#to start focusing on representing their minority characters

[wilcze-kudly]

Hey so can we like stop with the "Zutara is for the girls and Kataang is for the boys" thing. It's silly and it's breakdancing just on the edge of gender essentialism.

The assumption that there is something inherent to Zutara that appeals predominantly to women and Kataang that appeals predominantly to men is dishonest because every ship can have appeal to all genders.

The discussion of the "female gaze" in Zutara and the "male gaze" in Kataang is also redundant. I enjoy dissecting the concept of "the gaze", however it is important to note that the "female gaze" doesn't have a set definition or grouping of conventions it adheres to. Lisa French,  Dean of RMIT University’s School of Media and Communication says:

“The female gaze is not homogeneous, singular or monolithic, and it will necessarily take many forms... The aesthetic approaches, experiences and films of women directors are as diverse as their individual life situations and the cultures in which they live. The "female' gaze” is not intended here'to denote a singular concept. There' are many gazes."

Now excuse me as I put on my pretentious humanistics student hat.

Kataang's appeal to women and the female gaze

Before I start, I want to note that the female gaze is still a developing concept

There are very few female film directors and writers, and most of them are white. The wants and desires of women of colour, the demographic Katara falls into, are still wildly underepresented. Additionally, the concept of the female gaze had many facets, due to it being more focused on emotional connections rather than physical appearance as the male gaze usually is. Which means that multiple male archetypes fall into the category of "for the female gaze".

The "female gaze" can be best described as a response to the "male gaze", which was first introduced by Laura Mulvey in her paper: "Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema" , however the term "male gaze" itself was not used in the paper.

Mulvey brought up the concept of the female character and form as the passive, objectified subject to the active voyeuristic male gaze, which the audience is encouraged to identify, usually through the male character.

To quote her:

"In a world ordered by sexual imbalance', pleasure' in looking has been split between active'/male' and passive/female'. The determining male gaze' projects its fantasy onto the female' figure', which is styled accordingly."

Mulvey also brings up the concept of scopopfillia (the term being introduced by Freud), the concept of deriving sexual gratification from both looking and being looked at. This concept has strong overtones of voyeurism, exhibitionism and narcissism, placing forth the idea that these overtones are what keeps the male viewer invested. That he is able to project onto the male character, therefore being also able to possess the passive female love interest.

However, it's important to note that Mulvey's essay is very much a product of its times, focused on the white, heterosexual and cisgender cinema of her time. She also drew a lot of inspiration from Freud's questionable work, including ye ole penis envy. Mulvey's paper was groundbreaking at the time, but we can't ignore how it reinforces the gender binary and of course doesn't touch on the way POC, particularly women of colour are represented in film.

In her paper, Mulvey fails to consider anyone who isn't a white, cis, heterosexual man or woman. With how underrepresented voices of minorities already are both in media and everyday life, this is something that we need to remember and strive to correct.

Additionally Mulvey often falls into gender essentialism, which I previously mentioned at the beginning of this post. Funny how that keeps coming up

"Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema" started a very interesting and important conversation, and I will still be drawing from certain parts of it, however huge swathes of this text have already become near archaic, as our culture and relationship with media evolves at an incredible pace.

And as filmaking evolves, so does our definition of the male and female gaze. So let's see what contemporary filmakers say of it.

In 2016, in her speech during the Toronto International Film Festival , producer of the TV series Transparent, Jill Soloway says:

“Numero uno, I think the Female Gaze is a way of “feeling seeing”. It could be thought of as a subjective camera that attempts to get inside the protagonist, especially when the protagonist is not a Chismale. It uses the frame to share and evoke a feeling of being in feeling, rather than seeing – the characters. I take the camera and I say, hey, audience, I’m not just showing you this thing, I want you to really feel with me.

[Chismale is Soloway's nickname for cis males btw]

So the term "female gaze" is a bit of a misnomer, since it aims to focus on capturing the feelings of characters of all genders. It's becoming more of a new way of telling stories in film, rather than a way to cater to what white, cisgender, heterosexual women might find attractive in a man.

Now, Aang is the decided protagonist of the show, however, Atla having somewhat of an ensemble cast leads to the perspective shifting between different characters.

In the first episode of atla, we very much see Katara's perspective of Aang. She sees him trapped in the iceberg, and we immediately see her altruism and headstrong nature. After she frees Aang, we are very much first subjected to Katara's first impressions of him, as we are introduced to his character. We only see a sliver of Aang's perspective of her, Katara being the first thing he sees upon waking up.

We see that she is intrigued and curious of him, and very excited about his presence. She is endeared and amused by his antics. She is rediscovering her childish side with his help. She is confiding in him about her own trauma surrounding the Fire Nation's genocide of the Southern Waterbenders. She is willing to go against her family and tribe ans leave them behind to go to the Northern Water Tribe with Aang. We also see her determination to save him when he is captured.

As the show moves on and the plot kicks into gear, we do shift more into Aang's perspective. We see his physical attraction to her, and while we don't see Katara's attraction quite as blatantly, there are hints of her interest in his appearance.

This is where we get deeper into the concept of Aang and Katara's mutual interest and attraction for one another. While her perspective is more subtle than most would like, Katara is not purely an object of Aang's desire, no more than he is purely an object of her desire.

When analysing this aspect of Katara and Aang's relationship, I couldn't help but be reminded of how Célene Sciamma's Portrait of a lady on fire (in my personal opinion, one of the best studies of the female gaze ever created) builds up its romance, and how it places a strong emphasis on the mutuality of the female gaze.

Portrait of a lady on fire's cinematography is very important to the film. We see the world through the perspective of our protagonist, a painter named Marianne. We also see her love interest, Héloïse, the woman whom she is hired to paint a portrait of, through Marianne's lense.

We see Marianne analyse Héloïse's appearance, her beauty. We look purely through Marianne's eyes at Héloïse for a good part of the movie, but then, something unexpected happens. Héloïse looks back. At Marianne, therefore, in some way, also at the audience. While Marianne was studying Héloïse, Héloïse was studying Marianne.

We never shift into Héloïse's perspective, but we see and understand that she is looking back at us. Not only through her words, when she for example comments on Marianne's mannerisms or behaviours, but also hugely through cinematography and acting of the two amazing leads. (Noémie Merlant as Marianne and Adèle Haenel as Héloïse. They truly went above and beyond with their performances.)

This is a huge aspect of the female gaze's implementation in the film. The camera focuses on facial expressions, eyes and body language, seeking to convey the characters' emotions and feelings. There's a focus on intense, longing and reciprocated eye contact (I have dubbed this the Female Gays Gaze.). The characters stand, sit or lay facing each other, and the camera rarely frames one of them as taller than the other, which would cause a sense of power imbalance.

The best way to describe this method of flimaking is wanting the audience to see the characters, rather than to simply look at them. Sciamma wants us to empathise, wants us to feel what they are feeling, rather than view them from a distance. They are to be people, characters, rather than objects.

Avatar, of course, doesn't display the stunning and thoughtful cinematography of Portrait of a Lady on Fire, and Katara and Aang's relationship, while incredibly important, is only a part of the story rather than the focus of it.

However, the 'Kataang moments' we are privy to often follow a similar convention to the ones between Marianne and Héloïse that I mentioned prior.

Theres a lot of shots of Katara and Aang facing each other, close ups on their faces, particularly eyes, as they gaze at one another.

Katara and Aang are often posited as on equal grounds, the camera not framing either of them as much taller and therefore more powerful or important than the other. Aang is actually physically shorter than Katara, which flies in the face in usual conventions of the male fantasy. (I will get to Aang under the male gaze later in this essay)

And even in scenes when Aang is physically shown as above Katara, particularly when he's in the Avatar state, Katara is the one to pull him down, maintaining their relationships as equals.

Despite most of the show being portrayed through Aang's eyes, Katara is not a passive object for his gaze, and therefore our gaze, to rest upon. Katara is expressive, and animated. As an audience, we are made aware that Katara has her own perspective. We are invited to take part in it and try to understand it.

Not unlike to Portrait of a Lady on Fire, there is a lot of focus placed on mannerisms and body language, an obvious example being Katara often playing with her hair around Aang, telegraphing a shy or flustered state. We also see her express jealousy over Aang, her face becoming sour, brows furrowed. On one occasion she even blew a raspberry, very clearly showing us, the audience, her displeasure with the idea of Aang getting attention from other girls.

Once again, this proves that Katara is not a passive participant in her own relationship, we are very clealry shown her perspective of Aang. Most of the scenes that hint at her and Aang's focus on their shared emotions, rather than, for example, Katara's beauty.

Even when a scene does highlight her physical appearance, it is not devoid of her own thoughts and emotions. The best example of this being the scene before the party in Ba Sing Se where we see Katara's looking snazzy in her outfit. Aang compliments her and Katara doesn't react passively, we see the unabashed joy light up her face, we can tell what she thinks of Aang's comment.

In fact, the first moment between Katara and Aang sets this tone of mutual gaze almost perfectly. Aang opens his eyes, and looks at Katara. Katara looks back.

There is, once again, huge focus on their eyes in this scene, the movement of Aang's eyelids right before they open draws out attention to that part of his face. When the camera shows us Katara, is zooms in onto her expression as it changes, her blinking also drawing attention to her wide and expressive eyes.

This will not be the first time emphasis is placed on Katara and Aang's mutual gaze during a pivotal moment in the show. Two examples off the top of my head would be the Ends of B2 and B3 respevtively. When Katara brings Aang back to life, paralleling the first time they laid eyes on one another. And at the end of the show, where their gaze has a different meaning behind it.

We see Katara's emotions and her intent telegraphed clearly in these instances.

In Book 1, we see her worry for this strange bald boy who fell out of an iceberg, which melts away to relief and a hint of curiosity once she ascertains that he isn't dead.

In B2 we once again see worry, but this time it's more frantic. Her relationship with Aang is much dearer to her heart now, and he is in much worse shape. When we see the relief on her face this time, it manifests in a broad smile, rather than a small grin. We can clearly grasp that her feelings for Aang have evolved.

In B3, we step away from the rule because Aang isn't on the verge of death or unconsciousness for the first time. It is also the first time in a situation like this that Aang isn't seeing Katara from below, but they are on equal footing. I attribute this to symbolising change of pace for their relationship.

The biggest obstacle in the development of Katara and Aang's romance was the war, which endangered both their lives. Due to this, there was a hesitance to start their relationship. In previous scenes that focused this much on Aang and Katara's mutual gaze, Aang was always in a near dead, or at least 'dead adjacent' position. This is is a very harsh reminder that he may very well die in the war, and the reason Katara, who has already endured great loss, is hesitant to allow her love for him to be made... corporeal.

However, now Aang is standing, portraying that the possibily of Katara losing him has been reduced greatly with the coming of peace, the greatest obstacle has been removed, and Katara is the one to initiate this kiss.

Concurrently, Katara's expression here does not portray worry or relief at all, because she has no need to be worried or relieved. No, Katara is blushing, looking directly at Aang with an expression that can be described as a knowing smile. I'd argue that this description is accurate, because Katara knows that she is about to finally kiss the boy she loves.

Ultimately, Katara is the one who initiates the kiss that actually begins her and Aang's romantic relationship.

Kataang's appeal to women is reflected in how Katara is almost always the one to initiate physical affection with Aang. With only 3 exceptions, one of which, the Ember Island kiss being immediately shown by the narrative as wrong, and another being a daydream due to Aang's sleep deptivation. The first moment of outwardly romantic affection between Aang and Katara is her kissing his cheek. And their last kiss in the show is also initiated by Katara.

I won't falsely state that Kataang is the perfect representation of the female gaze. Not only because the storyline has its imperfections, as every piece of media has. But also because I simply belive that the concept of the female gaze is too varied and nebulous to be fully expressed. With this essay, I simply wanted to prove that Kataang is most certainly not the embodiment of catering to the male gaze either. In fact it is quite far from that.

The aspects of Kataang that fall more towards embodying the female gaze don't just appeal to women. There's a reason a lot of vocal Kataang shippers you find are queer. The mutual emotional connection between Katara and Aang is something we don't have to identify with, but something we are still able to emphasise with. It's a profound mutual connection that we watch unfold from both perspectives that sort of tracends more physical, gendered aspects of many onscreen romances. You just need to see instead of simply look.

✨️Bonus round✨️

Aang under the gaze

This started off as a simple part of the previous essay, however I decided I wanted to give it it's own focus, due to the whole discourse around Aang being a wish-fullfilling self insert for Bryke or for men in genral. I always found this baffling considering how utterly... unappealing Aang is to the male gaze.

It may surprise some of you that men are also subjected to the male gaze. Now sadly, this has nothing to do with the male gaze of the male gays. No, when male characters, usually the male protagonist, are created to cater to the male gaze, they aren't portrayed as sexually desirable passive objects, but they embody the active/masculine aide of the binary Laura Mulvey spoke of in the quote I shared at the beginning of this essay.

