#how love and patience has changed that fucking gargoyle

[boojangs]

If Chapter 1 Home and Away Wednesday met Chapter 20 YMU Wednesday, what would she be most shocked by?

[qqueenofhades]

As a person who haven’t read the comics but spoiled the ending to myself… well, I always had like a sort of permanent misunderstanding of Gaiman’s work and the ending is like.. all of the things that always frustrates me about his writing combined. But I don’t know how to put it in words…

I know that it’s oversimplification and maybe even willful misunderstanding of the Sandman, but really? He has to eat up a child’s soul and permanently change while his other self “dies”? And then he is what, EXACTLY the same but BLOND and PETS THE GARGOYLE? For real?

Also the way Delirium is depicted. I am really wary about her description as this very sexual and very childish character, ultimately useless. Every Endless has a job, except for Delirium. And she is kind of the reason Dream dies. Not liking it. I mean I KNOW that it’s the nineties. I know. But meh.

Eh, I have almost always liked the film and TV adaptations of Gaiman's stuff better than the books themselves, and he has shown a willingness to adapt and edit his own stories to make them better reflect the times and context in which they are being produced. The TV Good Omens adaptation removed a lot of the off-color jokes from the book that would have been absolutely cringeworthy in a 2019 TV show, and the Lucifer TV show likewise went beyond what was presented in the comics and came up with a truly emotional, meaningful, and lovely-while-being-devastating ending. The Stardust movie was also, IMHO, better than the book. So while there are issues from being written almost thirty years ago, in terms of what is updated for TV shows, he has had a good sense of when and how to do that. And as I said, if Netflix doesn't get their fucking act together, oy vey.

Anyway, I don't care about Daniel at all, except in terms of whether he gets to take over the Dream of the Endless job while Morpheus gets to retire for his human happy ending with Hob. As I said, because they have made that relationship romantic and given so much more depth to Hob’s feelings for (and patience with!) Dream, it is an obvious way for him to get his much-earned rest without having to die for it. Maybe it's just my position as an Old Person who has struggled my whole life with anxiety and depression and "what's the point of living," but I find that much more interesting and meaningful for Dream, and not just from a shipper perspective. Obviously I want him to get to be with his human, but I also want him to see that he can exist outside his cosmic function and find an escape from that grief and depression that has haunted him for eons and made him feel like he was never enough. Because man, I Get It, and it would feel like a more honest ending to what the TV series has set up and the themes that it wants to explore. Either way, as I said, I reserve the right to totally ignore and/or entirely fix what I don't like, so yes.

[inkribbon796]

Where the Crossroads Meet Ch 1

Summary: In a locked vault is a powerful magical artifact. It has the ability to tear cities apart and reform a new one with its pieces. Which is exactly why Remus, Wilford, and Anti find it.

A/N: This is (give or take) the 100th short I’ve made and I wanted to be a little special. It’s also way longer than I planned for it to be.

First chapter’s a little bit odd in that events are happening at the same time. Remus, Wilford, and Anti are all doing things simultaneously and when we get back to Remus and the other Sides, that’s a new set of events.

Chapter 1: Distortion

~::~ Twenty Years Earlier ~::~

In a locked bank vault in Gainesville, Florida a ripple in reality ripped its way through time and space and a box glitched itself all over the room until it rested in the center.

Right as it glitched into reality, an alarm rang out throughout the bank as reality slowly began ripping itself into pieces. The bank split itself into three different places, the same bank with a different staff servicing it.

In Florida, a group of three masked vigilantes were standing on top of a neighboring building, watching the chaos as the police were driving up.

“Hey, Specs,” Creativity, Roman, the hero in a red cape and a white mask with red and golden accents with large red feathers, “how much longer we gonna be standing here like glittery gargoyles? We’ve got people to save.”

“Patience,” Logic, Logan, the vigilante with a full face mask and visor, commented, “this isn’t a situation we can rush into.”

“This is so exciting,” Morality, Patton, the hero in a puppy mask and a light blue jumpsuit. Creativity brought them down to the police.

“We’ve arrived!” Roman announced in a sing-song voice.

“We were nearby, would you like us in a supportive or non-present capacity?” Logan asked. Roman frowned at him but didn’t argue his opinion.

“Normally we’d take you up on that,” one of the officers answered, “but the Duke texted eggplants and bank emojis at the police chief.”

“That scoundrel!” Roman responded. “Does he have no shame? He brings misfortune and shame on his entire family!”

Logan was just staring at him during the outburst, then turned back to the officer, “Is the Duke the only one causing the situation?”

“I was expressing my intense displeasure with the Duke,” Roman reminded.

“Yes, but there are more pressing matters,” Logan corrected sternly. “You can bring your grievances to the Duke if you are so insulted.”

“You don’t understand, his existence besmirches my art,” Roman proclaimed.

Logan rolled his eyes, already thinking of entry strategies.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Inside of a nearly identical bank in the city of Egoton, Wilford was sitting at the branch manager’s desk, feet propped up as he was filing his nails. The desk phone rang and Wilford answered it.

“Bank offices, handsome man speaking,” Wilford answered smugly.

“Wil,” Dark seethed. “Why?”

Wil pined the landline between his shoulder and ear, continuing to trim and groom his nails. “Ahh, Darkling, I’m a bit busy at the moment. Can you believe the service at this place is terrible?”

The phone crackled with Dark’s static, a clear indicator at how furious he was that he could affect the phone with that distance. “Wilford M. Warfstache, you are robbing a bank, of course the service would be terrible. Why are you robbing a bank?”

“Eh,” Wil shrugged, blowing dust off his nails. “Figured I’d check it off the ol’ bucket list, you know?”

There was a bit of silence, the sound of wood snapping crackled over the line, “If you don’t find something to make this mess worth my while you can bail yourself out this time, you hapless fool!”

The line cut off suddenly and Wil frowned at the phone. “Well someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

He stood up and carefully walked over the branch manager, who Wil had helped take a nap. The man had looked so tired and so he and the rest of his staff was already taking a nap, Wil doing his best not to wake them up.

Wil had something worth Dark’s while to find. While Wil appreciated Dark when he was feisty, hell hath no fury like Dark scorned in Wil’s humble opinion and best to mitigate that at all costs.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

“Get back here!” Marvin shouted, throwing magic down the bank’s hall at Anti who was jumping from wall to wall, cackling like a madman.

“Maybe yeh should get glasses ta help yeh aim better, kitty cat,” Anti teased.

Chase was shooting one of his modified NERF pistols. So far he was the only one who was managing to hit Anti at all. J.J was frantically trying to keep up, they’d been fighting Anti in the bank for almost a half-an-hour now with J.J having to rewind them back to the start of the fight twice. He was tired, and tipped over something on the ground.

Winded, J.J just lay there for a couple seconds, looking back towards his feet to see a body lying there . . . with a bullet wound right through her heart, the expression on her face twisted in fear.

J.J froze in horror and shock, usually someone called ahead when they found someone Anti had killed. The mute was about to use his communicator to send a signal, but he blinked and the body was suddenly gone.

As if the woman had never even been there.

Desperately, J.J patted the ground where the body had been, but his hand met linoleum and empty air.

“Jay?” Jackie dashed in. “There you are, you okay?”

The mute hero heaved himself onto his knees, frantic moving his hands while he asked if Jackie had found any bodies.

“No, J.J, we cleared the bank this time, remember? Are yah tired? Yeh need me ta call Hein in?” Jackie’s voice was instantly concerned. “Where’d yah find them?”

J.J stood up, “After the battle, we need to win.”

Jackie looked worried and uncertain, the speedster picked J.J up and they ran over to try and catch up with the fight.

Jackie’s tinnitus was flaring up, he couldn’t tell if it was Anti or the adrenaline. Overhead the loudspeakers were silently shaking, as if something loud was playing over them but now sound came out.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

In the surveillance room of the bank, Virgil was loudly singing Bad Romance at the top of his lungs. He had the music blaring over the loudspeakers, much to Janus’s dismay, but the deceitful Side had been outvoted two-to-one so Virgil kept his playlist privileges.

“I want your love, and I want your revenge! You and me could write a bad romance!” Virgil shouted, dancing with the song, not caring if he was out of key because no one was listening and the guard that had been in the room had been knocked out by Virgil’s fear powers a while ago. They’d taken the building without a fight, and without Virgil even lifting a finger.

“Oh~ oh~ oh~ oh~ oh!” Virgil shouted before hitting the blinking red light on the intercom, bringing the music down a bit. “Eh-lo?”

“Perfectly on key, Virge, don’t change a thing,” Janus told him sarcastically.

“Eh, why don’t you fuck off Janny, I’m having fun,” Virgil told him off.

Janus chuckled, his tone more relaxed, “I certainly wouldn’t know anything about that, just kick back.”

“Got it, got it, Mom,” Virgil smiled, rolling his eyes and flipping through the cameras. He looked at the back entrance and sat up. “We’ve got Helicopter Dad, and the Drama of the Opera at the back.”

“Thank you,” Janus told him. Then there was a heavy crash that seemed to shake the whole building. When the deceitful Side spoke again his tone was firm. “We’ll be out in five anyways.”

“Cool, got time to finish my song? Sweet!” Virgil grinned.

“Just be ready,” Janus warned and hung up.

Virgil began turning up the music again, because of the volume he missed the vent sliding open. “Hm~ hm~ hm~ hm~ Want your bad romance!”

Logic was carefully climbing down from the ceiling, braced for a fight but when he took in the full volume of the music and Virgil dancing he just stood there and sighed. The logical side waited for Virgil to notice him but when that didn’t happen, he just shut the music off remotely and Virgil startled.

“You apply yourself so poorly,” Logan chastised. “I shudder to think what would happen if you were competent in your ventures.”

“Hey!” Virgil glared at him, nervous at one of the Light Sides, especially an objective one — or at least one that wasn’t Princey — seeing his singing and dancing. “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough to know that you should work on some decent pitch control,” Logan critiqued. “I advise a voice coach when you get to prison.”

“You’re one to talk, Mr. Roboto,” Virgil jabbed back and started to work his fear powers.

The logical side had to readjust his footing, but was clearly regaining his composure. Virgil grabbed his MP3 player and his bag and bolted for the door, trying to put as much distance between him and Logan as possible, throwing the door open and racing to where he knew Deceit and the Duke were.

In the background, he could hear someone following him and ran as fast as he could.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Wilford rolled his shoulders as he materialized into the main vault, not bothering with that monstrosity of a door. It was far larger than he expected it to be. Wil could hear music playing in his ears. He could hear distant, loud raucous music, the kind that Wil adored but Dark hated. He couldn’t remember putting music on, but he wasn’t going to complain about it.

He’d planned on looking through some boxes, but he saw in the middle of the vault a rather ornate box floating in the air, practically begging to be stolen.

“Well,” Wilford smiled, flexing his suspenders and reaching up. “Don’t mind if I do.”

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Anti used his electricity to break through the actual vault door.

“Come on, shitebag, what are yeh gonna do with money anyways?” Marvin yelled, trying his best to freeze Anti in place.

“Burn it, ‘a fookin’ course,” Anti cackled, then he froze, which he only did half of his own volition when he saw the box floating in the middle of the room.

“Hello?” Anti tilted his head inhumanely, his form glitching out of any hold Marvin was trying to keep him in. Marvin himself was frozen by the sight of the clearly magical artifact in front of him and confused because that thing wasn’t there the last time they were in here.

“Da fook are you, sweetheart?” Anti told the box, Marvin shook his head to clear it, not wanting Anti to take the clearly magical and/or cursed box.

“I don’t fookin’ think so!” Marvin shouted as Anti darted forward to grab the box.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Virgil raced down the hall to the central vault. “Gotta go! Gotta go!”

Janus looked down the hall, “Anxiety! You were supposed to stay at your post!”

“Logic’s here!” Virgil called out. “Where’s Remus?”

The two Dark Side looked into the vault to find Remus not stuffing a bag with cash and other valuables, but he was staring at a box floating in the center of the room, as if transfixed by it.

“Duke!” Deceit called out. “Put it in the bag, time’s up!”

The Duke startled but reached up for the box, his hand touching it at the same time as two other similarly chaotic hands touched the box.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The box jolted and shuddered in their hands before reality began to slam itself together.

Three doors appeared at opposite sides of the room where each of them had entered from the vault door. Wilford, Anti, and Remus all had a hand on the box and were all staring at each other in surprise and confusion.

“Well, old chaps,” Wilford tugged the box free, the ornate box glitching the different ways, each echo of the box being tugged to either of them. “I’ll be taking that.”

“Hey, I saw it first!” Anti shouted angrily. Remus was busy looking at the walls cracking around them.

“Find your own, I need this,” Wil huffed, starting to try and open up a hole into the Void, but to his surprise he couldn’t. “Huh, that’s strange.”

“Hand me that, it’s mine!” Anti shouted.

Then the cracking and splitting began to get far louder and seemingly intentional.

