#maybe i should start looking into like blogs or something where people regularly talk about these things

[impzone]

now that i've been getting more into coding im learning that like, a programming language is just one slice of an enormous pie of what is actually required to make a site or an app. and even for the coding languages, there are more tools that you can use to make what you're doing like 10 times more efficient. my question is how do you learn that these tools even exist out there for you to use? every time i do a tutorial or study a course i'm amazed and a little panicked about how much more there is to learn outside of programing itself that there is to learn

[eye-in-hand]

Why I'm Converting to Judaism

I've posted this onto tumblr before on an old blog of mine, fuck if I remember what it was called but lmfao I'm sure some people have seen this before.

There are a lot of reasons why I'm converting to Judaism, but what I talk about in this is a large part of it, and a large part of a lot of healing I've had to do. Getting involved in the Jewish community (at the point of writing this, I had a bit, but was still too scared and admittedly triggered from past events I talk about in this to do so) has been really healing for me, and has made me feel validated and less alone in my experiences. And that's something I can never show enough thanks for.

Also at the time of writing this I didn't have my driver's license yet, but I do now, and that's helped with actually being able to be in a physical Jewish space so that's been nice.

Because it involves (CW:) violent antisemitism and rape, I'll put it under the cut. This was written partly around June/July 2023 and then a couple days after 10/7.

For the last few years I've been seriously considering and researching into converting to Judaism. It's been a little difficult because I live in the middle of fucking nowhere northern Midwest and the closest Jewish community to me is small and an hour away (and I can not drive), but I've been talking with their rabbi for the past few years. Admittedly on and off because I've been ahhhh terrified lmfao for many different reasons (mainly it brings up trauma I've dealt with that I get into that below) but recent events have... really made it clear where I want to stand in this world, and who my heart yearns for the most.

Some back story:

There's a lot that has happened to me growing up involving the idea of Jewish Identity, who is and isn't Jewish—but there are a few major events that really stick out in my mind. The majority of my years in High School, I would often (and I mean, this happened regularly) be asked if I was Jewish, or told "you look Jewish" unsolicited, or asked "why do you [act Jewish]?" I have dark, curly hair, and other "typical Jewish features", or so I'm told. I had no idea if I was Jewish (ethnically anyways, I knew I wasn't religiously), and growing up as an undiagnosed autistic, I had no idea how to respond to these kinds of questions, or what to do about figuring that out, I had no fucking idea about anything. I don't even think I really understood what being Jewish meant. And when enough people ask you if you're X thing, you start to wonder if you are.

When asked, I had two answers: "I don't know, actually," or "why?" I never understood why it was only the Jewish kids being asked this, why was the question always "are you Jewish?" I never seemed to see other ethnicities being questioned (bare the biracial kids, they got asked this a lot too) and I went to a very diverse inner-city school. I knew Jewish kids and they were always asked and bothered the same way I was, sometimes at the same time. I showed interest in learning about Jewish culture and would talk about it at school, etc. Maybe these answers were the wrong ones. I'm autistic, I have no idea. Maybe I should have just said "no, I'm not." but my response was "I don't know, let me look into that," or "Why? Does it matter?" Because I genuinely meant those words.

To keep this short, I was bullied in school for "being Jewish", "looking Jewish", especially as if my dark, curly hair and nose were ugly and weird traits to either mock or touch without asking. Traits I tried to hide my whole life until recently as an adult I learned to appreciate them. I remember a specific incident where my 'best friend' was in a group project with other classmates and as the class was working on them, she came all the way across the room to me, and asked, "are you Jewish?" and I said, "why?"

"Oh because you look like a Greek Jew." Whatever that means.

All I responded with was a forced laugh and "does it matter if I was? Why is the question always about being Jewish?"

She went back to her group and for the rest of the class I was stared and laughed at. Very weird. Autism brain does not understand what is so fucking funny about it. There was another incident with her, or regularly honestly, and this group of people who would compare me to characters from media based on negative Jewish stereotypes and apparently it was just hilarious.

I always had to deal with holocaust jokes, Jew jokes, expected to laugh and go with it because it was just a crack at my appearance.

After high school, I moved towns, and — to keep this short and not too personal. I met a guy who took me in while I was vulnerable. Just became homeless, had no friends or places to go in a completely new town. Turns out, he's a neo-nazi, and I mean that literally. Not in the just a bigot oh he's a nazi, like — he was a proud "Odinist" body builder fuck head who was very proud of being Icelandic and German. The topic of Jewish people was one he brought up a lot, especially towards me. He asked me that same question, and I told him, "I don't know. I get asked that a lot."

I told him I was interested in celebrating Jewish holidays to learn more about Judaism. I'm angry at myself because I was barely 18, undiagnosed autistic, and he was much older than me, a local of the town and who I was depending on for a place to stay, for food. I barely knew what a pagan was, let alone what covert supremacy looked like.

I'm not exaggerating that this all still makes me shake, typing this is hard. I feel sick. He isolated me, kept me in his basement, "joked" about keeping "a Jew in his basement" and how "funny it would be to make that a dead Jew." He sexually abused me, beat me, choked and shook me, called me slurs, he'd talk on the phone when he thought I was asleep to his white supremacist friends about the "Jewish whore" he had. He wouldn't let me get a job, encouraged me to "act Jewish" in a fetishizing way. Told "edgy" jokes over, and over, and over and expected me to laugh with everything. It was all just a joke why are you upset it's funny, what's wrong with you, why are you such a bitch?

Later, when I got away from him (and homeless again in the process) I was in online "spiritual communities" and showed a picture of my face. I didn't realize how much the New Age community hates Jews and I was called a lot of things, especially when I told them that Jews aren't an alien race here to take over the world, or that hating Jewish people doesn't make you a fucking spiritually awakened guru. I was harassed in public for "being a Zionist (edit: yes, even in 2017)" even though I had never even mentioned an opinion on Israel, I never claimed to be Jewish, it was just assumed. My (platonic) partner's mother cried because "my daughter is running off w that k*** boy." I never told her I was Jewish, and neither did my partner. She saw me on Skype once. (Edit: My boyfriend's family are from Russia/Georgia and he's terrified to be seen with me near them and despite being interested in Judaism himself he's scared to go to the synagogue with me because of the possibility of them finding out. (Some of the fear is also because we're gay, but I'm well aware that it'd be even worse if they knew it was gay jews. And he's not scared for himself, he's scared for me.)

I got a DNA test a few years ago. I'm not Jewish. I don't know what happened to me. I don't understand this. Is this valid pain towards an identity I can't even claim? What do I even do with this? I wish I could talk to a Rabbi but I can't tell if I'm overstepping a boundary. A Rabbi's job is for the Jewish Community, they don't have time to hear my sob story about the antisemitism a Gentile faced. I can't just show up to the Jewish community and say "I get your struggles" because I don't. But I feel so alone.

I've stepped in and out of conversion, confused and unsure of who I am or who I want to be, what I believe, and how others see me. Angry at myself for how I handled these questions. Angry at myself for appropriating a struggle that isn't even mine to be struggling with. I'm so sorry.

When converting doesn't scare me, I just want to convert so that maybe the idea of being Jewish can be more than pain to me, and instead be something empowering. But I don't know anything right now or where I should go.

About a month or so ago, a couple coworkers of my partner started harassing us about me being Jewish, and I had directly told them multiple times, that I am not Jewish. I had even dropped the idea of converting because I was too scared of all this past hurt and didn't want to be alone to deal with it anymore, and too scared to talk to the Rabbi for fear of bothering him. But they threatened me, the only place I felt safe to hang out was around my partner's work and that place is no longer safe for me because of these people. I don't know them, and I don't want to know what they're capable of or rather who they know around here, because they're Qanon supporters of the men that tried to kidnap the governor and supporters of Jan 6, trumpy fucking dickheads. I live in a small, incredibly Christian town, I didn't fucking need this shit again.

It really triggered me because I didn't even have the excuse of "well it's my fault, I didn't say I wasn't Jewish" this time. I told them I wasn't but they think I'm hiding some "dark Jew secret" and I "cursed them" because their lives are going to shit.

Then all of this in Israel happened, and it hurt so much. That was the first weekend I had done Shabbat in a year or so, and for the first time it felt so right. It felt like what I should be doing. Then I logged back online, saw what had happened and for the Jewish community around the world it was one of pain. I called my Rabbi this past week after several months of silence on my end, and told him to let me know if there was anything I could do. He was glad to hear from me, and I'm sorry that I kept disappearing.

My point is, I'm converting because no matter what I say or tell people, this will always keep happening, I will never be safe and I don't want to face it alone, I want to hopefully connect with the community (daunting because ahh I'm autistic so I am. Not good at connecting with other people very well), do what I can. I had read about Jewishness being "sharing the fate of the Jewish people" and I believe that I do, it's been proven time and time again no matter what I say or do.

Anyways that's what's been on my mind. I hope this doesn't come off trying to make this tragedy about me, I'm not good at tone and I'm sorry. I'm bringing this up now because this really... marks the time for me to take this seriously, and I never want to shut the door on this again. I need to be there for the Jewish people in times like this because I've felt what that feels like, even if I don't really understand why.

[kissatoru]

for the FINAL time: indicate your AGE on your blog PLEASE

i know i’ve said this so many times that it feels obnoxious at this point, and trust me, i’m as tired of saying it as (those of) you (who this doesn’t apply to) are of hearing it, but i need to reiterate it one last time. honestly, this is more of a rant than anything, but these thoughts have been on my mind for a while and i’ll just be glad to get them out. maybe this is making a big deal out of something quite small, but it wouldn’t have to be if people would actually listen/care.

i want to start off by saying if you’re someone who doesn’t have an age or an indicator of it on your blog, and the title of this post annoys you, you can go ahead and unfollow me right now.

or don’t, because i’m going to block you sooner or later anyway. which i realise sounds harsh, but apparently being polite about it isn’t getting me, or any of the other 18+ only blogs on here who are constantly repeating themselves, anywhere so i don’t care about being polite anymore.

the cheap price of literally nothing but having some numbers in your bio is still too high for some of you to ‘pay’ to read mine and others’ work. like we’re writing stuff you can read for FREE and all that us nsfw writers ask is that you have an age on your blog — yet some people still refuse to do that much. it’s not only disappointing, but also straight up disrespectful. there’s blogs who’ve been following me for WEEKS who still don’t have an age indicator, despite me posting about it regularly and despite it being clearly stated on my pinned post.

believe it or not, i don’t want to block you. some of you are always in my notifications, interacting with my posts, and especially when you reblog mine/my moots’ works, i recognise you, and seeing you makes me really happy! but when i check your blog and see that you don’t have an age on it, that’s telling me you’re seeing my reminders but you just don’t fucking care.

it’s all well and good interacting with me and my posts, but if you can’t even respect the simplest of boundaries, i don’t care whether you’re actually a minor or not. you are obviously too lazy or don’t care about me as an actual person as much as you care about the content you get to see on your timeline.

maybe you have your reasons, like maybe:

you’re not comfortable sharing your specific age. that’s totally fine! you can tell me in my dms if you’d like to. if not, anything from the year (e.g. 02’ liner) or the decade (e.g. 90s baby) you were born to an appropriate age range (e.g. 19-23) etc. will suffice. if you’re unwilling to do at least that, then i’m sorry but my blog is not for you.

you’re new to tumblr and don’t know where, or how to set up your blog. in that case, you google it. yahoo it. bing it. i don’t care. use the internet you clearly have access to and find out. there’s plenty of tutorials, you just have to look for them. or ask a friend or a mutual. you can dm me your age just so i’m aware until you figure it out.

you don’t have time. in that case, i don’t fucking believe you lol. if you have the time to read a whole fic, you have the time to punch in a two digit number into someplace on your blog — or to find out how, and then do so.

some of you don’t have an excuse though. some of you will list literally everything about yourself but your age on your blog?? you clearly know how to use tumblr, you clearly know where to put info about yourself, you clearly have time so... maybe you clearly just do not care enough to do the bare minimum of reading my byf or my pinned post.

also, it genuinely does not matter, nor do i care, where you actually put your age. whether it’s in your bio, your title or a pinned post, as long as it’s there, in some place i can access, it doesn’t matter.

i think i’ve talked about everything i wanted to, so to end this post on a more positive note, i want to thank the people who actually listen. i, nor anyone else, should be having to thank people for doing the bare minimum, but, at least in my experience, when you’re having to block 9 out of 10 blogs that follow you on a regular basis, you can get pretty used to the constant disappointment, and seeing that 1 blog who actually has an age on their blog can be pretty relieving lol so thank you<3

[dollarbin]

Dollar Bin #5:

Linda Ronstadt's Heart Like a Wheel

Let's jump straight to one of the best dollar bin records of all time. If you haven't experienced joy and peace regularly through a $1 copy of Heart Like a Wheel for the last 20 years you... are not me. And if you don't yet own a copy, have no fear. I guarantee that one eagerly awaits you in your local Dollar Bin.

I suppose we should clearly define the term "Dollar Bin" before this blog's swelling legion of 17 fans begins to toss the phrase around in an effort to win friends and influence their uncle.

Ideally, a Dollar Bin record actually cost $1. My beloved copy of Heart Like a Wheel meets that exacting standard. A secondary definition would refer to any record priced at a store's baseline rate. That was 25 cents when I started filling my own collection in 1988. Sadly, it's more like $5 in 2023.

But the term more generally means an album that is currently unappreciated to the point where it gets flipped past at thrift stores and yard sales. You're not going to find your coveted copy Ascension or What's Going On in the Dollar Bin, so, great as they are, they don't qualify.

Good old Gordon Lightfoot is lord of the Dollar bin. Snatch him up, and we'll talk about him at length in future posts. Neil Diamond, John Denver and Barbara Streisand provide the Bin's permanent bulk. You already know not to mess with that stuff. Stephen Stills records do not belong in the Dollar Bin. They belong in the garbage, or, better yet, they should be gathered up and hurled into the sun.

But Linda Ronstadt, I shall now argue, is the Dollar Bin's greatest living artist. Let's take a listen:

The arrangement, the pacing, the aching, yet powerful vocals: it's a perfect cover of a song I hope to never hear by anyone else.

Heart Like a Wheel opens with a song you'll probably hear on AM radio while seeking out this record in your thrift store's dollar bin. You're No Good is one of Ronstadt's problem songs in that it was borrowed from a Black artist so as to make her a billion bucks. Ronstadt began this trend a few years earlier with Rescue Me and carried it to a peak on Prisoner in Disguise a year later, where she covers everyone from Jimmy Cliff to Smokey Robinson. The simple truth is that the people privileged enough to buy records and see popular live music back then (and, I'm sure, still today) were predominantly white, and they felt far more comfortable with the seemingly white Ronstadt than with any of the equally talented black artists of the day. And so Linda's in the Dollar Bin and Aretha Franklin is not. It's supply and demand, people.

Happily, Ronstadt doesn't just karaoke You're No Good; she transforms the song into something swirling and smooth. If You're No Good sounds overly familiar today that's because it's good enough to have spent over 50 years on the radio.

Whenever the reverse happens and a Black artist fabulously transforms a song originally by white artist, that cover's greatness is often lost. Take Merry Clayton's version of Southern Man. Better than Neil himself? Maybe!

The fun twist on all this is that Ronstadt isn't actually white. She's Latina, a fact her white audience willfully ignored throughout the seventies, then embraced in the late 80's when Ronstadt powerfully forced her identify on them through her earnest and authentic Mexican records.

Ronstadt has always been a front line feminist and champion of progressive and independent ideas in music and popular culture. She dumped Governor Moonbeam in the 70's, proudly embraced being a single mom, cursed out George Bush on stage at the height of the second Iraq war's popularity and took in Linda Thompson when Richard did his own backstreet slide.

Anyone else in Ronstadt's shoes would have been content to sit back and be famous for her incredible looks and incomparable voice. But she hopped genres at a Neil Young pace and consistently promoted marginalized and overlooked voices (Heart Like a Wheel's title track introduced the world to the writing of Anna McGarrigle; a decade and a half later Aaron Neville became a household name thank to Linda).

The popular knock on Ronstadt, of course, is that she was never a songwriter. The familiar and accurate comeback is that she is a masterful song re-writer instead. That skill finds no better manifestation than on her version of Paul Anka's It Doesn't Matter Anymore. Anka's sings the song like he's serving up deviled eggs covered in his own chest hair; Ronstadt serves us ambrosia she smuggled off Olympus.

Heart Like a Wheel is chock full of bragging points. Ronstadt opens side two by showing that she can rock the mic on When Will I Be Loved. Unfortunately, the insufferable lead guitar work on the track will make you think Stephen Stills himself snuck out your dumpster and into her studio; happily, it's not him, it's multi-instrumentalist Andrew Gold demonstrating why he'd never become a household name. Stills himself was off sucking on an egg somewhere and the track fades quickly into a gorgeous and soulful renegade trucker epic, Willin'. The song gives us the joyfully silly image of Ronstadt smuggling weed, whites and wine across the border in a semi. But it rocks and Linda owns it.

As Willin' fades, we dive right into a truly vital track in the Dollar Bin. I Can't Help It If I'm Still in Love with You marks the first collaboration between Ronstadt and our very own Emmylou Harris. Both women would go on to talk about their relationship, which was born on that track, as critical to their lives. The terribly titled, but otherwise excellent, biopic on Ronstadt, The Sound of My Voice, climaxes with a modern day Emmylou breaking down while talking about Linda's Parkinson's diagnosis. All their future success and art both together and apart is simply and fully presented on I Can't Help It If I'm Still in Love With You. They carry Hank Williams' lyrics with perfect, sisterly grace. Mortals quake before them; beasts kneel. If Emmylou is God, Linda makes us polytheists.

So go get in the Dollar Bin. There's simply no better use of a buck than this nearly flawless record.

[if-confessions]

I feel down about lack of artistic skill. So many IF authors are knocking it out of the park with their UI designs and promo images, and I'm here getting stressed out on canva struggling to even make a nice looking simple "game updated" banner with text on a background. are there guides anywhere on how to make these banners? are they really needed to get people's attention? (they feel like they are... the most popular blogs seem to have loads of shiny visuals that are really pretty but I just don't have the skills right now...)

Hey Anon!

Don't feel down...

This is really not something that happens overnight. Sure, some artistic talent will help start you off, but it is still a skill. One you can learn. But like all skills, it takes time to nourish and make it flourish. (and that amount of time needed will depend on the person.)

Also, Graphic Design is a very broad field. In the IF community, it will often embrace two different things: the UI, which requires learning a programming language (CSS) and the assets (including promo images), which requires learning about aesthetics, a graphic program, etc... These are very different skills to learn.

So you will make mistakes along the way, everyone does. It takes quite a lot of trial and error (with a lot of error) to get it right, then to get it right and quick. That's part of the learning process.

And, I can't lie and pretend innate artistic talent won't take a big part of making this process easier. Knowing how things should look, nicely or easy on the eye, is very helpful to make the whole process faster. As well as having studied those skills before starting making IF content (like in school/uni, or having learned by spending decades in a fandom making those weird little edits and banners for your forum signature that you spent hours making sparkle....). Or, in some cases, the author was able to get assets directly from someone with those skills (as paid content).

I don't know where you are on your IF journey, but don't despair. I know it's hard not to compare yourself to other authors and their skills (I know I do that, and have to remind myself not to do it), but you don't know how far they are on their graphic design journey. Maybe they struggled like you, once.

I know I did...

... and I still do!

This post is getting quite long, so I'll share my lil bit of experience below.

I've been on the internet for a while (when Forums were the thing), and learned a lot of those graphic stuff through graphic design-help forums (some where full on forums, others were just sub-channels, but you got to learn from someone with knowledge, that was cool). Also didn't realise then the use of images. I def used copyrighted images when I shouldn't have... the early naughties were a different times (and so was I, being 12 and all...)