The protagonist under the male gaze is not the object of desire but rather a character men and boys would desire to be.

They're usually the pinnacle of traditional, stereotypical masculinity.

Appearance wise: muscular but too broad, chiseled facial features, smouldering eyes, depending on the genre wearing something classy or some manner of armour.

Personalitywise they may vary from the cool, suave James Bond type, or a more hotblooded forceful "Alpha male" type. However these are minor differences in the grand scheme of things. The basis is that this protagonist embodies some manner of idealised man. He's strong, decisive, domineering, in control, intimidating... you get the gist. Watch nearly any action movie. There's also a strong focus placed on having sway or power over others. Often men for the male gaze are presented as wealthy, having power and status. Studies (that were proved to be flawed in the way the data was gathered, I believe) say that womem value resources in potential male partners, so it's not surprising that the ideal man has something many believe would attract "mates". [Ew I hated saying that].

Alright, now let's see how Aang holds up to these standards.

Well... um...

Aang does have power, he is the Avatar. However, he is often actually ignored, blown off and otherwise dismissed, either due to his age or his personality and ideals being seen as unrealistic and foolish. Additionally, Aang, as a member of a culture lost a century ago, is also often posited as an outsider, singled out as weak, his beliefs touted as the reason his people died out and.

Physically, Aang doesn't look like the male protagonist archetype, either. He isn't your average late teens to brushing up against middle aged. Aang is very much a child and this is reflected in his soft round features, large eyes and short, less built body. This is not a build most men would aspire to. Now, he still has incredible physical prowess, due to his bending. But I'm not sure how many men are desperate to achieve the "pacifist 12 year old" build to attract women.

Hailing from a nation that had quite an egalitarian system, Aang wouldn't have conventional ideas surrounding leadership, even if he does step up into it later. He also has little in the way of possessions, by choice.

As for Aang's personality, well...

I mean I wouldn't exactly call him your average James Bond or superhero. Aang is mainly characterised through his kindness, empathy, cheerful nature and occasional childishness (which slowly is drained as the trauma intesifies. yay.)

Aang is very unwilling to initiate violence, which sets him aside from many other male protagonists of his era, who were champing at the bit to kick some ass. He values nature, art, dance and fun. He's in tune with his emotions. He tries to desecalate situations before he starts a fight.

Some would say many of Aang's qualities could be classified as feminine. While the other main male characters, Zuko and Sokka try to embody their respective concepts of the ideal man (tied to their fathers), Aang seems content with how he presents and acts. He feels no need to perform masculinity as many men do, choosing to be true to his emotions and feelings.

These "feminine" qualities often attract ridicule from other within the show. He is emasculated or infantiliased as a form of mockery multiple times, the most notable examples being the Ember Island play and Ozai tauntingly referring to him as a "little boy". Hell, even certain Aang haters have participated in this, for example saying that he looks like a bald lesbian.

I'd even argue that, in his relationships with other characters, Aang often represents the passive/feminine. Especially towards Zuko, Aang takes on an almost objectified role of a trophy that can be used to purchase Ozai's love. [Zuko's dehumanisation of others needs to be discussed later, but it isn't surprising with how he was raised and a huge part of his arc is steerring away from that way of thinking.]

Aang and Zuko almost embody certain streotypes about relationships, the forceful, more masculine being a literal pursuer, and the gentler, more feminine being pusued.

We often see Aang framed from Zuko's perspective, creating something akin to the mutual gaze of Katara and Aang, hinting at the potential of Zuko and Aang becoming friends, a concept that is then voiced explicitly in The Blue Spirit.

However, unlike Katara, Zuko is unable to empathise with Aang at first, still seeing Aang as more of an object than a person. We have here an interesting imbalance of Aang seeing Zuko but Zuko meerly looking at Aang.

There is a certain aspect of queer metaphor to Zuko's pursuit of Aang, but I fear I've gotten off topic.

Wrapping this long essay up, I want to reiterate that I'm not saying that Zutara isn't popular with women. Most Zutara shippers I've encountered are women. And most Kataang shippers I've encountered are... also women. Because fandom spaces are occupied predominantly by women.

I'm not exactly making a moral judgement on any shippers either, or to point at Kataang and go: "oh, look girls can like this too. Stop shipping Zutara and come ship this instead."

I want to point out that the juxtaposition of Zutara and Kataang as respectively appealing to the feminine and masculine, is a flawed endeavour because neither ship does this fully.

The concept of Kataang being a purely male fantasy is also flawed due to the points I've outlied in this post.

Are there going to be male Kataang shippers who self insert onto Aang and use it for wish fulfilment? Probably. Are there going to be male Zutara shippers who do the same? Also probably.

In the end, our interpretation of media, particularly visual mediums like film are heavily influenced by our own biases, interests, beliefs andmost importantly our... well, our gaze. The creators can try to steer us with meaningful shots and voiced thought, directing actors or animating a scene to be a certain way, but ultimately we all inevitably draw our own conclusions.

A fan of Zutara can argue that Kataang is the epitome of catering to the male gaze, while Zutara is the answer to women everywhere's wishes.

While I can just as easily argue the exact opposite.

It really is just a matter of interpretation. What is really interesting, is what our gaze says about us. What we can see of ourselves when the subject gazes back at us.

I may want to analyse how Zutara caters to the male gaze in some instances, if those of you who manage to slog through this essay enjoy the subject matter.

[sailorrhansol]

Amnesia | Teaser c.sc (m)

❀ Pairing: Choi Seungcheol x f. reader

❀ Summary: Choi Seungcheol has never been the type to commit to relationships - casual is more his thing. You’re fine with that - except you and Seungcheol seem to be terrible at casual when it comes to one another. 

❀ Word Count: TBD

❀ Genre: FWB to Lovers

❀ Type: Smut, Angst if you squint

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Teaser Warnings: Recreational drinking, tension

❀ Disclaimer: Disclaimer: All members of Seventeen are faces and name claims for stories. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. Moreover, none of my works accurately reflect, represent or take a stance on the nuances of Korean culture, cities, people etc. Seventeen members are not Seventeen culturally, intellectually, physically, or representationally in my stories, and should be considered name and face stand-ins for made up characters.

Main Masterlist ❀ Tag List Request Form ❀ Ask ❀ Playlist

FULL FIC AVAILABLE NOW

Wordlessly, Seungcheol holds his hand out. Flushing from the neck down, you hand it over to him with a silent thank you. He pops the top easily, bicep flexing for a moment before he passes it back over, shooting you an award winning grin. 

“Wow, so strong.”

He pouts and you swear you see stars. “Hey, I am strong.” 

“No, no, you are. Thank you.” 

“You shouldn’t tease me. I’m new.” 

“Huh.” You sip your beer, letting the cool liquid slide down your throat. It does nothing to soothe the heat spreading over your skin under the sole attention of Seungcheol. “I don’t remember that being a rule.” 

“I never was one to play by the rules anyway.” 

“Oh, so you’re saying you cheat at games like Jeonghan does.” 

“I like winning.”

You roll your eyes. From the edge of your vision, you see people leave the pool table. Eager to stand up and stretch your legs, you start to slide out of the booth, the wood grain scratching against your jeans as you do. 

“Come on then, cheater. Let’s play pool.” 

“I’m down.” 

Seungcheol follows you. Your fingers grip the glass of your drink tight, knuckles straining. You move around tables and duck around other patrons, hyper aware of the way Seungcheol keeps close to you, the heat of him against your back. 

Next to the rows of dart boards are two pool tables, the felt a faded green with beer stains and other mysterious smudges on the surface. You grab a cue from the rack on the wall, spin it in your hands, and hand it over to Seungcheol. He eyes it, running his fingers along the splintered and dented wood.

Grabbing your cue in one hand and the triangle rack and set it on the table while he collects the balls from the table and the pockets, rolling them over to you. A few feet away, Joshua is already accusing Jeonghan of cheating. You don’t know how you cheat in darts, but you do know if there is a will, Jeonghan will find a way.

“Dangerous to let them have sharp objects,” Seungcheol notes, sliding the last ball over to you. You huff out a laugh, rolling the rack of billiard balls back and forth to set them. “You’re not going to get violent with me, right?”

“I don’t know, are you going to cheat?”

His smile is wicked. “Me? Definitely not.” 

“Hmm. Not convincing.”

Seungcheol presses the flat of his palm over his chest, drawing your eyes to how thick he is in the chest area. You swallow thickly as he says, “Cross my heart.” 

“Whatever you say. What are we playing for?” 

“What will you give me?” 

You look up at the shift in his tone. Dark. Flirty. He leans against the pool table, resting his hip casually as he crosses his arms over his chest. You ignore the way his arms flex, totally focused on the way his eyes are only for you. Intent. Meaningful. 

A warning goes off in your head. You already feel the pull to him, the innate attraction that has your heart hammering. You should brush off the flirtation, move on to other things. Relationships aren’t really your thing, but there’s something about him that makes you know you’ll want more. 

You already do want more. 

“What do you want?” you ask softly, ignoring your better judgment. 

When Seungcheol smiles, you know you’d give him anything. Everything.

“I can think of something, I think.”

[therhythmafterthesummer]

A Helping Hand (M) ~Seungmin

Pairing: LabHybrid!Seungmin x GN!Reader Themes: Smut | Fluff | Best Friends to Lovers | Roommates to Lovers Word Count: ~4k | AO3 Synopsis: After one too many shots of vodka, your best friend confided in you a little problem he’d been dealing with for a couple of months now. Tipsy-you figured that you were more than suitable to give him a helping hand. Warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption · overall hybrid shenanigans · Seungmin has a dirty mouth · pet names · Smut (warnings under the cut). let me know if i missed any💜

Author’s Note: can’t believe my first ever published Seungmin fic is a hybrid au lmao. got a weird boost of inspiration for this after seeing @starlostseungmin talking about it, so here it is ! Special thanks to @notastraykid for giving her very valuable input to improve the first draft, as well as @comet-falls for letting me know it didn’t suck skjdfhsdkjf

Due to all the abovementioned warnings, this story is intended for an adult audience only. Minors please do not interact.

Smut Warnings: this is, as usual, some monsterfuckery · handjobs · praising · breeding kink (kind of) · hybrid anatomy (knot) · copious amounts of fluids. again, let me know if i missed any

Disclaimer: the story represented in this work does not represent Stray Kids in any way; anything described in this story and all actions performed by the characters are purely fictional, this was created just for good fun.

“You–You don’t have to do this, serious–Oh, God…”

You swallowed, focusing on your best friend’s face. Focusing a bit too much on the vein that popped on his neck when he threw his head back, on how pretty his eyelashes looked when his eyes fluttered shut, on those pouty lips of his you totally didn’t wish you could have on yours… All while trying to ignore what you had between your hands, all while trying to ignore the obscene, squelching sounds their continuous movement produced…

“I said I’d help you, didn’t I, Seungmin?”

Seungmin inhaled deeply. His ears twitched, his tail seemed to have a life of its own, it had started thumping against the headboard of the bed the moment he’d sat down and you’d taken a hold of him.

After opening his eyes again, Seungmin looked at your face, and you saw his Adam’s apple bob when he swallowed. “You did”.

“And I always keep my word, don’t I?” You twisted your wrists, never stopping the motions of your hands.

Seungmin sighed, and some of the tension in his shoulders seemed to evaporate with the motion. “You do…”

A spark of doubt flared in your mind, large enough it was impossible to ignore. Your hands stopped, and the tiniest whine left Seungmin’s mouth. “Unless you… Are you feeling uncomfortable? I can– I can stop”.

Seungmin’s hands flew to your wrists, preventing you from pulling away completely. “No. No, no, please, don’t… I… Fuck, I really want this. I really, really need this”.

You would’ve never expected the afternoon to take you here… To your best friend’s bedroom, to him sitting on his bed, with his back against the headboard, and with his legs spread. You would’ve never expected to have his cock in your hands, barely even out of his lounge shorts. In your mind, this had never been a real, genuine possibility. Yet here you were.

How long had it been since you realised you had a crush on your best friend? Too long, probably. It might’ve been a bit embarrassing, but you truly couldn’t even remember a time when you weren’t pining over him, a time when you weren’t thinking how it would be like to be with him physically, intimately…

Although, to be fair, this situation was far more sterile than all those fantasies you’d allowed your mind to wander into only in the wee hours of the night. It wasn’t as if Seungmin had confessed his feelings for you, or you to him. It was more like… like you were giving your friend a hand–literally and figuratively.

Seungmin was a hybrid. A black labrador hybrid, to be exact. He’d been your best friend since you were a kid, when the school you attended finally started allowing hybrids as students. You could still remember the first day you saw him, standing in a corner by the lockers. You’d approached him, mostly because your mother had taught you that hybrids must be treated well, just like you’d treat anyone else.