All three of them stopped arguing to watch the ground beneath them and the walls above them crack and divide.

“Jan’s gonna kill me,” Remus laughed a little at the same time as Wil’s admission.

“Dark’s gonna kill me,” Wil held the box closer to his chest.

Then the ground split as Janus and Virgil appeared at the door to the vault. Before Janus could call out the world seemed to twist and bend, and everyone was pulled apart as reality collided with itself.

NEXT =>

[nazali-md]

Get to know my apprentice!

1. Name? Surname? Goes by Scilla. Surname not needed.

2. Any family? Only faint memories

3. Any familiar? A smartass fly named Myiagros

4. Love Interest? Every single one. How does that work timeline-wise? You're asking the wrong person, I don't even know how my day is supposed to work timeline-wise.

5. Best strength in magic? Her biggest strength would be using magic in creative, unconventional ways. Naturally talented in wind magic. Coming from a family of travelling story-tellers, blessed with a literally enchanting voice. Well versed in hiding her presence, altering her appearance, passing through unnoticed and being forgotten quickly.  

6. Favourite colour?  Royal blue, gold, and wine red

7. Favourite number? 4

8. Sexuality? Pan & Polyamorous

9. Weird hobby? Occasionally raising the dead.

10. Favourite season? Summer

11. Favourite weather? Warm but windy. Also night storms.

12. Favourite place in Vesuvia? The Fields

13. How does their laughter sound? Her honest laugh can only described as silent shaking. If you hear her laugh at you, she wants you to hear.

14. How do they look when they cry? 2 types: the Hollywood perfect fake crying, silent tears streaming down her cheekbones, artfully smudged facial paint; and the red eyes, voice breaking, lots of yelling, frustration crying  

15. What do they like to wear? Lots of colour, lots of layers, patterns resembling the night sky. Fond of cloaks, capes, headscarves, veils and flashy facial paint. Anything that helps her hide her facial features. She has little regard to fashion though, and mostly just wears whatever was on the top of the clean pile. It has some... interesting results.

16. What are their fears? Closed spaces, losing magic. Her biggest fear is that people important to her would abandon her after seeing her true shelf.  

17. What do they like to do Friday night? Clear weather? It's astronomy time. Otherwise she loves to go out dancing, and has no problem finding company. However if she's in the middle of some interesting magic stuff, well good luck, she's not going anywhere until it's finished.

18. Do they use makeup? Makeup, magic, magic reinforced makeup, it's all fair game. Mostly for fun. Illegal stuff, sometimes. All the flashy face paint. Lucio's crying in the corner.

19. Favourite food? Shrimps!

20. Favourite drink? Coffee

21. Zodiac sign? Aquarius

22. Day of birth? Classified information

23. Favourite play? Richard III

24. Favourite music? Her taste of music is somewhere right next to her fashion sense

25. Favourite song? Tinariwen - Nánnufláy

26. What are their aesthetics? The endless night sky, copper wind chimes, sand shifting, the piper of Hamelin, cornflowers in wheat fields, the call of the road, tall buildings with gargoyles, untameable hair, mountain peaks and open fields, scarf gone with the wind, dancing barefoot, the milky way

27. What is their style? Eclectic

28. What is their height? Taller than Asra, shorter than Nadia

29. Any mental health issues? Fear of abandonment, slight anxiety  

30. Any health issues in general? Not quite an issue, but very sensitive to cold

31. Favourite book? The Decameron

32. Favourite book genre? Folktales, short stories, anecdotes. Also a lot of non-fiction.  

33. Favourite time of the day? Night

34. If they weren’t a magician, who would they be? Hard question. Being a magician is a large part of her sense of self. She's already a successful shop owner and spy on the side, so probably one of those. She also made a decent healer.

35. Do they believe in ghosts? It kinda comes with her job.

36. Do they believe in demons? Same as above.

37. Do they like sports? Depends. She's pretty fit, but sports involving a lot of rules aren't her thing.

38. Favourite dessert? Chocolate. And those fancy pastries with a million layers.

39. What is their biggest motivation to solve Lucio’s killer mystery? Curiosity and boredom.  

40. What do they think of Lucio so far? (I'll answer these as how Scilla thinks of the LI's at the early stages of their routes) Very entertaining company, but oh boy, so dumb. It's endearing though. They both have secrets they're hesitant to share with each other, and neither of them is happy about the snow.

41. What do they think of Nadia so far? Ooh, challenge. Nadia not only pikes her interest, she really awakens Scilla's need to prove herself. She desperately wants to gain her respect and favour.  

42. What do they think of Asra so far? There's no life without Asra. He's already the centre of her world, but oh my god they were roommates. They love each other very dearly, but they can get under each other's skin in a second. Lots of frustration to work through.  

43. What do they think of Julian so far? She's having a ball, this man is chaos, and she thrives in chaos. He's one of the few who can keep up with her, both in incoherent trains of thoughts and semi-parkouring around the city.

44. What do they think of Portia so far? It was love at first sight, slow motion, cheesy music, everything. She tries to hide just how far she's fallen, because it's really stupid, she's not that easy to win over, but she's failing miserably. Scilla is prepared to do anything to save her from harm.

45. What do they think of Muriel so far? They got off the wrong foot, and he's really trying her patience, as Scilla is not used to people disliking her. They have a long way to go, and I have a long fic to write :(

46. Do they like animals? She grew up poor, so the concept of keeping animals as friends is weird to her. If Scilla sees an animal her mind automatically sorts it to edible/non edible, could be used for farm work/practically useless. This is one of her many conflicts with Muriel. Of course this changes with time and she'd never eat Faust or Pepi, but Camio's on thin fucking ice.

47. Are they allergic to anything? Humourless people

48. Do they have any talents (except magic)? Dancing and astronomy. Also has a knack for smooth social interactions.  

49. Do they get drunken easily? Hates to lose control over her actions, so she doesn't really drink.

50. What is their personality type?  no idea

51. What is their worst negative quality? Desire to control people, greed, mistrust, dishonesty, a tendency to start unnecessary arguments, impulsiveness, pettiness.  

52. What is their best positive quality? Creativity, attentiveness, sense of humour, willingness to help, friendliness, politeness, problem solving attitude.  

53. What is their position to fall asleep? CUDDLE. If only a pillow, then a pillow.

54. The most uncomfortable moment they ever experienced? Getting caught lying by Asra. She used magic to vanish on the spot.

55. Their happiest memory? Waking up surrounded by those she loves, and realising it's not Asra's turn to make breakfast.  

56. Do they blush? It doesn't really show on her skin.

57. Are they clumsy? Quite the opposite.  

58. Do they like jokes? Hell yeah.

59. How do they flirt? You've got to be careful with an enchanting voice, so it's mostly nonverbal, the right dress does all the talking for her. Casual touches, eyes lingering a bit too long. Letting the strap of the dress slide off her shoulders, or her shirt ride up a bit. In a relationship, she's ready to throw in some whispered dirty talk and not so casual touching.  

60. Favourite fruit? Grapes, blueberries and sour cherry.

Why, yes! I do have too much time on my hands due social distancing :)

The questions are originally from @gemarcana​ I think, picture made with picrew

[vex-bittys]

Snake Charmer: An Underfell Story (Finale)

The lamia skeleton, Edge, may be the King now, but he still owes Grillby a favor. Edge only has one thing that Grillby is interested in: his mate, Red. Red is torn between his ex-lover and his current mate. How can this complicated love triangle be settled? 

Contains: NSFW (18+ only), language, explicit sexual content, fontcest/fellcest (mention), Sansby sex, voyeurism (slight), cuckolding (slight), major character death

READ ON AO3

Sometimes violence proves necessary to ensure peace. After the bloody coup against King Asgore, the Underground changed for the better. Monsters no longer killed for fear of being killed if they didn’t have a high enough LV. The toll of despair no longer drove monsters to fall down. The reign of the new skeleton lamia king ushered in an era of a previously unheard of concept- hope.

At first, powerful boss monsters went into hiding, fearing that they may become the next targets of a ruthless and bloodthirsty monarch. Contrary to the previous regime, Edge felt no need to dust monsters who already acknowledged his superiority, and this philosophy spread through the Underground. Boss monsters staked out territory, and weaker monsters swore fealty to them in exchange for protection. Displays of power settled disputes now rather than outright murder.

Clever monsters with low battle stats offered their services to the Royal Scientist, Alphys, and soon the creepy lizard monster had her lackeys repairing the infrastructure of the entire kingdom. The pittance of EXP that weak monsters provided paled in comparison to the value of labor, so Edge sat upon his throne, unchallenged, watching his domain prosper and his children grow strong before his watchful eyelights.

Edge kept himself busy by breeding his rarely-clothed queen, the skeleton monster named Red, as often as possible while his children were distracted by other pursuits, taking the submissive skeleton whenever and wherever he pleased, including on the floor of the throne room during a particularly uninteresting audience. Red had produced no additional offspring, but Edge didn’t mind in the slightest. He’d grown quite fond of his mate and enjoyed watching him squirm and scream in pleasure when Edge fucked him. The mantle of King truly suited the lamia well.

Though his kingdom flourished under his competent rule, one thing still weighed heavily upon Edge’s mind: his unpaid debt to Grillby. Without the fire elemental’s grudging actions, Edge would have dusted, and the throne left unclaimed, sparking further war and bloodshed in the Underground. The enormous skeleton lamia knew that Red had manipulated Grillby’s feelings for him to coerce the fire elemental into helping him, but regardless of the reason for the assistance, it had been given. Edge waited impatiently for Grillby to collect his favor, but the fire elemental took his sweet time, leaving his new king in frustrating suspense as each hour, day, and week ticked by with no communication.

Grillby took advantage of the changing hierarchy in the Underground to further establish his dominance of Snowdin, where he lived and conducted his business. No monster in the region could match his power, and few monsters in the entire Underground even had the privilege of seeing that power for themselves and surviving. The fact that a fire elemental chose to live in a land of perpetual winter stood as a testament either to Grillby’s tremendous fortitude or his complete insanity; nobody dared to speculate which.

The purple-flamed monster ignored the uncollected debt that the new king owed him. He swept the street in front of his shop, indifferent to the flakes of snow sizzling in his flames. He knew that a powerful boss monster like Edge would hate to have such an open-ended obligation hanging over him, but Grillby opted to let him stew in it. The skeleton lamia only possessed one thing that Grillby wanted, and the fire elemental doubted that Edge would be willing to give up his mate, life debt or no life debt.

Would Red even want to be with him? Grillby recalled his suffering during the time that Red had been missing. He remembered the yawning maw of despair in his mind at the thought that the stocky skeleton could be dust, settled somewhere that Grillby would never find him. He had mentally kicked himself so many times for not confessing to Red how he really felt, for not admitting to emotions that monsters couldn’t afford to acknowledge in a kill or be killed world. Back then, he suspected that Red also harbored the type of love for him that had nothing to do with violence and everything to do with desire for companionship. Now, doubt gripped him, preventing him from even visiting the Capitol since Edge took the throne.

The unanswered question gnawed at Grillby incessantly, stealing away the potential comfort of a peaceful Underground. Time passed, and idle wondering turned into obsessive brooding. Grillby examined the possibilities from every angle, played out every scenario in his head. He had to find out. He needed that closure. Grillby decided that he would make use of his royal favor after all, and once that decision was made, there was no longer any reason to wait.

Grillby visited the palace for an audience with the King.

Edge never deigned to sit properly upon the gilded throne in his Throne Room. He preferred to coil around it as if it were prey that he intended to strangle the life out of and crouch over the spires of the back like a hulking gargoyle. His mate, Red, usually perched on one of the velvet padded arms of the great chair or lounged nonchalantly at the base, leaning against the giant lamia’s thick tail.

The royal children- twelve young lamias and a skeleton babybones- wrestled playfully on the smooth marble floor of the Throne Room under the diligent eyelights of their doting parents. When a fire elemental arrived to conduct business, escorted by the Captain of the Royal Guard herself, the little ones made themselves scarce, scattering into the hidden depths of the palace just as their father taught them. This was Edge’s insurance policy in case a second revolt aimed to unseat him from sovereignty.  No matter what happened, his children would survive.

The slim gold chain connecting Red’s spiked collar to his master and lover jingled as Red jolted upright in surprise. Other denizens of Snowdin, some of them old pals of Red’s from what seemed like a lifetime ago, came by regularly for Royal Guard reports or simply to pay homage to their new king, Grillby had avoided them since the day Red’s children were born, and the rejection stung. Grillby barely glanced at Red who lowered himself back into his position at the foot of the throne, scowling at his former friend and ex lover.

“SSSPEAK!” hissed Edge, eyelights narrowed and body tense. The purple-flamed bartender wanted to discuss business, but Edge wasn’t eager to hear his request. His code of honor forbade him from simply killing Grillby to make his own life easier which meant that he would hear the fire elemental’s demands, however ludicrous they might be, and they proved to be quite ludicrous indeed.