But, before starting IF, I hadn't touched Photoshop or other Graphic Design program for about... 15 years? I had lost a lot of skills in that time. I had to relearn a lot of things (as well as learn some new ones, CSS had never been in my wheelhouse).

It used to take me hours to make banners and the such. I fawned over other creators' ability to make gif (which is doable on Canva), or have the perfect aesthetics to match their project (and their drawing skills...). For CRWL, I spent days on Canvas editing the main banner, because it didn't look right enough. I've re-done that one a couple of times, and I am still not happy with it.

Even after almost two years of doing this regularly, I still struggle. I can spend days/weeks on a UI to make it look nice and have the right palette, only to realise when it's published that the sizing messes up for some people. And I still spend hours on those Coming Soon posters (and then forget I have night light on my devices, so it messes with the colours). And have we talked about the time spent trying to find the perfect picture to use (on copyright free websites)? Though for smaller projects, I might slap two things together and call it a day. You can't go wrong with a simple colour background and a special font.

[unfinishedbusincss]

your character (anne and any of the ocs!)

send a number for me to talk about one of the following topics!

Yeah, you only THOUGHT you wanted this. Buckle up, buttercup!

The process of writing for Anne actually started before last year. I took a course on piracy back in grad school and my final paper was an argument for reading nonheteronormativity into piracy—something you wouldn’t think is so controversial but I guess homophobia’s a stronger drug than I gave it credit for. Anyway! Of the many points that paper made, it also made a real case study out of Anne Bonny and M. Read—themselves and their relationship with one another. My prof thought it had legs and pushed me to consider rewriting and refining it but honestly with the way actual history scholars are, I doubt my gay little voice pointing out all these gay little things that might make historical figures gay little people will have an impact. It’s literally to the point where one of the sources I use all the goddamned time actually has a note on both Bonny’s and Read’s pages refusing to address the possibility of a romantic entanglement between them. (Like you could have just said nothing, but you saying you’re going to say nothing is sus af.)

Anyways.

Last year I put her on a blog and ended up really loving her, but really struggling to find people who wanted to write with her. At the time, most of my followers were interested in muses I wasn’t as comfortable with, and getting them to interact with a woman character was like pulling teeth. I eventually gave up, grew despondent, got busy, and abandoned the blog. I’ve thought about going back to give up the URL, but otherwise I don’t think I’d go back.

Anne turned into this really special muse that I’m actually very protective of. Not, like. In the sense that I don’t want her to get hurt or look stupid—she should do both, regularly, for my own amusement—but in the sense of…being really fucking proud of the way I write her. She isn’t Black Sails’ Anne Bonny, despite her face claim; she isn’t ever going to be Our Flag Means Death’s, despite that being the group I get to write her most with; she’s just Ren’s Anne Bonny. Born from history and headcanon and exploration and projection. I’m probably pretty full of myself for this, but I’ll out myself: I think I’m the best goddamned Anne Bonny writer out there, and no other Anne is half the Anne I am.

And I say this having recently asked a friend of mine who also writes her to let me write with her sometime. Because I also have a big dumb lesbian crush on her.

I’m lucky to have fallen into the D-RPG I did with her; I still feel like no one actually wants to write with her here except to indulge their weird friend Ren, and I don’t love that feeling. (I s2g Orion, Ken, don’t start!) Even there I feel weird asking for people to tolerate her—especially since they recently had a different Anne who was Very Important to them—and yes, Orion, second direct call-out cause I’m not being down on myself when I say “tolerate,” I mean that I know she’s abrasive and doesn’t make good first, second, or third impressions outside of certain psychopaths and so hers is a matter of toleration—but I’m lucky there. People are nice and they agree to tolerate her. They talk to me and I’m really getting to develop who she is under circumstances that have just…ended up more relaxed despite being frought with danger. Maybe because she didn’t join, and so has (almost*) no one there she wants to impress.

*She did recently meet Izzy and he complimented her piracy so yes she is trying extra hard to impress one of her idols.

And that’s all the steam I’ve got for that one, folx!

[foggyparadisecandy]

Tumblr Banning and Labelling

Last week, I made a somewhat snarky comment about how one of my stories - a pure text piece - was slapped with a giant warning by the Tumblr bots or moderators.

My position is that I don't need the warning - I agree that my stuff should be labelled with Mature Content warning and usually the Sexual Content sub-label.

I'm fine with that.

I 100% don't want people to inappropriately stumble across my trances or stories and be offended.

In fact, I wish there was a button that allowed all my posts to be flagged automatically that way so I don't need to remember to do it.

Because maybe I unintentionally and inadvertently posted my CAMPING STORY - admittedly horny and erotic and, yes, filthy, story - without the Mature Content tag. And I concede that I need to start using the Sexual Content tag and have started doing so.

But it put a chill in the air for me.

First, the fucking label (see image above) still persists when I look through my own blog. As if I disagree or something, and they are saying "we're watching you, buddy".

No, officer, no need. I was speeding and didn't mean to. Thanks for letting me know. I AGREE WITH THE LABELS.

Where's the button to "Accept this Label" so we can all move on?

Side note: I have no fucking idea what Mature Content is if it's not sexual. Like ... what are we talking about? Articles about dentures and retirement homes as "Mature Content"? Or is it just naughty words and not sexual scenes?

But then I saw another blog get taken down in the last week for violating standards of Tumblr. Now, I'm not going to name names here - I'm not a fan of the guy who was taken down and he has, at best, a mixed reputation in the hypnokink community - but the truth is ... his blog was not that offensive and most of his stuff was also labeled with the Mature Label.

I've read the new community policy multiple times. It basically says "label your shit and you will be ok".

Meanwhile, I see the filthiest porn WITHOUT ANY LABELS on my feed daily. Surely, I'm not alone in this?

Now I have no idea exactly why his blog was nuked - maybe it was adult material not being labeled properly? Maybe it was unauthorized use of copyright images? Who knows - apparently he was blanked with no warning. Again ... I don't know if that is truthful or not but it still is worrisome from a completely selfish standpoint.

Why am I writing content here if someday, on a whim, some bot or moderator will blank out my blog? I would hope that I could get a warning to fix the offending things - and I would do so happily as I am never intentionally looking to upset people. It's not my nature.

And tbh, it would bother me to lose Tumblr.

I keep a backup of every trance and article that I write because of historical purges but ... I really love connecting with all you here on Tumblr.

I chat regularly with a bunch of you and love our fun (and often horny) conversations! I feel connected with so many of you and it gives me a feeling of community.

Will I wake up some day and find that my blog is gone and I'm persona non-grata in the Tumblr-o-sphere?

My guess? Yes.

Hypnokink is already a thinly tolerated niche fetish and sexual stuff scares away the big advertisers and credit card companies.

Is Tumblr at fault for wanting to pay for their servers and people and other expenses? I don't think so. I certainly don't blame them for the labels and concern.

Again: I APPLAUD THE LABELS AND FEEL THE COMMUNITY SHOULD SELF-POLICE SO WE DON'T HAVE OUTSIDERS DOING IT.

But what's my personal path forward? I'm not sure but I think I need to investigate other homes for my materials.

I'll still post here to Tumblr ... until that day when you see ol' Foggy's blog has been nuked by the powers that be.

But I'm taking suggestions.

I know I'm not the only one who thinks about these things. Reddit? Literotica?

Would any of you bother to set up an account on another platform just to read my nonsense? I certainly wouldn't expect it nor ask it of you.

But I would love to stay connected with most of you if Tumblr nuked my blog. Maybe that's a dumb thing to hope for but it's authentic.

Bottomline:

I love you all and hope we can continue to connect here.

I worry about the future and finding my blog shut off with no warning or discussion or chance to fix the problems.

I am a planner so I would love ideas from folks who face the same concerns.

[unkempt-field]

Mental Vomit (start)

I am fairly new to Tumblr, but I am starting up this blog as another way to vent out my thoughts, my stress, and other random stuff. For the potentially concerned Tumblr residents who might come across this, this is not really supposed to be a call for help. Treat this as a poorly written "creative writing project". I will delve into my own personal thoughts and feelings, and maybe even my personal history of less than fortunate experiences.

(TW: Suicidal thoughts)

I have tried to see a mental health professional, but as I am from the states, I could not afford to do so regularly. Also, I may use terms that have a specific meaning in that field, but completely incorrectly, for which I apologize.

I used to have friends who I'd talk to regularly, but now I just lurk in those circles. I don't feel too comfortable talking to them about these deep topics. I do also write similar things in a personal journal, but I considered writing something on a public blog to occasionally see what other people think as well.

I guess I'll write some stuff about my current mental state. Some people always have an inner voice, but I only "use" mine whenever I'm introspecting or reflecting on something. And due to the times I grew up in, that voice is similar to that of a youtuber talking to a faceless audience. Not necessarily expecting a response, just yapping about some topic. For many years now, I would spend late nights, or many times where I am alone or particularly mentally shaken to reflect on myself and my ideas. This started after a certain incident happened in my middle school years, which I may write on in the future.

This has helped me keep track of my mental state, and see how somethings change, and others stay the same. For example, since my high school years, I'd have something almost like a "verbal tic", where when I am alone, I mutter or whisper to myself negative thoughts. There were times where these were suicidal in nature, but more recently, they have been more about self-hatred. If you have seen videos of people doing "positive affirmations" while looking at themselves in the mirror, it is almost the opposite of that, where I tell myself how much I loathe my very existence.

I did have stretches where I wouldn't go a day without considering suicide, because I've always struggled with self-esteem, and I considered whether it would be more "efficient" or better for the world if I was gone. Due to the nature of my upbringing, I always felt a disconnect with my peers in school, as I was from an entirely different culture, and then a niche group within said culture. Throughout elementary school, I never considered myself to have "friends", since I would only interact with them in class, and never play with them outside of it.

I was very socially inexperienced, and even now, I believe I am less socially competent than I should be.

This, combined with a lot of other factors, have led me to have a certain level of hatred, or disdain for myself. It also wasn't helped that through grades and other efforts, I proved that if I applied myself, I was capable of matching up or exceeding some of my peers on some areas. Of being "normal", or "good". But I continually failed those self-evaluations, as in my mind, I lacked the ability to do so consistently.

During high school, I often considered committing suicide by graduation. I thought that if I saw no clear path for a "good" future, or some clear goal or motivation for what to do with myself, that I would be better off dead. Even after that, despite being fairly young, I thought to myself that I already had enough good life experiences, and that at 18 years old, I had already lived a "good" life, and to basically quite while I was ahead. Even now, I'm not particularly looking forward to any life event.

Whenever I felt like I didn't really have a hope for the future in recent years, the suicidal thoughts would reemerge with varying levels of intensity and frequency. If I made some mistake, even a minor one, I would constantly remember it in conjunction of other mistakes and consider ending my life to prevent me from making any more.

I understood that committing suicide would be selfish, considering my family and those around me. I knew it would be cowardly, since there were probably people around me who cared. But I never considered myself selfless or brave either way, which really made me get stuck in those thoughts.

Well, to end this first post off on a somewhat positive note, after reflecting and seeing that some of my teenage worries/anxieties went away with time, I hope that my young adult worries/anxieties also improve. And in terms of feeling like I have no good track record and a poor self-image, with recent opportunities in my life, I hope to change/improve on that.

I want to become more emotionally mature and improve/grow as a person. I have kept track of many of my shortcomings, and I will probably find more as time goes on, but I hope to be better in the future.

[staytheword]

blood in the cut

blood in the cut — part three of the smell of roses [ ← part two ] [ series masterlist ]  [ playlist ] [ general masterlist ]

this series (and this blog) are 18+ !! minors do NOT interact!! no real people are represented. 

•  lee know x female reader / changbin x female reader / lee know x female reader x changbin (NOT a love triangle), all other stray kids members are featured but not main characters.

• non idol au, bikers au, rivals to lovers au, small town au. inspired by sons of anarchy. (not beta-read so I apologize for any mistakes/typos)

• word count: 10.7k (10,783)

• warnings: violence. implied murder, gunshot wound, mention of stabbing, blood, scars. trauma. gang violence. explicit language. polyamory. explicit smut, dom!minho and dom!changbin, unprotected sex, oral sex (f and m receiving), threesome (mmf), dirty talk, slight voyeurism, slight hair pulling, use of pet names.

You try to hold on to something as your legs fail you, but all you find are the roses. They slip away from your fingers. You fall. 

You’re going to die here.

• taglist: @upallnight-s ; @ughbehavior ; @changbinluvr ; @valreadsfics ; @ppiri-bahng ; @mchslut ; @lady---boner ; @defenseofourdreams6277​

Your father lets out a sigh, rubbing his fingers. His arthritis has been acting up lately, making it difficult for him to work - what you do requires a precision he’s often no longer able to provide. He’s getting frustrated, you know it, but he’s seeing a doctor regularly. However, on days like these, when it’s humid and heavy outside, his fingers hurt so bad he can barely move them. 

“Dad,” you say softly, as he tries to prepare an order for a birthday. “Maybe you should go home. Take your meds, get some sleep.” 

“I’m fine,” he retorts.

“Dad,” you insist, glaring at him. “Don’t hurt yourself. Please.” 

It takes a while for you to convince him, but he eventually gives in. With the pouring rain outside, no one is coming into the shop anyway, and there’s not much to do. It’s been slow, not that you’re complaining. Hyunjin is coming to see you later, anyway, because he wants to get Seo-ah a bouquet for their anniversary tonight. 

You’ve put on some classical music, which always helps you focus on work, humming to the piano and violins. The wall of roses needs some love, so you carefully pick out the roses that start to fade, clip a few stems, let your mind wander. The rain patters against the window, strong and straight, and you know you’ll be soaked within seconds when you step outside. 

Hyunjin arrives about an hour later, rain dripping down his cheeks and hands. He shakes his wet hair like a puppy. He’s laughing, eyes sparkling. 

“So grateful I chose the restaurant over the picnic for tonight,” he laughs. 

“I wonder why,” you joke. 

You put his jacket in the back where it can dry, admiring his clothes - he dressed up for the occasion, wearing black slacks and a white shirt. He rolls up the sleeves and starts to look at the roses. He knows he wants a bouquet of it, but since he isn’t sure what he wants, you suggest making it together. You spend a few minutes discussing it before Hyunjin bites his lip. 

“Can you give me your honest opinion?” 

“Sure,” you tell him. 

He takes out a small box and shows you the earrings he bought for Seo-ah. You put a hand to your chest, sighing deeply. 

“I thought you were going to show me a ring, for a sec,” you chuckle.

He laughs. “Do I sense some relief, here?” 

“Damn right,” you tell him mischievously - he knows you’re only joking. “Would’ve been a loss for all of us to get you off the market for good.” 

He shakes his head, amused, but you put a hand on his arm. 

“They’re beautiful, Hyun. She’s gonna love them.” 

He nods. “Yeah? I think so too. Yeah.” 

He’s adorable so you can’t help but hug him, but you quickly go back to the roses, discussing your options. You like to glance at him when he’s focused, because Hyunjin does this thing where the tip of his tongue comes out from between his lips to settle against his teeth, and it is, objectively, the most attractive thing a human being has ever done. 

“What about the purple ones?” he wonders. “Do you think they would -”

He stops as the shop’s door opens on a client and gives you a smile.

“I’ll let you handle it,” he says, strolling to the other side of the shop to give you space. 

The man is wearing a drenched black hoodie, drawn over his head. You can barely see his face, but you guess it was to protect himself from the rain. 

“Hi,” you tell him. “Can I help you with anything today?” 

He shrugs. “That’s a lot of roses.” 

You chuckle uneasily, because he steps towards you, keeping his hoodie on. There’s someone odd about him - an energy that unsettles you. You glance at Hyunjin, who is standing over the jasmines. He watches you with a frown. 

“Yeah,” you say. “They’re our specialty.” 

“Right,” he says. “How poetic.” 

You frown, but he keeps approaching you, and you want to step back but he’s too fast. In seconds he’s against you, and something pushes against your stomach. It’s hard, cold, cylindric - you freeze. 

Everything happens very fast. 

“Send the Vices our regards,” he whispers in your ear. 

The shot is so loud it’s like you can’t hear it. It vibrates inside you, fills your entire body, and leaves you colder than you’ve ever been. 

“Y/N!” 

Hyunjin’s voice gets lost in the sound. 

It doesn’t even hurt. Not at first, anyway. You stumble backwards as the man chuckles. You put a hand against your stomach - your fingers come back drenched in dark blood. It’s warm. You feel dizzy. You feel out of breath. 

You hear steps - Hyunjin is running towards you. You want to tell him to run, to hide, but you can’t. The man raises his arm, and you’re so scared he’ll aim at Hyunjin, but instead he starts to shoot at the roses. Again. Again. And again. 

The petals get shredded, and fly towards the ceiling like confetti. 

They fall like rain.

Pink, red, white, purple. 

In seconds, the shooter is out the door. Hyunjin, who had raised his arms to protect himself, seems to hesitate - but he runs to you. He keeps saying your name, his voice shattered. 

You try to hold on to something as your legs fail you, but all you find are the roses. They slip away from your fingers. You fall. 

You’re going to die here. 

Hyunjin.

Hyunjin. 

Help me.

Please. 

“Y/N!” 

It’s him. You don’t see him anymore, but you can hear him. He’s kneeling next to you. The roses are scattered. Shreds of petals fall on his hair. He’s crying. He’s on the phone. He’s covered in blood. His white shirt is painted red. He’s pushing something on your stomach and it hurts. 

“Stay with me, Y/N,” he tells you. “Please.”

“Hyun…” you breathe, and you taste blood. 

“Don’t talk,” he says, his voice shaking. “It’s ok. Paramedics are coming.” 

You feel yourself drift away. All you see is roses. 

Roses drenched in blood.

Your blood. 

You’re scared. 

Hyunjin holds your hand. 

“Don’t die,” he pleads. “Please don’t die.” 

I don’t want to, you want to say to him.

Darkness is all you can see.

Blood is all you can taste.

Please.

I don’t want to die.

When you wake up in the hospital room, your father is sitting next to your bed. He’s dozing off, his head lolling forward. You feel like this is the worst hangover of your entire life. It takes you a minute to gather your thoughts and memory back into something that makes sense. 

You were at the Rose Garden with Hyunjin.

A man entered the shop.

He shot you in the stomach, and he left. 

Your mouth feels pasty, your throat is dry. You also feel dizzy, which you guess is the fault of the drugs dripping into your system. You glance around, at the IV, at the room curtains, at the hospital gown on your body. You carefully put a hand on your stomach, and feel bandages under it. 

You’re alive, at least. 

You were so sure you were going to die. 

You want to cry but you can’t. 

Your memory takes you back, and your heart stops.

Hyunjin. 

“Dad,” you say, your voice weak and rusty. 

He doesn’t hear you.

“Dad,” you repeat, a little louder.

He startles in his chair, opening his eyes wide. When he sees you’re awake, he stumbles, approaching your bed to squeeze your fingers in his. 

“Sprout, darling,” he says. “You’re awake.” 

“Hyunjin.” Your voice trembles when you say it. “Is he -”

“He’s fine. He’s gone home a few hours ago to get some rest.” 

You nod, feeling relieved. Hyunjin is all right. You’re alive. 

It’s all that matters.

“How long have I been asleep?” you ask, your voice breaking up.

“Two days. You were in surgery for a while, sprout,” your dad tells you, squeezing your hand. His eyes are filled with tears. “But they say you’ll be fine. That you were lucky. An inch aside, and...” 

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. 

The man put the gun against your stomach.

He didn’t miss.

He aimed. 

He never wanted to kill you.

You had a message to deliver. 

“Dad,” you say. “I need… I need to -”

“You need to see the doctor,” he nods. “The rest can wait.”

“You don’t understand, it’s -”

“Y/N,” he interrupts, his voice firm. “Later. Please. You almost died.”