He was a shy boy, totally out of character for a lab hybrid, but the more you got to know him, the more he warmed up to you, the more you started to see that bright personality of his. As soon as he’d deemed you trustworthy, it was almost like that shyness had never been there in the first place.

He started to come over to your place to hang out or do homework, to open up about his life, and even to show more of his mischievous side. He’d call you everything from dumb dumb, to human kiddo, to little human, just because he could. But it was fine.

Even if at the beginning it annoyed you that he simply wouldn’t call you by your name, it eventually became such a Seungmin thing to do, you just couldn’t find it in you to be mad at him when his eyes sparkled so brightly whenever he used his little nicknames for you.

Seungmin was chaotic, he was funny, and he was the most loyal friend you’d ever had. He’d been with you through thick and thin. Every broken friendship and relationship, he was always there to console you, to hold your hand and tell you it was going to be alright. He was always there for you, without fail. He’d always joke around and say it was one of his lab traits, but you knew better.

Whether he was a hybrid or not, you knew Seungmin would still be the same Seungmin.

Your Seungmin.

A couple of years ago, you finally got to move out of your parents’ house. It was only natural that you ended up renting a place with your best friend, considering he, too, wanted to move out, and he didn’t particularly enjoy the thought of living with strangers.

Decades had passed since hybrids were integrated into human society. They finally had rights, they were treated as people and not some pet you bought from a store–no disrespect to pets, they had their rights, too. But pets weren’t people. Hybrids, on the other hand, were.

Hybrids had free will, they could reason like humans could, and they certainly deserved to be treated as equals. These were the values that you’d been taught as you grew up, and it was something you believed in still to this day.

Regardless, hybrids still had their animal urges and needs, which Seungmin seemed to have been struggling with for a couple of months now.

The confession happened last night, while you both threw a tennis ball back and forth at each other, after one too many shots of vodka–to be more precise, it’d been three. Three shots of vodka only. 

Alcohol wasn’t deadly toxic to Seungmin like it was to other hybrids, but his body certainly couldn’t digest it very well, which usually manifested not only in the flush that spread all over his face, but also by shutting down every single one of his filters. ‘I haven’t been able to come in two fucking months. Two months! I feel like I’m dying, dude. I just need to blow’.

You’d asked him how that was even possible, how he had not managed to bring himself to orgasm in two months, considering you knew he was a person with a moderate sex drive–based on the amount of times you had to stay in your shared flat while he had company over… His answer was a very graceful ‘The fuck if i know… Nothing works, my dearest little human. Porn doesn’t work. Literature doesn’t work. And my imagination clearly doesn’t work, either’.

He looked genuinely distressed about it, especially when he sighed, and his tone lowered. ‘I’ve been checking forums online… Going anonymous to ask strangers, specifically other hybrids, but most of them said that I needed to find the root cause, that something in my environment could be affecting my physical performance, but it’s… It’s really frustrating, because I genuinely have no idea what’s going on’.

‘Have you tried, I don’t know, getting laid?’ was what your tipsy self asked. You wouldn’t have asked that question fully sober for sure. You really didn’t want to know if Seungmin was out there getting laid these days. It had been a little over a year since you had seen him date anyone, and the thought of him dating someone now, admittedly, made you jealous. Which was potentially very stupid on your part considering you were just friends. The best of friends. Only friends.

‘Nah. Can you imagine if I’m with someone and I can’t fucking come? Distress… Besides, I don’t want to just… You know, do it with a random person. People are kinda… ew’. You could understand completely why he wouldn’t want to go out and hook up with a stranger. After all, some people still saw hybrids as sex slaves, or they were heavily fetishised, so it wasn’t exactly safe to partake in one night stands for him. 

Besides, your best friend was not one for hookups and one night stands in the first place. He had trust issues, especially with humans, so you could definitely understand his predicament. 

‘What if it’s someone you know?’ You threw the ball back at him just as you’d boldly asked the question, because spirits always made you voice things sober you would never have the guts to say.

Seungmin caught the ball and scoffed, completely sure that no one he knew would want to be that intimate with him, and not think ill of him if he didn’t manage to perform. 

But you had to open your big mouth again, very confidently telling him ‘And what about me? I can do it’.

The ball suddenly fell from Seungmin’s hand, landing on the floor and rolling under the coffee table. His eyes followed the movement like a hawk–or, maybe it’d be more accurate to say like a dog. He stretched his body a bit out of the sofa, not even bothering to stand up fully, trying to get the ball while he chuckled, maybe a bit nervously.

Seungmin genuinely thought you were joking for a second. That was exactly what he’d told you, but then he saw how serious you were about it, and, after a few minutes of silence, he simply said that you should have this conversation sober.

Which you did.

Which took you right here, right into his room, with his painfully hard cock in your hands.

Seungmin knew you wouldn’t judge him if he couldn’t come. He trusted you enough to be vulnerable with you in more ways than one, to tell you what he needed or wanted, so you would gladly help him–the fact that you had a major crush on him made you feel a bit self-conscious, you’d admit… Like you were taking advantage of the situation to touch him this intimately. But you had already offered it, and he had already accepted it, so you just didn’t feel like backing down on your word.

“Tighten your grip a bit more”, Seungmin mumbled, and once again he threw his head back when you did as asked and continued working his cock. “Fuck, yeah. That’s it…”

You were starting to heat up yourself. Especially whenever he spoke like that, with the tone of his voice as low as it was. Seungmin was one to swear a lot, very openly, but in this context, it certainly felt… filthier. And it affected you. Maybe embarrassingly so…

You couldn’t help but swear under your breath when your eyes drifted from his face to his length. How could you not look? When he was there, letting you touch him…

Clear fluid leaked from his tip, dripping all over your fingers and aiding your movement, intensifying those sinful wet sounds that resonated in your ears with each stroke. You knew his specific breed tended to produce more fluids than a human would, he’d told you this before in passing, but you had honestly not expected it to be this much.

Seungmin didn’t seem fazed at his slick soiling his clothes. On the contrary, it seemed like he didn’t even care at all.

“Like what you see?”

Your head snapped upwards to meet his eyes, and you immediately felt heat rush to your cheeks. 

“I’m sorry, I’m trying really hard not to look, but…” You suddenly felt small under his gaze, even if your hands didn’t stop. His eyes were so dark, staring right into yours so intensely the hairs at your nape stood on end.

Seungmin always tried not to look people in the eyes, ‘It activates this primal instinct in me, it’s a bit annoying sometimes, to be honest. I only make eye contact when… when I… Well, you know…’ He’d said once, very vaguely, but even back then, you understood. 

He didn’t need to tell you in which situation he enjoyed eye contact. Whenever you looked him in the eyes, you always felt trapped under his gaze, like you wanted to submit. And, somehow, it also woke the butterflies in your belly. Right now, that feeling seemed to have heightened tenfold.

“You’re trying not to look, but…?” Seungmin licked his lips, reaching forward to take a hold of your forearm. Not to stop you, but simply to drag his thumb over your skin in soothing motions.

“But…” You swallowed. You figured now was as good a time as any to let the thoughts out of your head, otherwise they would haunt you forever. “You’re so big”.

Seungmin giggled, a sound that he hardly ever let anyone outside of his close friend group hear, the flush on his face deepened, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. Adorable, even in this context… “You think I’m big?”

“Haven’t touched someone this big ever”, your pace was still slow, but you made sure to stroke as much of him as you could, as tight as he had asked you to. It wasn’t like he was crazy big, he wasn’t particularly long, but he was just… girthy. Girthier than you had ever seen in your pathetic excuse for a love life. “Not only that, but… It’s just… pretty”.

At that, Seungmin looked genuinely incredulous. “Pretty?”

“Mm… pretty”.

He was going to speak, but before he could, your movements sped up, and the whine that left his mouth as soon as you did had your insides instantly firing up. It was a completely involuntary reaction, how could your body not react when the sounds coming out of his mouth were this sinful? When the almost canine whines stirred the butterflies flying freely in your belly?

“Oh, fuck… That’s it, baby, just like that, shit…”

You didn’t even acknowledge the pet name that just escaped his lips. You were convinced it was a heat of the moment thing, so you swallowed that saliva that had suddenly pooled in your mouth, and continued to focus on your motions. 

With both of your hands, you went from the base to the head a few times, until you settled one of your hands at the base and the other at the tip. You had heard that the base of a canine hybrid’s cock was sensitive, not as much as the head, but much more than a human’s would be, and Seungmin’s wagging tail and content sighs proved that to be true.

You made sure to pull the foreskin with you when you pumped his head, and your eyes naturally drifted to the sight again. Pretty, indeed…

“You’re so fucking good at this, fuck…” Seungmin’s head was tilted back against the headboard, but he was still looking at you through his lashes. His chest rose and fell with his laboured breathing, he was essentially panting, his tongue poked out from between his lips, and the movement of his thumb on your forearm had long since stopped. He was now just gripping your arm, lightly digging his fingers on your skin.

“You think so?” You couldn’t help but ask.

Maybe it was a bit selfish, but you definitely wanted to hear more of his praise. It fed a pool of arousal in the pit of your stomach that you just knew you’d have to deal with as soon as you were on your own and away from his prying eyes…

“Fuck, yeah… You’re so good to me, so…” His words trailed off, stopped when he swallowed thickly. 

You wanted him to continue what he was going to say, you almost asked him to, but before you could, he spoke again–with an edge of desperation in his voice that almost made you faint.

“Squeeze a bit harder at the base”, so you did, twisting your wrist as you went up and down, and the loud moan that fell from his mouth made you dizzy with need. “That’s it, keep doing that, fuck…”

You worked his cock for a while, all as words of appreciation continued to fly past his lips, all as his slick kept dripping all over your fingers, as he directed more pet names your way. Until something started to feel different…

“Oh, oh, fuck… Fuck, shit, don’t stop, baby, please, don’t…”

You wouldn’t have dared stop, not when your fingers suddenly weren’t able to touch where you held him. You kept the motions on the head of his cock, but the base seemed to be swelling under your grasp, loosening it a bit.

“No, no, don’t stop there. Squeeze it. Keep touching it, pup”, Seungmin pleaded, tightening his grip on your arm while small whines escaped his throat, almost drowned by the sound of his tail thumping against the headboard.

“Oh, my God…” You knew hybrids were anatomically different to humans, but you had never really considered just how much they could be, so it really took you by surprise.

You were experiencing one of Seungmin’s hybrid attributes first hand. There, at the base of his cock, a knot was quickly swelling, and you would’ve never expected how much the sight and feel of it could affect you. Your mind raced, suddenly curious as to how it would feel like if he were pushing his cock into your warmth, how he would stretch you out to your absolute limits…

Seungmin might’ve been the hybrid here, but you were certainly salivating at the feel of his swollen knot in your hands.

Tightening your grip around his knot, you started massaging it, just as you pumped his head faster, coaxing a string of groans and moans and swears to come out of Seungmin’s mouth.

“Your hands… They’re so soft, so… perfect. That’s perfect, pup, you’re doing so fucking well”.

Seungmin was talking to you like you weren’t the one working him up. It would’ve amused you, had it not been feeding the fire that was burning bright deep within yourself.

You could feel your underwear sticking to your skin, drenched in your own fluids because of Seungmin, and the sounds he was making, and his heavy cock under your hands, and that fucking knot of his…

“Seungmin… Shit, you… This…” Being honest, you were speechless. 

“What? Huh?” Seungmin finally let go of your arm, instead he cupped your cheek, making you look at him, just as he started to thrust up into your fists. “I know what you want to tell me. Or, at least, I think I do, fuck… I can hear how fast your heart is beating, pup. I can smell it all, you know? I wanna know what you’re thinking. Tell me”.

You licked your lips, staring into his eyes. You were sure your face couldn’t be any warmer, yet the heat seemed to spread further the longer you looked at him, the faster you moved your hands and he thrusted into your grip.

“I’m… Fuck, I can’t help but think how it would feel like inside me, stretching me open…”

“Oh, shit–” Seungmin threw his head back. His tail thrashed against the headboard, and his ears were twitching nonstop. “I can–Fuck, baby, I can give it to you. Whatever you want, just say it and I’ll give it to you”.

With your lower lip trapped between your teeth, you took in a deep breath, almost shivering when Seungmin pulled his shirt up to reveal his torso just as he mumbled the most desperate “Close, so fucking close, puppy. Don’t you dare fucking stop. Tell me–tell me more…”

“I want… want your knot… I want you, Seungmin. So much, so, so much. Need you”, you emphasised each statement with a tighter squeeze to the swollen base of his length.

“Oh, fuck!”

With a few more thrusts of his hips, and a few more twists of your wrists, Seungmin gave you a quick warning, only for your name to fly past his lips, and explode seconds after. Thick ropes of cum spurted from the tip of his cock, painting his torso in the creamy substance and dripping all over your hands. It was so much cum, more than you had ever seen anyone ever produce.