“I’ve come to collect,” replied Grillby, as cool as a monster composed entirely of fire could be. His almost indistinguishable eyes, hidden behind the sunglasses that he wore despite the lack of any sun in the Underground, fell on Red, namely on Red’s collar.

“AND?” Edge’s impatience seeped into the solitary syllable, conveying the nature of the very dangerous ground upon which Grillby tread.

“I want Red.” Grillby pointed unnecessarily to the short skeleton. He stepped out of the way a millisecond before Edge’s heavy tail struck the floor where he’d been standing, shattering the marble and sending splinters of it flying in every direction.

“HOW DARE YOU!” roared Edge, rearing back to strike Grillby. The fire elemental summoned flames into his hands, squaring off with the enraged lamia. Red leapt between them to prevent a fight that could only end in the death of one or both combatants. “CONSSSIDER YOUR CONTINUED EXISSSTENCE REPAYMENT OF MY DEBT,” spat the seething lamia.

“It’s not your debt I’m collecting on, Your Majesty,” sneered Grillby, injecting as much contempt into the title as Edge had injected his venom into the former king. “It’s his.” Once again the fire elemental’s finger jabbed in Red’s direction. “He left Snowdin behind along with a mountain of unpaid bills to my establishment.”

Ever since he met the skeleton lamia, Red had trusted Edge to make the important decisions. Aside from their initial confrontation, Edge always kept Red’s best interests in the forefront of his actions. This situation, however, required Red to speak for himself. His long list of IOUs had once been a running joke at Grillby’s bar, a joke that both Red and Grillby participated in, but somehow that camaraderie had turned to bitterness, with jealousy the driving force behind it.

“ya really think treating me like some commodity ta be traded is gonna fix things between us? i thought ya knew me better than that, Grillbs.” Red’s words were sincere, but they hit Grillby like a slap in what passed for his face. At least the fire monster had the decency to shuffle uncomfortably at the admonishment.

“NOW GET OUT,” added Edge, who harbored no soft spot for Grillby, no patience for diplomacy or logic, and no intention of relinquishing his mate.

“Afraid of a little competition?” Grillby suggested, voice full of malicious antagonism. The air in the Throne Room vibrated with Edge’s mounting rage, and Red feared that he wouldn’t be able to keep the two monsters from fighting for much longer. “How about a compromise?”

If Grillby were any other type of monster, the intensity of the skeleton lamia’s glowing crimson glare would’ve scorched him to ashes. Grilly’s devil-may-care demeanor faltered slightly, and he hurried to deliver his offer before Edge wrote Red off as collateral damage and charged him. He didn’t doubt his skills in combat, but injury to Red was an unacceptable risk. Red may have trusted Edge with his single HP; Grillby did not.

Grilly addressed Red directly for the first time. “Let me have just one night with you, Red. Let me prove myself to you, and if you still prefer him-” He jerked a thumb at Edge. “-then I won’t bother either of you again.”

Edge snarled, showing his venom-dripping fangs. “WHAT MAKESSS YOU THINK-”

“i accept,” Red interrupted, making Edge blink comically in surprise. He had never considered that Red might want to sleep with Grillby, and a seed of doubt embedded itself in his SOUL. Red wore his collar for now, but what if he planned to leave, to choose another monster as his mate? Edge could kill Grillby. He could force Red to stay with him, force Red to submit to him, but he couldn’t force Red to want him.

Grillby smirked, but Edge silenced him with a growling hiss before turning to his mate. “I’M NOT LEAVING YOU ALONE WITH HIM,” Edge stated firmly, and Red nodded.

“ya wanna watch? kinky…” Red chuckled, not blind to the gravity of the situation, but choosing to make light of it anyway. Some coping mechanisms never changed. At least Red’s concession placated Grillby, whose victorious smirk could only be read by those who knew him well enough to recognize his expressions.

“Shall we go back to my place and-”

“YOU’LL TAKE HIM HERE AND NOW OR NOT AT ALL,” Edge cut in. He would not permit Grillby to leave the palace with Red unsupervised and outside of his immediate control. Red nodded in agreement. If it would set his mate’s mind at ease, he could perform just fine in the Throne Room with the massive lamia watching. Red hardly considered comfort or privacy a necessity for sex.

Grillby snorted but didn’t argue. Let the skeleton lamia watch; maybe the asshole would learn something about pleasuring Red properly instead of treating him like a disposable fucktoy. The lesson would start with removing the ridiculous collar that marked Red as claimed property. Grillby reached for the slim leather band circling Red’s neck, mindful of the spikes meant to discourage removal. Red brushed his hand away.

“i’ll take off the leash, but the collar stays,” he said flatly, not allowing any room for negotiation. Red unclipped the leash and let the delicate gold chain drop to the floor. He wore no clothing to remove, so he stood before Grillby, naked and willing, a dream come true for the fire elemental… almost. The collar still irked him, but Grillby took what he could get. If he played his proverbial cards right and Red chose him, he’d be setting that leather and gold atrocity aflame soon enough.

Grillby’s purple flames crackled in a mixture of anticipation and poorly concealed ire at the ludicrous rules. Slowly, he unbuttoned his shirt and let it fall onto the polished marble next to Red’s leash, partially covering the symbol of Edge’s ownership with a rippling pool of expensive silk. Next he removed his belt, taking his time with his pants, unfastening them at long last to reveal a thick cock covered in vibrant, undulating flames. Red flushed unexpectedly as the purple light from Grillby’s glowing shaft played across his ivory bones.

Toeing off his shoes to complete undressing, Grillby cast aside his pants and did a quick twirl, more for Edge’s benefit than Red’s. The stocky skeleton had seen the fire elemental naked before, the one and only time they’d had sex. That very same night, Red had slipped away under the cover of darkness, not sure which he feared more- learning that the impassioned sex was simply a casual hook-up for stress relief or allowing true emotions and genuine affection to bloom in the violence and deprivation of the Underground with no sunlight to nourish it.

The fire elemental reclined his well-proportioned body on the dias, not quite daring to take up temporary residence on the throne with the giant lamia coiled around it. Grillby doubted that Edge would uphold his end of the agreement if he fucked Red right on top of him.

“Come,” Grillby invited Red, patting the gleaming marble next to him.

“pfft, i got more stamina than that!” joked Red, but he seated himself next to Grillby, close enough to invite contact without instigating it. The flames of Grillby’s body warmed the frigid stones pleasantly causing the reflective surface to glimmer. If not for Red’s flippant attitude and the threat of two blazing eyelights hanging overhead, the setting might have been romantic.

Grillby didn’t waste any more time with words. His hand snaked out, a single finger trailing down Red’s sternum, featherlight and fever hot. Red magic, the same color as the maraschino cherries that Grillby used for cocktails in his bar, swirled in his pelvis, waiting for Red to manifest it into flesh with a hesitancy that had become unfamiliar to Red since he became Edge’s mate. When the lamia approached him with lustful intentions, Red’s magic snapped into the form of a pussy instinctively, responding to Edge’s undeniable dominance. With Grillby, Red had to focus on what he wanted.

Red’s magic coalesced in his pelvic inlet, developing into luscious pussy lips that swept back and up into the curves of a full, round ass. Grillby admired the new additions to Red’s pelvis. Without his impeccable control, he would’ve tackled Red to the floor and fucked him senseless immediately, but Grillby needed to prove to Red that he was the better lover, the better monster, the better mate. A fast and messy romp on the unyielding floor wasn’t going to suffice.

The hand on Red’s sternum meandered off track to caress the underside of his ribs, drawing him closer. Grillby leaned in for a kiss, and Red tipped his head back to accept it. Grillby let his fiery mouth skim Red’s jawline instead of going straight for a kiss, and he was rewarded with a soft little gasp of surprise. With a mate like Edge, Red had surely forgotten what foreplay felt like, and Grillby intended to remind him, one brush of the lips or slip of the tongue or stroke of the hand at a time. He lived for the moment when Edge had to watch Red come fully undone at his hands.

The fire elemental’s mouth found the leather of Red’s collar next, and he belligerently left a small scorch mark on it as he nuzzled it upwards to tease at Red’s neck with his tongue. Red’s lids eclipsed his sockets. The prolonged wait for the kiss made his magic buzz and tingle, and Grillby’s gentle attention lulled him into a blissful haze of desire. Grillby’s hands weren’t idle either; they toured each foramen and process along his spine like eager sightseers, unwilling to bypass a single dip or divet in Red’s bones without thorough exploration and leaving a trail of heat and arousal in their wake.

Red sank into Grillby’s embrace, loving the way the warmth saturated his bones. Finally, the ghost of the fire elemental’s breath haunted Red’s upturned mouth. The skeleton parted his jaws, and Grillby accepted the invitation, delivering a long lingering kiss in which he sought to communicate the depth of his feelings for Red first through the rough movement of his mouth against Red’s, then with the intricate swirling of his tongue against Red’s, and finally with his hands sliding down to the skeleton’s hips to position his body so that he laid back on the dais.

Breaking the kiss with reluctance, Grillby straddled Red’s body, staring down at him with a surprisingly honest expression that Red couldn’t quite place. Humming so softly that the skeleton struggled to separate the vibrations of the sound from the fire elemental’s breathing, Grillby placed kisses, one after another, across Red’s clavicles, then down his sternum, a parody of a religious gesture that meant nothing to the denizens of the Underground but symbolized a sort of worship between the two monsters on the dias nonetheless.

Grillby dipped his head lower, stroking the supple ecto-flesh forming Red’s pubis with his hands while he tenderly nuzzled the skeleton’s inner thighs. The heat pouring from Red’s pussy matched the heat of Grillby’s flames as the fire elemental slowly spread his glistening folds to expose his swollen clit and fluttering entrance. When the fiery tongue found its way past his plump pussy lips and into his tight hole, Red tilted back his head and let out a satisfied sigh.

The bartender from Snowdin never failed to ignite Red’s magic with his touch, and his very bones burned with a desperate need. At the risk of viewing the experience through the scope of a barrage of fire-related puns, Red held an undeniable torch for the fire monster, yet somehow the sexual encounter with Grillby failed to fan the dying ember into a flame, leaving Red missing something despite the pleasure of Grillby’s tongue curling inside of him.

Sensing the fading intensity of his lover’s reactions, Grillby switched from tongue-fucking the skeleton to fingering him slowly. His mouth migrated to Red’s clit, settling over it and beginning to gently suck on it. Red’s back arched and his hips tilted upwards against Grillby’s hand. Grillby’s fingers were long and nimble, and they found all of the sensitive places inside of Red’s pussy that his tongue had toyed with, only this time with the added sensation of the clit stimulation.

Pleasure overwhelmed Red, and his phalanges scrabbled for purchase on the smooth marble beneath him. Pressure built low in his abdomen; he ached for release as he hovered at the precipice of orgasm. Grillby changed his strategy again, letting Red tremble with the tension of being so close. The fire elemental used one thumb to continue to play with Red’s clit while his tongue joined his fingers inside of the skeleton’s deliciously wet pussy. No meal he served in his establishment compared to the taste of drawing an orgasm out of Red with his fingers and tongue.

Flavor exploded in Grillby’s mouth when Red came, and he lapped it up eagerly. The skeleton’s pussy clenched around his fingers and tongue, and the thought of that same tightness squeezing his cock once again tempted Grillby to rush things. He resisted once again as well. If this was truly his last chance to be with Red, he planned to savor every second starting with licking Red clean of his arousal. Once his saliva slickened Red’s folds instead of the skeleton’s own fluids, Grillby stuck his fingers into his mouth, sucking the same tangy stains from his flaming digits, not letting a drop go to waste.

Red’s eyelights pleaded for more, and Grillby would not deny the object of his affection for a moment longer. Breathing harshly, the fire elemental lined himself up with the skeleton’s trembling pussy, rubbing himself up and down the glistening slit to get lubricated. Red moaned, low and loud, coaxing fat drops of pre-cum from Grillby’s cock with only that single sound. No more waiting. With a groan, Grillby sank into the welcoming embrace of Red’s pussy.

Grillby moved slowly, deliberately, letting every inch of his cock stretch Red’s hole as it filled him. Red cried out at the maddeningly languid pace set by the fire elemental. The drag of Grillby’s thick shaft, the way it caught on his entrance as it slid inside of him, so gradual, so controlled, drove him insane with lust.

Red wanted to be utterly destroyed. Red wanted it hard and rough, not soft and careful. Red wanted his face shoved into the floor while his pussy was railed until his throat became raw from his empassioned screams. Instead, Grillby made tender love to him, the steady, unhurried rhythm of his hips at odds with the fervor that consumed his SOUL.

Moans mingled between sharpened teeth and fiery lips only to be swallowed into silence when Grillby and Red’s mouths met. During the confusion of tongues and hot breath, the fire elemental’s hands found his lover’s, and their fingers, purple fire and pale bone, intertwined. Grillby’s powerful thrusts gained speed, rocking Red’s smaller body beneath him.