You look at him, feeling so lost, so hurt, so small. Still, his tenderness warms you, and you nod. He calls for the nurse, who calls for the doctor, and you spend the next hour doing tests and answering questions. It exhausts you, and you quickly go back to sleep after your father kisses your forehead. 

When you wake up again, it’s the middle of the night. You’re alone in your room. You glance around, finding your phone close by. Your father probably knew you’d want it - the gesture makes you smile. 

Your eyes are heavy and painful, your body stiff. You open the phone, checking your messages. In the middle of the rest well and the omg did you really get shot?? are only a few you really want to read. 

Seungmin tells you he drove your father home, and he’ll come back the next morning.

Hyunjin says he’ll drop by tomorrow. That he’s sorry.

Jisung sent you a heart emoji.

Felix, a picture of a burning candle that he lit for you.

Then, you find Changbin’s name. Thinking of you, he wrote. 

It brings tears to your eyes. You can’t find the words to write back. You just want him near. 

Minho sent you something too. 

Hyunjin gave us the message.

We’ll come to you. Don’t worry.

The motherfucker is dead meat. 

You feel an ache that has nothing to do with your wound. 

Please visit me, you write. 

He quickly writes back. Once you’re home. 

You don’t want to wait that long, but Minho must have his reasons. At least, you can guess everyone is alright, that your attack was an isolated incident. That’s the only thought that you hold on to as you fall back against your pillow, feeling the darkness suck you in. It hurts. Everything hurts. 

You can still smell the blood and the roses. 

You call for the nurse and ask for more medicine.

It’s a long, quiet night in the hospital. You long for music, for conversation, anything - but there’s only the deep silence, the occasional footsteps, and your own thoughts drifting. You’re exhausted but you can’t sleep, your meds have stopped working, and you watch the small hours of the morning pass by. You drift off here and there, but never for long. 

Your eyes are closed when you hear footsteps in your room - you expect it to be a nurse or a doctor, but the voices draw you completely awake. 

“Is she asleep?” 

“Probably. It’s early.” 

“I wanted to be there when she woke up.” 

“I know, love.” 

Hyunjin. Seo-ah. 

Their voices are gentle whispers. You open your eyes as they approach you, almost timidly. 

“Hi,” you say, your throat in a tight knot. 

Hyunjin’s eyes are filled with tears. You wonder if he has stopped crying since that day. Seo-ah squeezes his hand and gives you a tender smile. 

“I’ll get coffee.” 

She leaves you with Hyunjin, who comes to sit on the chair next to your bed. His long legs are bent under him, his hair tucked behind his ear. He looks like he hasn’t been sleeping well. You reach for his hand, tears filling your eyes. He takes it with trembling fingers - they are cold. 

“Y/N…” he breathes. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Why would you be sorry?” You shake your head. “It wasn’t your fault. I should be sorry you got involved in this mess.” 

“No,” he says firmly. “I’m glad I was there with you. If you’d been alone…”

You take a deep breath. 

“Right,” you sigh. “But still, Hyun, I…”

You can’t find the words. His eyes are haunted, and you guess they reflect yours. You try to chase away the vision of him that can’t leave your mind. The blood on his shirt. No. The grey hoodie he’s wearing. The petals in his hair. No. The blond locks grazing his forehead. 

“I’m so sorry about your anniversary,” you whimper. 

Hyunjin looks at you in disbelief, and lets out a sharp scoff. “Y/N. Come on.” 

“Did you give her the earrings?” you ask.

He nods.

“Did she like them?” 

He nods again.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t get her flowers,” you say.

You want to start sobbing but you know it will hurt, so you hold it back. Tears roll down your cheeks, and Hyunjin squeezes your hand. You do the same and you cry together for a while. 

What you’ve been through, what you’ve seen. 

It’s bound you forever. 

Blood and roses. 

It could’ve been so much worse. 

But you’re both still alive. Still here. 

Seo-ah comes back to find you both drying your eyes, and she tears up as well, so you end up crying again. She shows you the earrings as she’s wearing them and you hug her as tightly as you can. If Hyunjin hadn’t been able to come home to her, you never would have forgiven yourself. 

Hyunjin gives you a sip of coffee although you really shouldn’t, but it’s extremely soothing. 

They stay with you until Seungmin arrives with your father, and you spend the day sleeping, playing cards and watching television. Your wound hurts, but it will heal, they keep saying. It will heal. 

For the next three days, you’re mostly alone. You have convinced your father it was all right to go back to take care of the shop, because there would be cleaning up to do - but he sent you a picture that first day to show you it had already been done. There was no trace of blood left. All the roses, thrown away. It was a sad sight, but at least it was something your father wouldn’t have to take care of. 

You could only guess who had done this. 

Your friends go back to work - you don’t want them to uproot their entire lives for you. Your life is not in danger, and you are doing better. You can even take little walks around your room, go to the bathroom by yourself. You just need some time. They can visit you in the evening. 

You take the time to think about them. 

You’ve been texting, but they’ve all been evasive. Minho. Changbin. Jisung. Even Felix. Once you’re home, Minho said. You can only wait. 

The doctor tells you another day or two will be enough, and then you can heal at home. You’ll have to take care of your wound, dress it, bandage it, and not overextend yourself. You promise to do all that - you just long for your own bed. 

You can walk all the way down the hall now, and as you enter your room again that night, thinking about the fried chicken you’re sure to order the second you’re out the hospital, you stop in the doorway. There’s someone in your room. 

Changbin. 

He turns to face you, looking relieved, and you don’t think. You just rush to him, not caring about the pain, and bury your face against his chest. After a few seconds, he draws you closer into his arms, breathing shakily in your hair. 

“I got you,” he says. 

“Where have you been?” you whimper, tears flowing down your cheeks. You say that but you’re not mad at all, and you grab at his long-sleeved shirt, his cut, everything you can find. He strokes your hair. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t come before.” 

“It’s okay,” you breathe. “You’re here now.” 

He exhales slowly, and as his hands stroke your back, he stops when he feels your bandage, wrapped around you. You feel his breath tremble. 

“I’m so sorry this happened to you,” he lets out. “I’m so sorry we couldn’t protect you.” 

You shake your head, your eyes filled with tears. “Please don’t say that.” 

“I should’ve been there. Someone should’ve been there.”

“You only would’ve gotten killed,” you state, your cheek against his chest. It’s warm, in his arms. It’s safe. It’s the most stable you’ve felt in weeks. “And I wasn’t alone. Hyunjin was there. He saved me.” 

Changbin takes a deep breath, not letting you go.

Good, you think. Please don’t, not ever. 

“I’m just happy everyone is okay,” you breathe. 

Changbin does not answer you, and you feel his body tense. It sends a shiver down your spine, and you step back, giving him a questioning look. 

“Everyone is okay, right?” 

He winces. 

“Changbin,” you say, your voice breaking up. 

He looks for his words. Eventually, they come out.

“You weren’t the only one that was attacked.” 

You feel dizzy. 

“It all happened at the same time. To the minute. You. Cherry. And Chan’s old lady.”

You stumble backwards, horrified. No.

No, no, no. 

“They’re okay. Back home. Cherry is in bad shape, but she’ll be fine.”

Your mouth is dry. “Did we all get - did they -”

Changbin shakes his head. “You were shot. Cherry was stabbed. And they beat Chan’s old lady. Badly.” 

You stumble again and Changbin catches you. He sits you down on the bed. You feel sick, like the world is spinning too fast. This wasn’t an isolated attack. It was premeditated. Organized.  

“Tell me everything,” you ask Changbin. 

He does, his mouth twisted with shame. The guy that killed his father, the one he put in the hospital - after failing to get back at the Vices through the police, he hired another gang to do the job. A ruthless one, from a nearby town. The Skulls - those who chased you and Changbin what seems like forever ago. The guy wanted the Vices dead, Changbin especially, but the gang didn’t want to have murder on their hands, so the guy agreed on sending messages. Attack the weakest points. Destroy their lives, as his was.

When Changbin is done, you’re trembling with rage. 

“It’s being taken care of,” he says softly.

“Are you going after them?” you ask shyly. 

Changbin shrugs. “More or less. We're trying to avoid a full-blown war. Minho is negotiating with the gang. Trying to avoid more bloodshed.” 

“And the guy?” 

“Dead.” 

Changbin tells it flatly, but there is fire in his eyes. 

“Yes,” he answers to your silent question. “I found him and slit his throat open, although he deserved worse.” 

A shiver goes down your spine. 

“It had to be done for what he did,” Changbin nods, his fists tight. “For what happened to you.” 

You put a hand on his fist, enveloping it under your fingers. “I’m fine, Changbin.”   

He’s not looking at you - so you take his chin, lightly, and raise his face to yours. 

“See? I’m fine.” 

His eyes are so dark, and yet so full of light - you lean forward and steal his lips for a kiss. He tenses at first, but when you don’t slip away, he gives in. Kisses you softly and deeply, touching your hair, his hands careful, his touch light. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says. 

“You’re not going to hurt me,” you breathe against his lips. “You could never hurt me, even if you did.” 

You kiss for a while, but you get tired so easily - soon you are out of breath, and you lay down in bed. He strokes your hair until you fall asleep. 

It will all be fine.

“There’s food in the fridge,” Seungmin says as he settles you in bed. “My mom made you seawood soup.” 

“She’s an angel,” you say with a pout. “And so are you.” 

Seungmin shakes his head, amused. He draws your blanket over your legs, making sure your pillows are holding you upright. He’s the one that drove you home from the hospital since your father had to take care of the shop.

You’ve spent a few more days at the hospital - the day you were supposed to get home, your wound had reopened and you had to go into surgery again. Still, you are here now, ready to eat good food, wear normal clothes, and sleep in your bed. That will help you recover, you’re sure of it. 

“Are you hungry now? I can heat it up for you,” Seungmin says, sitting on the bed beside you. 

“No,” you shake your head. “I’m fine. And I can do it by myself, you know.” 

“Just be careful,” he sighs. “I know that’s a difficult concept for you, but…”

“I’ll be careful, Min. Promise.” 

He hesitates, but eventually gives you a tight smile. He looks tired. He’s been looking after you a lot - more than necessary, but you’ve let him. Seungmin has a way of soothing your nerves like nobody else, and you know he’s not doing this because he feels like he has to. 

You thank him profusely and send him away. He needs rest, and so do you. Once he’s gone, you take a long nap, watch some television, and eat a bowl of delicious soup. Your apartment is quiet. 

Changbin has visited you a few more times. Jisung and Felix came, too. They looked preoccupied, giving you as many updates as it was safe to. You are disappointed Minho never came, but you understand. His position is delicate, and the hospital walls are thin. 

Apparently, the rival gang was not happy about Changbin killing the guy who hired them. They’ve been making the negotiation difficult. Very difficult, according to Jisung, and you see in his voice that patience is running thin on both sides. 

“They’re asking for my head,” Changbin admitted. “Or they’ll go for another round of messages.” 

You hear what he doesn’t say - next time the man in the black hoodie won’t aim for a part of you that will heal. 

He’ll shoot you dead. 

The worry is making you a little sick, but you focus on healing - the faster you’re back on both your feet, the faster you can get your energy back and put it into fighting back. You feel so helpless, like a victim, and it’s humiliating. It’s not like there’s anything you can really do - but you prefer transforming your fear into anger. 

Are you alone tonight? Changbin texts you. You answer yes, and he tells you he’ll come over. You’ve been craving his presence, and not only because Minho is nowhere to be seen. Changbin makes you feel like never before. Protected and safe, yes - but he keeps you on your toes, too. You’ve never really wanted to be taken care of, but you let Changbin do it, because he’s never too gentle about it. He’s just there. 

He doesn’t treat you like a child.

He teases you. 

He changes your bandages with you. 

He annoys you.

He helps you in the shower. 

He kisses you tenderly, he kisses you harshly. 

He doesn’t drive you insane like Minho does.

But he’s crawling under your skin and making a home there. 

Later, when you open the door on Changbin, he’s covered in dust and grease. You wrinkle your nose - the gasoline smell is strong. It’s clear he’s been working in the garage all day - he told you it calms his nerves. His hair is hidden under a baseball hat, his eyes a little tired. 

“Came straight from the clubhouse,” he explains as he closes the door behind him. “Thought I’d take a shower here.” 

You nod, maybe a little too eagerly. “Yeah, sure.” 

He kisses your temple, you get him a towel, and he disappears in the bathroom. You keep yourself busy while he’s in the shower, trying not to think about Changbin’s naked body so close to you, resisting getting in the shower with him. But although your wound is mostly healed, it’s still sensitive, in need of care. Steamy, acrobatic shower sex is the last thing your aching body needs. 

You sigh in annoyance.

You’re horny. You’re frustrated. 

You haven’t been touched in so long. 

Well - not that long. But it feels like ages. 

You tried to relieve yourself a few nights ago but the second you tense, your scar started to hurt, so you quickly gave up. But maybe taking care of someone else would feel good enough. You bite your lip, debating what to do, when Changbin reappears in a towel in your living room. 

Only in a towel. 

It’s not that big, so it covers next to nothing, and you take in the sight, holding back a whimper. A toned chest, still a little wet from the steam, shoulders like the statue of a god’s, and shaped legs that reveal thick, muscular thighs. Your grip your glass of water tighter in your hands. 

Fuck. Me. 

Your body is burning and you want to find heaven in his arms so bad you lose all sense and do not understand a single word he says. 

“Huh?” you say when you realize he’s been talking to you. 

He smiles, amused. “I said, my other shirt is dirty. Can I use your washing machine?” 

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” you answer, although you’re not sure what you just agreed to. 

You shake your head.

“You’re fucking with me, right? You can’t be walking around looking like this every day. Nobody has a body like this.”

“What’s wrong with my body?” 

“Wr- wrong?! There’s nothing wrong with it. You’re just… you’re…”

He arches an eyebrow, and you know he’s enjoying this a little too much. He is Minho’s right hand after all.

“You’re fucking hot, Changbin, okay? It shouldn’t be legal.” 

He laughs. “You’re insane.” 

“Yeah, and it’s your fault. Taunting me like that…”

“Taunting?” He walks towards you, his smile not leaving his face. “I’m not taunting you.” 

“Changbin…” 

He licks his lips as if in slow motion and you have to bite your tongue to hold back a moan. 

“I can’t,” you say. “My scar…”

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “I just want to kiss you.” 

You meet him halfway, his lips soft on yours, and his touch, his warmth, sends your thoughts spiraling. Your fingers graze his skin. It’s so soft, all you want is to take off your own clothes to feel it against yours. 

You inhale slowly, and chuckle. “Did you use my shampoo?” 

“Couldn’t resist.” 

You grin and kiss him again. As you push him towards the couch, he groans, but you put a finger against his lips. 

“Just because I can’t doesn’t mean you can’t.” You arch an eyebrow. “Can I remove this?” 

You tug at the towel, and he nods, staring at you hungrily. You undo the knot and the towel falls on the floor. Changbin is beautiful, still soft - but you don’t mind. You take him in your hand, caressing him gently, and then push him back on the couch so he sits there, knees apart, ready for you. You bite your lip in anticipation. 

Carefully, you kneel and place yourself between his legs. He reaches for your face to kiss you again as you stroke him. He’s getting hard quickly, and when you lean back to look at him, his eyes are glassy with desire. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says. 

“Not as much as you,” you reply in a low voice. 

Just so he won’t talk back, you flick your tongue against his tip, making him hiss. You smirk, watching his muscles tense and move like water. 

You lick his length, tracing the curves and the veins. He gently gathers your hair to hold it back, which allows you to move more freely - you wrap your mouth around him, your lips slick with spit and him. He grunts, bucking his hips, and you take all of him. 

You take your time, long minutes devouring every inch with your lips and tongue, edging him, feeling him harden and twitch. His whimpers make you shiver in pleasure - you glance at him to see he has his eyes closed, his head thrown back, his face contorted as if he’s in pain. 

“Look at me, Bin,” you breathe. You caress him with the tip of your fingers. “Look at me.” 

You swirl your tongue as he looks at you. He’s somewhere far - and it’s a sight you revel in.

“Am I making you feel good?” 

He nods. 

“Tell me.” 

“You make me feel so good, babe. Looking like a dream with my dick in your cute mouth.” 

You hum. “Yeah? You want me to go deeper?” 

“Yes, babe.” 

“You want to fuck my mouth?” 

“Fuck, Y/N…” 

You giggle, wrapping him around your lips and bobbing your head. You go lower and lower until you gag slightly, and nod at him. He understands your signal and starts moving his hips. He hits the back of your throat, moaning loudly, and doesn’t stop. You know your lips and throat will be bruised, but you don’t care. He’s still being tender, not going too fast, and holding your hair, not pulling it. 

Your hands grab his thighs, and you feel the muscles under your fingers. 

When you take him back after getting some air, he breathes hard. “Fuck. I’m gonna…” 

You squeeze his thighs to encourage him. After a few thrusts, you feel him throb and soon your mouth is filled with the taste of him. You lick him clean, yourself too. 

“Come here, you,” he sighs, pulling you to your feet slowly so you can sit on his leg. He kisses you, this thumb caressing your cheek, and your lips are sensitive but you don’t mind. 

“Hmm.” His finger traces your inner thigh. “Is my baby all wet?” 

You groan. “Don’t tease me.” 

“I’m not. I want to make you feel good, too.” 

You sigh. 

He kisses your earlobe. Your neck. 

“I didn’t get a taste of you yet,” he breathes. “Do you know how crazy that drives me?” 

“I can’t, Bin. It hurts too much.”

“Do you trust me?” 

To your surprise, you say yes. Changbin smiles, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Then let’s try something.” 

You follow him to your bedroom, where you lay down. He puts pillows behind your lower back, making sure your hips are raised but your wound protected. You are hesitant, but you do trust him. 

“You just keep breathing, ok? Slowly.” 

You nod. You desperately want release, so you’ll take even just a few seconds of him between your legs. 

He removes your underwear, staring at your wetness. 

“Fuck. Just the scent makes me hard again,” he chuckles, and you smile. 

He kisses you - right there. You flinch. 

“Breathe,” Changbin says. “Hold my hand, squeeze it instead of tensing.” 

His tongue unravels you, wide and agile. He puts just the right amount of pressure, building you slowly, stopping when he senses you tense too much. You learn to squeeze his hand instead, and although a dull pain remains, it quickly gets faint under the waves of pleasure Changbin’s tongue is creating. 

He’s meticulous, attentive, but relentless. His tongue traces circles and lines, his fingers pushed against your sensitive spots. He kisses your thighs, every part of you, and he definitely knows how to listen to you. You drift off in your pleasure, and after a few minutes the softest orgasm of your life shakes your entire being. It’s long, slow, delightful, and such a relief.  

“Oh my God, Bin,” you sigh once you get back down, a hand against your forehead. 

He appears above you, a smile on his lips, and kisses you. You feel his hardness against your leg. 

“Please, Y/N,” he says. “Can I fuck you? I’ll go slow.” 

“Yes, baby.” 

He enters you, moving carefully, and his length is a welcome presence. You moan gently, and he makes sure he’s not hurting you. 

“So good,” he whispers. “Too fucking good.” 

“Come for me, Bin,” you say in his ear, and it doesn’t take long before he does, right there on your leg. 

He pants, and you reach for him - but he removes the pillows and cleans you with a hot towel first. Then he lays down next to you, his head on your shoulder, planting airy kisses. 

“I like you, you know,” you say. “I want you to know that. It’s not just sex to me.” 

He hums. “Me neither. I like you, too.” 

And that’s all there is to say.

When you wake up, it smells like citrus. The spot beside you is empty, but you can hear noises in the kitchen. You stand up slowly, wincing at your aching body. Your scar is healing, but it’s taking a lot of time - and you’ve never been particularly patient. 

You walk to the kitchen and freeze at the sight in front of you. 