The sounds coming out of his mouth were absolutely pornographic, they entered your ears and shot straight to your aching, needy insides. Needy for Seungmin, for his knot, and his everything.

You kept working his cock, pumping the tip to make sure every drop of his cum came out, squeezing and stroking his knot through it all. Until Seungmin’s body slumped against the headboard.

The movement of your hands stopped, but you didn’t remove them. The sight was straight out of a wet dream, his torso, his shirt, his shorts, your hands, everything was covered in cum, and you suddenly had the urge to taste it. But you begrudgingly resisted that urge, this was probably not the moment for that.

When you finally looked away from the mess, your eyes found Seungmin’s. His chest rose and fell with his ragged breaths, his lips were slightly parted as he gasped for air, and he was looking so deeply into your eyes you simply couldn’t look away.

You weren’t sure who moved first, maybe it was you, or maybe it was him… Or maybe, it had been both.

Before you knew it, Seungmin’s soft, moist lips were on yours, kissing you like a starved man. And you retaliated, of course. You kissed him with the same enthusiasm he had, licking his bottom lip to get your tongue inside his mouth, and very quickly, you started to feel lightheaded.

Kissing Seungmin was better than you could’ve ever imagined. Hearing him and seeing him come was a transcendental experience, and you were sure that your brain chemistry had just been altered forever. How could you ever go back to anyone else after this?

The kiss was messy, sloppy, tongues intertwining and teeth sinking on soft skin, producing wet noises all around. You would’ve honestly loved to stay there forever, kissing him, with his length in your hands and his cum all over your fingers. Unfortunately, though, you needed to breathe, so you finally disconnected your lips from his, and took a deep breath.

Seungmin looked into your eyes, and you looked right back. They were still dark, still alluring, but there was something else, something softer… Maybe more vulnerable. The stare-off lasted for a few moments, a few moments spent in silence, until you both broke into a fit of laughter.

Seungmin was practically glowing, he looked possibly the most handsome you’d ever seen him. Even when he was covering the lower part of his face with his hand while he laughed, trying to hide that pretty smile of his after years and years of insecurities produced by the now long since removed braces on his teeth, you still found him incredibly handsome and adorable.

“I take it you enjoyed it? You must have. Look at this mess you made”, there was a teasing smile on your lips, but the truth was, you genuinely wanted to know. 

“As much as you enjoyed, it seems”, Seungmin scoffed, and he gestured between your bodies, where you were still holding his cock. He was still just as hard as he was before he came. 

“You’re still hard?” You couldn’t hide the surprise in your voice, nor the way your eyes widened at the sight, and it made Seungmin smirk immediately. 

“Baby, I’m a dog. My cock thinks it should be inside someone right now, keeping all my cum contained with my knot. Of course I’m still hard, it wants to breed”.

“To… to breed?” Your voice was airy, shaky, suddenly unable to contain the feeling of pure arousal you felt coursing through your veins.

“Mm… to breed”, Seungmin repeated, and he bit his lip when you started to gently squeeze and caress his knot.

He detached himself from the headboard just enough so he could pull his shirt off. After a few moments of silence, he spoke again. His gaze softened further, and he brought his hands to your cheeks so he could softly caress the skin with his thumbs. “Thank you. Fuck, I'm so grateful right now. That felt so good”.

“Oh, please… It was my pleasure”, you chuckled, finally letting go of the head of his cock so both of your hands could focus on giving attention to his knot, hopefully helping relieve any possible discomfort he might be feeling since it was out in the open, unable to fulfil its purpose. 

The motions clearly made Seungmin’s blush deepen. He looked at you for a few bated breaths, and before you could even understand what was happening, you were on your back, gasping in surprise. 

Taking his discarded shirt, Seungmin knelt on the bed, right between your legs, and he cleaned your hands, as well as his torso of as much of his cum as he could. 

“Your pleasure, pretty human, hasn’t even started yet. Let me make you feel as good as you just made me feel”.

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General Masterlist

[izzyhandslightofmylife]

Official statement on why Izzy's death affected me so much

Our Flag Means Death, is, at it’s core, is a show that focuses on queer joy- a form of therapy for those that have been raised on queerbaiting, shipping minor side characters, or watching, when nothing else is available, queer tragedies. You know how it goes- the two main characters, both male, have chemistry. They say things to each other that seem weirdly like declarations of love. They look at each other with love in their eyes. You see these things and the main man gets married off to a badly written, unfinished female character and is left feeling empty. The best friend dies for the main character to live. When everyone talks about how cute the main couple are, you want to scream all of a sudden, because nobody can see this love story play out except you. It’s queer, it’s tragic, and nobody else can understand it. 

Not Our Flag Means Death. From the moment it aired, it was praised as a show with unabashed queer joy, which means more than I can possibly say. The two main male characters meet, they have chemistry, and they fall in love. It’s not implied, or hinted at, but blatantly obvious. Their romances and the queer romances around them attracted so many queer fans who felt that after so many years, this type of show was a vindication for what they had been through with other media. 

In this show, piracy itself was that of a found family. Though Stede Bonnet and the crew of the Revenge start off with many differences, the core of the show centers around a theme that many queer audiences are attracted to: found family. The Revenge was depicted as a safe space, where everyone could express themselves freely, a refuge from a world of judgment. Queerness was not only accepted but normalized on The Revenge. No homophobia, no coming out, no typical complications of queer romance. Just love and safety. Warmth, which was Ed Teach wished for in purgatory. Which was what he found on the Revenge. The ship was a safe space that so many queer audiences had dreamed of. 

Well, a safe space except for one person: Izzy Hands, Blackbeard’s First Mate, who was a man painfully stuck in the wrong genre. This is the general consensus by both fans and the cast: Izzy, Edward and their crew had been in a gritty action movie, whereas Stede and his crew were in a muppet movie of sorts. While the majority of Blackbeard’s crew quickly acclimates to and celebrates the change, Izzy doesn’t. 

And right away, many fans felt a deep attraction to Izzy. The reason that Izzy couldn’t get Edward to love him was because, in the end, the only way that Izzy knew how to love was through blood. To give and receive pain in an action movie is one of the greatest forms of love, but Izzy fails to realize that Ed is not in an action movie anymore. He is happy with this stability, and the reason that so many people felt Izzy’s presence so was strongly was that he wasn’t. 

So many queer people are, in a way, addicted to tragedy. Tragedy is all that is represented in queer media for the most part, or was until very recently. Take Achilles and Patroclus, one of the most celebrated and recognized queer love stories of both ancient and modern times. Why that one? There are other greek love stories, many of them queer. The tragedy of it- Patroclus’ death and Achilles’ rage- made it all the more appealing. Many in the audience of Our Flag Means Death were not comedy fans, they were horror or drama fans, attracted to a comedy because of the love story. But Izzy, to them, was a physical representation of who they were, carrying an awareness of homophobia, of blood and pain that so many queer relationships had previously been illustrated by (i.e. Hannibal). Though Ed may not have understand this type of affection, the audience did- Izzy’s Otherness from the crew despite it’s safety, his expressions of love and his unrequited love story were all things that the audience were familiar with feeling. 

If Ed and Stede were good queer representation, Ed and Izzy, for example, were a foil of that. They were evil, messed up, and fed into the worst parts of each other because it brought them closer. This is a theme present in a lot of queer media, and by extension, queer lives: “if you love me, Henry, you don’t love me in a way I understand”, is an excerpt classic queer poem about unrequited love that fits the situation. The very reason Izzy stuck in people’s heads because he was of a different genre. His grittiness and bitterness made sense to the audience. They saw Izzy and saw what was familiar. He was exquisitely written, simultaneously making even casual audiences both hate him, and against all odds, find him oddly endearing. The idea of this man sacrificing every inch of himself for an unrequited love was a concept of tragedy, leaking into a comedic show. 

So fans projected onto Izzy. He was a catalyst for the heartache, for the audience’s sheer inability to have a happy show. For one reason or another, some of the audience simply couldn’t live with a show that was all fantastical, which I theorize is because they couldn’t see themselves in it. So Izzy became the epitome of queer suffering: pining longingly after another man that couldn’t understand him. This projection of suffering, however, led to a new wish: happiness for Izzy. If Izzy in Season 1 was a tragedy, assimilating him into the found family in Season 2 would have elevated the safe sense of the ship all the more. It would have proved to so many of these Izzy Fans that yes, even though you view yourself as unloveable, even though you see yourself as Israel Hands, Villain, even he can be loved too. Why can’t you be? 

And Season 2, for the most part, delivered beyond our wildest dreams. Izzy had people who cared about him. And though the genre shifted into the darker, Izzy himself shifted slightly to the comedic side as well. His life, which had been centered for so long around a man that didn’t reciprocate his feelings, was gone. He started a new life, and this life, again, focused on queer joy. The queer joy from Season 1 was suddenly for everyone, even those like Izzy that couldn’t have understood it. He sang, he whittled, he talked about feelings, he dressed in drag. Many elder queer fans also saw Izzy as another metaphor, too: that queer joy can be attained overtime. You don’t have to have had it the whole time, but you can accept yourself even when you are older. The message of Izzy was one of resilience and stubbornness, one that the queer community needed to hear: that you don’t have to be like this, you don’t have to create pain for yourself. You don’t need to watch tragedies all the time. You, too, can heal from the past.

And then, the season finale happened. By this point, many argued that Izzy had stolen the show. Con O’Neil’s acting mixed with his general arc of self acceptance had made him a fan favorite. In the last episode, it is Izzy himself who sums it up perfectly, accepting that he belongs somewhere despite his pain and flaws. Despite the darkness within him, he was still accepted and loved. He says it right to the face of Prince Ricky, who thinks himself above it all. That piracy, a metaphor for otherness, wasn’t actually about being alone; it was about finding others that understood you when nobody else could. 

Listen, this show is known for it’s nonsensicality. In the finale of Season 1, Lucius is thrown overboard by Ed and survives by simply swimming to another ship. Stede reunites with his crew by sailing a rowboat. Buttons turns into a seagull. Stede stabs Ed for a comedic bit. Earlier in the season, Izzy himself gets shot and survives. This queer joy show was celebrated for being, well, joyful. Even when things like getting thrown overboard did happen, they were, ultimately, a blip in the character’s journey towards acceptance, healing, etc, which was what made the show unique. Our Flag Means Death, whose audience had been living for years off of the “Bury your gays” trope, was adored because it illustrated a world where things didn’t have to be that way. A place where the impossible, such as Izzy Hands being loved, could happen. This show was one of survival. 

But not for the one person that was seen to struggle with this concept the most. Not for the one person that was a metaphor for belonging in this place, who became, over the course of a season, the embodiment of the message itself. Not for the Unicorn, the very symbol of this magical, nonsensical ship. Not for the most stubborn, most indestructible, most enduring (queer) person in the show. Not for Izzy Hands. 

This trope, honestly, was one that many have seen before, both in mainstream and queer media. A character, previously shown to be a villain or else to have gone through a lot of pain, is shown to heal, to get better, and then to die in order to “complete their arc”. This trope is common: Loki, Cas. even Ted Lasso, who doesn’t die but goes back to the very place that broke him in the first place. But the reason that Izzy’s death, while it might have been expected in another show, felt like a betrayal in this one is because it was known for subverting those tropes. From the “Bury Your Gays” to the “Up For Interpretation”, it was known to look those tropes in the eyes and say “fuck you, these people deserve to be happy”. And this did happen! Except for the one character who’s healing journey was one of the most relatable, at least to queer audiences. 

What also made it so jarring was that all the other characters got to be happy, except for the one that had struggled with the idea of happiness the most. In the scene immediately after Izzy is buried, Lucius and Pete get married. In the scene after, a montage of queer joy and found family is shown amongst the whole crew. In the final scene, Ed and Stede, our main queer couple, are shown healing themselves and starting a new life together. The last shot, however, showed Izzy’s grave, visited by Buttons the seagull while Ed and Stede had dinner. A tragedy in it’s finest. It wouldn’t have been difficult for Izzy to live. Because, in the end, his death meant nothing. His healing meant nothing. He died and was moved on from in a matter of seconds. He was, as I mentioned, the catalyst for tragedy, more specifically, queer tragedy. But because of this, of his genre, Izzy didn’t get to live. He had to die in order for the rest of the characters to keep living in this fantasy world. This death was, in a way, a preservation of these other love stories.

I maintain, however, that it would have meant more if Izzy had lived. If he had been  able to show to us that yes, despite what you have been through, despite what you may have inflicted upon yourself, you can switch genres. It’s possible. Izzy’s survival up until that point had been a profound testament to many that it is possible to heal, that queerness does not have to mean sadness. It would have continued to be a testament to that if only Izzy had lived. And so, this pirate that we latched onto, not in spite of his darkness but because of it, was buried on land on the side of the road. 