The fire elemental’s hips stuttered to a halt, slamming into the willing body of his lover with fierce finality as orgasm swept over both of them. Red’s body stiffened, and stars exploded behind his sockets. He gave in to the soothing waves of euphoria, closing his sockets and letting his greedy cunt tighten around Grillby’s cock again and again, milking the searing cum from his flaming lover.

As Grillby’s hot magic pumped into his pussy and the first blinding rush of orgasm faded, Red came to a stark realization. He didn’t love Grillby, and he never had. His relationship with Grillby had never extended past friendship and one desperate hookup to chase away some of the loneliness of his life in Snowdin. Sleeping with Grillby now and subjecting him to a glimmer of hope that would never truly materialize was unfair. He owed Grillby honesty at least, especially considering that he had little else to offer. There is no consolation prize for unrequited love.

How do you tell someone who is willing to give up everything for you that you don’t harbor the same feelings? How could Red explain that Grillby’s saccharine affection was just another rut to fall into, just more motions to go through while the oppressive nature of their lives continued to crush them while they waited for a merciful blow to speed the act of falling down? Grillby’s love followed the same desolate path that Red sought to escape, a path that eventually led to dark, endless emptiness no matter how hard he fought. Falling from a greater height causes a more painful landing.

Red decided to be straightforward. Explanations wouldn’t soften the blow.

“I can give you everything you ever dreamed of,” Grillby murmured against the side of Red’s skull, oblivious to his thoughts.

Grillby had no idea what Red dreamed of. If Red chose Grillby, they would live two miserable lives, together but somehow also separate, and always aware of the gap that existed with no possible way to bridge it.

“I choose Edge.”

The words sounded strange coming from Red while another monster’s cum dribbled from his still-throbbing pussy, but they also rang true. Edge’s savage vitality breathed life into Red like nothing else in the entire Underground. The huge lamia’s protective and possessive nature left Red feeling both valuable and secure, like he belonged in this world, like he mattered to it... and when they fucked? Edge’s hunger for Red was palpable, visceral, inexorable, and insatiable.

The lamia in question’s entire thick body encircled Red, separating him from Grillby and obscuring him from the fire elemental’s vision. Edge flipped Grillby’s clothes to him with the tip of his tail, a clear and callous dismissal.

“YOU HEARD HIM,” hissed Edge impatiently as Grillby quickly and wordlessly dressed himself. “NOW GET OUT OF MY PALACE BEFORE I EXTINGUISSSH YOU WITH MY PISSSSS.” Grillby obeyed without protest, numb to the threat, Red’s words tumbling around in his head and refusing to make sense.

As soon as the door closed behind the forlorn fire monster, Edge retrieved the slim gold chain from the floor and clipped it onto Red’s collar. The lamia then used the newly refastened leash to pull his mate close.

“YOU ARE MINE, AND I WILL NOT ALLOW ANYONE TO TAKE YOU FROM ME,” Edge rumbled, and his words reverberated through Red’s bones and down to his very SOUL.

This was as close to a declaration of love as the lamia would get, but Red had become well-versed in interpreting Edge’s often gruff statements. Red had not missed the brief flash of fear in Edge’s eyelights, despite how quickly Edge’s usual arrogance replaced it. Sometimes even the King needed some reassurance of his place in the world.

Tiny skeleton faces peered around the archway leading into the Throne Room. The presence of the children prevented Edge from reclaiming his mate then and there, but they also served as a reminder of the one final thing that Edge and Red provided for each other- a future to look forward to.

“i love you too,” replied Red, and Edge made no comment about his mate’s translation of his words except for holding him a little tighter.

---------- (The song used here is Almost Lover by a Fine Frenzy) ----------

And when you left, you kissed my lips You told me you would never never forget These images

Grillby stumbled out of the Palace and into the streets of the Capitol, sunglasses-shielded eyes unseeing. Other monsters moved aside to let him pass, assuming him to be drunk or possibly injured. Nobody asked, though Grillby couldn’t have formed the wrenching pain in his SOUL into sensical words anyway. He barely grasped what happened, his mind refusing to accept the reality of losing Red, not to death and dust, but by his choice, to another monster.

Well, I’d never want to see you unhappy I thought you’d want the same for me

The fire elemental hunched his shoulders as the scenery changed from the Capitol to Hotland to Waterfall, unnoticed. He struggled to process the possibilities of the future. Red’s choice to be with Edge wasn’t something he could fight. If he killed Edge, Red would never forgive him. No amount of begging or coercing would change Red’s mind, and honestly, Grillby wanted the skeleton to find happiness, even if it meant letting him go. Unfortunately, letting him go left Grillby with nothing.

Goodbye, my almost lover Goodbye, my hopeless dream

Grillby ignored the blasting snow flurries that announced his arrival in Snowdin. The fluffy snowflakes that rode upon the back of the frigid, blasting winds sizzled in his purple flames, but more than steam rose in their wake. Little grey flakes like ash drifted upwards to mingle with the pristine white snowflakes the same way that the dancing light of Grillby’s flames had mingled with the pale ivory of Red’s bones in the Throne Room.

Goodbye, my luckless romance My back is turned on you Should’ve known you’d bring me heartache Almost lovers always do

Grillby’s feet knew the way back to his bar and restaurant, but the fire elemental himself was lost, unable to move forward mentally and therefore also physically. He stood in the blizzard swirling at the entrance to the town of Snowdin and blinked as if waking from a dream. He had no choice but to accept that Red was gone, forever out of the reach of his aching heart, and nothing else really mattered to him beyond that.

I cannot wake up in the morning Without you on my mind That’s what it came down to. Nothing else mattered to him without Red. But now you’re gone and I’m haunted And I bet you are just fine Did I make it that easy To walk right in and out of my life?

Grillby continued to stand, flaming yet frozen as the wind gathered up his dust and scattered it across Snowdin, indistinguishable from the ever-present ground cover of snow…

Should’ve known you’d bring me heartache Almost lovers always do

… until nothing remained but memories.

PREV | INDEX

[sol1056]

Okay so i'm really confused. Who pitched the idea for the Voltron reboot? Did they write the original story or was that someone else? Who's writing the story now? Like i get that there is more than one person working on the story but like to take someone's vision of their story and to just throw it in the trash is just kinda fucked up ya know? I wouldn't want to work with a network if they're gonna screw over something I came up with.

It’s not a simple picture since there’s a lot of history. There’s three parts, behind the cut: who wrote the original story (vs the original-original), who pitched the idea for a voltron reboot, who’s writing the story now, and the issue of revisions. 

I must have at least three pages of asks that talk about Hedrick’s story and how the EPs butchered it… and I recently stumbled over something that made a few pieces click together. So, if you sent me an ask about Hedrick’s story and what he’d planned, you might want to read, ‘cause this answers a lot of your questions.

who created voltron

Back in the early 80s, the Koplar brothers purchased a license from Toei’s back catalog, and adapted/cut/rearranged the original GoLion into an American-only version called Voltron. GoLion hadn’t been much of a hit in Japan; it was kinda behind the curve. When the Koplars adapted it, Voltron was a huge enough hit in the US to warrant a second season, requiring new footage from scratch (mixed in with re-used stuff from the original season). 

The sequel (using a completely different anime from Toei’s back catalog) didn’t do anywhere as well. The planned third part was never made. Since then, there’s been reboots, comic books, idk what else. 

who pitched the idea

Long story short, Universal purchased a bundled archive of licenses. These are collected existing properties they could redevelop – anything from some no-name, one-season, failed cartoons to ones that were popular once and since forgotten. Voltron was one of those properties.

I doubt anyone pitched the idea, formally. More like, the execs saw Voltron in the pack and chose it for a reboot/remake. All they needed was staff to do it, so they interviewed potential showrunners. Around that time, JDS had pitched his idea for a Streetfighter cartoon. DW TV passed on JDS’ pitch, and instead offered him the position as EP of what would become the VLD reboot. 

(An aside: JDS and LM both talk up how much they loved Voltron as kids, but in early interviews they admit neither could remember for certain who Voltron’s ‘real’ leader was — Keith or Sven — all the way up to starting their interview with the execs.) 

who wrote the version we have now 

I’ve been operating under the assumption that as the story editor, Hedrick had a major influence on the story. I’ve also noted in several different posts that S1/S2 feels like a completely different story, in more ways than one:

As the story moved into the split-seasons, it’s clear that whomever lent that guiding hand in S1/S2 was no longer present. Someone else’s fingerprints are on S3, and my guess is it’s mostly Hedrick, at least on the script-level. The word choices change, the cadences change, the beats change. From S3 on, VLD has all the hallmarks of a muddy vision. 

A few days ago, I was researching for another ask and came across this:

On-screen, a “producer” credit for a TV series will generally be given to each member of the writing staff who made a demonstrable contribution to the final script. The actual producer of the show (in the traditional sense) is listed under the credit “produced by”.

According to IMDB, these are VLD’s  executive producers:

Joaquim Dos Santos  (63 episodes, 2016-2018)Lauren Montgomery (63 episodes, 2016-2018)Jae-Myung Yoo (24 episodes, 2016-2017)Robert Koplar (23 episodes, 2016-2017)Ted Koplar (23 episodes, 2016-2017)

We’ve been assuming Hedrick steered a large part of the story. If that were so, though, Hedrick should also have EP credits. He doesn’t. The Koplars have EP credit ‘cause they created the original Voltron. JDS and LM are on there, as showrunners. 

And then there’s this guy Jae-Myung Yoo. He’s done key animation, directing, and storyboards. He has a handful of executive producer credits, mostly for single episodes. Yoo left VLD in 2016, and joined Big Fish & Begonia as a co-producer. 

I think we just found the voice that steered the first two seasons, and whose departure left the story without a clear vision. 

Yoo doesn’t have any writing credentials, but his resume goes all the way back to Gargoyles in 1995. He doesn’t have to be a writer to be a storyteller, after all; there are different ways and methods of telling stories. My guess is Yoo’s a respected directorial voice around Studio Mir, understands how a story flows, and most importantly was probably a trusted voice after working with Ryu, JDS, and LM on AtLA and LoK. 

We’re left with one of two options: Hedrick stuck to the Yoo-created outline, rewriting and rearranging as the EPs shifted tracks, and the majority of the story’s direction since S2 has been from JDS and LM. Or Hedrick did have a substantial impact from S3 on, and JDS/LM refused to grant Hedrick the proper credit for that level of contribution.  

the issue of revisions

Television’s a wacky environment. It’s somewhere between collaboration and sheer hell, especially if you don’t come with major credentials (ie, your name is not Guillermo del Toro). 

Here’s how it starts: the showrunners, any other EPs, the writers, the senior writer/head editor/story editor (title depends on seniority), production assistants, writing assistants, and other producers will gather and brainstorm the story, and come up with a synopsis for the story’s outline. When the execs approve the synopsis (after probably a round or two of feedback), the expands the synopsis into a full outline of the entire story. 

The writers set about writing the script, which are sent to various execs for their feedback. The execs send their feedback — called ‘notes’ — to the showrunner. These are usually a jumble of responses (and a lot apparently tends to be personal taste, too), and also often contradictory. It’s the EP’s job to relay the exec response to the writers’ room, and make sure things get changed so the execs are happy. 

The EP (and the writers) must do a delicate balancing act, between budget, story, and sheer insanity like one exec demanding a scene be cut and another exec thinking the scene should not only stay, but be expanded. Or insisting on specific pairing endgames (or lack thereof). Or — as seems to have plagued VLD — saying the story is too dark and ‘needs more humor,’ which the EPs appear to have interpreted as ‘do more filler episodes that have no plot relevance.’ 

The first thing to remember is that most execs are not intentionally malicious. They will ask for too much, and they often have their own agendas, but their goal is a hit, not wasting a bazillion dollars for no gain. If you look at the credentials for decision-level execs at Dreamworks, every single one came up through the ranks: they’ve directed, produced, some were also animators, and at least one did either acting or voice acting. They’ve been doing this for awhile. My advice to any wannabe-EPs (or writers) would be that when an exec says, “kids are going to be bored stiff with this scene,” listen. I’m not saying automatically change it, just give it a fair listen. 

Collaboration is hard. It takes patience and good listening skills and empathy for the people on the other side of the table. It takes a willingness to bargain and enough strength to be vulnerable, and a whole lot of honesty about your own reasonings for wanting one thing or another. 

Stories created in the high-pressure hot-house environment of a collaborative group are a very different critter than one-author novels: no one person owns the story. Not everyone wants to sign up for sharing that creative process, and that’s fine, too. We do need books with good stories as much as we need shows and movies with good stories. 

Just color me seriously unimpressed when someone in a collaborative storytelling process constantly snarks about exec meddling. I have no sympathy: they signed up for this. If their creativity is so fragile it’s threatened by feedback, they need to find a different medium, ‘cause the collaborative world of television production is probably not the best fit.  