Lee Minho is cooking. In your kitchen. 

Eggs are frizzling in a pan. There’s a pitcher of lemonade on the table. A plate of fruit. Toasts, kept warm in the toaster. 

“What the fuck?” you let out, despite yourself. 

“Trouble,” Minho smiles widely. “You’re up.” 

“How have you - When did - Where’s Changbin?” 

“Went out to get some butter. I used it all for the eggs.” 

“But…”

He raises an index to his lips, and you shut up, staring. He turns to shake the fried eggs on a plate, and gestures to you to come to the table. You walk carefully as he puts down the plate.

“For you, doll,” he smiles, giving you a quick kiss. 

You’re not sure what’s happening, but it smells delicious and you’re starving. Still, you haven’t seen Minho in a while, so you take a second to look at him from up close. He looks tired. So tired. You want to kiss his eyelids to make them better. 

“I missed you,” you admit. 

“Me too,” he says, kissing your forehead fondly. “Eat.” 

You sit down and take a bite from the egg - it melts into your mouth like a piece of heaven, and you moan in delight. Minho chuckles, sitting next to you. You talk for a while - and when Changbin comes back, you keep talking. They tell you about the past weeks, how it’s been for them, how the girls are holding up. Chan never leaves his girl’s side. Cherry has been watched very carefully by Felix. 

And you, by Seungmin. 

“We talked over the phone,” Minho tells you. “He said he didn’t want to get involved, or even to know how, but he asked us to make sure the bastard that did this to you got what he deserved.” 

You arch an eyebrow, surprised - and yet, you’re not, not really. 

You look at both of them. The two boys that each hold a piece of you. Minho, ever elusive, who will never truly be anyone’s. Changbin, devoted, an anchor in the storm. You don’t feel torn. You know they love you, each in their own way. There’s nothing else to say, nothing to question. 

When you get a little tired, and decide to take a nap, Minho kisses you slowly, tells you he’ll come to visit soon again. Changbin stays with you. 

He gets you in bed, and as you drift off, you hear him do the dishes.

You glance at your phone anxiously although you know it’s useless. 

They are not going to text you. Not now. 

Still, you can’t help it, feeling your heart sink a little further every time you see your lock screen empty of notifications. 

Tomorrow, the sun will rise on a ground soaked in blood.

Tonight is a night for revenge. 

Under the dark sky, the Vices are going to be Reapers. 

Their plan is sound, from what you’ve heard. You don’t know every detail, only what couldn’t put you at risk. When the negotiation with the rival gang came to a brutal end, they asked for Changbin’s head - and Minho called them a few days ago to give them his answer. 

He agreed. 

But of course he hadn’t. 

Not really. 

The ambush was in place. It was going to be a massacre but sometimes it was necessary. They had threatened to kill you, to shed blood in Temperance, to transform the entire town into a cemetery. The Vices couldn’t allow that. The gang had started the violence, and the Vices would make it end. 

You are home, Jeongin watching over you. Felix is with Cherry. Chan with his old lady. The rest are getting ready. Or maybe it’s happening right now. 

Your phone pings - but it’s Seungmin, making sure you’re doing all right. He wanted to stay with you but you refused. No need to put anyone else at risk. 

Any news? he asks.

Not yet, you reply. 

Jeongin is good company. You play cards for a while, and you laugh together. He suggests a movie marathon, and you agree. Your scar hurts tonight, but you know it’s because you’re tense. You wish you could have a drink, but you can’t because of the medication. Damn it all to hell. 

On your television, John Wick is kicking ass, and it’s entertaining but it only makes you think about the worst that could happen. What if Minho found himself at the end of a knife like that? Changbin on the other side of a gun? You have faith they’ll succeed. They’ll be shooting the guns and handling the knives. But still, you’re nervous. 

You watch the bad guys get beaten up and shot and stabbed, and Jeongin gives you a few glances. He asked you if you were going to be okay watching this, but you don’t mind. Your trauma really isn’t that bad, considering. You have nightmares sometimes. You smell the blood and you’re so cold you wake up in shivers. It happened the other night, but Changbin was with you and he held you tight. 

Some part of you wonders why you’re not running away from him, from all this, after what happened to you. But you feel protected with them beside you. You feel you have purpose. 

Hours pass. Jeongin has fallen asleep, but you can’t close even an eye. You’re watching a documentary on TV, your mind elsewhere, when someone knocks at the front door. You jump up, your heart beating fast in your chest. 

“Who is it?” 

“The Grim Reaper.” 

You smile, your heart whole again. Jisung is on the other side of the door, grinning from ear to ear. 

“We’re back, baby.” 

You barely even notice he’s covered in blood - you give him a tight hug and he tells you he can drive you to the house if you want. Everyone is there. Everyone is safe. You wake Jeongin, tell him to go home, but he wants to party with you, so the three of you head to the house. 

You see Minho first, and he squeezes your hand.

It’s over, doll.

It’s done.

You take a step back, taking a long look at the final result. 

The wall of roses stares back at you. 

All its roses and burgundys and lilacs and creams. They mix and blend in swirls of colors. It’s a beautiful sight. It’s even more beautiful than before. 

You’d been scared you wouldn’t be able to work in the Rose Garden anymore, that would only see the blood - but you don’t. You really don’t. 

You only see the blooming roses, you only smell the fresh flowers, and the only pain you feel is when you prick yourself on a thorn - and it’s a welcome feeling. So brief, so simple. 

You breathe in relief as your father puts a hand on your shoulder. He smiles. 

“It’s beautiful, sprout. You did wonderful.” 

“Mom would’ve liked it, I think,” you nod.

“She would’ve loved it.” 

You put your head on your father’s shoulder and you both stare at the roses for a few seconds. You know he doesn’t agree with everything you’re doing, that he thinks you’re being a bit reckless - but he also knows you. Rash. Passionate. Like your Mom. 

“The shop is going to be in good hands,” he nods. 

He gave you his keys a few days ago. It’s time for him to retire - to put the shop in your name, officially. He isn’t going anywhere, and he will still come to work regularly. But it is your time, now. The Rose Garden is yours.  

You kiss him on the cheek, and you close shop together for the day. He heads home, but you have another destination. Earlier today, you got a text from Minho, summoning you to the clubhouse. That’s the word he used. You are summoned to the clubhouse for an urgent meeting. 

Still a pretentious prick.

But you like him. 

You enter the clubhouse, and it’s strangely empty. There’s only one person sitting at the bar, sipping a drink. You walk towards him, a smile on your face, and he watches you approach with a spark in his eye. 

Lee Minho. 

“You’re late,” he says before he empties his drink. 

“There wasn’t a time on that summons on yours,” you retort back. 

“When you’re summoned, you should come right away, doll.” 

“Some of us have lives.” 

He smirks and gestures towards the wide double doors that lead to the meeting room - you’ve only been in there once before. You follow him inside, and as he closes the door and draws the blinds, you have an idea of where this is going. In fact, you’ve had an idea since you got the text this morning - that’s why you put on some lingerie for him. Blood red, of course. 

You bite your lip as he draws his chair - the one at the top of the table - and sits down. 

“Sit down.” 

You open your mouth but he quickly interrupts you.

“Sit. Down.” 

You sigh deeply, rolling your eyes, but still, you sit down on the nearest chair. You look at him, never getting enough of the sight of him. His aura. His eyes. The scar across his face, that you’ve gotten to know so well. It’s faded a little more since you’ve known him. And now you have one of your own, right there on your stomach, healed and healthy. 

“I’ve heard you’ve recently become an owner.” 

“I have.” 

“So I’ll have to deal with you directly, then?” 

“More like I’ll have to deal with you.” 

Minho chuckles. “What a shame.” 

“Absolutely devastating.” 

You smile at each other, and you squirm in your seat a little. Minho leans towards you. 

“What are you thinking about there, doll?” 

“Just you,” you say. 

You put your palm against the wide wooden table, looking at it. You imagine all the other Vices sitting there, voting on decisions, talking business. Your hand slides on the soft wood. 

“You ever fuck someone on this table?

“That’s where your mind is, huh?” 

“Answer the question,” you squint. 

“I don’t think I have,” Minho answers carefully, staring at you intensely. “How does that make you feel?” 

You smile. “Like I want to be the first.” 

Minho grins. “That’s my girl talking. My little Trouble.” 

You smile, and you want to sit up and kiss him, but he raises a finger. 

“Business first.” 

You sigh. “What business?” 

That’s when the doors open - Changbin enters, closing them behind him. You look at both of them and grin. “Oh. Oh.” 

“Look at her, Vice,” Minho laughs. “Such a dirty mind. The three of us in a room and that’s the first thing she thinks about.” 

“Well you sort of left me hanging the other night, didn’t you?” you snarl, crossing your arms. 

Changbin sits in front of you. He has the same look on his face as the first time you saw him, in your father’s shop - but you know better now. You notice the little curve of his lip, the dark spark in his eye. The way his shoulders hang back. 

“We called you here to discuss your security,” Minho says. 

“My security?” you repeat, confused. 

“Now that you’re almost a part of us, we need to make sure you’re not going to be a danger for the club.” 

You snort, but they both stay serious. 

“You’re being serious,” you whisper. 

“You think this is funny?” Minho says. “Are we a joke to you?”

“I’m - it’s just -”

“Vice,” he states, pointing his index at you. Changbin is staring at you. “I think this one needs to understand we don’t laugh about these matters.” 

You stare at him as he stands up, keeping both his palms on the table. 

“I think we need to give her a lesson or two,” he continues. “Just so she knows how serious we are.” 

“I think you’re right, boss,” Changbin nods, staring up and down at you. “There’s a few things that need to be drilled into her.” 

Your thoughts are drifting somewhere, and you don’t even reach for them. You squeeze your legs, trying to take a deep breath, but they’re not leaving you any air. 

This is a game. 

You love to play. 

Changbin snaps his fingers. “Up.” 

You stand up on trembling legs. He does the same, circling the table to walk towards you. Minho stays behind, his arms crossed, not a single emotion on his face - except in his eyes. 

In them is the eye of the storm.

Changbin steps close to you, and you raise your eyes to look at him. You’re burning with desire, but you stay still. Slowly, he lifts the hem of your dress, tracing your thigh, your ass. His rings are cold against your skin. Then, his fingers pull at your panties, which fall on the floor. You gulp, lips parted, staring back at Changbin. The silence is deafening. 

He does not hesitate - his fingers touch your wetness, tracing its length, and he pushes one digit inside of you. You gasp, your legs vacillating. 

“You still want this?” he breathes.

You can only nod. 

“What’s the verdict, Vice?” 

Changbin takes his hand away from you, and you groan in frustration. He shows his drenched fingers to Minho, who smirks. 

“Of course,” he breathes. “Such a good girl for us. Isn’t she, Vice?” 

“Hm, hm,” Changbin hums. 

“Bend her over,” Minho says. 

You feel a little dizzy, your heart beating fast in your chest. You knew it was going to happen, and you’ve thought about it a lot - but now that it’s happening, you can barely believe it. That you’re here, with these two men craving you. Only you. 

You’re theirs, and they’re yours. 

Changbin grabs your waist, twirls your body and bends you over the table, lifting your ass in the air. Your upper arms rest on the table, and you look up at Minho, who is stroking himself on top of his jeans. His mouth is open, his eyes dark - such a beautiful sight. You lick your lips in anticipation. 

He walks over to Changbin, and you feel a hand raise your dress again so that your lower body is exposed. It’s a little cold, but you don’t care.

“Look at that, Vice,” Minho sighs. “What a fucking sight, right?” 

They’re both standing behind you. You smile and wiggle your ass for them. Their chuckles are music to your ears. 

“I think she’s enjoying this a little too much,” Changbin laughs. 

“That’s okay,” Minho says. “So are we.” 

You look back at them as Minho gives his friend a look.

“What do you want to start with first? You do the honors.” 

“I need that taste in my mouth,” Changbin says, and you clench at the words. 

Minho chuckles. “By all means. I’ll take care of those sweet lips.” 

It happens fast - as you feel Changbin’s breath against your wetness, Minho reappears in your vision, unbuckling his belt. You don’t even say anything - you just open your mouth, sticking out your tongue. 

“Fuck, doll,” he growls in delight. “First time I saw you open your mouth it was to damn me to hell. How things have changed.” 

You glare at him. “Don’t fucking test me,” you hiss. “Why don’t you enjoy it while it lasts?” 

He laughs. “Oh, don’t worry, I will.” 

He takes his length out of his pants, not even stroking it before he hands it to you. You make him linger a little, licking the length of your hand before you wrap your fingers around him - and he stares at you with hungry eyes. You slap him against your tongue. You’re so focused on it you almost forget about Changbin - who, as if he senses it, flicks his tongue against your eagerness. Your entire body flinches.

“Fuck,” you moan. 

Minho strokes your hair, pushing it back from your face. “The two of us will take good care of you now, doll.” 

As an answer, you take him in your mouth and start bobbing your head. At the same time, Changbin’s tongue is working wonders, and you hum around Minho, making him twitch between your lips. He’s rougher than Changbin, pulling your hair a little as you suck him, bucking his hips to go deeper. You don’t mind. Especially not as your capacity to think is escaping you entirely. 

When you take a breath, you let out a loud curse because Changbin is making your legs tremble and you don’t know how much longer you can stand on them. He just chuckles and keeps going. With Minho around your lips it’s hard to tell Changbin you’re about to come, but he stops right when you’re on the edge. 

He slaps your ass, pushing on your lower back softly. 

“Put that ass up for me,” he tells you, and you hear the sound of his belt buckle. 

Minho takes himself out of your mouth.

“Fuck her good, Vice. She wants it.” 

“You good where you are?” Changbin asks.

“What d’you mean? I’m in fucking heaven over here.” 

Changbin positions himself at your entrance, pushing softly, and you groan in delight. 

“Fuck, Bin,” you sigh. “Fill me up.” 

“Hmm, that filthy mouth,” Minho growls. He grabs your chin, squeezing it hard between his fingers, putting three of them in your mouth. “So fucking hot. Let me look at you as he fucks you. Let me see the sense leave your head.”  

You moan as Changbin enters you, slowly and then completely. Minho takes out his fingers, letting your drool stain your chin, and he takes a step back to admire the sight of Changbin fucking you. 

You graze your nails against the table, breathing out, but no one seems to care if you damage it. You need to hold on to something as Changbin starts to pound into you, mercilessly, harder than he’s ever had. The only sounds you can hear are his heavy breathing and his skin slapping against yours - you can barely utter a sound. 

“That’s it, Vice,” Minho is whispering, his fingers in your hair. “She’s fading out. Soon we’ll lose her entirely.”

You moan. “Oh my God - fuck, I’m…” 

You can’t finish your sentence, as your orgasm rolls into you, making your entire body shake. Your legs buckle, but Changbin holds you. He makes sure to keep moving until your orgasm is over, and then takes your arm, helping you up. 

“C’mon, babe,” he says. 

He sits you on the table and after a few seconds, you open your eyes. Changbin stands close to you, his length covered in you, and Minho is taking the spot between your legs, stroking himself. 

“Don’t worry, Trouble,” he whispers softly, his lips grazing your neck. He caresses your cheek. “This is far from over.” 

Minho pushes into you and you inhale sharply, your head falling back. You exhale heavily, and you feel a hand on the back of your neck. It’s Changbin - he holds your head straight to kiss you deeply, his tongue swirling around yours. You grip his shoulder to stay steady as Minho slams into you.

“Can you hear that, Bin?” Minho chuckles. “How wet she is? Fuck.” 

“I can hear it,” Changbin replies with a smirk, kissing you again. 

You breathe in Changbin’s mouth, unable to utter a word. His other hand goes down your dress, taking off the straps to liberate your breasts. He massages them, rolls a nipple under his thumb. Minho’s hands are holding your thighs, and all that contact, all that scent, all that warmth - it’s so delightful you can barely breathe. 

“Fuck,” you pant. “Fuck.” 

You hear Minho chuckle. “Already fucked out, doll? Can’t form a sentence anymore?” 

“Here’s one,” you say. “Fuck you.” 

Both of them laugh with you. 

Minho’s rhythm is building your pleasure again, and you clench around him - you love to hear him groan every time you do. You grab Changbin’s length, stroking it as he keeps kissing you, sometimes leaving your mouth to bite your earlobes or lick your neck - he sucks at your skin a little, and you know he’s going to leave a trace. Just like Minho’s fingers are digging deep in your thighs. Just like your nails scratch Changbin’s back. 

Your mind devolves, and Minho lets out a deep groan.

“She’s close again, Bin. Help me finish her off.” 

You moan in frustration and delight as Changbin’s fingers graze your wetness. He applies pressure and starts to draw circles, and you can’t hold back your second orgasm. It’s like an electric shock through your body, and you moan louder than you ever have. 

“Does it feel good, baby?” Changbin says in your ear. “The whole town is going to hear us fucking you good.” 

“Fuck yes,” you whimper. “This feels so good.” 

Minho shakes his head, taking a step back. 

“I need a break or I’m gonna blow right there. Jesus fuck.” 

He still takes the time to kiss you before he goes to sit down in his chair. He’s quite a sight, with his hair disheveled, his chest covered in a thin layer of sweat, his dick hard, his eyes on you. Changbin takes his place, but it’s only to pull you from the table. He gropes your ass and pushes your back against the nearby wall. He puts your arms around his neck and enters you again, burying his nose in your neck, and you breathe out. You’re sensitive, but the feel of him is so delightful, you don’t ever want him to go away. Either of them, actually. 

Changbin lifts one of your legs to get easier access, and you wrap it around his waist. Soon your other leg is around him, and he’s holding you up like that, your feet not touching the ground. He’s strong, and it doesn’t look difficult for him, so you let go, only pressing your back against the wall to relieve some weight. 

He’s so deep inside of you, you whimper. 

“Fuck me harder,” you breathe out, and he obliges. 

Your chin is resting against his shoulder, your arms wrapping around him. You’re scratching his back, panting his name. You open your eyes, dizzily, and see Minho sitting close to you, stroking himself slowly to the sight. 

You keep eye contact with him as Changbin fucks you. You could come again, so easily, and you almost do when Minho accelerates, mouth open, his tongue tracing his lips. This feels like a dream - but it isn’t. 

“Fuck, babe, I’m gonna come,” Changbin grunts. 

“Wait,” you breathe. “Put me down.” 

Once your feet are on the floor, you gesture at Minho to join you. When both are next to you, you kneel, and take Changbin in your mouth. You lick yourself from him, stroking Minho. Then, it’s the latter you warm up between your lips. You go back and forth, staring up at their faces. Minho whispers sweet things, Changbin holding your hair. 

When Changbin grunts and twitches in your hand, you open your mouth and bring out your tongue. You take all of him.

“Fuck, holy shit,” Minho breathes. “Fucking Trouble. You really are. Come here.” 

He takes your hair, wanks it slightly towards him, and he’s next to come around your lips. It’s a little overwhelming, but you take the time to clean the two of them, standing back up when you’re done. They both kiss you, a little more tenderly. 

“I have an idea,” Minho grins. 

“What?” 

“Lay back down,” he tells you. “I wanna make you come again. In my mouth, this time.” 

“I’ve already come twice, you know, you don’t have to -”

“You know what they say, right? Third time’s the charm.” 

You exchange a glance with Changbin, who’s smiling. You do feel a little on edge from Changbin’s fucking, and from the lingering taste of them on your tongue, so you lay down on the table, facing them. 

They kneel in front of you, burying themselves between your legs. 

Minho teases and licks your wetness, playing with your sensitive spots, and Changbin kisses your thighs. They take turns to pleasure you, and the sight is enough to make you go crazy, so you’re soon close to coming - Minho hungrily sucks you into his mouth, and you come undone. 