As a side note, many previous incidences in the story point to the idea even though Ed and Stede will definitely stay together, it’s uncertain if the inn would have worked out. It’s likely that, being a whim, those two might have chosen to move, or go back to the sea, or sail to China. If this is true, they would have left Izzy’s grave by itself, like a family pet buried in the yard. If this is true, Izzy Hands, a metaphor for belonging, would rot alone. 

Long live the tragedy addicts. Long live the Richard Siken poems. Long live Izzy Hands. 

*When I talk about the "fandom" I am referring to the canyon.

[the-phoenix-heart]

Sorting Hat Chats - The Malfoys

Since the Malfoys have been a bit of a hot topic lately, I decided to give them their sorting post similar to what I did with the Weasleys...3 years ago??? Where does the time go??

Anyway, this is an explanation of the system I am using by @wisteria-lodge.

LUCIUS MALFOY is blatantly a Badger secondary. His methods are to make donations to people, goad Arthur Weasley into a fight so he can slip Ginny the diary, he uses blackmail against the other members of the Board of Governors, calling in favors, and when in the hall of prophecies with Harry and his gang his strategy is to talk him into giving the prophecy over. It's what makes him so effective in the first five books, but is also why once everyone knows the truth about him he is in a constant state of free fall.

As for his primary, I think it's fairly obvious that he's a Snake. He can look like a Badger, dehumanizing muggleborns and joining the Death Eaters, but that's a performance. When the chips are down, what Lucius really cares about himself, his wife, and his son. Snake Lucius is willing to get rid of every association to the Death Eaters he had, and in the Second Wizarding War is not enjoying himself at ALL. He's also clearly got that Snake hedonism to him.

NARCISSA MALFOY née BLACK is an equally blatant Snake primary, although she doesn't appear to even play the part of a Badger. Everything to her is her son and her husband (and her husband takes a backseat to her son usually). Narcissa doesn't even appear to like Bellatrix all that much anymore since Bella is a threat to her family. Down to the end her motivation is always to keep Draco safe, damn the consequences.

As for her secondary, since she's such a minor character you can probably make an argument for any of them. But I personally think she's a Snake secondary, making her a Double Snake. This is a woman who lies to Voldemort's face and doesn't get caught. Who is willing to go behind his back and make back-alley deals with someone like Snape.

I've sorted DRACO MALFOY once before with @awinterrain which you can read right here, but I would like to reiterate it and expand on it.

Draco may be the epitome of Slytherin in the books, and he may hate Hufflepuffs and think of them as "duffers," but this boy is Double Badger down to his bones. This is a boy who cares deeply about communities. He defines himself by them, first as a Malfoy, then as a Slytherin, then as a Seeker on the quidditch team, then as part of the Inquisitorial Squad, then as a death eater (which he doesn't care for). I think at the beginning of the series he's a good case for an Immature Badger primary, where he just IS the group he's into and nothing outside of this.

His Badger primary can look very insular and Snake-like, partially because pureblood culture alienates everyone outside of it, and partially because his family is so Snakey that it colors the look of his Badger primary. Idk if I would even call it a performance or a model, it's more like a flavor.

But he does start to look like a Snake primary in his Sixth Year, where he's single-mindedly focused on saving his family. That's because in Sixth Year he burns after joining the Death Eaters. And it's honestly really sad, but it's because Draco has realized his communities are toxic and not good for him. The Death Eaters aren't good, they're the reason his father is in prison and his mother is in danger. This is the year where he really stops engaging with his peers and is sort of just coasting on his former reputation.

But that Badger shine is still there, and it's in the fact that Draco Malfoy has to kill Dumbledore and cannot do it. A true Snake Draco Malfoy would probably have gone through with it, even if it he felt bad about it. Badger Draco, who spent books 1-5 shit talking Dumbledore at any opportunity, cannot do it. I think it's because 1. He isn't ready for casual murder, and 2. I think Dumbledore for Draco represents one more community that he identifies with-Hogwarts. And clearly he does care about Hogwarts (I don't think the Room of Requirement would reveal itself to him if he did).

As for his secondary, Draco is his father in miniature. Draco is a tattle tail, he has bodyguards that follow him around, he usually goads Harry into confrontations so Harry gets into trouble and Draco can have plausible deniability. What's most interesting to me though is Draco's proclivity for elaborate smear campaigns. The "Potter Stinks" badges are HIS work as is the "Weasley is Our King" song, which is very...mean badgery. Like this is his community building with Slytherin (arguably all of Hogwarts with the badges), and using his powers to bully Harry. It's funny, despite everything. He does perform Snake though, to make everything look quicker or look like his mother.

Even his methods when he has to kill Dumbledore are Badger powered. Working on the Vanishing Cabinet all year, poisoning Professor Slughorn's mead he intended to give Dumbledore, and charming Rosmerta to imperious Katie Bell. But, he still has that influence from his mom where he can lie to someone's face (though not as convincingly).

I think Draco looks at his father's Badger performance, and thus thinks they house match. And it explains why he is so wary of his father after the Death Eater reveal, since Draco has realized he does not enjoy that sort of Badger primary.

As a bonus I decided to sort BELLATRIX LESTRANGE née BLACK as well. Since for some reason the movies always advertised her as part of the Malfoys. No doubt about it she is a Lion secondary. I don't think Bellatrix has every learned the meaning of the word subtle. She never lies in the series, just blasts the truth out whenever, and is always an attack first think never character.

As for her primary, can she be anything other than exploded snake primary? Her everything is Voldemort. She doesn't really care for anyone outside of him, with the exception of Narcissa, who stopped liking Bellatrix when she became a danger to her son. I think at one point she had a Badger performance or model that allowed her to willingly marry someone like Rodolphus who she doesn't appear to like, but by the time she's going to Azkaban she doesn't care. It's honestly such a Black Family sorting. Sirius was a Snake Lion as well, and the culture of the "Noble and Most Ancient House of Black" seems to just be Snake coded in general.

So...

Lucius Malfoy - Snake primary, Badger performance/Badger secondary

Narcissa Malfoy nee Black - Snake primary/Snake secondary

Draco Malfoy - Badger primary, Immature at the start, burns in his Sixth Year, has a Snake performance or flavor/Badger secondary, Snake performance

Bonus:

Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black - Exploded Snake primary, Badger performance/model long discarded/Lion secondary

Sirius Black - Snake primary/Lion secondary

[mangle-my-mind]

hey could you explain who jack fairy is im stupid and cant figure out why hes such a big character in the fandom

Omg yes absolutely! Thanks for the ask Anon!

Jack Fairy is the fictional originator of glam rock in the VG universe. He's the one who discovers Oscar Wilde's pin (aka the gay alien sex brooch) as a child. The pin is meant to represent an "instinctive need to camp it up", or owning queerness authentically. As an adult, Jack is considered a "true original", the one who inspires the rest of the glam scene.

Jack Fairy is technically a minor character in the film in terms of screentime, but he's very important to the narrative itself. He's at the Sombrero club when Brian and Mandy meet, and where Brian steals the emerald pin from him. While Brian has a meteoric rise, partially on the strength of stealing from/being inspired by Jack, it's implied that Jack never sees that same level of fame. Later, he's living in Berlin and finds Curt there after Curt and Brian break up. The two of them make an album together a la Bowie and Iggy. At the end of the film, Jack performs at the Death of Glitter concert, closing the chapter on the scene which he originated. That's also the pivotal show where Mandy and Curt have a moment, Brian shows up and leaves, and Arthur and Curt get it on on the roof.

I can't speak on behalf of all of fandom, but some of the reasons Jack Fairy is so beloved to me are:

He's one of the most authentic characters in the film. MUCH more authentic than Brian ever is. We see Jack making art out of his pain from childhood. We recognize his constant struggle and need to express himself truly.

He doesn't get the flowers he deserves, which is typical to first movers in pretty much any art form. He's the one who paved the way for glam to flourish, and others stand on his shoulders and claim the accolades.

He falls victim to Brian's ruthless theft multiple times over. (Sorry not sorry, I'm a Brian hater). The pin, the Sombrero club, Mandy, the glitter entourage, his music (I have a headcanon that "2HB" is a Jack Fairy song that Brian covers), etc. I wrote a fic about this concept specifically if you're interested!

He basically helps Curt get over Brian. This is more of a personal headcanon, but at this point I am in too deep to think otherwise. The fact that Curt meets Jack and then they make an album and put on a concert together is an incredible story in and of itself (and as a matter of fact I wrote that too!)

I think in general, smaller characters with a lot of space for exploration are the most fun ones to latch onto in fandom. Jack's storyline has so much potential for further analysis/art/etc. But more specifically to Jack, he is someone deeply rooted in their authenticity who doesn't get to reap the rewards of being himself, compared to those who reap the rewards of putting on an elaborate image (cough cough Brian). It's a tragic arc, which is always fun to fawn over.

Todd Haynes obviously has some great things to say about Jack Fairy, and I made a post last year pulling that together:

I'd also love to tag in Number One Jack Fairy Fan @silverfactory - maybe you have anything you'd like to add?

Sorry that this is so long-winded! I got overly excited :p

[k-s-morgan]

Hey! I want to thank you all for supporting me, and I have great news - I found a new job! My interview on Thursday went well and I got the offer. I should be starting on Tuesday. Additional *huge* thanks to those of you who supported me through Patreon and PayPal. While I was lucky enough to find a new position quickly, I'll be still lacking a part of my monthly income due to the pause, so your help was absolutely invaluable.

I'm focusing on my fics again now! Will be finally updating soon.

Meanwhile, I'd like to share a rec for a show that someone suggested I watch. It's called The Devil Judge and I think a lot of my readers might end up loving it: it has Tomarry vibes + some Black Butler atmosphere and elements. Kang Yo Han reminded of Tom Riddle in some ways, but he's also a mix between Sebastian and Ciel. Kim Ga On, on the other hand, is closer to Harry: impulsive, naive, brave and determined.

One symbolizes darkness, another symbolizes light, and they both affect each other to the point where one begins to reach out to sunlight, finally experiencing simple human happiness, and another understands that some darkness can occasionally be necessary. Obsession, drama, arguments, forgiveness, manhandling, unhealthiness, their relationship has a lot of the things I love so much in fiction. While the show is not officially a romance, based on the show itself + the comments of crew and cast, it's pretty much that :D Oh, and Kim Ga On resembles Kang Yo Han's dead brother yet the sparks between them fly from the start, so you might feel bothered by it. I don't consider any incest to be involved here, I think Yo Han was simply enamoured with the ideal his brother represented, which made him initially zero in on Ga On, but still, I thought I'd warn about it in advance.

The ending is technically open/hopeful, but I read it as happy. The plot itself appealed a lot to me, considering the times my country is facing. Maybe you'll enjoy it, too!

And here's a fan video in case you're like me and prefer to get a glimpse into the dynamic between the characters right away) There are some minor-to-mild spoilers here, nothing really specific.

[nitrateglow]

Spooky Season 2024: 6-11

Targets (dir. Peter Bogdanovich, 1968)

Targets follows two parallel stories that eventually intertwine. The first involves elderly horror star Byron Orlock (Boris Karloff), disillusioned with his professsion and the real-world violence around him, and intent on retiring from film. The second involves Bobby (Tim O'Kelly), a disturbed young man obsessed with guns who goes on a murder spree. Both points converge at the drive-in premiere of Orlock's newest film.

Targets caught me offguard. The violence in the story involves a mass shooter and so it has a lot of real-world parallels. The killings are presented in a matter of fact way, without spectacle or blood geysers. It makes all of it feel more real and upsetting, especially since we've seen our share of Bobby-like killers over the decades.

My youngest sister watched this one with me and kept calling Karloff's character "Babygirl" and that isn't wrong. Though crabby and cynical, Byron is really charming and likeable. The arc he undergoes is really powerful, particularly as it pertains to his relationship with his secretary Jenny (Nancy Hsueh).

Though the tensions of the late '60s are a major part of Targets, it also deals with the gulf between the old school horror movies represented by Orlock and the more violent fare of the dawning New Hollywood era. I feel like there are just so many layers here. I really need to rewatch it. It's a fascinating movie and I would highly recommend it.

The Phantom of the Opera (dir. Dwight H. Little, 1989)

Modern singer Christine Day (Jill Schoelen) is sent back in time to a previous life as an aspiring opera singer in 1880s London. Her mentor is Erik Destler (Robert Englund), a disfigured composer who made a deal with the devil that left him immortal and embittered. He also has a habit of skinning people and then stitching the flesh on his ugly ass face. The opera management wants to build up another diva's career at the expense of Christine's. Erik doesn't like this. People start getting killed.