[katrinawritesthings]

Jonghyun/Taemin; Sidequests; PG

when you’re a bounty hunter for dangerous fiends but the dude that lives at your favorite rest stop rescues animals so he’s always grumpy at u

Taemin leans back on his palms, watching as Jonghyun turns back to his charge and makes soft, soothing noises as he wets his scrub brush again. The flarequestrian huffs and grumbles, flicks its tail in the grass and wiggles when Jonghyun gently scrubs up to its neck. Taemin can see fiery red glowing from underneath its skin and shakes his head disbelievingly. Whenever he sees one of these horses in the wild he avoids them as quickly and effectively as possible. Not worth the trouble or the burns, but Jonghyun leans over its head and pets its nose softly, not worried at all about the possibility of it opening its mouth and scorching him to a crisp.

ao3

Taemin closes his eyes as he walks, smiling up at the sun as she shines down on him. This is so nice. Calm. Relaxing. Gentle crops sway behind the corner of a fence as he approaches his favorite little cottage on the west side of the plains.

And also the only little cottage on the west side of the plains, the only rest stop between the city and the beach camp on the other side of the hills up ahead. But that’s not why it’s his favorite. He trails his right hand over the fence as he walks, smiling at the leaves that brush his fingertips. He’s watching the left side of the path, looking for any fiends hiding behind rocks or sparse trees and hands prepared to grab either his crossbow or his dual swords out of habit, but like usual, it’s calm here. Jonghyun makes sure of that.

When he reaches the far corner of Jonghyun’s garden fence he grabs the post and swings himself around and onto his cobbled walkway. Wind chimes tingle as he steps up and he cocks a brow, amused. There’s been barely any wind all day. He always suspected that they were enchanted. Jonghyun likes people even less than he likes fiends trying to eat him or his plants.

Taemin steps up his porch steps and knocks on his front door, looking over the intricate designs carved into the frame curiously. They look cleaner than usual. Jonghyun must have tidied up a little since the last time he was here. Soon he hears noise from inside; looking in the little window in the door, he watches Jonghyun walk up, peep out at him, and sigh at his lazy smile and wave.

“Hi,” he says when Jonghyun opens the door. “Can I come in for an hour, maybe, tops?” He doesn’t need to rest much. His mark today should only be a little further out. He doesn’t even have to go all the way to the hills this time.

“Mmgh,” Jonghyun grumbles, even as he steps aside and gives Taemin space to step inside. His fluffy pink hair and light apron aren’t matched at all by his sharp frown. “You on another murder hunt?” he asks as Taemin passes.

“A bounty hunt, yeah,” Taemin agrees. He knows that they don’t share the same opinion on which fiends are okay to kill. Taemin technically agrees with Jonghyun’s whole “all life has value” thing, but for him, sometimes physical value is worth more than the spiritual kind. He’ll take a few thousand dollars from a grumpy merchant for saving their caravans from a rampaging bashura over whatever moral points Jonghyun will take away from him in his head for doing it. “How’s Roo doing?” he asks, wanting to change the subject to something that won’t include Jonghyun shooting him grumpy little looks the whole time he’s here.

“She’s still adorable,” Jonghyun shrugs. He closes the door behind him and slips passed Taemin and into his little kitchen. “She’s napping outside,” he adds as he opens his fridge and pulls out a pitcher of strawberry lemonade. Taemin pulls out his money pouch to pay Jonghyun’s usual hourly rest and food fee, and they exchange hands easily, used to this from the many times Taemin’s work has brought him this way.

“I have stuff to do outside, too,” Jonghyun tells him, handing him a cold little sandwich and a few plums. “So, just. Don’t break anything.” He gestures around his kitchen and small living room with a stern little look and Taemin nods. He can do that. Simple. He used to think it was weird and kind of naive of Jonghyun to leave strangers alone in his home like this without even a warning to not steal things, but that was before he came to rest here at the same time as that one bandit. Since then he’s learned that surprise traps and cursed hands are how Jonghyun likes to protect his things and has very wisely kept extra far away from anything that could have secret magic hanging around it.

Jonghyun’s back door clicks behind him and Taemin sips his lemonade, looking around at all of the cute little herb jars and charms and wards decorating his walls. His place is always so cozy and safe. Sun filters in from the window over the sink so Taemin stands there as he eats, soaking up even the indirect lights and feeling all warm on both the inside and the outside.

When he finishes eating he washes his glass and then lets himself into Jonghyun’s quaint little living room, bypassing the cushy beanbag chairs in favor of spreading out over his couch for a quick power nap. Fifteen minutes, at the most, and if he stays too long then Jonghyun will wake him up. He tugs one of Jonghyun’s spare pillows close under his chin and nuzzles it comfortably as he drifts to sleep.

Some time later, Jonghyun does manage to wake him up, but not on purpose. Taemin just hears his voice, low and soothing, murmuring words through the wooden walls.

“Shh, it’s okay, sweetheart,” he’s humming, voice a quiet but clear hum. “I won’t hurt you, you know that, shh, shh.” A low grumble, almost a growl but far too soft, follows his words and Taemin raises sleepy eyebrows. Hmm. Seems like he’s taken in yet another injured fiend.

Taemin sits up, yawning into one hand and pushing his wavy blonde hair out of his face with the other. Patting his pockets to make sure that he still has everything, he hesitates when he feels a hard lump in his jacket. Oh, right. That thing. He wiggles his hand inside and pulls out the gem, a jagged, reddish brown hunk of carnelian. Hmm. Well, at least he has a real reason to go outside and talk to Jonghyun again besides just curiosity.

Slipping the rock back into his pocket, he makes his way to Jonghyun’s back door, pushing it open and taking in his wide backyard. The garden extends to the left, and in front of him and to the right are various simple fences separating Jonghyun’s animals. Beady-eyed wolf vultures eyeing soft cottony hares, large earth lizards soaking up the sun, that one gargoyle Jonghyun rescued from smugglers perched in the corner, and other little misfits that chose to stay with Jonghyun after he nursed them back to help all roam around in comfort. Just like Jonghyun said, Roo also is napping in her usual spot next to the door and Taemin smiles at the little pup before he turns more to his right. There, he finds Jonghyun on the ground by his water spigot, a damp scrub brush in one hand and a stone flarequestrian laid down under the other.

Taemin blinks in surprise, taking in the bulky horse as it lies in Jonghyun’s grass. What the fuck. Even for Jonghyun’s usual standards, this seems a little dangerous. Its teeth are jagged iron, it’s hooves heavy stone, it’s grey skin rough like sandpaper with sharp obsidian throughout, but still Jonghyun shushes and pets it gently.

“Come on, honey, I know you want to be clean,” he’s smiling, trailing his hand lightly down to pet its back leg. The flarequestrian snorts softly, a horsey sound of pride and stubbornness, thick smoke puffing out of its nostrils, and Jonghyun just chuckles softly. “Don’t give me that, Cinders,” he chides. “Let’s finish this, okay, and then you can go back to your running.” He pats the horse’s leg gently and Taemin watches Jonghyun’s smile grow when it huffs again and looks away with a flick of its steel tail.

“Thank you, sweetheart, my good girl,” Jonghyun beams, wetting his brush again. He presses it gently to the horse’s stomach, loosening dust and dirt with slow circles and rinsing it away with gentle trickles from the hose. The water makes its stone skin darker, but Taemin can see Jonghyun’s progress in the washed and sundried hindquarters versus the unwashed rest. He wonders how much convincing Jonghyun has had to do already.

“Hey,” he says, as softly as possible, and still winces when the flarequestrian huffs and hisss at him, eyes flashing red. Jonghyun glances at him, then looks back to his charge, shushing it gently with soft pets. Eventually, it flops its head back into the grass and Jonghyun turns to him again.

“What?” he asks shortly.

“Uh,” Taemin says, and wiggles his hand into his pocket. He steps forward only a few steps, just close enough to lob Jonghyun the stone. “I was in the city mines the other day and I found this,” he says, handing the carnelian over. “I read that it’s good for love spells, and, well, I don’t think you need any, but you can still do more with it than I can.” He shrugs. Even if Jonghyun isn’t looking for love from a human he can at least maybe get a little extra affection from his animal friends.

“Oh, neat,” Jonghyun says, looking it over with genuine interest. He rubs his thumb over the rough edge and quickly looks up at Taemin. “How much do you want for it?” he asks.

“I mean,” Taemin says. “I don’t know.” He feels a soft nudge against his ankle; looking down, he finds one of Jonghyun’s stray voidcats poking at his shoe. He crouches down to pet her, but as soon as he hovers his hand over her fur, she blinks out of existence and reappears on the other side of the yard. Taemin huffs. Little shit. Every time.

“The magic shop lady told me it could go for around two hundred if I found the right buyer, but.” He shrugs as he sits himself down fully in the grass. He doesn’t have the time or patience to find the right buyer. “Some extra food would be nice, I guess,” he says. “I’m thinking about crossing through the Marshwood to get to the capital soon, so.” That’s about a week’s worth and he always did like Jonghyun’s cooking more than the generic stuff he gets from the shops. Jonghyun regards him and his decision for a moment, looking over the carnelian again before nodding and slipping it into his pocket.

“Sure,” he says. “I’m gonna finish this first, though,” he says, gesturing to his flarequestrian. “So you might wanna just hit me up on the way back from your thing instead.”

“Oh, it’s not urgent,” Taemin shrugs. “The thing’s nocturnal. I can wait.”

“Mmgh,” Jonghyun says, “fine,” and just like that, his stern little frown is back on his lips. Taemin looks away awkwardly; he’s never been ashamed of his profession but fuck if being in Jonghyun’s animal-loving presence doesn’t make him feel kind of weird about it. Oh, well. At least Jonghyun didn’t ask him why he was in the mines in the first place to get the stone. Hearing of another bounty hunt of Taemin’s probably would have made him even grumpier.

He leans back on his palms, watching as Jonghyun turns back to his charge and makes soft, soothing noises as he wets his scrub brush again. The flarequestrian huffs and grumbles, flicks its tail in the grass and wiggles when Jonghyun gently scrubs up to its neck. Taemin can see fiery red glowing from underneath its skin and shakes his head disbelievingly. Whenever he sees one of these horses in the wild he avoids them as quickly and effectively as possible. Not worth the trouble or the burns, but Jonghyun leans over its head and pets its nose softly, not worried at all about the possibility of it opening its mouth and scorching him to a crisp.

Taemin has never quite figured out if Jonghyun is brave or just recklessly confident, or if there’s even a difference between the two.

He watches Jonghyun work in silence, all the way until Jonghyun finishes cleaning one side and casts a light protection spell to keep it clean as he urges the horse to lie on its other side. On this shoulder it has a wide bluish tint on its skin, reminiscent of Jonghyun’s usual healing salves and magic. About halfway through Jonghyun’s cleaning of its hind leg, his wind chimes out front start tingling again. It sounds like more than just the one that sounded for Taemin’s arrival and when Jonghyun looks up, he scowls.

“We’re not here,” he mumbles, and quickly casts a small spell over the both of them. After the magic settles, Taemin can still see Jonghyun, but he recognizes the feeling of an invisibility spell and raises his eyebrows.

“Do you know them, or are they just…?”

“People,” Jonghyun finishes for him, a little furrow between his brows. Taemin hears the knock on Jonghyun’s front door easily but they both stay where they are, Jonghyun grumpily wetting his scrub brush again and Taemin watching with curious interest. He leans back on his palms as the group of people out front knock again, and then a third time, and then as they peep ineffectively around the side of the house before finally giving up and continuing on. Taemin watches them shuffling on down the dirt path before turning back to Jonghyun.

“I know why you don’t like me, specifically,” he says, plucking a blade of grass from the ground and rubbing it between his fingers. “But are you ever going to tell me why you don’t like people in general?” He feels like they’re close enough for that kind of knowledge. He’s known Jonghyun for years. Unless Jonghyun has some deep, scarring, extremely personal reason for keeping his dislike of people a secret, Taemin doesn’t see why he’s never grumbled out an explanation.

Still, Jonghyun just looks at him, a sharp, annoyed little glance, before going back to his task. Taemin shrugs. Must be the former, then, he guesses. He can respect that. He yawns behind his and and looks out at the rest of the yard, at all of Jonghyun’s fiends and animals. His bunnies are hopping all around one of his big lizards, bugging it as it tries to relax, but it just swats lazily at them with its tail.

“They bred these for the war, you know,” Jonghyun says quietly.

“Hmm?” Taemin hums. He focuses again on Jonghyun, but Jonghyun isn’t looking at him. Rather, he’s still petting and washing his flarequestrian, eyes down. He nods at it and gives it a gentle pat.

“These horses,” he says. “Unbreakable stone and lethal glass, cruel teeth, an inferno on the inside. ‘Vicious and brutal temperaments,’ they said. They would break them to make them obey and then ride them into battle until they broke again. They said they were bred to be bloodthirsty proud and only care about killing those weaker than them. So aggression would be in their nature and their first instinct would be to attack.”