It’s hard to go back down, so you just lay there, sweaty, your whole body twisted in a bundle of sensitive nerves. Just their slight touching makes you twitch, and you keep your eyes closed. 

“I think we’ve ruined her, Vice,” Minho laughs. 

“She’s going to need some rest.” 

“Good thing we’re here to watch over her.”

You have enough strength to sit on your elbows, raising an eyebrow at the two of them.

“I hate you,” you say, but you’re smiling, your hair a mess, your soul unraveled and made whole again.

“Just a few more steps, Mrs. Kim. You’re almost there.” 

You hold on to the woman’s hand as she walks tentatively, her eyes covered by a piece of ribbon you took from the Rose Garden. Behind you, Changbin follows slowly, a smile upon his lips. He puts the car keys in his pocket, and you’re grateful he accepted to drive both of you - how you know that cost him, to have to get behind the wheel of an actual car. 

How you torture him. 

You exchange a nervous and febrile look with him, guiding Seungmin’s mother ahead. The parking lot is silent, but it really isn’t. There are so many people there you can guess half the town is present, just behind the Kim’s hardware store. Balloons announcing happy birthday. Barbecues warming up. Children giggling. The sun is bright and warm. 

“Darling, where are you taking me,” Mrs Kim says in an amused tone.

“You’ll see very soon,” you reply. “You can stop right here.” 

You squeeze her hand, bite your lip, and look at the small crowd. Seungmin is at the front, of course, holding, with his father, a huge birthday cake. He catches Felix’s eye, and the latter lights the sparkler candles. They sputter and shine, and Seungmin nods at you - they are ready. So you turn to Mrs Kim, speaking gently. 

“I’m going to remove the blindfold. You ready?” 

She nods, and you lift the piece of ribbon. As her eyes open on the clear sky, the crowd screams Happy Birthday and erupts in cheers. Jisung activates the confetti gun he bought for the occasion, and hundreds of small pieces of paper of multiple colors envelop the crowd. 

Mrs Kim cries out in surprise, a hand against her mouth, and you smile affectionately as she approaches her son and husband, tears shining in her eyes. Someone starts the music, the crowd disperses, and the party starts. 

Eyeing the scene with satisfaction, you feel a hand sliding on your waist, securing its place there. You place your own against it, wrapping your fingers around the rings, and look up at Changbin. 

“How was it, then?” you tease him.

“What?” 

“Driving a car.”

He sighs. “Never ask me to do that again.” 

You smirk, reaching for his lips. He kisses you, shaking his head. 

Time is flying by. You wouldn’t say things are quiet, exactly, because they never are in Temperance. How could they be, with a biker club scouring every inch? But you’ve made peace with it - although it does not mean you’re making their lives easier. You still question most of their decisions, never hesitate to yell at Minho’s face when you disagree with something they do. Why wouldn’t you, after all? You have principles, most of the time. 

You and Changbin have recently moved to his father’s house. You’re slowly making it a home, arguing over what furniture to buy and how to organize the fridge. It’s excruciatingly domestic, but you make it fun. 

Hyujin and Seo-ah got engaged. Jeongin got a promotion. Chris and his old lady, inspired, bought a house close to yours. Happy endings all around. 

Minho you used to see often. Sometimes for a jousting match, others for a maddening fuck. The other day you pulled his hair so hard he actually whimpered in pain and made you pay for it. Oops, you said. But it’s been a while since you’ve seen him. Months ago he disappeared with Cherry - emergency family business, you were told. Changbin took over the Presidency in his absence, although people still call him Vice. 

You get a piece of cake, Changbin a burger, and you walk through the crowd to find Seungmin. He wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you in a sideways hug. 

“Thank you,” he says in your ear. “I appreciate it.” 

“I didn’t do it for you,” you reply, arching an eyebrow. “I did it for your mom. She said ages ago she was going to bake me banana bread and she never did. I’ll remind her of that when the party’s over.” 

Seungmin shakes his head, not impressed by your attitude, and you break into a grin. 

“C’mon,” you say. “You guys are family.” 

 “Oh, you mean the people you don’t choose?” he sighs. “Makes sense, I never would’ve chosen you.” 

You pull your tongue at him and he chuckles. Mrs Kim steals you for a tight hug, telling you how sneaky you are, and you just appreciate seeing the bright smile on her face.

As you’re going through your fourth glass of lemonade - it’s just too damn good, as everything that is made by Hyunjin’s godlike hands is - Changbin pulls you aside, whispering in your hair. 

“You wanna get out of here?” 

It’s not like you can ever resist him, especially not when he matches his leather cut with that white t-shirt of his that is slightly too tight around his biceps, so you giggle and nod your head. 

“Where, though?” you ask.

He thinks for a second. “I have an idea.” 

He takes your head and you sneak away, promising yourself you’ll go back to the party afterwards. Changbin leads you ahead on foot, and you’re starting to think he’s heading for an alley when you realize you’re close to the Rose Garden. 

Halfway there, Changbin pushes you against the back wall of a building to kiss you deeply, his lips embracing yours, his strong hands holding you in place. You mess up his hair with your fingers, grinding against his hips to tease him too. 

Laughing like teenagers, you make your way to the shop, heading towards the back entrance. You reach in your bag for your keys, which you always have on you, but Changbin is already opening the - unlocked - door. 

You frown. “How did -” 

“C’mon,” he simply says with that side smirk of his that always makes you forget the time of day. 

You simply follow him inside. The back rooms are empty, but when you get to the actual shop, overflown with the smell of roses, there’s someone waiting for you there. 

He’s standing in the middle of the room, leather pants, black t-shirt, and twirls on the soles of his combat boots. Silver hair, a scar on his face, and that devilish smile. 

He looks exactly like the first time you saw him. 

In exactly the place you first saw him.

“Hey, Trouble,” Minho says. 

You glance at Changbin, whose eyes are sparkling with mischief. Minho steps closer to you, and your heart is bursting at seeing him again. 

Minho’s fingers graze your cheek. “Remember what I once said about what I’d like to do to you in your shop?” 

“Hm” you say, folding your arms. “Can’t remember.”

He grins, and you feel Changbin’s breath against your neck. “Let me remind you, then.”

the end ♡

Thank you for all your support! I truly appreciate it and I hope you had fun reading this story. Let me know what you think if you want to, I would like to hear from you. Lots of love! ♡

[profoundtyrantharmony]

Title : A Touch of Affection

Pairing : Modern!Ivar x Reader

Words : 3279

Chapter Warning : Fluff

Notes : Roommate to Bestfriend to Lover. I made it Soft!Ivar because this is my favorite. Slow burn for the first few chapters.

General Plot : Y/n a young journalist decide to quit to pursue her ambitions of travel vlogger/blogger. Ivar works for the familly business and wants to leave the familly house. They’ll have to share an appartment and maybe mre than friendship will arise.

Chapter Plot : Y/n meets Ivar threw the real estate mistake.

Masterlist // Request Serie Masterlist

Chapter 1 : First Meet

Y/N POV

I work as a journalist for a local magazine from Trondheim in Norway since I finish studying a year ago. Being a journalist is my dream job, interviewing people and making others discover new things and kind of learn from it is what I consider being the heart of the job. Unfortunately not for my boss.

At the beginning everything was interesting, I could choose mostly what I will write about. I would wrote about cultural escapade and trip, new open restaurants and all from all over Norway. I took great pleasure in doing those and people reading them were really satisfied with it, I got many positive comments on the digital version on our website. Despite being one of the few favored journalist my boss still decided I should do more local articles and only about “more girly” events. I love my job so I still do it with a lot of profesionnalism but at the end of the day I’m not that satisfied with myself anymore. 

Today I have to finish writing an article about the teenage’s new trend in the fashion department, not really what I’m looking for in my work but apparently it’s my new editing line and I can’t do anything about it, except maybe quit. I think about it more and more these days. This job is making me duller and duller each passing day. I think of myself as a bubbly, tactile and touchy feely kind of girl, a ray of light according to my friends and former professors. Since working there I didn’t make any friends amongs my colleagues, the atmosphere is heavy and my boss won’t let me express my interest in some more diverse subjects. I’m interested in many things but officially I can’t show it, I have to stay bland and it’s becoming difficult, that’s why I started a blog called “Y/n/n’s Journey” -5 months ago- where I write exclusively about subjetcts I find interesting like the differents spots to go when you’re new in Trondheim, culinary specialties...I also write it in an English version so more people can read it. I consider it like my baby project.

After ending my day I go back to my official apartment to work on my blog and the new articles I could write about in the near future. I’d like to do more, going in another countries to discover new things, exploring different cities, developping new concepts. 

“Y/n/n’s Journey” stars to get known in the blogging world to the point where each of my articles are read over 300 000 times and I even start to earn money from it thanks to sponsors and labels -only local ones for now-, it’s crazy, at least for me. 

I’m currently sitting on my couch, a glass of orange juice in hand, thinking of what I could possibly do with my actual job. I’m so invested in my blog and so little to my work in comparison. I don’t know what to do ! 

I turn the TV on to some talk show, I'm listening to it without really caring about what they talk about. That’s until I see someone taking about something, I don’t listen to what he’s saying honestly, I’m more focus on what’s written below him : “Freelance Journalist”. A light bulb pop up in my head, that’s it !! If I become a freelance journalist for the “Adresseavisen” I could move out to a bigger city to cover bigger and more interesting events -among other things- as well as working on my blog more regularly. This way I won’t quit but I’ll still be away doing what I like ! It’s a great compromise. I’ll just need to talk to my boss about it...

The next morning I prepare myself to annonce the news to my boss Mr Bakken. I’m a bit stressed cause I don’t know how he will react, he has never been mean to me but he has never been overly nice neither. Either way I made up my mind, whatever happened, at the end of the day he will know.

I enter in the magazine’s place and search for Mr Bakken. I see him in his office and decide to tell him right away ! No need to wait any longer. I go in front of the door and knock softy on it.

“Come in !”

"Hello Mr Bakken may I have a word ?" My bubbly nature comes naturally to the surface as a genuine smile adorned my morning face.

“Ah y/n how are you this fine morning ? Of course, close the door behind you and have a sit.” He says in a rather good mood tone which surprise me a little but do as he says.

“I’m fine really !! Actually I wanted to talk to you about something work related.” My voice became slighty wary at the end probably an anticipation reaction to his possible rejection. I’m surprised when it doesn’t happen.

“I had the feelling it would happened one day !” He says with playfullness.

“How come ?! You don’t even know what I’m gonna say ?"

“You’re right but I got an idea. I’m aware that what I’m asking you to write about is not really exciting for you. I was gonna say something when he prevent me from it. Don’t interrupt me Miss I’m not antagonizing you, this is called being objective and pragmatic. I’ve read what you wrote on your blog and it’s awesome ! But as you know our readership is basically composed of...lets say mature people that don’t buy our magazine for the type of articles you want to write. They want mainly events happening in the city and all, you are the feminine touch of Adresseavisen and trust me it saddened me.” He seems really honest in his answer. I might be the boss here but there is someone above me that is very conservative."

“I understand and actually come to a compromise that I hope will favored both parts.” I know I sound disgustingly hopefull !! Bubbly personnality remember !

“With who ?”

“With me and...myself...” I bow my head in uneasyness and scratch the back of my neck when I suddenly hear him laugh.

“A compromise with yourself ? Wasn’t it too complicate to come to an agreement ?”

“Actually no ! I smile brightly. It’s easier than with others.”

“Tell me about it see if I’d agree.”

“I thought about becoming a freelance journalist for the Adresseavisen. This way I could move out and cover bigger events for you and work on my blog on the side.” Silence. He says nothing for about 5 minutes. I’m starting to feel weird.

“So you-you’re not quitting ?” I think I see some kind of hope in his eyes ?

“No, I’d still write for you when you need me but not from here. I explain him as much as I can. Will it be something you would consider ?”

“Of course ! As I already told you you’re great and if this allow you to improve your natural talent then so be it, maybe someday in the future you will create your own magazine/journal based on things that you like, I have no doubt you’ll succeed !” My eyes become watery at his admission. I was going to hug him but remember we're in workplace so I can't be this tactile especially with my boss.

“Thanks a lot sir, I didn’t know you had this high opinion on me.”

“Sorry about that, as I said before the ones above me are highly conservative and don't accept me being nice to employee. That's why I cover and help all of you from the shadow. Let's change subjects where do you think you’ll go if you don’t mind me asking ?”

“Oslo is my go to right now ! I’ll search for an appartment as soon as I go home.”

“If you want to leave before and search directly there, just tell me I know someone from the “Aftenposten”, she could lend you an official apartment unti you find yours.” It’s so nice of him I can’t refuse, it’s a big oportunity.

“I agree !! When will you...ask her ?”

“Right after you go back to work !” He smiles playfully saying this, I’m so gratefull I could cry from happiness right now. I decided against all reason to hug my boss and give him a "thank you" kiss on both his cheeks.

“Thanks you so much !! I won’t bother you again.”

“You didn’t bother me don’t worry. I'll tell you when it’s done.”

The morning continues like usual, typing articles, brief talk with the colleagues... I finish writing my articles and go to warn Mr Bakken. He’s noting it on his notebook and then look at me with a tooth eating grin before saying “It’s done !”

A week later I'm finally in Oslo in my new official appartment. Since arriving I'm going to the best rated real estate and take an appointment with them to talk about what I want and is my budget.

I'm not that picky but I know what I want. I'd like a loft, rather modern with a high internet connection, no matter the neighborhood and if possible close to public transports but this one is just an added bonus. Once the appointment comes to an end, the woman -her name is Astrid- tells me she will call me once she got the perfect appartment for me.

It's been almost a month and a half since I went to the real estate and still no news. I did my research by myself in case they find nothing.

We're in the middle of the afternoon when a phone call awakes me from my nap. I check the phone number and I recognise it immediatly. Astrid is finally calling me !!

"Hello Mrs Y/l/n, this is Astrid the real estate agent, I'm calling you because the perfect appartment for you with all your requirements checked. Will you come here so we can talk more and eventually visit it ?"

"I'm coming right away !! Be there in 30 minutes."

Ivar POV

It’s a beautiful post rainy day in the small town of Kattegat, my hometown. Since I was born I only knew one city, this one and this is becoming frustrating. I’d like to see more of the world, but with my overprotective mother, my job and general family it’s not easy to actually go out of town. I love my family, some members more than others but they’re still my blood. I just wish they’ll start see me as an adult and not as a child anymore.

Anyway, I come outside to take some pictures of the landscape, photography is really something that sooth my mind and help me think in a more calmly way. As soon as I got some free time I take my camera and go explore the city. Despite me having brace and walking with a crutch, I still manage most of my “trip” on my own, but there are days where I need someone to help me or at least it will take me more time to go where I want to go. I don’t usually ask for help cause I see it as a weakness confession. No need to inform you that my mother is the one helping me in this days, it probably explains why she is relctant to let me go.

After I’m done with my hobby, I have to go work in the family business. It’s the biggest boat builder company whether it be a yacht, a cruise ship or else, it’s obvious then that money is not a problem to any of us. My father Ragnar and his best friend Floki are both the CEO. As the last child I don’t have many responsibilities yet -which suit me fine- but I still held a good position as a conselor, basically I help them in resolving ponctual problem as well as analyzing the strategies from the lower company and advise clients. I really enjoy doing this...but it’s not my dream job that’s for sure.

This day is longer than I would have thought, the clients are so rude and the fact that I can’t defend myself because “we have to make great impression at all time !” Bullshit !! Seriously is it my fault if what you want to make us build is pointless because impossible with your actual budget and the composite materials that you required. Unbelievable !! Morons !! This day’s can’t be worse, norns tell me it can’t be worse...

I just arrived home from the most awful day at work that ever exist. I wallow myself in the family couch an think about my future really seriously. There’s no way I will stay in the family house all my life as much as I love my mother and father I can’t. Bjorn is now working for us from the Sicily branch of the company with Halfdan a friend and a colleague. Sigurd, Ubbe and Hvitserk are sharing an appartment in Kattegat as well as sharing girls but it’s not the point. Sigurd works as a communication manager, his role is to facilitate the internal and external company’s communication for a better functionning, as muh as I hate to admit, he’s really good at it ! Ubbe and Hvitserk have the same role in the development and production department. They have to assess the cmpany’s peformance and suggest new “products” to please the clients and the genera business. Again they’re both great at it. The more I think about it an the more I just want to leave...but in the same time I quite like what I do...

“You seem thoughtful, what’s going on ?”

“Mother ! Nothing just the usual I guess...”

“ Do you want to talk about it ? I’m right here if you need.” She tells him with such softness in her voice I couldn’t lie to her.

“I was just thinking about moving out, what I would do in the future, those kind of things actually, an before you say something about the fact that living alone is dangerous for me just remember I’m a big guy, I can deal with it.” I say with as much seriousness I could muster to try and convince her.

“I know I have a tendency to overprotect you -I roll my eyes at her obviousness- and that I need to make more effort to cut the rope with you. I’ll try -I raise my eyebrow at this- I promise you Ivar I’ll try for real...but you have to prove me that you can deal with all of this on your own, I’m talking about finding somewhere else to live, the moving et cetera. Concerning your job I’m sure you could do it from home so no worry, unless you also wanna quit it ?”

“No no no !! Working from him is great, I’ll talk to father about it when I’ll see him tonight.”

“Do you know where you want to move ?” Ask Aslaug, her tone a bit sad.

“Oslo is my go to for now ! As you said I can still work from home, plus it’s a bigger city than here so the probability I find what’s best for me is clearly superior to the ones I have here. Don’t cry mother, I’m not gone yet.” I say trying to lift the mood.

“Maybe you could be gone sooner than expected. A friend of mine -Siggy- is renting a studio in Oslo, it’s usually for students but it’s empty for now so if you want it it’s yours until you find better.”

“You’re really gonna let me go ?!” I’m surprise by her sudden change.

“I know it’s unavoidable, it better be on good terms than not. Plus I’m still your mother I expect at the very least one phone call a week.” I laugh so much at this, typical mother.

Three days is all it takes to pack my things to go to Oslo. Once moved in I directly called the best real estate in town to ask them for an appointment. Being a Lothbrock alows me one this afternoon. Perfect ! The appointment  is great, I explain to Magnus -the real estate agent- what I’m looking for.

“I’m actually looking for a modern loft in a calm neighborhood with a high phone and internet connection.” After discussing a bit more about my moving motivation he tels me that he will put me on top of his priority. I’m just gonna have to wait for a phone call.

It’s been one week and two days and still no news from Magnus, maybe I was too demanding. Whatever, I take advantage of this time to visit the town and take picture of eveything that surround me.

Back at the studio I hear my phone ringing, Magnus nubers lighting the screen.

“Hi Mr Lothbrock, the real estate agent Magnus here, I’ve found what you’re looking for, come by the agency and we’ll talk more and even visit it if you’re interested.”

“Thanks, I’ll be there in 10 minutes !” Thanks the norns I don’t live too far away.

Neutral POV

“Hi, I’m y/n I come to see Astrid she called me for a loft !”

I’m the only one in the lobby, waiting for my gardian angel to arrive and provide me with the perfect housing. I’m already daydreaming my future life when a young man ome into the lobby.

“Hi, I’m Ivar Lothbrock I’m here cause Magnus called me !”

We are both waiting together, occasionaly looking and smilling at each other. Astrid and Magnus arrived both at the same time with defeated face. They ask the both of us to enter the same room. We looked at each other, not understanding what’s happening.

“There’s been a mistake...” Starts Astrid.

“We’re really sorry...” Continues Magnus.

“Just spill it out !! You are stressing me out !”

It appears that none of them consult the other regarding the required loft. Now the both of them have the same loft for two different people. How is this even possible ?! What are we gonna do ?!

“So what now ! What do you suggest ?” 

“If you can’t find a solution maybe you’ll just have to share it ?!” Suggest Astrid with her eyes full of hope.