The 1989 The Phantom of the Opera is such a mixed bag, but I enjoy it anyway. The script is a mess. It frames the story with this weird time travel/reincarnation/isekai plot that doesn't add up to anything. It introduces interesting concepts-- like the relationship between Christine and Erik reflecting Erik's own deal with the devil-- without fleshing them out. Also-- and if Letterboxd is anything to go by, I'm in the minority-- I'm not crazy about Jill Schoelen's Christine, though I think that's more due to the way Christine is written than how she plays the role.

But then you have the glorious production design, stagebound but dripping in gothic candlelight and late Victorian grime. Best of all, you get Robert Englund's Erik Destler, one of the best onscreen Phantoms of all time.

I love how Englund's Erik is both an excitable schoolboy, almost squealing with delight while Christine kills it at Faust, and a violent, vengeful monster who doesn't take his will being defied lightly. I like the skin-grafting angle for the mask and that Erik ventures out into the London underworld at night. These are all fresh elements and I wish they could have been combined with a tighter, more focused script.

Still, this is a fun movie.

Murders in the Zoo (dir. A. Edward Sutherland, 1933)

A zoologist (Lionel Atwill) is pathologically jealous of his younger wife (Kathleen Burke), and so starts killing any perceived rival to his possession of her. Very pre-code violence ensues.

I'm going to be blunt: this movie did not live up to the hype. A lot of pre-code fans vouch for it as the nastiest horror film of the era. That is likely true. The first thing we see is a man getting his mouth sewed shut, a bit of nastiness that would shock in a recent film, let alone one from 1933. There are some gruesome killings throughout.

Too bad the story is sluggish and dull. There's a lot of corny comic relief that stops the action dead. The direction is flat. It's definitely not a movie I can see myself revisiting. There's barely anything there to sustain interest beyond the occasional creative murder-- no atmosphere, no anything.

Other than the murders, the only thing that stood out to me was Kathleen Burke as the tragic wife of the crazy zoologist. Burke is best remembered as Lota the Panther Woman in Island of Lost Souls. Her career fizzled out quickly, which is a shame because she has great presence and no shortage of talent.

The Black Room (dir. Roy William Neill, 1935)

In a Tyrolean town, an ancient prophecy swears that the ruling house will be destroyed when twins are born and the younger brother kills the older. So when the baron is presented with twin sons, he does everything he can to prevent the prophecy, such as sealing up the Black Room where the murder is supposed to occur. The boys grow up different as can be: the older brother Gregor (Boris Karloff) is cruel and sensual, abusing the locals and his own power, while the younger Anton (also Karloff) is gentle and kind. Despite his twin's sweet nature, Gregor is still concerned for his life and his continued domination of the town. He hatches a devious plan to cheat fate, but can he?

For some reason, I thought I had seen this movie long ago, but apparently not. What a delightful gothic story this is! It's filled with all the old school tropes played straight: an ancient prophecy, a lecherous nobleman preying on innocent maidens, a torture chamber filed with corpses, a dark and gloomy castle. There is a subtle sense of grim humor throughout, but it never descends into parody when it easily could have.

If you've ever doubted Karloff's capabilities as an actor, this movie should remedy that opinion. He plays two distinct characters, and at one point, gives a performance within a performance. All three performances feature their own unique body language, line delivery, and business. It's astonishing throughout.

Equally impressive is the direction from Roy William Neill. Best known for helming the Basil Rathbone Sherlock Holmes movies, his direction here is so dynamic and impressive, not in the least stagey or inert.

One last thing: for a post-Production Code movie, it has a surprising amount of violence and sexuality. Gregor is clearly using the local women for his sexual gratification before murdering them, and his interest in Marian Marsh's lovely aristocratic girl is 100% carnal. There's a pit full of corpses and we get to look into it rather than have its presence alluded to offscreen. It's all nasty stuff. It really feels like the filmmakers got away with a lot, even if it seems tame by modern standards!

The Bells (dir. James Young, 1926)

Innkeeper Mathias (Lionel Barrymore) hopes to become burgomaster of his village. He hopes endless credit and free drinks will sway the populace to support him, but this comes close to killing his business and destroying his family. Desperate, he murders a wealthy guest, destroys the body, and uses his pilfered gold to pay off all debts and influence his way to power. However, both the crushing guilt and a mesmerist (Boris Karloff) with mind-reading powers threaten to expose him.

This is one of those movies that has a great premise, but the execution is very underwhelming. The filmmakers waste a lot of time on the romantic antics of Mathias' pretty daughter and goofy comedy. It's like they were timid about leaning more into the gothic, distressing elements of this dark story and it makes the film drag.

Still, Barrymore is good, especially once he commits the murder and starts going all Telltale Heart. But the best thing in the movie is definitely Boris Karloff. He had been in movies since 1919 and it wouldn't be until Frankenstein in 1931 that he became a star. But it's safe to say, The Bells gives Karloff his first standout role.

Karloff's character doesn't show up a lot, but he is the biggest threat to Mathias' power. Though his Caligari cosplay is hilarious (for real, the filmmakers didn't even TRY to hide the Caligari influence), he has this creepy shit-eating grin that really leaves an impression.

Is Karloff enough to make this worth watching? Eh, I don't think so. There are far better silent thrillers you could be watching.

The Sorcerers (dir. Michael Reeves, 1967)

Elderly Professor Montserratt (Boris Karloff) and his wife Estelle (Catherine Lacey) use a mind control procedure on young stud Mike Roscoe (Ian Ogilvy). Able to experience everything he feels and to control his behavior if they wish, the two vicariously experience the thrills of Swinging London through their test subject. However, Estelle gets drunk on power and starts using Mike to engage in multiple crimes, including murder.

This movie was hyped to me, so maybe it's partially my fault I was so disappointed by the end result. With the exception of Estelle, the story lacks compelling characters. There's no sense of pathos to Mike's victimization and downfall because he's bland as hell and passive, a deadly combination if you want me to give a damn about your narrative.

Everything about this movie feels drab, both the visuals and the filmmaking itself. Big setpieces like the hypnotism scene or the telepathic motorcycle ride are supposed to be kinetic and exciting, but they just feel like the product of an enthusiastic amateur. I've seen low budget movies that have real personality and verve despite their lack of resources (see Blast of Silence), but The Sorcerers just feels cheap and uninspired in every way. I struggled to finish it even though it wasn't even an hour and a half long.

It's a shame because I like the central premise: two elderly people use this device to vicariously experience the fast life of swinging London. But it's done so poorly. It's hard to believe director Michael Reeves' next film would be the masterful Witchfinder General.

[theladyragnell]

Can I ask your top 10 fav fics ever (from any fandom, if you don't mind)?

Also, just curious, is there a story behind your name "theladyragnell "?

I'll start with the easy question! If you are wondering who Lady Ragnell is, good news, I wrote up a version of the Arthurian tale I purloined the name from right here. If you're wondering why I chose to honor that tale, it's because I joined fandom through the show Merlin and because it was always my favorite Arthurian story!

As for the hard question ... "ever" is a big word, even if I weren't already a person who has trouble with "favorite"! So, to keep myself from vastly overthinking, I will instead tell you that these are ten fics that, for various reasons, I return to time and time again.

Lovesickness by idiopathicsmile, Les Mis, E/R, 11k. A delightful outside POV on some very oblivious pining, with truly incredible banter and humor.

(the end of fear is) where we begin by samyazaz, Les Mis, Combeferre/Eponine, 80k. I love Samy's writing, I love this ship, I love marriages of convenience, I love the hair-washing scene, it's just a banger.

An Avalanche of Detour Signs by gyzym, Sherlock, Molly Hooper/Lestrade, 56k (my virus software blocked something on this page, I think an old embedded image, so please be careful opening this one, unfortunately). This is a fic that really solidified my love of focusing in on minor characters.

what blooms like heather in the sun by Sovin, D&D (The Campaign of Five Dragons), Quil/Phi/Terry, 8k. It's so soft and kind and beautifully written. And if you're going to ask me my favorite fics ever, my favorite tiny fandom has to be represented, too!

Play It Again by metisket, Teen Wolf, Derek/Stiles, 60k. I just love the concept, and the rather unhinged Stiles!

So Wise We Grow by Deastar, Star Trek: AOS, Kirk/Spock, 80k. One of the best kidfics out there, and a really good comfort read.

For Your Information by reni_days, Merlin, Arthur/Merlin, 10k. Truly the funniest Merlin modern AU I've ever run into.

Will Wonders Never Cease by PorcupineGirl, Check Please, Bitty/Jack, 55k. Somehow makes a combination of Shop Around the Corner/You've Got Mail and a magic AU work!

Leaves in the Void by myrmidryad, Les Mis, E/R, 16k. A truly gorgeous space AU with an epistolary moment that left me breathless.

Say Something by [orphan_account], Teen Wolf, Derek/Stiles, 50k. One of my favorite canon-set fics for this ship, and the opening is gorgeous.

[prismaticpollen]

the things we do for friendship (3/?)

original characters, f/f, cold

Wren wakes up sick the day of an important meeting and insists on going anyway. Vul isn’t sure how she feels about it.

psst! read the rest too!

part 1

part 2

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

The morning had started cool and breezy, chilly enough that it made perfect sense to wear layers, but it had warmed up by midday. All over the capital, people had discarded their coats, rolled up their sleeves, and thrown their windows wide open to enjoy the weather. Everyone seemed intent on savoring the fresh spring air as much as possible.

Well, almost everyone. Wren was freezing, bundled up in the softest sweater she owned. She wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed under a heavy quilt and watch old cartoons, but staying home hadn’t been an option. She and Vul had waited almost three weeks for a private audience with Queen Zara; rescheduling would have been unthinkable even if court decorum hadn’t forbidden it. This meeting was way too important to be derailed by something as trivial as a minor head cold.

Fortunately, she hadn’t had to say much after stating her case at the beginning. Vul had been doing an admirable job representing herself, and the Queen had addressed most questions directly to her, only asking for Wren’s input when Vul couldn’t answer adequately on her own. Wren had half expected the reverse, but the Queen had instantly welcomed Vul as she would have any foreign emissary, barely missing a beat once she’d recovered from the initial shock of meeting a real live alien.

That had been a spectacle to behold: the older woman had let out a high-pitched squeal more befitting an over-excited teenager than a sixty-something monarch, eyes bugging out of her head. To her credit, Vul had barely reacted, even though Wren knew the sound must have aggravated her friend’s sensitive hearing.

Regaining her composure, the Queen had promptly apologized and enthusiastically greeted Vul, and the two had been engrossed in conversation ever since. The discussion had touched on everything from geopolitics to theoretical astrophysics, often circling back to the same concept several times to give Vul’s translation device a chance to keep up.

Wren was trying her hardest to follow along, but she’d had a pounding headache for the past hour and it was taking all her willpower to keep from slumping forward in her chair and sleeping through the rest of the afternoon. She was so focused on keeping up appearances that she didn’t fully register the meeting wrapping up until Vul swatted at her thigh with her tail to get her attention.

“…won’t take kindly to us keeping such a big secret,” the Queen was saying. “We’ll have to plan our announcements carefully, but we should move fast. I’m thinking we go public sometime next week, that leaves us enough time to make the appropriate security arrangements and agree on a script.”

“That sounds good,” Vul said.

“Excellent. Wren, what do you think? You made first contact, it’s only fair that you should stay involved.”

“Next week is perfect, your Majesty,” Wren answered.

“Alright then, that settles it. One more thing, then I’ll let you go.”

What now? Hopefully, this would be quick.

“We’ll start recording from the arboretum. You might want to prepare a speech.” The Queen winked at Wren, actually winked at her like they were co-conspirators, then rose from the ornate conference table and left the room.

Oh, wow. Wren hadn’t been expecting that, but she wasn’t about to complain. Smiling to herself, she leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms over her head with a sigh. “Ready to go?” she asked.

“Sure,” Vul chirped. Cheerful as always. “You okay? You sound different.”

Scratch that. She’d noticed, picked up on something with her inhuman hearing, and now she’d be worried and that was the last thing Wren wanted. Everything was fine, nothing worth stressing over, but Vul wasn’t used to seeing anyone in less than perfect health so she was bound to overreact the moment Wren so much as sniffled. The barrage of questions when she’d first discovered allergies had been bad enough.

“I’m just tired. Come on.”

The two of them made their way through the palace in silence, following the same narrow hallway they’d taken on the way in. After a few minutes of walking, they reached a large, heavy door protected by a biometric lock. Wren stepped up to it, leaned close enough to let it scan her eyes, then kept moving.

On the other side, a short set of steps led down into a tunnel. Running between the Queen’s chambers and a public park a block away from the palace, the rarely-used passageway allowed VIPs to come and go unseen; perfect for a secret meeting, but not the most comfortable way to travel. It was always brightly lit, fluorescent lights humming overhead no matter the time of day, and it always smelled like disinfectant.

Normally, none of this would have fazed Wren in the slightest, but this wasn’t a normal day. The sharp scent worked its way into the back of her sinuses almost immediately, throwing open the floodgates her cold had already pushed ajar. She sniffled wetly, scrubbing at her nose with her sleeve.