Taemin looks at the flarequestrian between them, eyes closed and breathing lazy.

“The war was barely three years ago,” Jonghyun says. “I don’t think this one is even second generation.” He leans close to pick a stubborn piece of dirt away with his fingernail. “All she wants to do is sleep and run in the grass.”

He doesn’t say anything after that, and neither does Taemin. They stay silent in the grass, Jonghyun only speaking in low, gentle murmurs to his stone horse as he finishes washing her rough skin. She’s clean soon, Jonghyun pulling gentle fingers through her mane, the steel strands so soft and yielding when they’re not being whipped towards an attacker. When Jonghyun stands up, she does too, a soft whinny nuzzled against his neck in thanks. Jonghyun smiles warmly, patting her rough neck, and gets her to stay for a quick, final misty rinse from his hose.

“Alright, Cinders, you can go now,” he says when he’s done. “Come back whenever.” He makes little shooing noises with his hands towards the wide plains outside his fences. She bumps him with her nose one more time before turning and taking off into a clunky run. She jumps and clears the fence easily, and then breaks into a real gallop, shrinking into the distance along with the sound of heavy hoofbeats. Jonghyun watches her go with the softest little smile on his lips before he notices Taemin watching him and looks away.

“What did you want again?” he asks, looking back almost as quickly. Taemin points to the pocket that Jonghyun put his gem in earlier.

“Some food,” he says, pushing himself to his feet and rubbing grass dampness off of his thighs. Jonghyun’s hand pats his pocket too and he nods in remembrance.

“Right, right,” he says. “This way.” He stepps passed Taemin with a wave to come along, heading towards his garden and stepping over the low fence. Taemin follows easily, first to his garden and then to the kitchen, allowing Jonghyun to pick out what he wants to give him without much protest. In no time they’ve put together a little box of food, enchanted to stay cool by Jonghyun and placed into Taemin’s enchanted bottomless bag. It should last him even a few days into the capital city, Taemin thinks, which is good.

“Thanks,” he says, patting his bag closed happily.

“Mmhmm,” Jonghyun hums. He slips around Taemin and to his front door, opening it and holding it open for him. “No offense,” he adds, “but I hope your hunt doesn’t go well.”

“Oh,” Taemin says. He muffles a snort in his hand and shrugs, taking the hint that it’s time to leave now and heading out. “None taken,” he says. Jonghyun tells him the same every time he stops here on his way to a hunt. He never mans he wants Taemin to get hurt, just that he hopes that whatever fiend it is that’s been bountied can’t be found or doesn’t have to be killed. Taemin can’t say that that’s ever happened to him before, but he can’t blame Jonghyun for hoping.

“You stay safe too,” he says as he backs down Jonghyun’s front porch. He would hate for his favorite little animal lover to ever not be here.

“Bye,” Jonghyun calls softly. He’s doing the thing where he slowly closes his door and peeps through the crack, waving with a little hand, until the person has no choice but to either leave or just talk to a door. Taemin grins at his predictable tactics and just waves back before he turns and sets off down the path, continuing on to his mark.

It’s the closest hunt he’s ever had to Jonghyun’s land; maybe this one time he’ll be able to just catch it and bring it back for Jonghyun to love.

Probably not, but at least he’ll be able to tell Jonghyun that he tried.

[tumblunni]

okay HOLY SHIT

I just remembered that show Gargoyles that I loved as a kid, and I decided to rewatch it, and its SOMEHOW EVEN BETTER THAN I THOUGHT IT WAS?? Like holy fuck?? It has one of the best introductions to any show ever! Did I just never see the first episode as a kid, or did all the implications fly over my head when I watched it??

Okay so.. like.. I knew the PREMISE but I didnt expect it all happened in the least expected way! The friggin theme tune tells us that blablabla ancient magical guardian creatures fell under some sort of curse and now they’re revived in modern times, such and such, there you go a one sentence plot. BUT HOW IT HAPPENED HOW it happened oh GOD And like the show starts with a whole hour long flashback to the gargoyles back in olden times?? like thats a really bold move! usually in kids shows theyre like ‘you MUST establish the status quo/episode formula right away’. here we literally only saw two minutes of modern times america. TWO MINUTES! some person we dont know finds some mysterious monster. now lets throw that all away and spend a whole glorious hour establishing how much of an upstanding man that damn monster is, and how the universe treats him like shit. like weirdly enough it raises hype for the modern day episode formula even as it shows none of it?? it makes the audience think ‘WAIT WTF THEYRE NOT EVIL, OH NO WE ALREADY KNOW THE MODERN POLICE IS GONNA ATTACK THEM’ :< And then also we get ANOTHER HOUR AND A HALF of establishing the modern day status quo too?? theyre labelled on dvds and stuff as the first five episodes, but really this was just one big 2 and half hour movie premiere! i wish i could have seen it in its original form back when it first aired, i just remember that it was really hard to catch reruns of the multi part stuff cos toon disney had a lot of airing issues

anyway WHY IS THIS THE MOST AMAZING THING EVER?

okay

OKAY OKAY

Here’s our premise! We start off in some ambiguously set medieval kingdom where everyone dresses like a mashup of vikings and englishmen yet have scottish accents ok seriously thats kinda distracting And we’re introduced to this small castle kingdom that’s protected by mysterious guardian creatures of amazing character design. Like seriously i wish they didnt focus so much on this ‘all the main gargoyles have to look more human’ thing, the comic relief teenagers trio was my favourite and also THE COOL GRANDPA EYEPATCH GARGOYLE ok ok im getting offtopic So in this universe gargoyles are a sentient species of winged noble warrior doods, who just happen to have a problem of turning to stone in sunlight. And they protect these humans but the humans are all assholes who’re like WAH BUT THEY LOOK LIKE CHRISTIAN DEMONS THEY MUST BE EVIL even as theyre like.. mid-being-saved. Absolute dumbasses. And seriously YOU BUILT YOUR CITY ON THE GARGOYLES’S LAND! You should count yourself lucky their leader is Niceman Mc Patience who agreed to a peace treaty instead of kicking your ass. Seriously Goliath you kinda comprimised too much! It really fuckin sucks!! The gargoyles are like.. employed by the humans for no form of pay?? They get literally nothing out of it! Except less room to live in their own home, and constant degredation.

Okay so THE HUMAN CHARACTERS AND THEIR CONSTANT DEGREDATION

We’re introduced to the princess and royal vizier dude when the kindly knight captain is like ‘hey you should say thank you to the gargoyles, not me’, and she’s like HOW DARE YOU LET THE BEASTS INSIDE THE HOUSE! Like seriouslt the gargoyles arent even allowed to be seen by humans?? Theyre supposed to protect them every damn day but also should never speak and never have any form of rights as sentient beings. WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR DAMAGE, MEDIEVAL DOODS?? So yeah here’s our brief summary of the everyone here: * Fucking asshole princess who acts like you let your dog shit on the floor if you give a friggin sentient being and king of another civilization the basic courtesy of being allowed to STAND INSIDE THE HOUSE * Cliche evil vizier lookin dood who doesnt really have much personality shown yet except being a sycophant to her anti gargoyle shit, and like.. from his character design you totally expect he’s gonna be evil. *shrug* * Niceman mc guardman who treats Goliath like a friend and is being all activist for gargoyle rights amoung the court. But also he’s really low ranking apparantly, and doesnt have any power to affect change. It seems that he’s been treated like shit by these royals for a long time... * One innocent nice kiddo who wants to hug the gargoyles for saving him, but his jerkass mum is all OMG HOW DARE YOU TOUCH HIM HEY EVERYONE YOU SAW THEY TOTALLY ATTACKED US RIGHT Like seriously he just fuckin tries to start a conversation with the younger gargoyles, and is all ‘youre my hero!’ and they have a nice talk that establishes a load of worldbuilding like how gargoyle culture doesnt have any form of names and Goliath only has one cos the humans gave it to him. Screw you, worldbuilding interruption predjudice mom!

Okay so now we have our premise, and we see some mysterious guy in a hood sneaking out of the castle to ally with some raiders who wanna overthrow the country and steal all its riches. Also a minor scene of the teen and kid gargoyle group being sent to their room for 'causing trouble’ even though seriously the humans started it >_> So like.. we all know where this is going, right? Its a pretty big omen when you give us a contrived circumstance for the children to be the only ones who can be safe from this impending catastrophe... And the voice was very gruff and deep so its probably not the princess doing this shit, plus duh she already has all the power so why would she need to stage a coup? Really, the question now is just what vizier man’s motives are for wanting to betray her!

... EXCEPT

This is where the story gets fuckin great, and also where My Soul Is Pained

hey guess who was really the traitor? its.... nice guard man! fffffuck its sooo creepy when the princess is running for help and she’s like HEY THANK GOD YOURE HERE and then he has this big slasher smile and reveals his plan T_T And like.. he’s still.. not really evil?? Nobody here is evil, except the personalityless plot device raider guys who just exist to set up this circumstance. The princess is an ungrateful predjudiced asshole, but she’s beloved by her human subjects and i mean., she never actually does anything evil, she’s just rude and nasty. And the vizier was a complete red herring and actually all his mysterious shit was just him hiding a crush on the princess, so he breaks down when he thinks she’s dead :( And then guard guy also wasnt lying about caring about the gargoyles. he tried to get them to leave so that only the humans would die, but then like.. his ambition overtook that one shred of loyalty he had to his friends. He thought he could get through all this without having to kill them, but when the raider guy insists upon it he ends up agreeing rather than lose his chance at stealing the throne. And then its really slimy how he’s all ‘BUT I DIDNT INTEND THIS ORIGINALLY, ITS ALL RAIDER GUY’S FAULT’ after goliath shows up and cries over the corpses of his family, like seriously what the fuck dude dont try and weasel out of consequences for your actions. But still it feels like he was once a genuinely good guy who just gave in to his selfishness and abandoned his morals?? And i mean its super justified for him to be angry at how he was treated by the princess, and to want to affect change in this society. WE WERE ALL ROOTING FOR YOU!! Seriously its so fuckin surprisingly deep to have some guy who’s a fakeout hero in the first damn episode. And some guy who’s a villain just because he stooped to any means necessary to carry out his once-heroic ambitions. Instead of changing society for the sake of the people, he’s sacrificing all the people just to gain the throne, and forgetting why he ever wanted it! SERIOUSLY HOW DID YOU MANAGE TO BE EVEN WORSE THAN ASSHOLE PRINCESS

so yeah then the plot just goes in SO MANY UNEXPECTED DIRECTIONS to get to the same expected conclusion! Instead of just being cursed by the bad guys, the gargoyles were betrayed by the one closest to them, while those bad guys all died innefectually offscreen. And the curse wasnt even an evil act! It happens because of a REALLY COMPLEX GREY MORALITY SITUATION, where the princess and vizier were gonna be sold off for cash, but then because the gargoyles tried to save them the guard guy decided to just execute them instead. So after their triumphant rescue of all the villagers, they find the vizier man sobbing over his dead love, and then he tells them its THEIR FAULT IT HAPPENED. And he doesnt want to live without her, so he makes a really stupid reckless decision and decides to attack the last few living gargoyles. And like RIGHT AFTER he casts the spell on them, he finds out the princess is still alive and its all oh Fuck What The Fuck Have I Done So vizier man tries to undo the curse, but his book of spells got damaged in the fight and (OF COURSE) coincidentally the page about curse lifting is gone. Cue fuckin Everyone Crying. SO FEW EVIL PEOPLE IN THIS STORY SO MANY EVIL ACTS DONE BY THOSE WHO THOUGHT THEY WERE THE HERO like even the vizier and princess realize they were wrong about their anti gargoyle bigotry after they have to see the consequences of it here but its just WAY TOO LATE FOR THAT

and then yo the EVEN MORE UNEXPECTED AND SAD BIT cos our protagonist gargoyle was the only one who didnt get cursed thats unexpected and he basically COMMITS SUICIDE TO BE WITH HIS FAMILY THATS KINDA MORE UNEXPECTED Well its more like a g-rated suicide metaphor?? Everyone thinks the curse will never be broken, so he curses himself too cos he cant live without them. And its really depressing cos even though we know they all eventually get uncursed, so many others just straight up died and also theyll never see their human friends again and also the castle is all destroyed so the fate of the kingdom is really ambiguous too?? we just know that the now-redeemed princess and vizier are gonna do anything they can to protect their citizens and atone for what happened. and they take the last few gargoyle eggs that werent destroyed, and promise to raise them with all of the love and respect they nevr gave poor goliath... and seriously they never say whose children those eggs were but he’s like the only person left who could have given them a proper gargoyle childhood. So like its morally grey that goliath is choosing death together with the people he knows, rather than living and trying to ressurect his dying civilization. i absolutely wouldnt blame him for it though, its not like suicide is an active choice, he wasnt exactly in his right mind at the time! But its just REALLY NICE AND COMPLEX! And raises a lot of questions about what will happen to these new gargoyles who’re raised by humans, how different would they be if goliath and co met them someday? i really hope thats actually a plot thats gonna happen, i cant rememebr ANYTHING about this show lol...