“I can’t believe I’m going to ask that but...”

“Y/n”

“Yes, y/n would you be willing to share this perfect loft with me until we find an other one for one of us because to be honest I don’t think I’m gallant enough to let you have it.”

His honesty is really impressive, he seems like a decent guy, I’ve got good vibes and I’m never wrong when it comes to them. 

“I accept...my little bunny !” I love using nicknames, I consider them a form a affection. Right after saying this I hug him and kiss his left cheek. He seems surprised and flustered by my antics. 

“Now that this is done maybe you’ll want to see some pictures before signing.” Says Magnus visibly less tense.

We are gonna be roommates and we don’t even know each other...

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This is the end of the first chapter, hope you enjoyed reading it. If you want to be tagged tell me !!

Like, Comment and Reblog are highly appreciated.

English is not my mother tongue.

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Next Chapter

[writing-with-olive]

Developmental Editing - Rewriting!

Alrighty! It's been a hot minute since I've talked about developmental editing, but since I'm a pretty big proponent of helping people not fall for the "replace these 59 crutch words with slightly longer phrases and that's it you're done editing" I figured it's probably about time for another one. (to be fair, that was a bit of exageration, but I am serious that superficial/cosmetic edits probably won't cut it if you're trying to go from first draft to publishable work)

One of the biggest tips I can give is that at least once, it's a good idea to consider rewriting. I don't mean throw your current draft out and start over (I would hate that), but have a printed copy of your WIP or do a splitscreen and go through scene by scene and rewrite. 

(why this is, in fact, a good idea, and also how to go about doing it below the cut)

Why this is helpful:

It helps you make changes you need to make. Basically, if you're just editing the pieces you think are the worst issues from your book, then when you hit something you're not completely sure if you need to change, the impulse without doing rewrites is often "eh. I'll do it later/I don't need to do it." With rewrites, it's often "I might as well." Basically, you can get a much deeper level of change.

If you've moved around scenes, there's going to be instances where they're not going to fit perfectly. Maybe a character offhandedly references something that now happens after the scene but started out before. Or they come into the scene in a mood that is no longer explained by the preceding scene. Rewriting scenes will help keep things like tone and chronology consistant without having a giant mess to try and clean up later. 

Your writing abilities have almost certainly improved since you began writing the previous draft. A full rewrite is a pretty good way to make your style more consistant over the course of the book.

You've probably gotten a better sense of your characters and setting and overall vibe of the story. This is a pretty good way to make sure you can clear up inconsistancies from when you were still figuring them out and also the issues that cleanup may cause.

Knowing you're going to do a pretty thourough edit later can help get the words down. At least for me, I can stomach doing a horrific first pass at a scene or chapter because I don't have to worry about it staying bad. My priority is getting the words down so I can move on with the story.

How to go about doing rewrites:

Take a deep breath and don't panic

No actually take that deep breath. It's good for you.

Identify the core issue you're going to be working on. For me, it was adding in the necessary plotpoints I had missed the first time around and fixing some of the pacing (because 14-year-old me did NOT understand story structure when I started writing my WIP). There will be secondary issues that you will probably be fixing along the way (like awkward dialogue, etc) but the core issue should be the focus. 

Go through your manuscript if scenes that need ot be rearranged, added, or subtracted, make a note of them. Similarly, if you need to rearrange the content of scenes (maybe shuffling around when characters arrive at a place, or when certain catalysts happen), make notes of them too. Also note anything that you were particularly happy or unhappy with when you were reading through your work. If you have a chunk that's particularly tangled, it's usually good to figure out what you want to change when you're just in the edit-planning stage, because it becomes harder when you're trying to figure out what to do as you're actively trying to do it. Basically, don't worry if figuring out how to fix things takes a while. It's natural. For simplicity's sake, I refer to everything in this bullet point as "pre-edits"

Open up a new doc - it is NOT in your best interest to work on your original. For one, it's nice to look back and see how far you've come, but there's also the feeling of a fresh slate that can be really freeing. 

Go through scene by scene, or chapter by chapter, and rewrite it while regularly referencing your marked-up manuscript. If you decide on a whim that you should make changes that you didn't mark originally, go for it. At this point, you've got a pretty good sense of what should be happening in a given place, and sometimes you don't realize edits until you're really in it. If you get to scenes that you need to write from scratch - ie they weren't in the original, treat it like that section is a first draft. Don't worry if the quality of writing is lower than everything around it. Like when you were originally drafting, the most important thing is to get everything down on the page. There will be more editing rounds after this. 

Embrace that rewrites will take a while. It's fairly easy to break into small chunks though (scenes, chapters, arcs, etc), so it doesn't need to be daunting. Just take it one step at a time. 

When you get to the end, celebrate! You just completed a lot! 

Anyway, I hope this gives people a potential path forward for editing. If you have any questions or places you want me to go into more detail on, PLEASE send me an ask or put it in the comments. I love this stuff and will gladly tell you about any part of it!

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Taglist (sorry I keep forgetting to tag people - I'm working on it):  @bookdragonfanish @book-limerence

As always, if you would like to be added to or removed from any of my tag lists (found pinned at the top of my blog) just let me know!

[thefirsttree]

A personal update + my next game

OK, time to do this. I’ve been meaning to do a big DAVID WEHLE™ update for a while now and explain why I haven’t released a new game yet, but you know how life gets in the way. Especially when life is a quarantine hellscape, you have three beautiful, amazing, exhausting kids to raise, a spouse’s job you support, a viral YouTube channel that turns your brain to mush, a thousand emails waiting in your inbox since your game is free on the Epic Games Store (with an impressive number of redemptions too! … meaning lots of emails and customer support issues), etc., etc. What also contributes to my lack of updates is because… I just don’t really like posting online. Fascinating correlation, I know!

Don’t worry, this isn’t going to be a venting/ranting blog post (well, maybe a bit), because my life is seriously AMAZING and INSANELY BLESSED and LUCKY. I can’t believe how many dreams keep coming true, so much so that I feel I don’t deserve it and I really pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes… but I did want to at least be honest, because I owe that to myself.

Wow, where do I even begin? Well, how about we start with the reason I’m even a full-time indie game dev now: The First Tree. This small hobby project I worked on at night morphed into this gargantuan beast (or fox) that took over my life the past 5 years. Which is great! I’m living the dream! And yet, I really didn’t expect it to do as well as it did. At its core, my game is a slow-paced, sad walking simulator (ahem, I prefer the term “exploration game,” but you know what I mean) that somehow seemed to launch at the right time to the right audience. It resonated deeply with some of you, and for that I’m eternally grateful. I still get emails almost daily how my game changed their lives in some formative way. I’m beyond honored.

However, with that spotlight came criticism and demands from the ever-present, insatiable internet. I would randomly be surfing the gamedev subreddit trying to decompress, and I would see a comment by some rando saying how much I didn’t deserve my success, and how it was all one huge lucky fluke. And I believed them!

And to add to it, some devs considered me an indie marketing “guru”, which I was uncomfortable with. I worked hard to market my game every week, and after my GDC talk, people assumed marketing was my passion; the reason I got up every morning. Just to clarify… NO, I don’t like marketing, and I hate being the center of attention. I don’t like asking people for money and wishlists. But I did what was necessary because I was passionate about telling stories, and I wanted to give my story a fighting chance to be seen on the crowded pages of Steam.

So now, you’re probably wondering “well then David, why did you make fancy YouTube videos showing off your success? Not very modest if you ask me.” This honestly could be a long blog post all on its own, because my experience of putting myself in the spotlight and becoming a “content creator” is… complicated. It was an unusual step for me, especially since I never even showed my face online (as a game developer) until my GDC talk.

First off, I always wanted to teach and start a YouTube channel. I love video editing, especially since I’ve been doing it longer than making games! It’s a huge passion of mine. And teaching people who didn’t know they could make and finish games was a huge motivator (and it’s been so rewarding already). But the second reason is, I was scared. I was self-employed, and I was riding the success of a “huge lucky fluke” that would probably not happen again. I wanted to make sure I could provide for my amazing family, and give them food and health insurance and security in these tumultuous times. I was turning my lifelong passions and hobbies into a business, and it wasn’t as simple of a mental transition as I thought.

So, I went all in on YouTube and the accompanying online course called Game Dev Unlocked. I spent years editing the scripts and videos, and polishing them to a shine. At first, no one watched my videos, no one was buying… and in the blink of an eye, the YouTube algorithm picked up my main autobiographical video (“How Making Indie Games Changed My Life”), and I started getting 5,000 subscribers a day. Right now, I’m at 150,000 subs, which is still hard for me to believe. I always had a dream of earning 100k subs on YouTube, so I was pretty happy with the whole thing. Sales were OK, but mostly people didn’t want to buy the course. Then the emails came in…

Something you should know about me: I am a textbook “people pleaser,” and if someone asks for my help, I take it very seriously. If someone is mad at me, even if I didn’t do anything wrong, it’s all I can think about, and it ruins my day. So, taking an onslaught of people begging for help and multiplying that by an impossible amount of people for my brain to truly comprehend thanks to the internet… and let’s just say it wasn’t a healthy mix.

I received thousands of emails from people who were begging me for some kind of reassurance that everything would be OK. That their dreams would come true too. And I wanted to help every single one of them. I went from a nobody working on a game for fun to becoming a spokesperson for the indie game dream. I couldn’t even get a shake from the Chick-Fil-A drive-thru without someone recognizing me and asking for game dev advice. And it didn’t stop there… I would get emails from suicidal kids asking for help, teenagers from Afghanistan asking me to get them out of their country, and on one occasion I received an email from a hopeful game developer in a war-torn country who had just experienced a bomb blowing up their neighboring village. His friends were dead, and he was hoping he could finish a game before he died too, and he needed my help. How do you say no to something like that? Didn’t I owe it to everyone because I was lucky with my hit game and I needed to “pay it forward”? (Something people constantly reminded me of)

And then to top it off, after you’ve given everything you’ve got to other people in need… you get hate mail in your inbox. You spend the whole day serving your children and strangers on the internet, then when the kids are finally asleep, you hit the bed to relax and take a look at your phone to decompress, and you randomly come across an angry gamer in your Twitter mentions telling you your game they got for free sucks, and that you took away a potentially great game from them and that your apology isn’t good enough.

Long story short, I went to a mental therapist for the first time in my life. I was broken trying to care for two toddlers and a new baby in a pandemic (which is very, very hard), taking care of my course students who gave me their hard-earned money and demanded results, and the countless people begging for help on the internet. I was this introverted, internet-lurker trying to take on the weight of the world. I was so tired and hurt that no one cared about me and my needs… only what I could do for them.

Quitting my day job and making this hobby my full-time job has stirred up… mixed emotions. This statement may disturb some of you, but I was definitely 100% happier when I had a full-time job and I was working on my game at night. I missed working with the amazing team at The VOID, working on Star Wars… back when the success of my game was this abstract thing I could only daydream about. Mostly, I was making my game for me with no outside expectations to pay the bills or satisfy the ever-demanding internet, and that brought me a lot of joy.

It’s not all doom and gloom though! I’m actually very happy now and in the best shape I’ve been since the pandemic started. I’ve had to confront my weaknesses and personality quirks, but I’m a better person for it (and I’m sure these issues would’ve come out eventually). I hired an awesome community manager for Game Dev Unlocked who is helping SO MUCH with the emails, I can’t even tell you the mental burden it alleviates. I even leased a co-working office to help separate work from my home, and that’s been a huge help too. I’ve decided to work with my old friends from The VOID on a cool, new VR experience. It will take me away from my projects a bit, but I’m ecstatic to work with a great team again (and not manage anything, whew).

These are all things I would’ve never guessed I needed, because I thought I knew myself pretty well… turns out I didn’t.

The reality is: running a business is HARD. Running it solo is even harder. You have to remember, I was burnt out on The First Tree well into the Steam release in 2017, but I kept working on it for 4 more years due to my fears of failing again and not earning enough money for my family.

So, I was wrestling with the age-old concept of commercialism and art. There was this dichotomy of doing whatever I wanted and being true to my vision (what most people assume the indie dev dream is like), and doing only what customers wanted to buy. This is something that has killed me with YouTube… in one specific instance, I was super excited to make the exact video I wanted to make. I loved every part of its creation, and I thought it had a message that would inspire everyone. I lovingly edited it over several weeks, posted it, and excitedly waited for the stats… and it was by far my worst performing video.

This is not a new problem. Even the Sistine Chapel by Michelangelo was a commission forced upon him by the very violent Pope Julius II. My wife and I regularly talk about the fine balance between artistic integrity and commercialism, a problem she is very familiar with as an artist who constantly needs to balance what she wants to make with what the customer wants to hang up in their home.

For The First Tree, I was lucky. It was pretty much what I wanted to make (I had to compromise a lot of things of course), and it turned out millions of people wanted it too. Recently, I thought the safe business decision would be to do it all over again, so I started work on a spiritual successor to The First Tree (an idea that I may revisit one day since I do love the story idea). But that isn’t happening anytime soon. Trust me when I say I am now currently burnt out on animal exploration games.

So that realization left me with a question: what do I do next?

I’ve decided I need to make a game that I want to make, for me. It will be a bit different and I’m almost certain most fans of The First Tree will not love it… but it’s an idea that gets me super excited. It’s an idea that could help me fall in love with game development again.

A few more details: this game will be story-driven, first-person, and will use the Unreal Engine. That means development is gonna be slow going, because I have to learn a whole new tool. The “smart business” decision would be to make something quickly in Unity which I’m already familiar with… but I want to do this for me, and UE5 looks like a lot of fun. I’m also shooting for an early-ish release date so I avoid burn out and I keep the game short: I want to release it in Fall 2022, but knowing game development, it will probably take longer.

With the help of my therapist, I’ve also concluded that I’ve been too accessible on the internet and that my self-worth isn’t determined by the amount of people I try to help online. Of course, I love helping people and seeing them succeed, but I need to step back and focus on my family and myself. I will delete my social media apps on my phone (I will still post big updates occasionally) and stop responding to most emails, tweets, DMs, etc. It’s not that I’m ungrateful… in fact, if I don’t say thank you or at least acknowledge the incredibly nice people who share a sweet message about my game or want to tell me how I inspire them (still hard for me to believe, lol), I feel a ton of guilt… but I need to let that go. Please know I’m extremely grateful to all the fans who follow my work, so even if I don’t thank you directly, I truly mean it: thank you.

I will still post and stream occasionally on YouTube when I want to (and I still do live Q&A’s for my GDU students). The online course sales will help support my family as I work on a potentially risky game idea (and my new job will help alleviate the risk too). I’m gonna try one more marketing experiment and sell a mini-course soon (and add an Unreal section), and after that I’m done working on it. A gigantic thank you to the people who bought my course and are part of the amazing community, it has helped me and my family tremendously, and it’s inspiring seeing the games you make!

I’m a bit worried about the whole thing since this new game idea could flop, which could definitely affect my family. But a sappy, high-school yearbook quote is coming to mind…  I think it applies here: “A ship in harbor is safe—but that is not what ships are built for.”

Thanks for reading,

David

[madamtrashbat]

A couple of thoughts

We doin' okay, Cats family? We're good? Good. I have one last thing to add.

This is kinda about pro- and anti-shippers, but it's really more about fandom culture in general and just my experiences. You can read it, if you want, or not.

Up to you.

I've been doin' this for a while. A good fifteen years at least, closer probably to sixteen. I've been doing things in fandom for longer than some of my mutuals have been alive.

(Oh Jesus)

And there's something I gotta tell you guys, both as a person who has been doing fandom-y stuff for years and for someone who literally has college degrees in English Literature and Creative Writing.

Being an anti is not normal.

And I know that comes across as harsh and mean and it sounds unreasonable but I'd like to explain what I mean by that.

I can trace back being an anti to two main sources: Voltron and Star Wars. I was never into Voltron or really even around anyone who was but I remember the screaming and fighting over the ships, and I remember the hellish crusade that began when people dared to ship Rey and Kylo Ren together. It was nasty, guys. It was absolutely insane that suddenly people were doing this over fictional ships, that people were being sent actual abuse and hatred because someone wanted the broody shitlord man and the unwashed desert scrounger to smooch. Like... imagine that in real time.

I was not, nor have I ever been, a Reylo shipper, but you know what I did, when that ship began, and I didn't like it? I ignored it and went about my day. Because that's how I was taught. Nothing in the fiction world was worth fighting over. It was not worth getting into arguments over. What was the point?

Then the antis got bolder, started branching out, and when people like me started standing up and saying, "Hey, stop being a dick to people!" someone hired the world's best PR machine and suddenly people who were not antis were pedophiles and abusive and incestuous.

How's that for some whiplash.

This anti movement of berating, bullying, harming, and threatening has been their MO, and it's dangerous. And now, they all buy their own bullshit. They actually think people like me are all out here twisting our mustaches like Snidely Whiplash and diddling kids. Without a shred of irony, they believe this.

Proship only labeled itself that as a response to the antiship, and antiship, make no mistake, named itself first. It was not anti-pedophile. It was not anti-incest. It was not anti-abuse.

It was all about disliking fictional ships that other people enjoyed, and thus attacking people over it.

And it's pointless. It's driven a child to suicide. It has gotten people fired. It has ruined careers, livelihoods, friendships. For nothing. For a boogeyman that doesn't exist.

Sex experts across the board all agree that what gives us our jollies is not at all what we want in real life. There's some wild statistic like 70% of women have had a sexual fantasy about rape at least once in their lives. About rape! That act that most AFAB people have a deep ingrained fear of! And we've used it to get off! Because sexual fantasy isn't that deep. Our brains are idiots. And since time immemorial, we as humans have written just the most fucked up shit.

It's even in the Bible. Humans have been nasty forever. And it doesn't mean shit.

It's in the TV shows. It's in our movies. It's in our books. It's in our music, our podcasts, everything. Being an anti is not the way of humanity at all. Ever. Except for like... maybe the puritans but they sucked so who cares about them.

Antis believe a lie. They believe a lie and they hurt people for it. I am not in any way, shape, or form exaggerating when I say I am fearful for those who regularly interact with me, because I am worried that one day the art they make or the "clout" they carry isn't going to be enough to save them from their friendship with me and antis will tear them to shreds. Because that is how they behave. They may not think they're bullies, and they may think they're in the right, but I want you to look up the Youtube RPF kid who killed themselves over anti harassment. Look at that horrible ask I just got. This is how they behave.

And that is what proshippers stand against. It's a stance against bullying, harassment, threats. That is it. There are plenty of proshippers out in the world that would never, ever think of writing anything involving someone underage, or between relatives, or involving anything gruesome. Because that's not what it's about.

Antis are new in the world of fandom, and they are the absolute root of toxicity. I do not exaggerate. They waste the time of agencies actually trying to eradicate CSAM by sending them art someone drew of a teenage character that isn't real. They've driven people to suicide. They've outright admitted to not caring about actual humans as much as they care about fictional ships. They have shown time and time again that they are not above abuse, vitriol, and bullying. There are blogs that post stories from ex-antis who say they were afraid to say anything different than their anti friends for fear of righteous backlash.

I repeat: I am legitimately afraid that my friends are going to get dogpiled and harassed because they dare to be my friend. That fear is not baseless. And it's all because of the way antis act.

I am liberal with the block button. I try to maintain boundaries because I don't want to see any of that shit as much as they don't want to see any of mine (though only a very scant few actually block me back, which is a joke in and of itself). But it still slips through. And I hate it, every time I see it.

Because this is not the way we're supposed to be. We are not supposed to be at odds with each other. We are supposed to share and have fun and be joyful about some people in lycra.

But because some people wanted to put on the pilgrim hat and play Morality Council to someone who's been doing this for years, I gotta tiptoe around people that think I'm actually out in the world diddling children. Do you know how fucked up that is. Do you know how that feels? To not only have someone make that judgment without any evidence, but to tell it to other people who don't know me either?