Vul certainly didn’t mind tunnels, as used to living underground as she was, but she still hesitated at the bottom of the stairs. “Wren?”

“I’b fide.” Ugh, that did not sound convincing. Wren cleared her throat, ready to try again, but it only made things worse. “The air id here does this sobe —SNFF!— sometimes. It’s just the smell, I pro-ohhm… prom-ihhh! HahHH-! AHHTSCHIEWWW!”

Vul stared up at her, tail lashing side to side. “Promise?”

“Yeah, that. I’m okay.” Wren hurried forward, moving as fast as she could towards the exit at the other end of the tunnel. Vul fell in step behind her, uncharacteristically quiet. No questions, no running commentary, nothing. Both girls’ footsteps echoed on the concrete floor, but otherwise their journey was almost eerily silent.

“HAHHTCHUU!”

Make that mostly silent.

Ten minutes (and another half dozen sneezes) later, Wren slid into the driver’s seat of her car. Vul climbed into the back, where tinted windows would hide her from other motorists, and Wren wasted no time turning onto the main road towards home.

She’d made the same trip many times before, and it was never a long drive, but this time it felt like an eternity. When she finally pulled into a parking space in front of her building, she slumped sideways, resting her cheek against the window. The cool glass felt so nice against her flushed skin, she might have stayed in that position for hours if Vul hadn’t spoken up.

“Come on, let’s go inside.” The alien sounded strange, not quite nervous but definitely tense somehow. She stuck close to Wren on the way upstairs, but wouldn’t meet her eyes, and she disappeared into her room the instant they made it into their apartment.

Hazily, Wren wondered if she’d upset her. If she had, it couldn’t be helped now. She’d check in later, but right then she was too tired for any lengthy conversation. She paused in the doorway just long enough to kick off her shoes, then stumbled to her own room for a much-needed nap.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Wren woke up around sunset, roused by the sound of what was unmistakably her blender running on its highest setting. She bolted upright, groaning softly; she’d fallen asleep in an awkward position, and her back and neck were stiff. Her headache was almost gone, though, and tight muscles would loosen up once she got moving.

After a quick detour to the bathroom to blow her nose and fix her ponytail, she entered the kitchen to find Vul emptying the blender into two glasses. The alien had made some sort of frozen drink, bright purple and slightly fizzy. She was clearly eager for feedback, thrusting one of the two glasses at Wren with a toothy almost-smile. “Here, try!”

Hesitantly, Wren took a sip of whatever it was. It was sour, almost earthy, with a sweet aftertaste. She knew her taste buds were a little off, but even under normal circumstances there was no way Vul’s concoction would taste normal. Setting the glass down next to the sink, she tried to school her face into a neutral expression. “What did you put in this?”

“Mostly Sprite and blueberries, a few cherries. Oh, and a little bit of onion. I didn’t know when you’d wake up, so I wanted to help. It’s what we do back home for anyone who can’t get their own food, mix up whatever we have so we can share.” Vul shifted nervously, tail drooping until the tip almost brushed the floor. “Was that wrong?”

“No!” Wren reassured her. “It was sweet, thank you.”

Really sweet, actually. Vul had been through so much over the past month, logically she should be the one seeking comfort, but instead she’d gone out of her way to be useful. Wren never would have asked for help, hadn’t even wanted to admit she wasn’t feeling well and risk stressing her friend out even more, but Vul had seen right through her.

“I really appreciate it. Honest.” What did I do to deserve a friend like her?

“But you don’t want it.” Vul spoke quietly. Her voice was dull, weighed down by the same strange tension as earlier that day, and she held herself rigidly.

“That’s not your fault.” Wren bit back a laugh. “You had no way to know, but just for future reference, onions don’t go in smoothies.”

“Oh! Sorry, is it that bad?”

Wren shrugged, hoping to soften the blow. “How’s about I order takeout, and sometime soon I’ll teach you some better recipes?”

“Okay!” Now Vul was the one laughing, bright and warm. The sound tugged at some deep part of Wren, urging her to join in the fun.

Soon, both girls lay sprawled across the kitchen floor, wiping away tears of mirth while Wren tried to compose herself enough to read a menu.

“How does soup —EHHTCHOO! EHTSCHUU! TCHUU!— Ugh, sorry. How does soup sound?”

“I don’t know,” Vul hedged. “Does it have onions?”

Wren started up again, practically cackling. Her breath scraped against her sore throat, but right then, she didn’t care. “Onions are supposed to go in soup,” she wheezed between giggles. “Soup. Soup isn’t a smoothie.”

“Noted. What about the other things, though? Like blueberries, do blueberries go in soup?”

“No! Definitely not. Blueberry smoothies are good, blueberry soup is just weird.”

Vul rolled onto her side and stretched towards Wren, poking her in the arm playfully. “I don’t know what goes together. We don’t have any of this stuff at home.”

“That’s why I’m going to show you. HAHHTCHU! Hehh… hehh-hehh-ehhtchiew! Hhehtcheeeww!” Wren paused, waiting for her body to make up its mind. When no more tickles materialized, she swiped her wrist under her nose before continuing. “After I get over this cold.”

[doamarierose-honoka]

In 2010, Rayman was dead. After two popular minigame collections with his then-co-stars, the Rabbids, Rayman was usurped from his throne as Ubisoft’s mascot and relegated to cameo appearances in games like Academy of Champions: Soccer. Sam Fisher has suffered a similar fate recently.

Then, a miracle - Ubisoft released Rayman Origins, a gorgeous 2D platformer with excellent movement, incredible music, and enough charm to make you forget all about the limbless wonder getting kicked out of his own series. Not a Rabbid in sight.

Origins was an incredible new beginning for Rayman, but it was only the beginning. Two years later, Ubisoft Montpellier did it again with Rayman Legends. Not content to simply be an improvement on the first game, Legends was one of the best 2D platforming games of all time. It looked like things were only going to get better.

Unfortunately, despite massive critical success, Rayman faded into the background once more, with only a few minor mobile games since then. Now, his long decade of silence is finally over thanks to Ubisoft Milan who, ironically enough, have brought Rayman back in a game that stars the very creatures who originally kicked him out.

“I would say that I started thinking about the DLC as soon as I saw the work on Sparks of Hope going in the right direction,” Sparks of Hope’s creative director Davide Solani tells me. “I loved the idea of closing this fantastic journey of Sparks of Hope with Rayman, as Rabbids were originally introduced in a Rayman game. I felt it was the correct thing to do”.

Rayman in the Phantom Show marks Rayman’s first appearance in a game in some time, which gave Ubisoft Milan the opportunity to redesign the character for his reintroduction, which also marks the first time he’s been in 3D since his Super Smash Bros. Trophy model in 2014.

Solani tells me that extensive work went into designing Rayman’s new look for the game, with the idea being to aim for something “new, current, and fitting for our universe”. Specific effort went into Rayman’s facial expressions and the body and shoes, for which the team challenged themselves to “dare a little” by introducing pockets and a larger hood to give the limbless wonder more comfort and a sense of identity outside of adventuring.

Of course, one of the most important elements of Rayman’s design is his hair which, beyond the whole lack of limbs thing he’s got going on, is one of the key parts of the character’s identity. Rayman’s hair is used both to fly and to look fly, and it’s a core part of this look.

“[It’s] one of the most 'representative' parts of the character,” Solani says. “We wanted to avoid just an indistinct mass, but also not to go overboard with details. We therefore focused on creating this balance between volume and details. A fully animatable tuft that would help to underline the character's charisma and emotions.”

Rayman may have a new design this time around, but Sparks of Hope isn’t above referencing the hero’s past. The Phantom Show is stuffed with nods to Rayman’s history, including reworked versions of his combat fatigues from Hoodlum Havoc, a cutout of Globox and some plum juice from the same game, a cardboard recreation of the first level from the adventure that started it all, and even some shoutouts to the pirates from Rayman 2.

Another Easter Egg Solani points out is Rayman’s weapon in the game, which resembles the plunger gun that he used in Raving Rabbids. You’d think that Rayman would want to avoid memories of that particular encounter considering everything that happened after, but he’s rocking a brand-new one in the Phantom Show.

“I loved the idea of paying a tribute to the plunger, in a way,” Solani tells me. “With my team, we’ve imagined how a new plunger could look like years later, and how this new basic weapon could be transformed through the various costume transformations, and what special ability could result from each. It was a fun process for us.”

It’s not just Rayman himself who returns for the Phantom Show, as the DLC also sees the return of David Gasman, the voice of the limbless wonder for nearly all of the games in the series before Douglas Rand took over the role for Origins, Legends, and the mobile spin-offs.

“Like many players, for me, David Gasman is Rayman’s voice. Also, we did use David as Rabbid Mario in Sparks of Hope, and it was a tremendously fun experience working with him. The idea of having him going crazy to voice both Rayman and Rabbid Mario was too good to miss. “

One of the most interesting things about the DLC is that it’s not just a reunion between Rayman and the player, it’s a reunion between Rayman and the Rabbids as well. The limbless wonder hasn’t been on-screen with them properly since TV Party, with only a small cameo from the screaming nuisances in Rayman Adventures between then and now.

The DLC plays into this time gap, with Rayman holding a grudge against the Rabbids when he first runs into them. Solani says that this was one of the ideas that the team worked with and that they loved seeing Rayman and the Rabbids bickering, but that they start to work together across the expansion, as Rayman quickly gets over his grudges in the name of being a hero.

Rayman in the Phantom Show closes the door on Rayman’s past while being brutally honest about the hero’s long absence. It has fans wondering if the DLC opens another door for his future, one that many want Ubisoft Milan to be involved with.

“We don’t know yet what we’ll do in the future,” Solani says. “But I can assure you that working on Rayman was a true honour for all of us.”

[divinityunleashed]

Welcome to the RP Blog of DivinityUnleashed! A multi-fandom story based Roleplay Blog, fans of multiple fandoms and amongst the multiverse can come to witness story telling, hilarity, chaos, dashboard shenanigans and everything in-between!

Built using the foundations of the Neptunia franchise, this blog's characters are focused on an altered version of the Hyperdimension Neptunia franchise's characters and world, with multiple fandoms converging to create a diverse and story-rich environment!

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Formally known as protagneptune!

Male Writer, 18+, Several years of Roleplay Experience!

Multifandom RP & Crossover RP!

Permanent Starter Call!

Open to interactions from anonymous users!

I have a Discord where I store all my world lore and character profiles!

I also am in the process of building a Website for this too!

Majority SFW Content with minor NSFW elements, mostly to do with humour and wits, nothing too major! If anything major does occur, will be marked with #suggestive and any starters on this will start off with the Read More.

Semi-Literate to Literate | Adaptable Writing Style!

All artwork used are property of their respective owners, including icons! (Icons used are tagged by #divine icons)

Banner and Profile Avatar was put together by me!

Inbox is open to muse questions, mun questions and starters/meme/munday prompts! Tag for that is #divine meme

Fun is number one priority here!

No knowledge of Hyperdimension Neptunia or any fandoms represented is required in order to interact with me!

Lore crafter! I write lots of lore and like to make my own spin on things with lots of story arcs! I make lore posts using #divine lore and #divine character profile

If I forget certain threads with people, I am not losing interest! I cannot stress this enough!

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Hit the reblog button to spread me around! It helps out a ton and the more connections we can establish, the more story plots and fun times can be created, both in and out of threads!

Let's have a good time here guys, let's mingle and craft stories that people will love, build a world full of content, twists and turns in every step, and above all else...

To have fun!