so yeah theres all the FUCKIN COMPLEX DARK MORAL AMBIGUITY IN ANCIENT ENGLANDSCOTLANDGERMANYKINDA and it is AMAZING and it absolutely baffles me how they ahve such great plots when other parts of the writing are kinda awful standard disney cliches?? like seriously they wasted so much screentime on Comic Relief: A Fat Guy Exists. Seriously he just.. exists. They show these really slow and overanimated scenes of him just.. eating things. not even exaggerated or comedic. he ate one pie, lets all make fun of him for twenty minutes but man, no show in the 90s was perfect, lol! this is still pretty damn great! AND VERY EMOTIONAL

oh oh oh and i didnt mention THE OTHER CRYING BIT cos the guard guy gets a cliche disney villain death, the whole accidentally falling off a cliff due to his own actions, so the protagonist isnt morally responsible for killing a man but then what makes it a really unique scene is that THATS NOT THE MORAL STANCE THE SHOW TAKES goliath WANTED to kill that damn man or, at the very least, give him some sort of punishment for what he’d done goliath has a fucking huge despair moment over the fact this villain man died and he wasnt the one who did it “you took everything from me, even my chance at revenge” cue ugly sobbing as this buff ass demon man screams at the heavens and cradles the stone dust that was once his damn wife what the fuck show why are you doing this to me

ITS REALLY GOOD

[yeoldontknow]

Hero: 5

Author’s Note: This chapter is brought to you by delayed NYC subway trains, a bored Kat at a baseball game, lunch breaks at work, and one brief NYC heatwave. I hope you enjoy yet another political, PCY POV chapter. I find I enjoy changing the perspectives and shaking up the writing style slightly. Hope you enjoy! <3 Song for this chapter: XIII - mr. kitty Genre: Vampire!Chanyeol; thriller; horror; suspense; drama; eventual smut Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Rating (this chapter): R Warnings (this chapter): graphic depictions of blood; swearing; vomiting Word Count: 4,861

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CHANYEOL

The night always surprises him, how vibrant and electric it is. Even as a human, he preferred the darkness and felt at peace in its cold embrace - much like being held by water. When he feels introspective and bitter, he thinks this is why death eluded him. He'd made a home of the shadows, so all encompassing and whole, that there was nowhere left for him to go - nowhere else his soul could belong; rejected by the afterlife into the arms of night.

It's fitting, he thinks. He died with the sun, during a sunset so violent and red for a moment it appeared his blood had spilled into the sky. The dusk encased him and wrapped him in stars as he withered beneath a tree, soaking the grass beneath him until even the leaves above were dripping with his stain. Sometimes he wishes the tree was his grave, his ashes its roots.

He was ready to die, welcomed it with a smile bordering on ecstatic as he drank the light of the moon like milk, but it refused him. The eyes of his maker greeted him like a ravenous void, with a blackness so full of thirst and chaos for a moment he thought he'd passed through a dying star.

He died, ready for an empty eternity. But then, he lived.

And the galaxies above welcomed him with distant and open arms. He'd wept at the sight, a true vision of all the life gleaming under cover; glimmering and waiting to be touched, kissed, and known. It made him feel small. It made him feel the true meaning of awe. He thought he'd been chosen. He thought he'd become a god. 

Tonight, the skies are anxious. Tonight, the skies are cowering under his hard stare and the sight makes him crack his neck to release a fraction of the tension spreading itself along his spine. He knows it's his reckless indignation tainting his sight. Truthfully, he shouldn't be out. Truthfully, he's being careless. But in times of war, he likes to be one step ahead of the opposition - and even though it hasn't officially been declared, he can smell it on the wind and he finds the stench offensive in its simplicity.

When he reaches Jin-Soo’s club, he waits in the alley around the back and starts to feel damp. His skin becomes moist with anticipation and remembrance - this used to be his office. Pressed against tepid brick and sick with a hunger caressing the lines of savagery, he would linger in alleys just like this. He fed on the weak and the drunk, the drugged and aroused - it didn't matter. They all bled so beautifully. 

The meeting point is stereotypical, he knows this. Forced to wait in the filth and squalor seeping from the trash and into the street, he's aware this is done with purpose. This is regarded as his full potential, this is what Jin-Soo thinks of everyone but himself - everything a worthless nothing, easily forgotten and easily replaced. Some nights, Chanyeol agrees and thinks perhaps the world would be better if everything burned. Tonight, though, it's an insult directed at him and the arrogance of it makes his fangs itch.

The watch on his wrist tells him he's been waiting for five minutes and he impatiently grits his teeth. There was never a set meeting, his presence is uninvited and likely unwelcome, but he knows that it is felt. It looms in the dark, outside the reach of the street lamps and is sensed with a magnetism akin to doom. His presence is felt and it is being ignored.

Chanyeol is many things, many brutal things soaked in blood and dripping in gun smoke, but he is never tardy and finds that waiting, different from the patience of hunting, is a trivial habit singular only to humanity. He fondles the vile in his pocket and his fingers gently slide over the wooden bullets pooled next to it. He allows himself a brief reprieve and imagines putting one between Jin-Soo’s eyes. The inherent satisfaction of it makes him thirsty in a way that causes a smile to pull at his lips. It's not the first time he's allowed himself to wallow in the fantasy, the vision of it forming graphically in his mind more times than he can count. He was always happiest with bodies collected at his feet.

A metal door on the side of the building swings open, revealing a tall, muscular man in a well-tailored black suit. After a quick glance around the alley, he brings his attention to Chanyeol and nods with a heavy grunt.

‘About fucking time,’ Chanyeol hisses. He looks past the bodyguard and sees no other men, no back up.

Gliding towards the door, he gives the man a once over as he passes through with a cocked eyebrow. The guard is dressed in a way he finds completely unnecessary, crisp suit clean and pressed and expensive. He pauses just beyond the threshold and smirks.

‘Big man hooked you up with Tom Ford but couldn't get you backup?’

‘Follow,’ is the curt reply.

Chanyeol rolls his tongue over his teeth at the blatant disrespect, but says nothing. Now is not the time for gutting the help.

They walk silently down a corridor, likely only used by the maintenance staff given the buckets and mops with red stains woven through cloth, and turn a corner that leads to the kitchens. He eyes every single person quickly as they pass, exhaling quietly through his mouth and ignoring the way the smell of human food makes his stomach churn in disgust. The scent is thick and synthetic, the purity of raw muscle soiled by butter, and oil, and wine, as if these things somehow improve the taste. He normally doesn’t feel this way, but the scent of the human and the lack of fresh blood has turned him into a primal thing and he relishes slightly the feeling of being unpredictable.

He counts two concealed weapons, observing the outline of the barrel in the back pocket of one chef and in the apron of the other; possibly Sig Sauer P228 given the size and length, though he can't be sure. To anyone else, they would appear comfortable and careless - giving away their tells like they were inviting bloodshed to their doorstep - but he knows this is all merely an illusion.

Everything is an illusion, and Chanyeol has always been far too perceptive for his kind. They want him to know they are armed, safety off and trigger finger ready without pause. They want him to know they are lethal and that, to them, loss of life is insignificant and happenstance.

He smothers a chuckle in his throat, acknowledging these pretenses with a roll of his eyes. He’d have them outnumbered and overpowered in seconds.

They pass silently through another hallway, yellowed and peeling beneath the harsh fluorescent light, walls lined with stickers of bands and sharpie markings of drunks professing love and loathing.

J <3 A 4E

Marcus is a fucking cunt!

Lives are painted on these walls, smeared into the concrete with haphazard nonchalance, and Chanyeol reaches a hand out to touch them as he passes, grazing each with his sharp nails as though he were grasping at throats.

The guard pushes on a solid black door which opens to the VIP terrace of the club interior, leather chairs and plush couches lined against the wall across from tables pressed tightly along the railing. Immediately, they are assaulted with a throbbing, electronic bassline and the sheer volume of the sound makes Chanyeol’s ears ring slightly as his hearing adjusts. It’s the first thing he notices, before the onslaught of human desire.

It surrounds him, taunts his senses in a come hither whisp beneath his nose, strong enough to make his steps falter from the force of it. The club is in heat and everyone is succumbing to the pull, pawing at one another in dark corners and against the bar. He smells the spit, the sweat, the dripping sex of the women and the strained breathing of the men. His senses are haywire, a thirst rising in his throat so wet and greedy he starts to salivate. He absentmindedly runs his tongue along his lips before gaining control of his synapses and strides blithely across the terrace towards a table nestled in the back.

Jin-Soo is lounging in his chair, legs languidly stretched out and crossed at the side of the table. He presides over the patrons of his club, stoic and immobile, a red straw dangling from his lips as he chews it with a tense jaw. He watches over the dance floor with a detached sort of interest befit for a gargoyle, and for a moment Chanyeol sees him as a monument, a statue to be vandalized and dismantled.

As he approaches, Jin-Soo catches the movement from the corner of his eye and, briefly, a scowl toys with his features before smoothing to a placid, albeit vacant, expression. Waving in an awkward, slightly forced motion, he points to a chair that Chanyeol has no desire to take. He'd rather pull out his collarbone, he'd rather gnaw through the veins in his neck, but instead he stands next to the chair and bows.

His body shudders in protest at the action, a proper greeting being offered when none is given in return breaks a millennia of rules and propriety. There's no room for politeness here, that much is true given how Jin-Soo is looking at him, but Chanyeol has played this game enough to know that everything is a test, a challenge of his willpower. He’s played this game before and he will play it to the end, even if it means burning out what's left of his soul.

‘Chanyeol. What a pleasant surprise,’ Jin-Soo says, glancing back at the floor below and making a point of not looking at him when he speaks.

‘I figured a chat between men was in order,’ Chanyeol says, straightening to stand. His fingers are aching to crack, to claw, to tear at something as pliable as flesh.

Jin-Soo nods to the guard who places a hand on his shoulder and turns him, crude and full of discourtesy. He wonders if this man knows he is a sire. He probably does. He probably doesn't care.

‘Arms up,’ he says, pointedly.

The guard’s hands roam over Chanyeol’s body with purposeful force, rough and indelicate, searching him for weapons, drugs, or money.

‘Does this mean you're buying me dinner?’ Chanyeol asks, feigning innocence with wide eyes.

The guard says nothing but his scowl hardens, apathetic and cold.

His actions are intimate and slow, and Chanyeol clicks his tongue as his hands round and press against his ass. He gives the man a dirty smirk when his fingers find the barrel of the HK USP 45 Match tucked between his trousers and back.

‘Find something you like?’ Chanyeol whispers, puckering his lips and blowing a kiss.

‘You can get this when you leave.’

He tosses the gun onto the table, and it lands with a loud clatter.

‘Be gentle with her. She’s a rarity,’ Chanyeol says, lowly.

Hands move to the front pockets of his coat and he moves his torso at a slight angle to graze his hip bones against wandering fingers, watching the way the man’s mouth settles into a frown of frustration. He stifles a laugh, relishing how uptight and by the book the guard is. He must be new. The bullets are found quickly, and for a moment he can tell the guard considers taking and burning them, but without a magazine to load they are effectively useless.

He drops his hands and nods at Chanyeol before turning to reach for the gun on the table. Chanyeol studies his back and the way his coat awkwardly drapes along his ass, sighing with a roll of his eyes.

‘You should keep your knife in your breast pocket,’ he says casually to the guard as he pulls out his chair. ‘Harder to notice and easier to reach.’ He gives the man a wink as he gracefully settles in his seat, painting an expression of mild-mannered boredom on his face.

‘He’s clean,’ the guard says as he takes the gun and leaves. Chanyeol shakes his head minutely, glad to be rid of him.

‘Do you have your entry fee?’ Jin-Soo asks, finally bringing his eyes to him and addressing him properly.

Chanyeol reaches into his pocket, pulling out the vile and setting it in the table between them. There's a brief pause during which they both stare at the small glass, glistening with liquid. Coloured lights bounce and refract along the glass in rhythm to the music, giving it an otherworldly glow.

Eventually, Jin-Soo reaches to take it, breaking their visual stand off, and thumbs the cap slowly while looking Chanyeol directly in the eye. He brings it to his nose and inhales, deep and erotic, eyelids fluttering as the scent of Chanyeol’s venom settles in his stomach.

He watches with dead eyes and starts to feel violated. He knows this is the point. He knows this is the true meaning of payment, the offering of something not easily parted with.

Jin-Soo caps the vile with a satisfied cough and places it in his breast pocket, right next to his heart. ‘I’d offer you a drink, but my supplies were interrupted,’ he says, implication tarnishing his polite tone.