When someone finally snaps and starts biting back, it's not out of nowhere. And antis never, ever see themselves as doing something wrong. But they are. They are wrong.

Can I let you in on a little secret?

Seriously, just between you and me, come here.

If you think it's wrong to bully someone because of fiction, then you're proship. That is the long and short of it. No more or less. I hate to break it to you, but that is the only definition, and anyone who says it's something else is lying to you for their own gain.

And sure, there are lots of people who try to hide behind the proship label as they do shitty things. But antis do the same. Humans being assholes and trying to blame it on something else is not new.

The fact that people have come to me and told me that the antis have made them feel uncomfortable, that they're afraid if they do something they might view as negative they might receive hate, that people are actually AFRAID of people in this fandom, is not okay.

There was a fandom I was involved in where one of the prominent people actively hated me and I was never afraid of what she would do. I am afraid of the antis in this fandom, though. Because they have teeth and they like to use them.

Fandom isn't supposed to be like this. Nobody should be screaming at teenagers for talking to adults in fandom, infantilizing them like they're not a whole autonomous human. Nobody should be telling someone to kill themselves because they ship Tuggerstrap. Nobody should be afraid of the other people in their fandom.

Antis, if any of them even read this (I doubt it, but just in case), I want you to look around. The people who are neutral are not afraid of what the proshippers will say to them. They are afraid of you. You and your ilk are the ones causing the damage, and you are the outliers in the entire world of fiction. You're a loud minority that thinks it knows better when it knows absolutely nothing.

Ruminate on that.

My blog is still a safe space from bullying, abuse, and nastiness. If someone is being mean to you, you will always find a friend here. And if you can't say the same, then what's wrong with you?

Be excellent to each other. Stop making people afraid.

And sit down and ask yourself what it is you really want when you make vague posts about people and tell people vicious, awful things. What are you hoping to gain.

[justasparkwritings]

Troll In Love: Part 1

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader

Genre: Enemies to Lovers / Exes to Lovers, Non-Idol AU

Rating: PG-17

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: What happens when your work nemesis and your ultimate troll team up to flip your world upside down? 

Note: This piece is for the #thebtswritersclub fic exchange! Look out for Part 2 later this week. 

This fic is dedicated to, written for the incomparable @xjoonchildx​, who I have been lucky enough to be paired with. A major fan, this was an intimidating endeavor, and I’m kind of in love with what I’ve created for her. And if she hates it .... it’s trash okay? jk... kind of. 

Banner by me. 

Monday: Pitch Meeting

           “Everyone has an inherent archnemesis,” Claire began her presentation, eyes peering across the conference room, attempting to make thoughtful eye contact with her peers.

          Finally, a staff writer, this pitch marked her first foray into feature writing. It wasn’t like she hadn’t tried, in her three years at the company as a freelance writer, it wasn’t that she didn’t draft proposals, complete preliminary research, no, she absolutely did. But there was always someone in front of her, someone who always came around the corner, nicking first place with seconds to spare. Claire hated you from the moment you arrived, bright eyed and excited, a recent college graduate gunning for a position at the magazine. While it took her years to pitch a cover story feature, years to move from an assistant to full-time staff writer, you had done so in a handful of years.

          Today, Claire decided, that would change.  She had prepped and planned for weeks, laid in wait for Marissa to give her the go ahead to pitch her idea to the team. Adjusting her Dior, she shifted from heel to heel before speaking again.

          “We all have that one person who no matter what we post, they find a way to demean it, turn it negative, make it about something completely unrelated. Whether that’s politics, or religion, or sex, there is that one troll we can’t help but root against. My proposal is to use a few members of staff to find their internet trolls, to engage with them over a period of time, and if they’re willing, interview them, both separately and together. I want to discover what it is that makes them keep commenting, why they always seem to gravitate towards certain posts, who their audience is and how it relates to our greater understandings of our enemies.” Claire sighed, the heavy lifting of her presentation just beginning.

           “I like it, who do you want to use?” Marissa asked.

           “Someone from each of our most high-profile teams, or the people in our office that have the largest social media followings. For a few that overlaps,”

           “Who are those people?”

           “Y/N, Jaxson, Hoseok, Emma and Bridgette,” Claire explained. “They have an average Instagram following of ten thousand, and on Twitter it’s twelve thousand.”

           “What do you post that gets you so many followers?” Gillian questioned.

           “My ass,” Jaxson laughed. “But really, it’s Drag Race content,”

           “Good, you have a list. I need written permission from each of you to interview you and your top internet harassers.”

           “I’d like to request that my name be off the list,” You asked, hand still raised.

           Hoseok asked, knowing the answer deep in his bones. “Why?”

           “I just, I don’t think it’d be a –

           “Nonsense, you have a large following, I’m sure there’s someone who pisses you off regularly,” Marissa interrupted.

           “Yes, there is! What’s his name? Jimin?” Claire pretended to scan her page, her cursory glance perfunctory instead of practical.

           You heard the gasp leave Hoseok’s mouth before you registered what was happening.

“Fuck you!” You snapped. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate, but the sentiment remains.”

           “It was, but it also sealed your fate.” Marissa stood. “Start assembling your team and listen to Claire, I’m sure she has a list of things she needs from you.”

           “I do!” Claire chimed.

           “Great, get me the contracts from legal and get it to each of the people you’ve listed before 5PM today, I want signed consent before you leave this building.”

           “What if I don’t want to?” You asked, your final plea.

           “You owe her for the debacle with your last interview,” Marissa reminded you.

           “It’s not my fault they were drunk both times! I got the article done and out. It was one of our biggest issues in the last year and was followed up by two other feature pieces by me that beat that record,” You countered, your success an unnecessary brag in a room full of people who feared and admired your work.

           “I don’t care, Y/N, handle it,” Marissa sauntered out, her assistants following close behind.

           Slouching in your chair, your eyes landed on Claire, glaring daggers into her perfectly straight midnight bob. She was everything you hated, a brown noser, a narcissist, a career driven monster who had been biting at your heels since you arrived. She was jealous, blinded by some lofty goal that she’d be an editor or editor in chief before 28, a feat rare in fashion, unless you were Elaine Welterwroth or Margaret Zhang, of course. They had become editors and editors in chief by ages 29 and 27 respectively. Though Zhang had begun her career blogging at 16, a fact that only infuriated Claire who was too busy popping pimples and trying to lose her virginity to her junior varsity boyfriend.

          Claire could spend days listing everything she hated about you. She hated your easy interactions with coworkers, the ability to have the entire room stop and listen when you spoke, the craft of your written work and relationships maintained with subjects years after interviewing them. She hated how you left work with Hoseok on your arm or went to drinks with the assistants and interns. How you achieved so many bylines, becoming an editor in your own right without so much as breaking a sweat, while she was scraping the barrel to be noticed. You seemingly had everything Claire wanted, and Claire was sick of it.

Monday: Your Office

           “Thank you, for your participation,” Claire said, sitting across from you in your office.

           “You aren’t welcome, I’m actually rather unimpressed with your ability to ambush not only me but the other people you’ve trapped into doing your article,” You crossed your legs, adjusting the waist band of your trousers and continued to scowl at her. Claire had only heard of your less than cheerful personality, though it remained largely rumored, she had never had it confirmed or dared to see it in person.

           “How, charming,” She rolled her eyes.

           “Look, you don’t want to be talking to me, I don’t want to be talking to you. Just tell me what you want so I can send you on your way.”

           Claire watched as you reached across your desk to grab your black and white planner, flipping open to the weeks page and holding your pen at the ready. The inside, covered in stickers and hand lettered phrases, fit the persona Claire so desperately wanted to mimic.

           “I need you to read and sign this,” Claire slid the agreement across your glass desk. “Then, I need you to identify the username of your troll, and I need to borrow an intern from your team.”  

           “You can’t have one,”

           “Marissa said I could have whatever I needed, and I need an intern to comb through your tweets.”

           “I can save you the trouble, I rarely tweet, when I do, it’s addressing the same ass hat,” You explained.

           “Well, I need their handle,”

           “Fine,”

           “And the intern,” Claire was firm.

           You rolled your eyes, before pressing the intercom. “Hey Alexis, can you send Erin to me?”

           “Sure thing,” Alexis replied.

           “Thank you,”

           Claire rolled her eyes.

           “Jealous?” You questioned.

           “Read the contract, sign it and send it back to me along with answering the Form that’s in your inbox,” Claire directed.

           “Great,”

           “I’ll be back on Friday to go over your tweets and exchanges before we decide on a tactic to reach out to them and ask them to come in for an interview,” Claire explained. It didn’t annoy you that she was prepared, but it did piss you off a little to know how much she had thought this through. Maybe you should give her a chance, professionally, not socially, Claire would remain a bottom feeder.

           “Who says they’re in the city?” You questioned.

           “If not, we’ll Zoom with them, okay?”

           “Excuse me, you wanted to see me?” Erin peered through the door; wavy bangs parted slightly to expose her forehead and freckled cheeks.

           “Yes, your projects are on hold. Claire here needs your help with her feature article, and as my intern, you are to report to her for the remainder of the project,” You explained.

           Erin’s eyes widened, never had she been reassigned to a special project, let alone with Claire who was notorious for running interns and assistants into the ground. “Who will take over my work?”

           “Can you make a list of where you’re at and send it to me? I will meet with the team tomorrow to talk about where we need to fill in the gaps,”

           “Okay,”

           “Claire, this is Erin, if you are a bitch to her, I will ensure you don’t ever write a feature piece or move past copy editor here or anywhere,”

           “I don’t know where you get off thinking you can speak to me like –

           “I am your superior, and you will respect my intern or face the consequences,”

           “Fine,” Claire turned and left, leaving Erin wondering what on earth she had been roped into.

Tuesday: Happy Hour

           “You gave the real handle?” Hoseok asked over drinks after work, a little happy hour to celebrate leaving the office before 7PM.

           “What was I going to do? She could easily look at my Twitter and Instagram and find out, why lie?”

           “What happened to preservation?” Hoseok mocked.

           “Either I give in and get Claire off my back, or I get called to Marissa’s and have consequences, like I’m a fucking child.”

           Hoseok eyed you suspiciously. “Did you give her his name?”

           “You saw in that meeting, she already knows. I blame you,”

           “Me?”

           “Yes you, always talking about dance classes with Jimin, the good old days of photographing him and styling him in college. He abandoned me to go to school with you, and you’ve taken it all in stride.” You explained. It wasn’t a new story, a new plea, a new exploration of your tempestuous non-relationship with Jimin. It was sad, really, listening to you express the hurt you’ve never let go of.

           “He didn’t abandon you to come to school with me,” Hoseok laughed.

           “Potato, Tomato,”

           “You should talk-

           “Nope, you made your once monthly ‘you should talk to Jimin’ comment a week ago over margheritas, you don’t get another for ten more days,” You scolded.

           “Fine, fine.”

           “I don’t even know where he is,” You muttered, pink liquid of your Paloma slipping down your throat.

           “That’s a lie,”

           “Can you stop calling me out and let me hate him?” You hadn’t meant to snap, but the constant chatter revolving around Jimin was too much to handle, it was too much in two days, too much in the years since you last saw him. Park Jimin was, and has remained, too much.  

           “Fine,” Hoseok resigned. “Have you looked at your tweets lately?”

           “No, I refuse to go back and read whatever horrors I wrote in 2019,”

           “You should,” He suggested.

           “I guarantee Claire will force me to read them. Probably aloud at some last-minute staff meeting she puts together on Friday to fucking fillet me,” You rolled your eyes again, the last dregs of grapefruit clumping together as they slid down the side of your glass.

           “Maybe if you weren’t so,” He starts.

           “Bitchy?”

           “Your words, then she would like you,”

           “She’s hated me since I got there, I’ve tried being nice. I’ve tried being cordial. Claire and I will never mix,” You explained.

           “He’s gone blonde you know,” Hoseok’s eyes have flittered past you, glancing down the street at the setting sun, glad he brought his latest Gucci jacket to keep him warm in the early spring evening.

           “Didn’t you hit your moratorium on how long you can talk about Jimin in a conversation?”

           “You said his name!” Hoseok argued.

           “He isn’t Trump, Hoseok. I can say his name, sometimes.”  

           Hoseok let the moment simmer, cooling gently before turning it up to a raucous boil. “I’m having a kick back next Wednesday, will you come?”

           “If he’s not there,” You answered.

           “I can’t promise that,”

           “Then I can’t promise either,” Chewing the ice from your glass, you let your mind wander to the possibilities of what might happen should you show up to Hoseok’s party and are greeted by Jimin. Blonde Jimin. Jimin with the sparkling eyes and winning smile. Jimin who harasses you on the internet weekly, Jimin who you haven’t spoken to since you were 22, Jimin whom you hated with every fiber of your being.

           Worst case scenario, you couldn’t avoid him and would be forced to speak words to him. Best case, you time it perfectly and he’s either just left or hasn’t arrived and you can doll out pleasantries before Irish-goodbying and never having to confront him.

           “Y/N, please, you haven’t seen my new place yet and it’s finally furnished,” Hoseok pleaded.

           “I’ll think about it,” You resigned.

           “Great!”

           “I fucking hate you and our friendship,” You scoffed, signaling the waiter to bring you the check. You should’ve ordered food, being buzzed and talking about Jimin was never a good idea.

           “I know you do.” Hoseok winked before picking up the tab for you both.

           “At least tell me you haven’t invited Seokjin,” You asked, slipping your coat over your shoulders.

           “Well-

           “You’re fucking with me, right?” You questioned. “You fucking invited both of my exes to a, I’m sorry, kick back? Hoseok, no.”

           “I love you, and I’m sorry, Seokjin helped me find some great pieces for the place, and you know he’s friends with Namjoon and Jungkook,” He tried to explain.

           “That doesn’t mean I want to stare at them over my tenth flute of champagne and my plate which will be piled high with cheese and crackers and pieces of salami.”

           “You and Seokjin are fine though, you ended-

           “Don’t say amicably,” You cut him off.

           “Well, close to it. Please,” He begged. Begging never looked good on Hoseok.

           Staring into his dark irises, a shade mimicking your own, you couldn’t hold the anger brewing. Being around Seokjin was always a better alternative than Jimin. Though the pity he often felt towards you, at your angered state which has never really subsided, was embarrassing. “I’ll think about it.”

           “I love you,” Hoseok pulled you into a hug.

           “Yeah, yeah, then why do you keep doing this to me?”

           “Because I love you,”

           “Tell Taehyung to call me,” You said, waving to him before stepping into the waiting Lyft you’d called at the bar.

           “I will, can’t make any promises,” Hoseok winked before turning towards the subway, where he’d pull out his head phones and scan through the photos he’d taken throughout the day, waiting to get home to Taehyung to analyze, edit and critique them.

Thursday: Claire’s Makeshift Office

           “Are you ready?” Claire asked, sifting through the papers on her desk.

           “You had me come to your office, after you scheduled a meeting to ask if I’m ready? Yes Claire, I’m fucking ready,” You snapped.

           “Erin,” Claire gestured towards your intern who tried to hold her eye roll.

           “So, I combed through your tweets, sifting through your interactions with Mochimin, which is a very creative username,” Erin began.

           “Yeah, his name and nickname combined,” You rolled your eyes.

           “And we read through them all, well mostly me… and I have to ask, are you sure these are your tweets?” Erin questioned.

           “Yes, and what should be his responses,” You answered reaching forward to grab the printed copies waiting for you. You scanned over the interactions, the subtweets, the blatant tags, the retweets and comments not just by Jimin, but a few of your friends too.

           “Why have you been telling us he’s the troll?” Erin asked.

           Her question caught you off guard, eyes wide, shock echoing in your bones.

           “What the fuck? What do you mean? Look at how he fucking responded!”

           “Y/N, you’re the troll!” Erin laughed. “It’s you, not him,”

           “I am not! This is a fucking joke! It’s not April Fools yet, way to put the cart before the horse!” Your voice radiated throughout the small conference room.

          Claire, not having an office of her own, had requested it to conduct most of her teams work. It was your least favorite of the conference rooms, colder both in décor and temperature than the others, it was situated on the corner leading to the kitchen. Glass on two walls, it was the definition of exposed. Everyone could see your outburst. Everyone could watch you fall to pieces. You guessed Claire had planned it this way, to demonstrate how focused her team was, how dedicated to the project they were, to show everyone her value as a staff writer instead of a freelancer. You also assumed she did this to ensure that whatever break down you were beginning to have, would have at least ten witnesses, ten people to side with her that your behavior was irresponsible and reckless.

           “Oh please, get over yourself,” Claire chuckled. The light in her eyes proved your assumptions, she was enjoying this. “Do you see how you interact with him?”

          “What do you mean how I interact with him? He started this!” You lowered your volume, side glances from colleagues passing by alerting you to the unprofessional decibels you’d began reaching.

          “In almost every interaction, you bait him, hook line and sinker. It’s you, Y/N,” Erin explained.

           “No!”

           “Yes, this poor man, just living his life while you’re purposefully harassing him!” Claire feigned shock, eyes widening, mouth slightly open. It was taking everything in you not to resort to physical violence.  

           “I would never,” You glowered.

           “You have! For years, it’s always you,” Erin said again.

          “I, no, that’s impossible. He started it!”

          “Admitting is the first step,” Claire’s placid smile was demanding to be smacked off.

          “Fuck you! This is ridiculous!”

          “July 10, 2020: Thinking of one man in particular, hoping the bleach in his locks burns in the summer heat.Followed by his comment: thinking of one woman in particular, hoping she knows I wear a hat and use purple shampoo.” Erin read.

          “I, I, no!”

          “October 13: Nothing makes me happier than not being invited to a birthday bash with all my friends. He responded: All you have to do is ask. On your birthday, he tweeted: Happy B-Day to the girl who … oh never mind she hates me. You responded: nobody asked for your half-hearted bullshit, next time I hope you choke on it.”

          “He started it!”

          “Why are you so awful to him?” Erin wanted to know.

          “I am not, he began harassing me first,” You tried to argue.

          “Does Hoseok know?” Claire chided.

          “Know what?”

          “About your vendetta,”

          “It’s not a vendetta!”

          “Then explain why you tweet or subtweet him at least twice a week, and then when he responds, tweet him again! You don’t even tag him, just vaguely mention discernable parts of his personality or appearance,” Erin explained.

          “I do not! How do you know what he looks like?” You tried to counter.

          “His profile picture, and a certain friend of yours doesn’t mind sharing-

          “You asked Jungkook? Or was it Taehyung? Or I’m sorry, both?” Your eyes were wide, breathing labored, anger boiling to inhumane levels.

          “Well, if we asked Hoseok you would’ve kno-

          “You called or texted or DM’ed Jungkook and Taehyung, and asked about Jimin?”

          “Yes,” Erin bowed her head, guilt written into the freckles her blush tried so desperately to hide.

          “I cannot believe you, Erin,” You spat.

          “I’m sorry Claire wanted me to,”

          You turned your gaze to Claire, who had begun to cower in her seat.

          “You did the one thing, the absolute one thing that you knew, you fucking knew, would set me off. You did this on purpose, you fucking bottom feeder, you fucking dillweed you crossed the fucking line, Claire,” You spat. Your volume had lowered into a low growl, far more deadly and intimidating than any yelling you had done.

          “We have the proof, Y/N, you can’t deny it, you attack Jimin regularly,” Claire unskillfully attempted to move the conversation away from Jungkook and Taehyung. Like you would balk at her intrusion.

          “You don’t get to violate my personal life, to violate the lives of the people I care deeply about, to expose sources and put them in danger should this article go south, poking and prodding into the lives of people who are dealing with their own bullshit to push your own fucking agenda, Claire,” You were seething, Te Fiti in Moana, Mrs. Weasley against Bellatrix, Kim Kardashian against the ocean searching for her diamond. Your wrath knows no bounds, and Claire had finally crossed the line into territory she could never come back from.