[markantonys]

Show to book wot fan here! Currently reading Dragon Reborn and as far as I’ve heard Shadow Rising is well considered the best of the lot, so I’m excited to get to it. Still, feels a bit weird to know the series peaks so early? Just wondered how you felt the rest of the series holds up? (Spoiler free if you could 😅)

hello my friend! i will definitely keep spoiler free here (and if any fellow readers reblog or reply to this post, please keep it spoiler free as well so that anon can check out the notes safely if they wish to!)

so, i think a lot of the reason why shadow rising is considered the best is that it's the first book to really blow the story wide open. it's our first time exploring some new locations and cultures and meeting new characters that become integral to the series (and the big new culture is a fan-favorite, so people love the books where we spend tons of time immersed in that culture), and we get some new worldbuilding, new lore, and new threats. TSR is the first book where it feels like RJ has worked out the early-series wonkiness and fully knows who each of the characters is and where he wants the story to go. TSR represents an exciting turning point for the series as we transition from these lighter, more generic early books into Hardcore Wheel-Of-Time-y Territory, so that's a part of why it's considered the best by so many readers! not because everything that comes after it is terrible or a letdown, simply because it's so exciting compared to what came before. (although books 2&3 have a special place in my heart, so no hate to them! there's also the flipside where TSR is VERY dense and a much more difficult, though rewarding, read than the first 3 books. i believe it's the longest book in the whole series.)

but, IS everything that comes after it a letdown in comparison? now, i wouldn't go that far, but i do think the quality of the storytelling goes downhill in the second half of the series for reasons i will explain in a moment. for me, books 4-6 are my favorite chunk (i enjoyed 5&6 at least as much as 4, so imo you've got several great books to look forward to, not just TSR!), and my peak enjoyment of the series happened here. but there are still some excellent and iconic moments and storylines in the second half of the series, just fewer of them than in the first half imo.

i'd say it comes down to structure. the first half of the series is pretty focused and tightly paced with most of the screentime given to our core main characters and most storylines introduced & resolved within the same book (bar the overarching series storylines like preparing for the last battle, of course). in the second half, we get a lot more time with minor characters at the expense of our mains and storylines start dragging out to last several books (probably BECAUSE there are getting to be so many different storylines and not enough space to address all of them thoroughly in each book). it kinda feels to me like RJ got bored of some of the main characters and/or felt stuck on what to do with them, so kept wandering off into sideplots to show off all his cool worldbuilding and his massive cast of supporting characters. which might be fun for the readers who like that kind of thing, so it's subjective! for me personally, i came to the books because i loved the specific main characters i'd met in the show, so i didn't enjoy feeling that their stories were treading water or not getting enough screentime.

there are also some things with the specific groups of characters who get to spend time together or not in the second half, but that's extremely subjective so i won't get into that haha i'll just note that relationship dynamics i personally hated got a lot of screentime while ones i personally loved got very little, so that contributed significantly to my personal preference for the first half of the series and thus you may end up feeling very differently than i do! on the flipside, there's stuff like elayne's main storyline in the second half of the series which is one of my absolute favorite storylines in the entire series, but a lot of other readers always hate on it and say it was boring (while adoring storylines *i* hated and/or found boring), so it really is SO subjective.

so, bottom line: a lot of it will come down to personal taste, but i do think that objectively, the quality of the writing & storytelling is better in the first half of the series and does indeed peak in books 4-6. but whether you'll feel a sharp decline or one so small you barely notice it is different for every reader. for me at the end of the day, i didn't like books 7-14 nearly as much as books 2-6 and have no desire to ever reread them, but i'm glad i read them once and there are some gold nuggets within them that i adore (as well as some things that actively infuriate me lmao)

[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! ♡

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Candy Coated [Chapter Ten] Faith [Buddha]

A/n: the art was made by the lovely Somanoko of Ao3. In the last chapter, I used the colored image of this piece, but I'm in love with this version too. Please enjoy.

Warning(s): Buddha being Buddha, first kiss, conflicting emotions, teasing, character lore, Buddhism, female reader, easing into love.

Tag list: @useless-potatho , @tojibreedingme , @quinloki , @yingxian, @2lottie2, @lunas-nova , @anduinandwrathionlover, @tiredfairy, @the-queen-of-sorrows , @alientee , @lawlietliet, @hanaibea, @69your-best-night-mare69 , @bradshawwannabe

No Minors Allowed!!

From the corner of the screen, an icon of a familiar woman pops up. You raise a curious brow and eagerly click on it. 

Randgriz welcomes you with a smile but before you can greet her, she begins to speak.

"Welcome viewer. I am Randgriz, the fourth-oldest of the Valkyries. It is my pleasure to serve as your narrator during this portion of the first battle."

Oh neat. The Valkyries went all out in this tournament. You listen to Randgriz explain the narration option before she continues. 

"Let us go over the history of Humanity's representative for the first round, Lü Bu."

A window pops up in her place and shows an open sky, then pans down to a small village on a grassy plateau. Sitting bareback on a muscular horse is a child with blood on his face. 

You hum. This must be Lü Bu. Even though he is a child, he is intimidating.

"According to the records of the three kingdoms, it has been said that Lü Bu came from a Mongolian tribe," Randgriz mentions.  "However, we're yet to confirm his origin."

The door to the room comes open, pulling your attention away from the screen for a moment. You smile as Buddha walks in.

Shortly after the start of the match, he got a craving for popcorn and left to find some. Based on the pout he's wearing and the absence of popcorn, you assume he could not find any.

"No such luck, huh?" You ask. 

Buddha sighs.

"No, but Bu-chan said she would have some brought over soon." He pauses a moment to look at the screen and raises a brow.

"It's a history lesson," you state. "Do you want to watch it with me?"

Buddha yawns, obviously not interested.

"If you want a lesson, I can give you one."

You snort.

"What sort of lesson does the Buddha have for me?"

The said man grins and sits in the middle of the floor with his legs crossed, motioning for you to join him. You sit the tablet down and ease to the floor in front of him. Once you are comfortable, you give him a nod.

"It is better to conquer yourself than to win a thousand battles. Then the victory is yours. It can not be taken from you, not by angels or by demons, heaven or hell," he recites.

You raise a brow, not exactly certain what he is trying to say.

"Elaborate."

"Knowing others is wisdom, knowing yourself is enlightenment," he clarifies. 

You hum. 

"I don't think there was ever a time when I was alive that I just focused on me. Who am I? What makes me happy? I let the motion of life pull me down even though these questions were the most important aspect of me." 

"You have all the time in the world now," Buddha mentions. He rests his hands in his lap face up, a pose you recognize from statues of him. "So who are you? And what makes you happy? Aside from material things."

Material things? So he means abstract things. Raising your hand, you name some; little things in life - now death - that make you happy.

Turning your eyes to him, your face turns red as you notice the look of interest in his expression.

 "And I'm happy here…with you and Jataka. I don't want to be forced to say goodbye."

The thought of being torn away from the two of them sinks you into despair. 

"Humanity must win," you utter. 

Buddha raises his right arm and faces it outwards; the other reaches out to touch your arm. 

"Have some faith in me. I won't let you be sad."

He truly is perfect. 

Whether it is because of the tether or not, you can not ignore the sensation of fondness that devours you. Glancing at his lips, you turn your eyes to his in question, noticing the lily pattern in them. For a moment, the urge to taste him fades from your mind. 

"What does it mean when your eyes do that?" You ask.

Buddha grins.

"Bu-chan calls it 'future vision'. But it's a form of precognition."

You widen your eyes. 

"You can see into the future?"

The history books never said anything about this. You feel like years of classes meant nothing. 

Buddha laughs. 

"Only a moment.”

That is insane. But you suppose it would explain certain occurrences you have witnessed while living with him. Like the time he predicted that you would catch the can of chips that nearly fell on your head or the time he separated the jelly beans to prank Zeus.

"That's some ability,” you mention with a grin. 

It sounds almost too good to be true though, despite the proof. You sort of want to test it. And the opportunity falls into your lap with an innocent thought. 

Would he mind if I kissed him?

You are not sure what has come over you but the suggestion of concentrating just on him is what you yearn to do.

"So you can see a moment before I make a move. I'm curious. What will I do?"

Buddha widens his eyes. 

"That's valiant of you.” 

Warmth spreads to your face.

"You have no idea.”

Sitting up on your knees, you lean forward, but at the last second, you tilt your head and kiss him on the cheek. 

"I saw what you did," Buddha states with a grin.

He turns your face toward him. 

"If you want to kiss me, then do it.”

He's straightforward. But he is right.

You eagerly lean in, however, a sudden knock at the door startles you. Buddha laughs, then calls in the visitor, much to your displeasure.

A young woman with a veil over her eyes enters. She bows respectively.

"I apologize for my intrusion, Lord Buddha, but Lady Brunhilde sent me over with your request.”

Moving to the side, the woman snaps her fingers, and moments later, another woman with a cart walks in. On it is a bucket of popcorn and several other snacks and sweets. 

The woman with the veil bows again as the second woman rushes from the room. 

"She insists that you watch what is to come.”

You raise a brow in question but the young woman turns and walks away, closing the door behind her.

"I was wondering when that would make an appearance,” Buddha utters. 

"W-what do you mean?” You ask.

Despite your curious nature, you are an absolute wreck. Moments ago, you were about to kiss a God. The mortified heat on your face only intensifies. A part of you is relieved to have been interrupted, but the other is disappointed. 

"We might as well do as Bu-chan says,” Buddha utters with a sigh. 

Nodding in agreement, you shakily stand and walk over to the hanging seat to retrieve the tablet. Before you return to Buddha, you bring a bucket of popcorn back with you, sitting on the floor beside the God. He takes the device and returns the screen to the arena. 

In the meantime, you watch his reaction, unsure of how he can appear so calm after what had happened. 

"Shaka?”

The God hums but a bright light consumes the screen and draws his attention.

You lean over to look, pushing aside the question you want to ask, at least for the time being.

The halberd that Lü Bu came into the arena with is glowing intensely as he blocks Thor’s attack. How is he able to go toe to toe with the God? As he strikes one of the gloves that Thor wears, it suddenly shatters.

"How did he–”

"That is a Divine Weapon,” Buddha interrupts. 

You raise a brow. 

"Like a weapon made by the Gods?”

"Something like that,” Buddha answers. He grins. "It's the act of uniting the soul of a Human with the soul of a Valkyrie, called a Völundr. Bu-chan calls it Humanity's own cheat.”

How is this possible? 

You notice an icon pop onto the screen matching the shape of the halberd. Clicking on it, you read over the details.

"Sky Piercer. This weapon takes on the Valkyrie it possesses. In this case, the 4th Valkyrie, Radgritz, meaning shield breaker.”

Your eyes widen. 

"Radgritz? She and Lü Bu are united. But how?”

Buddha hums.

"It works by using the power of Samavadhāna, a practice I taught them.”

Is this what Brunhilde had planned? The secret meetings that she had with Buddha. 

They were always one step ahead.

"I'm sorry,” you utter, averting your eyes to the floor. "I doubted you and Bu-chan. But I won't ever do it again.” 

Buddha laughs. 

"It's in the hands of the fighters now, but she will be pleased to hear that.”

He lifts your face toward him.

"Like I said, have faith in me.”

Leaning in, he presses his lips against yours, tenderly. You eagerly return the kiss, but strangely your body is at ease. No anxiety, no agitation. Not at all what you were expecting, albeit this is incredible.  

I feel…calm. 

Is this good or bad? 

[ambroselaveau90]

If y'all know me,I'm trying to write my own TVDU crossover with AHS and other properties such as Teen Wolf,called the Millennium Of Hellfire.

The reason I'm writing this series,is because I'm tired of watching the characters of color and queer characters get shafted and shitted on while white characters get to be complex and given victimhood,when many are abusers and oppressors.So,for MOH,those characters such as Tyler Lockwood,get to live instead of dying in canon and have a happy ending.For my series,I created three oc characters that represent their species and their collective traumas:

Desmond Jameson

Marcos Corazón

Simon Quinn

The reason,I created them was because I was so tired of the treatment of their species,hell even the vampires,the Originals treated them horribly,and it just made my blood boil.But after watching Legacies,it just made the fire brighter and I started the Millennium Of Hellfire Series.

Each character has a past with the Mikaelsons since I don't really like the family and how their victims get treated like villains for getting their revenge for their cruelty.So,I started writing the Trio's stories.Each of them have a particular one in the family,that they consider their nemesis & the one that they share with similar traits with.

Desmond>Freya

Marcos>Klaus

Simon>Elijah

So,I decided to write a Legacies Rewrite with them as the mains instead of Hope Mikaelson and Landon Kirby.But that doesn't mean they aren't in the story,they are secondary mains.But the season 1 rewrite will deal with the monsters & Malivore along with the demons of Des's past so,we can get mythology such as the origin of witches and their ties with other beings such as demons,angels and deities.It also connects to other property's mythology such as Marcos's matriline being descended from Lycaon,the first Lycan,from Teen Wolf.

Also the idea of a black witch being one of the most powerful supernaturals,always gets me giddy since we got that in Bonnie,Vincent and Cleo,which is why Desmond will be the one that challenges Hope's beliefs around her family and the myth of her being the most powerful being in the world,since he is a Tribrid like her but he comes from a ethereal and infernal origin,while she is made up of the basic supernaturals.

The trio also are the living embodiment of the Generational Trauma that the Mikaelsons had afflicted over the centuries,which is one plot that I hated,Hope never had any beef with any of the students,who's family were killed by her family,so I was like,what if she had to deal with that?This story also centers their trauma and pain instead of Hope's constant belief that her dad was a good person with flaws,it really deals with the Legacies that these characters left for the next generation.

But this book also is more focused on what it means to be a minority in the supernatural world since let's be real,it's very white-centered and I'm so bored by it,so the characters of color are centered,so in this Kaleb and MG's sireing are told,which should have been in season one but we got Sebastian's whole origin and Alyssa is not seen as vile,she actually has a point.She was going to be sent to a prisoner world with Kai Parker as a child but God forbid,Josie kills someone oh wait she did and she was forgiven.