too out there, especially in comparison to some other fairies (looking at you, Pooka), very few primary sources actually attest to the existence of the Dullahan, whether it be by name or concept alike.

However, in spite of this, we do have a few historical accounts- this makes the Dullahan's existence frustratingly vague, to say the least, as it's impossible to say if it did or did not exist- either possibility is plausible, especially given that artwork depicting the Dullahan does exist, dating back to the 1800's. As according to Doris V. Sutherland, the earliest reference to the Dullahan can be found in 1802, within a text written by Charles Vallancey called "Prospectus of a Dictionary of the Language of the Aire Coti, or Ancient Irish, Compared with the Language of the Cuti, or Ancient Persians, with the Hindoostanee, the Arabic, and Chaldean Languages." Kind of a mouthful. Within the book, which is a compendium of all sorts of languages and drawn comparisons between them (among all sorts of other stuff, I'm too lazy to find a free copy of it online though lol), there is a segment in which Vallancey draws a comparison between the Irish Dullahan and an Arabian demon, the Wulahan.

"The Dullahan or Wullahan is a terrible bug-bear at this day; the peasants hear him in the night dragging a heavy chain through the villages and along the roads; this is the wulahan, or Satanas of the Arabs…"

As pointed out by Sutherland, though, the brief description given of only a few passages has no mention of it being headless. So why is it commonly seen as being headless? Skip ahead a few years and we get to a book by Thomas Cofton Croker going into the fairies of Irish folklore, and stories pertaining to them. Among the many fairies listed in this book, entitled "Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland," we get to our second mention of the Dullahan! In one of five segments, a tale is given regarding a man named Larry Dodd who gets a random hitchhiker one day atop horseback- a mysterious woman whose every feature was covered by a cloak. She climbs aboard after he offers so, and they take off.

After a few moments of silent, uncomfortable riding, the woman exits suddenly to head to a nearby church. Smitten, Larry chases after the woman to try and pursue a thank-you kiss, but when he catches up with her... shock! Horror! She has no head! So that's where the idea of the Dullahan came from as being headless- and likely why the Dullahan in SMT is so feminine in appearance as well. After witnessing a dance of the Dullahans in the dead of night, he's decapitated... only to come to a few hours later, confused from the whole sordid affair.

This tale is only one of four, however- the general idea of Dullahans and the Headless Horsemen being synonymous actually came from this same book as well. A later story is, well, quite literally the fable of the Headless Horseman! From these tales, we can glean quite a few things- almost every account of the Dullahan comes from this book, with the name being spurned from the Prospectus and its offhand mentioning of the 'Irish Dullahan' as though it were common knowledge. I'm of two minds here, personally- for one, it's entirely possible that Croker, pardon my french, just made some shit up, basing his fables on pure speculation as to what the Dullahan name could mean by connecting it to the Arabian Wulahan. However, the other possibility, one that I personally subscribe to, is that the Dullahan was a part of the tapestry of Celtic folklore- it was just obscure.

The tales presented clearly speak of the Dullahan as though it were a preexisting concept, and the offhand mention of its existence in the Prospectus seems to give light to the idea that it did, indeed, exist in the cultural consciousness to some extent. Of course, this is all purely guesswork on my end- unless Croker digs himself out of his grave to answer my burning questions, I doubt I'll find an exact answer to this line of thinking- but I think it makes the most sense given what little information we have to work off of.

Now, in terms of representation in SMT... It sure is a headless knight. One aspect I really adore in this design, though, has to be the way the top of the head appears- the implication of the Dullahan being able to freely attach and detach its head like the joints on a Bionicle is hilarious, and gives a whole new line of depth to this already cool looking design. The silver, deep purple, and gold all combine to make the knight look regal, as though it was a stalwart protector of a kingdom under the king's right hand that had now fallen into disrepair. Somewhat fitting, given that it appears most prominently in SMT IV as a boss!

Lastly, though, I've gotta say I'm so glad we're almost to 50 posts. I didn't expect this series to last this long, and we've got a big, big one coming up for post 50, so I hope you're all excited! Happy Pride Month, and I need to say thanks for sticking with me, all this time.