          “It’s for the job, nothing personal.” Claire shrugged. You could see it in her eyes, she wanted blood and was elated to be getting it.

          “This is entirely personal.”

          “Well, you can ask Jimin about it when we interview him,” She smiled, lips upturning revealing her veneers, red lipstick perfectly matte and shaped against her thin flesh.

          “No, absolutely not,” You shook your head.  

          “Yes, that’s part of the deal you agreed to,”

          “I take it back. I revoke my consent!”

          “It’s non-negotiable,” Marissa said. She had sauntered in during your berating, watching as you tried and failed to continue believing that you weren’t the troll. “You have agreed to this, and you will sit through the interview and cordially answer Claire’s questions.”

          “Marissa, this is crossing a line,” You stated.

          “You have to be held accountable,” Claire said.

          “Fuck you, Claire. Believe it or not, there are somethings that are beyond your understanding and a few that are not appropriate for work,” You continued to scold her.

          “Y/N, why are you being so hostile?” Claire was mocking you, with Marissa by her side, she was invincible.

          “You picked me on purpose. What have you been working with Hoseok? Is this some larger plan to get me to talk to Jimin? I don’t want to talk with Jimin or talk to Jimin, isn’t it bad enough he’s being brought into my work? Oh and let’s not forget you using Erin and Hoseok to gain access to Jungkook and Taehyung, who are beyond off limits.” You listed each of her offenses, careful to leave out indiscretions that occurred before this project of hers began.  

          “You agreed to-

          “No, I was forced to do this by you, Marissa,” You began.

          It wasn’t hard to glower at Marissa, one of the most decorated editors in chief, beloved by Condé Nast, best friend of Anna Wintour… Everyone aspired to be her, but in the last year, through your promotion and growing turbulence within the magazine, her leadership had begun to falter. Her steady hand, guiding each staff writer and editor towards success and elevating everyone’s work, was crumbling at an alarming pace. Yet, no one knew why or if anything was being done to rectify the damage her wake was leaving.

          “I was coerced into this under some pretense that I owe Claire something for a so called fuck up that resulted in the biggest boon in our magazines readership in the last year, which was followed up by not one but two feature bylines and my promotion. I have done more than enough at this company, in this industry, to sit here and be forced to engage with a man who destroyed my world. I will not speak with him, or to him or listen to him. I will not, and if you force me, I will get legal involved. Should this bullshit continue, you can expect my letter of resignation next week.”

          Standing and shoving your chair in, you turned on the heels of your Oxfords and marched straight to your office. Closing your laptop and shoving your planner into your tote, you grabbed your phone.

          “Where are you going?” Hoseok asked. He moved in time with you, following down the many corridors of your office and towards the elevators.

          As you stepped in, you pressed lobby and waited for the doors to be closed before turning to him.

          “Did you tell Erin she could contact Jungkook and Taehyung?” You asked.

          “She did what?” Hoseok yelled, soundwaves bounding off the metal and plastic of the elevator, reverberating in your ears.

          “Did you?”

          “No, I can’t believe she, are you serious?” Hoseok couldn’t lie, a fundamental flaw in his design made it impossible for him to tell the smallest fib.

          “Did you work with Erin and Claire to get me involved in this feature? To get me to talk to Jimin?” You didn’t mince your words or pad your language to make him feel less attacked. You needed the answer, and you needed it now.

          “No, I didn’t know Claire was doing this until she pitched it. You think I would-

          “Hoseok, they called Jungkook and Taehyung. They want Jimin to come in to be interviewed, they won’t stop until I-

          “Until you what?”

          “Marissa has always supported me, championed me. But Claire has her number, she has her locked and loaded, aiming for me and I don’t know why,” You confided.

          “She has been slipping lately,” He agreed. “There’s only one way to stop this,”

          Together you stepped out of the elevator, moving past the turnstiles to the revolving door.

          “Am I crazy?” You asked, the insecurity beginning to overtake your bravery.

          “No, something weird is going on,”

          You clarified, “No, I mean, am I crazy for… for doing this to Jimin?”

          “I don’t know if you’re crazy, but you’ve definitely not been your best self,” Hoseok answered.

          “He makes me so-

“You still love him,” Hoseok interrupted.

          “I-

          “Go talk to him,” Hoseok encouraged. “Call me after, we can get drinks and wallow or pick out an outfit for your hot date.”

          “What if he-

          “Just, talk to him, okay?” Hoseok requested.

          “Okay,”

          “I’ll check in with Jungkookie and Taehyungie,” He assured.

          “Thank you,”

          “I’ll also scope out open positions, we can’t stay here,”

          “I love you, Hobi,” You confided, a statement that flowed so easily past your lips, you didn’t have to think or parse through the emotions that went along with it. You’ve always loved him, always will.

          “I love you too, Y/N,” Hoseok draped his arm around your shoulders before placing a kiss to your forehead, a gentle embrace, a squeeze of confidence, a gesture of love. He moved swiftly from you back into the building, and as you watched him walk away, you took a deep breath.

          Taking your phone out of your pocket, you dialed a number you had tried to forget.

          “To what do I owe this unexpected delight of a call?” He asked. His voice was the same, chipper and cunning in the same breath.

          “I need to speak with you, ASAP,” You told him.

          “Okay, I’m working from home today, come over whenever,” He invited you without hesitation.

          “You still live at the same place?”

          “No, moved up. I’ll send you the address,”

          “You know who this is?” You asked, uncertainty back in your bones.

          “What, Y/N, you thought I deleted your number?” Jimin laughed, one of only a few sounds that shot right to your knees, making any posture unstable in the docile sounds of his joy.

          “I, I don’t know, I guess. Look I’m going to hail a cab, I’ll be there in 20,”

          “I look forward to it, just tell the doorman you’re here for me and he’ll let you up,” Jimin said.

          “Okay, see you soon, I guess,”

          “I can’t wait,” Jimin was smiling, you couldn’t see it, but the lilt in his voice was all the assurance you needed. Bracing yourself for the impact of him, of his voice, of his laugh, of the way he looked at you, you hailed one of the last remaining cabs in the city and prayed for courage.  

Next: Troll in Luv Pt. 2

[steve0discusses]

Yugioh S5 Ep 20: Pharaoh’s Cool New Trick

Digging my way through quite a pile of commission work (funny how these things only come all at once or not at all), nearing the light at the end of the tunnel, was looking forward to some free time to catch up on my many little side projects when I was asked to take off for a weekend to do some cat-sitting to which I would NEVER say no to a cat, so like...Rip this blog I guess, we only update like once a week nowadays, but what do you do?

That’s right, play Puzzles and Dragons! The only phone game worth paying any attention to! Where they just released Pegasus on their Yugioh Collab and he looks pretty great!

So I’m just gonna take a second for some art appreciation, because the Puzzles and Dragons art team is just A++++ honestly, and yes, I did pull 13 times to get a Pegasus in my monster box, and yes, he is a completely insane team leader that is absolutely broken when paired with Yugi (the numbers are so satisfying) but...look at him. He looks so good!

(also I finally got Joey Wheeler, and so now my gatcha cravings are settled. And, don’t worry, I play this game so much that I was there during Christmas when they offered like a bajillion stones for free so I didn’t actually use real money on this.)

Now PAD also released a Weevil and Rex, and I don’t know why, and neither does the art team because they still look pretty good but in comparison to all the mains, they sure do looks like just some shorty guys in some casuals.

though I gotta admit, I want to learn how the hell this art team does swooshy effects, because man, that would make my art so much better to just have flames violently exploding out of all my art. Why am I not doing that more often? I have the technology.

anyway, I didn’t bother trying to pull them. Maybe I’ll accidentally pull them when they eventually release a Duke Devlin. (also, RIP to the fact that Roland will probably never be in Puzzles and Dragons but like...I can only send them so many polite letters covered in stickers pretending I’m some 10 year old child and writing in my broken Hiragana “Roland in PAD?”. Thems the breaks. (They also might not remember who Roland is.))

Shoutouts to the card that Weevil is holding that is censoring this nipple on the booby spider, PS.

So because this is not actually a Puzzles and Dragons blog, and it’s been ten eons since I regularly updated so I could remember episode to episode...where the hell were we?

That’s right, we’re on an island now. This show’s wonderful obsession with evil islands (and spoiler, this is one of the few Yugioh Islands that doesn’t explode at the end. Mostly because Kaiba isn’t here to do it or this place would be cinder)

(read more island stuff under the cut)

Anyway, after announcing “hey guys! Screw islands!” Yugi immediately collapses and without any warning.

Apparently the armor is a big ol parasite, which is something that Yugi is so used to at this point that he refuses to admit that this is a problem. Just normal Muto stuff, refusing to tell anyone that he has a serious illness going on underneath that giant mass of hair.

(the sailor moon vibes coming off this weird orb energy)

Sort of feels like a call back to S1 when Yugi was clearly possessed and everyone else was like “He acting weird to you?” except it’s S5 and everyone has learned to never trust Yugi when he says he’s fine and they are responding like he is about to die. Which is correct.

Outside of the cave falls this scroll that is...glowing, I guess. So they open it up and get a bunch of hieroglyphs that give them the “riddle of light” and like youknow...it’s riddle stuff.

They’re doing this riddle for “wings.” And it’s like...everyone’s monster here has a set of wings or an ability to fly. Every single monster except for I dunno, flaming swordsman? Hell, Yugi himself had two sets of wings when he fused with Dark Magician (which was weird, and I still don’t like to think about what technically was going on there.) But we have to go and get ourselves even more wings.

Weirdly, Joey turns to Tea and does something that in any other show would be completely normal. He was like “you want to stay here with Yugi, don’t you?” and it was the first time Joey has ever actually addressed the fact that Tea and Yugi are close. Uncharted territory. I was amazed at the amount of casual shipping that is happening here. It’s almost like a normal ass relationship.

So the boys decide to go off, and be boys and tackle this themselves. And they shouldn’t have, because Tea is smart for this group, and also has the only healing spell.

Like if you’re playing D+D you wouldn’t typically leave your only healer behind. Just saying.

Also like...Grandpa Muto went with them? I guess he’d have to since he’s the translator but also...kind of weird to leave your grandson dying in a cave, but maybe that’s just the Muto lifestyle.

Do not be fooled by my caps, no one has addressed the Bakura in the puzzle for 3 seasons. I’m starting to think this show will never address the Bakura in the puzzle. Which honestly, that would be hilarious if they made a big deal out of that plot point and then couldn’t use it in the end.

And speaking of plot points that kind of come out of nowhere and don’t make full sense with the continuity of the show--Joey has regressed back to the 4th grade.

Hey show? What?

So like if you love Joey, this is not the arc for you, because this arc he is reduced to a Himbo and nothing else. Straight up didn’t know what an echo is, but is very strong and pretty, I guess.

This inevitably happens with any TV show becuase different people make different parts, and I’ve brought up before that sometimes it feels like some teams only have loose post-it notes of what any character should be like at any given point (ESPECIALLY with Seto Kaiba’s timeline) but like...

...Personally I’m mot so fond of this interpretation of Joey, kind of ignores Joey’s best traits, and makes Tristan look way too smart in comparison (and like I always pinned Tristan to be the Himbo of the group, but maybe it’s because they give Tristan so little else to do?)

And like don’t get me wrong, Joey’s a dumbass a lot of the time and needs to get corrected by his pals...but...to the point he doesn’t know what an echo is? He’s a dumbass in a High School student sort of way, youknow?

Anyway, they get down to this big ravine, and they have to destroy this stone while the light passes over it. Kind of feels like a Breath of the Wild shrine quest, actually. In fact, I think Breath of the Wild recycled the shadow/sunlight pathing quest like 4 or 5 times. (I love Breath of the Wild to death but boy did they run out of ideas at the end there.)

They have to fight a glass monster and it’s kind of like...do you know the game Balls 3D? probably not, but it looked like a bunch of random shapes stuck together like a 90′s animation. They basically went to war with shapes.

Pure Himbo energy, has several pokemon, but punches for his pokemon instead of using them. A power move if I ever saw one.

Youknow that would make pokemon a lot more interesting if you could like throw out your pikachu, and then choose to just physically run up to your opponents Eevee and sock it in the jaw. Raise of hands--I know you all would love a version of pokemon like that. Let Ash Ketchum punch a Ratata.

Bro has informed me that Ash does do something like this in the anime. But I’m not talking about the anime, I’m talking about the video game. Give me the option to physically combat my rival. This is what I want, Pokemon.

They discover a way to break the monolith, and the show thinks we’re like actually 7 years old (because the show is Y7, although I forget because it deals with so many dark themes) so the show is going to hold on to this puzzle for a while...just to fill time. And it’s fine because we gotta switch over to Pharaoh anyway.

Yami has this dream again. He attempts to fuse with Dark magician to overcome the dream, but alas, he is still not strong enough.

Yugi wakes up in this murky cave while Tea is out washing out like...some rag? (he’s also still got a rag, so I guess multiple rags were required for how sweaty Yugi is.)

Yugi says “I feel like I’m a new man!” a lot in this episode, and every time he calls himself a man like he’s some sort of adult it’s very funny to me.

And then this plot lore dropped.

I mean I guess inevitably it had to happen...

But man, end of an era. It was freakin hilarious while it lasted: that Pharaoh refused to read ancient Egyptian because it’s like 2002 and he is a High Schooler living in Japan and he actually doesn’t WANT to resolve the mystery of the puzzle. Maybe the people who made this arc don’t know about how in S2 and S3, the fact Pharaoh couldn’t read Marik’s back tatt was like...a really big issue. He couldn’t read the God card, he couldn’t even read that massive tablet that read “HEY PHARAOH THIS IS LITERALLY YOU”. KAIBA had to tell him how to read the God card for him. Freakin Seto “Magic is a lie” Kaiba had to tell him how to use the God Card because Pharaoh couldn’t read it.

But like...Pharaoh finally gave in at some point after the world was devoured by the Leviathan, and before Kaiba finished building Kaibaland (which was already built in S1 but wtv)

The timelines on this show have always been a mishmash...but this one is just like...

...show are you trying to convince me that at any point in this show after season Zero, Pharaoh had any idea what he was doing? Did he sap that brain energy straight out of Joey Wheeler so he could do this?

Wow.

(secretly hoping he forgets how to read Egyptian after this arc is over and the show goes back to the other development team)

Pharaohs reasoning is that, if this is the riddle of the light.....

....then where is the riddle of darkness????????????

and when Tea was like “Pharaoh that is not even remotely logic. Omg it’s so bright outside, lets go back to gross cave.” and Pharaoh was like “Tea! You got it!” and she was like “What the hell are you talking about?”

Not gonna lie, I saw the Orichalcos green, and I got concerned.

Anyway, Yugi gets very frustrated and was like “ugh, lets go save em. They’re gonna die (again.)” and marches down there as if he didn’t pass out an hour ago.

And he fuses with Dark Magician again while everyone else (including his grandpa) was like “Yugi are you freakin kidding me? The suit freakin kills you omg! Tea you had one freakin job!”

And then we get the plot twist that...I mean it makes sense but it was choreographed in a confusing way.

And out of no where this guy shows up again:

So this mysterious man shows up and says “If you don’t succeed you have to live here forever” which...nice...that would probably save the world a lot of problems if Yami got locked away and took his OP puzzle with him. And then this man also says “if you do succeed you become VERY POWERFUL” and Yami was like. “...”

This whole episode had a theme to it, where Tristan and Joey were trying to prove that they could do things on their own and without Yugi’s help. And honestly...felt a little bit misplaced. Yami’s the same guy who murdered Yugi last season with the Orichalcos so like...

...I mean he is probably more reliable than Tristan who once died and turned into a robot monkey for 10ish episodes.

and then they flew into a glowing door.

Folks, this was wild to look at.

This is wild.

And at this point I closed Photoshop and thought I was done. But then I looked at my timeline on the video and was like...wait...there’s more?

and I’m really glad I kept watching because it went back to Alex, who...is apparently just still at those steps in this haunted ass Pyramid.

Now we’re watching Yugioh.

I forgot for a second when they turned Joey into a Himbo and made Pharaoh literate, but we’re back. I mean...

...look at the liner art on this adult man.

So...I posit the question...has Alex spent the last 2-3 episodes doing nothing but applying eyeliner to his face in the dark? Because he absolutely has. And honestly, the vibe of being in a spooky haunted pyramid with barely any light, just applying eyeliner down the edge of your face...that’s a Yugioh vibe, if I ever saw one.

This arc is wild. Anyway, next episode we do even more fetch quests and riddles? Just going to guess now that we probably will.

(and for those new here, this is a link so you can read them from the top. Which, since we’re in S5, means you got like...hours of Yugioh content to read through. Enjoy the rewards of my weird hobby.)

https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/yugioh/chrono

[swagbluefootedbooby]

Hello tunglr

I moved to Bavaria two years ago and this is my story.

March 2018. Hamburg. I am sitting in our garden with my whole Family. My dad just accepted a job offer in Landshut and we are discussing whether our family should move now or in two years. Both my older brothers will finish school in two years and it would be easier for them to finish school here. I am eleven and just trying to run from my problems so I also want to wait two years. 

Well, guess what? We waited two years, the move came and it sucked. And I think it might have sucked even worse because we waited those two years. If we’d jus† moved with my dad after he got the job I would have been with my brothers, I wouldn’t have been alone, I would have been twelve and more extroverted than I was at fourteen, it wouldn’t have been at the height of corona. 

We moved in the summer of 2020. Me, my parents, the cat and the dog. My brothers stayed in Hamburg to go to university. And suddenly I was an only child. After fourteen years of living with my brothers, they were gone and I was alone with our parents. 

Soon summer ended and school began. It could have been worse, but that doesn’t mean I enjoyed it. You see, my parents made me visit the school, I was going to now, a few months earlier for a week. The last normal week before the first covid lockdown. At that point, I was still connected in my class back in Hamburg and genuinely pissed that I had to move. So I wasn’t open to meeting new people and making friends, so everyone’s first impression of me was shit. And then I came back six months later to be a part of their class full time. I got lucky and an extroverted girl asked me to sit next to her. We became Friends, even if it was just in school. 

During that time I lost contact with all of my friends from school back in Hamburg, and maybe that was for the best. I still kept in contact with my friends from my Neighbourhood, and in October they came to visit for a week. It was quite nice and I spent most of my holidays in Hamburg with them. 

Then a week before Christmas our school had to send us home again, for online classes. And that went on for six months. Many students fell behind, and so did I. I hardly remember that time. I didn’t do anything. During that time I also started to read again, which I did a lot as a child but stopped when I got to middle school. I also had hardly any contact with people from my class.

 My parents were getting worried that I was getting depressed, which never happened, and they were convinced I had no social contact with anyone, even though I was regularly meeting with friends from Hamburg over discord. 

Still, my parents pulled a few strings and we met up with a family from Munich, who we became friends with and met up with often. And through them, we became a part of the deaf community in Munich and met many other people. And when school started again I started to talk to people in my class again and I had more social contacts than in a long time. 

Things were starting to look up, but during that whole time the pressure I felt because of the school grew. But not to worry, the summer break was near, so don’t think about it and just do nothing. But nothing could stop grade ten from coming and with the new school year I got loads of new teachers, for better or for worse. The pressure grew with the expectations, and my grades dropped (not that they were good before). I barely managed to get through the year. Not that I was studying a lot or something like that, I never seem to have the motivation to do stuff for school, so I just don’t. 

During that time I always wanted to write but I never knew what, so I didn't. I often talked about that with some of my neighbours in Hamburg, and they always said I should write about the move, which I often thought about but never felt like I was at a point where I could look back at the move and reflect on it. 

The other Idea was to write a blog but I just didn’t do it. And now I’m starting anyways, just because I want to.