‘Gin will be fine,’ he announces, sounding almost nice, and he remains impassively calm as he watches Jin-Soo raise his eyebrows in minor surprise.

And it's now that Chanyeol has to force himself to forgive the disrespect and the judgement, looks them over with a casual shrug of his shoulders because now, now is when his resolve matters most. This isn't the time to be petty or playful, this is strategy and an infiltration of defenses so slow and absolute it will be too late before anyone notices the collapse.

As Jin-Soo snaps his fingers, motioning to a bartender, Chanyeol is locking pieces of himself away and pushing his hungry parts into corners made of iron. His focus is becoming narrow and he is silencing all his distractions: his anger, his thirst, the exhaustion, the ache in his joints. He's shutting down and focusing on one thing and one thing only: to swallow and to survive.

A glass of gin on the rocks is placed in front of him, and he forces a grin as he regards the shadows it casts. His fingers idly run along the rim and he brings his eyes to Jin-Soo, who watches him expectantly.

To his right, a woman is dancing with...someone. A stranger. Her boyfriend. It doesn’t really matter, but Chanyeol can smell her. He’s getting whole mouthfuls of her sweat and perfume, the sex of her consuming the atmosphere, and this is what he focuses on as he brings the glass to his lips. Her scent mixes with the alcohol in a bewildering away, the pleasurable aroma souring slightly until neither she nor the gin are recognizable.

He opens his throat and swallows.

All at once his body is at war, tearing and ripping itself apart from the inside and rejecting the gin with such strength he feels his muscles constricting with a visceral quake. He’s being lit on fire, alcohol mixing with bile to become something atomic, and he feels his veins throb in an effort to maintain control.

In his mind he is screaming, a bloodcurdling howl so violent and agonizing his bones resonate with the sound. In his mind he is dying, the last of his strength dissipating under the burn of the drink and he thinks he'd like to sleep and sleep and sleep. In his mind, this is suicide.

He refuses Jin-Soo to the pleasure of witnessing this, his features serene and confident as he purses his lips to feign the smooth warmth of a good drink. Placing the now empty glass gently on the table, he blinks and he smiles.

‘Jinzu,’ he says, tongue taking the excess with a curl in his upper lip. ‘Sweet.’

He has thirty minutes, at most.

Seemingly convinced, Jin-Soo relaxes into the back of his chair and looks out once more at the floor below.

‘You said you wanted to chat?’

‘Yes. If I may, I’d like to get right to it.’ Chanyeol follows Jin-Soo’s gaze and settles on a woman with hair so red and thick it looks as though she is made entirely of blood. ‘I've never been one for...dancing.’ 

Jin-Soo nods almost imperceptibly. ‘It's why I chose to deal with you.’

At this, Chanyeol turns and leans forward across the table. He’s accosted by the smell of Jin-Soo’s cologne, in his nose and his mouth, and it makes him sick, makes him want to cut out his tongue to forget the flavor. ‘I believe I chose to make a deal with you. You understand?’

His tone is menacing and sharp, effectively releasing himself from the shackles of propriety. All his pieces are set delicately on the chessboard and now he’s free to be ruthless.

‘You make it sound as though you had a choice,’ comes Jin-Soo’s arrogant hiss.

‘I don’t deal often. I find the necessity of others to be finite.’

Jin-Soo clenches his jaw and turns slowly to peer at Chanyeol with narrow eyes. ‘Am I meant to be moved?’

‘People lie,’ Chanyeol says, holding his stare and suppressing a gagging cough. ‘They manipulate what is and what was to match their mood, their whim.’

‘I thought you didn’t like dancing, comrade.’

‘The most precious thing a man can have is his word. You gave me your word,’ he whispers, yet he knows Jin-Soo can hear him. ‘You gave me your blood.’

His words are sharp and calloused, fire to the iron of Jin-Soo’s indifference and now Chanyeol can see it. He can see the urge grow from Jin-Soo’s neck and climb into his teeth, settling in his mouth in a white rage, blinding and pure. He wants to show his fangs and he knows he cannot.

‘I think you’ll find, Chanyeol,’ he growls, ‘you gave me the same.’

‘Yes, mine was given freely out of honor and respect.’ He leans back in his chair with a flick of his wrist, partly being dismissive, partly trying to shake the spasms out of his tendons. ‘Yours...well, was I meant to ignore the halfling attempting to chew her way through my gate?’ 

He settles his cold gaze on Jin-Soo and waits. He's being blunt and he's being dangerous, but the bile is rising in his chest and it seems dangerous is the only option left.

Jin-Soo cocks his head, calculating all his options before speaking. Chanyeol half expects to die. ‘You’re making a bold statement, comrade. I hope you’re comfortable with the consequences that come with it.’

Leaning forward, Chanyeol places his hands beneath the table and claws at it, scratching in one long slow movement until his nails are buried deep. He’s cutting away at the wood and the pain helps release some of the anguish, a brief, violent distraction. It's enough for him to focus on speech. ‘I hope you’re comfortable being the man who broke a blood deal.’

‘You have no proof.’ His syllables are cruel, accentuated as though he were speaking to a misbehaved child and filled with disdain.

Chanyeol simply sits and purses his lips into a slight pout, a look he knows to be taunting. Jin-Soo is equally as wrathful as he, conniving and smart and violent, and the only way for Chanyeol to get the truth is to smoke him out: either by patience or by bullet. Jin-Soo assumes there is no proof and, while he is right, Chanyeol is astute enough to plant the seed of doubt. 

They sit this way for several moments and, for a time, Chanyeol thinks the force of his hands might break the table in two. Eventually, slowly like ice frost dusting over grass, Chanyeol sees Jin-Soo question himself, a flash of doubt in his eyes before it retreats and hides itself away. This simple refraction of light is enough for Chanyeol to know he has won.

‘I have your venom.’ Jin-Soo says, breaking the silence.

‘I have your second.’

‘Yes, I imagined he hadn’t wandered far,’ Jin-Soo says, running a finger along his lips. ‘And how is he?’

‘Rotting.’

Jin-Soo pushes himself forward and, to the unaware or ignorant, this would look almost friendly. He comes to lean close to Chanyeol, like he's ready to share something personal and private, offering words only to Chanyeol in confidence. Instead, his voice is ominous and aggressive. ‘Did you come here to threaten me on my territory?’ 

He chuckles. ‘I’m unarmed. I’m hardly threatening.’

‘Did you come to re-negotiate?’ Jin-Soo demands, tapping a finger on the table. 

‘Now, now,’ he says, smoothly, ‘I’m not in the business of negotiating war.’

‘Then you shouldn’t be dealing in blood.’

The words are tossed into the air like steel dice, a harsh gamble on Chanyeol’s reaction. They are nothing but contempt and mockery of his ability to manage his coven, and the oncoming storm of bloodshed.

‘You misunderstand me,’ he retorts, leaning forward with nothing but malice in his chest. ‘I don’t negotiate in war because it is never about business meetings, it’s about men dying. I think you should expect to bleed before you make promises you can’t keep.’

‘I’d watch your tongue,’ he spits. ‘You’re on my territory. I’d have your fangs before sunrise.’

Chanyeol thinks of the new guard and the armed men in the kitchen. He thinks of Jin-Soo’s money and his clean shirts. Everything is pretense, and he doubts Jin-Soo has ever personally bled a man for business before allowing himself to watch their world fall.

He thinks of the melting sensation in his stomach and the way his insides feel as though they are in a state of decay.

Even on the edge of death, Chanyeol would have their jaws ripped clean before they even touched him.

‘But wouldn’t that spoil it, just a little?’ he says, brightly. ‘All the fun we’re having?’ 

Again, Jin-Soo remains silent but he watches Chanyeol in a way that is too calculating to merely be sizing him up. Already, he is plotting and preparing. Already, he is planning the first scar he will leave on Chanyeol’s coven.

‘I think I’ll take my leave, comrade.’ Chanyeol rises from his seat with an airy sigh, and dusts his hands on his trousers. To the naked eye, it appears he is smoothing nonexistent creases. Really, he's wiping the wood out of his nails.

‘A wise idea, yes.’

They regard each other cooly before Chanyeol bows, chewing the insides of his mouth to stop himself from retching as he faces the ground. Coming to rise, he smiles before exiting the way he came.

In the hallway, the guard is waiting for him. He hands Chanyeol his gun and, even though he wants to run and push himself into the night air before his body caves in on itself, he remains nothing but the image of calm.

It takes four minutes for Chanyeol to make it to the dockyard several blocks away.

It takes two more minutes for him to move himself away from any wandering eyes or city lights. 

And then, in the secrecy of night and with only the moon to watch him, he bends over and vomits violently onto the pavement. At full strength, he would have taken the drink with glee. He always loved gin, though prefers it sloe, and for a moment he mourns the rich flavor of the sake mixed drink. But he was hardly at full strength, and this meant that anything other than pure, human blood, would make him feel as though he was being skinned alive.

Forcing the delay of rejection has caused his body to go into overdrive, soul fire turning his bile into an obsidian mess. The force of his heaves sends ripples through his muscles and his chest, and he has to grip the dockyard rails to keep himself from falling.

It’s then that he notices his hands are sweating and blazing red. The poles of the railings are glowing and bending under his hands.

He is a molten core and he is smithing the iron into chaos.

With the black stains of is insides still dripping from his mouth, he runs and runs and runs until the coven gate is in view. Before he is in reach, he can smell her - the human, his hero. He’s still several hundred feet away, but he thinks he could hear her heartbeat for miles, a tether and lure to his dying heart. It’s calm and strong, evenly paced and it’s clear she is either with Yixing or has been fed. There is no fear, just the strong aroma of healthy, human blood coursing vitally through delicious flesh.

When he reaches the gate, he presses his back against it, opting to keep his hands off the first line of defense so as not to damage it. His presence is felt immediately, and it slides open against his shoulder blades in a hard massage.

Hands hold him and touch him, this time reverently, and he’s aware he’s lost consciousness because when he finally opens his eyes, finally becomes cognizant of his surroundings, he’s back in his bunker, but his breathing his shallow.

Jongdae hovers above him, barking orders, and still all he can smell is the human. He’s nothing but a jumble of nerves, the desire to feast on her causing his chest to lift itself from his bed and he roars, miserably and desperately, in a state of true starvation.

Minseok holds him down, and he yelps at the cold rush along his arms. It’s obvious he’s regulating his fever, and he can make out Junmyeon as he sits quietly in a corner, generating a cool mist in the air, although he is blurred and merely a phantasm of tranquility.

After a time, Yixing rushes to his side and Chanyeol can feel him stroking gently at his consciousness. He calls out to him in joy.

Hello, old friend. We have used too much of you these last days.

Yixing is screaming. His eyes are red and dry, and Chanyeol could cry at the sight. He’s burning the very heart out of Yixing and turning him to ash, his mind and heart nothing but an inferno of grief consuming all good intentions.

Realizing that even the supernatural will not heal their sire, Jongdae leaves and almost immediately returns with a plastic sack in his hands. He tears it open with his teeth and thrusts it againsts Chanyeol’s mouth, pulling his lips apart with his thumb.

The blood cascades down Chanyeol’s throat like a balm and he groans in sheer delight. He’s utterly ravenous, starved within an inch of his sanity and he drinks and drinks until all that’s left is the taste of plastic. Another is offered to him and he takes it, greedily, consuming it with all the urgency as though it were a beating heart held between his hands.

When he finishes, he finally has the strength to speak. 

‘They’re mobilising,’ he gasps, tongue wet and heavy in his mouth. ‘The kitchen staff are armed. I imagine it’s the same for the other three clubs. He’s preparing defenses and expecting retaliation - he’s even got new body guards.’

‘Do we know his intent?’ Minseok asks, lips blue from his cold.

‘I imagine it was planned,’ he coughs, referring to the deal. ‘He has something that makes him confident. He was too collected, arrogant but in a different way.’

‘We need a mole. Someone on the inside,’ Jongdae suggests, ripping off part of his shirt and handing the cloth to Chanyeol to wipe his mouth clean. ‘And we need to move Sehun’s initiation forward. He’ll be valuable.’

‘Yes,’ Chanyeol agrees. ‘It will have to be tomorrow. We can’t spare the time.’

Momentarily, he looks at his hands and scowls at the way the pallor of death has turned his flesh to chalk.

Jongdae nods. ‘I’ll inform him. Should we allow volunteers for infiltration?’

‘No,’ Chanyeol says, sharply. ‘No volunteers.’

He’s slaughtered his way through history, and knows that any mole is usually the first to die. His men, his brothers, are too valuable at this moment to send off alone - especially when their blood supply has been reduced so significantly. He needs them all here, even his foot soldiers, their skills perfectly refined for war.

They all have gifts, many supernatural and many more simplistic, but none are as perceptive and human and unassuming as one he has witnessed three times across two days. Only one will be overlooked and underestimated, and now, for the first time, he’s glad to be inconvenienced.

Yes, he thinks he will have use for the hero after all.