[dykeselfcest]

mid-year book freakout

tagged by @lottieurl!

number of books you’ve read so far: 8 :( INCLUDING two manga and a long zine (fucking trans women) and are prisons obsolete?, which is pretty short as well.

best book you’ve read so far in 2024: well i reread our wives under the sea this year and that's my favorite book so. that.

best sequel you’ve read so far in 2024: uhhhh i'm halfway through dungeon meshi vol 2 does that count? i'm also partway through harrow the ninth but it's unfortunately been months since i picked it up.

new release you haven’t read yet but want to: gonna steal from rose and say chain-gang all-stars. it came out last year that's new enough right? also cuckoo (just started manhunt) and rainbow black (julia armfield recommended it).

most anticipated release for the second half of the year: ummmm i don't usually pay attention to releases that much but i just snagged feast while you can for my tbr from julia armfield's instagram stories and that looks like it's going to be fun! expected publication in october.

biggest surprise: nothing has surprised me that much? i guess our wives surprised me by making me cry on the second read-through when the first time i don't think i cried.

favorite new author (debut or new to you): can i say ryoko kui?

newest fictional crush: idk marcille? lmao

book that made you cry: our wives! huge win bc books don't normally make me cry

most beautiful book you’ve bought so far this year (or received): um i don't buy a lot of books, i think the only books i've bought this year are private rites (because i had to have it Immediately) and queer little nightmares (because it was available at a pride display and i kind of blacked out). both look perfectly good but are not like GORGEOUS or anything. but i do like when you take off the dust jacket of private rites and underneath the title is black text on a black bg. sexy.

book that made you happy: dungeon meshi vol 1!

what books do you need to read by the end of the year?: well all of the books i've started and then let fall by the wayside (cannibalism: a perfectly natural history, harrow the ninth, fruiting bodies), and books i'm currently reading or about to read (manhunt, dungeon meshi vol 2 and ideally more volumes, queer little nightmares.) unfortunately i have added like 25 books to my tbr this year and i have been reading super slowly so idk what else, it's hard to prioritize!

tagging @cerullos @neverstopblowingup @whoscallingwhoafraud @godofsmallthings

[happiness-of-the-pursuit]

Hi! Decided to make an organized list of my AO3 fics, which as of right now are all for Red, White and Royal Blue. Here's a brief but comprehensive breakdown:

My first fics are part of my RWRB YouTube Interviews series (originally inspired by th0ughts' RWRB media fics):

Prince Henry and FSOTUS Alex Claremont-Diaz Answer the Web’s Most Searched Questions (Rating: T, Words: 2,402)

10 Things Alex Claremont-Diaz Can’t Live Without (Rating: M, Words: 2,928)

10 Things HRH Prince Henry Can’t Live Without (Rating: T, Words: 2,527)

Prince Henry and FSOTUS Alex Claremont-Diaz Take a Couples Quiz (Rating: T, Words: 4,941)

The Super Six Take a Lie Detector Test | Vanity Fair (Rating: M, Words: 7,328)

ALEX CLAREMONT-DIAZ COMMUNES WITH HIS ANCESTORS WHILE EATING SPICY WINGS | Hot Ones (Rating: T, Words: 3,068)

PRINCE HENRY SENTENCES US TO THE DUNGEONS WHILE EATING SPICY WINGS | Hot Ones (Rating: T, 3,056)

FirstPrince Sings Queen, Lil Nas X, and Taylor Swift in a Game of Song Association | ELLE (Rating: T, Words: 2,552)

My One Shots:

Freaky Friday (I woke up in my enemy's body): Dual POV Body Swap AU, diverging from canon at Kensington (Rating: M, Words: 8K)

FirstPrince Week Fics, all currently* one shots:

How well you play...that's up to you: a Grey's Anatomy inspired AU (Rating: M, Words: 4K)

Keep this Love in a Photograph: fluffy slice of life, ft. a photo album (Rating: T, Words: 2.6K)

The Starwand: three summer scenes in Texas; past, present, future (Rating: T, Words: 1.7K)

Somebody Call 911: clandestine hookups behind a roommate's back (Rating: M, Words: 2.4K)

Sets on the Beach: intramural beach volleyball, rivals to lovers (Rating: M, Words: 3.6K)

Water over Blood: 5 times a royal loved Alex & 1 time they loved Henry; featuring firstprince as uncles (Rating: T, Words: 3K)

L(ate) S(leepy) A(morous) T(exting): missing scenes of Alex preparing for the LSAT (Rating: M, Words: 1K)

My Multi-Chapter Works:

Claremont 2008: Now Complete. Canon divergence imagining if Ellen was elected in 2008 instead of 2016. 2009 at Buckingham Palace for tea. A sleepover after a quinceañera in 2010. The 2012 London Olympics. A 2014 Model UN Conference. A funeral in 2015. College and another campaign trail. And the texts, facetimes, and chain emails in between. (Rating: M, Words: 26K)

Baby's First Pride: WIP, update will happen but not soon-having some writer's block on this one. This is simply the Super Six planning and experiencing their first pride month after the emails. (Rating: E, Words: 10K)

I also have a co-written Percy Jackson AU with @inexplicablymine and @read-and-write-. I'll do my best to keep this updated :)

*planning on and expanding one of the FPW fics