#It got stolen later that year (these are all from 2009)

[teyamskxawng]

In Heat [VII]

Lo'ak Sully x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

Previously: Chapter I, Chapter II, Chapter III, Chapter IV, Chapter V, Chapter VI

The rundown: After months of courting, you and Lo’ak finally make Tsaheylu.

Warnings: 18+ content, language, mention of reader's deceased parents, smut, characters are aged up, minors do not interact!! please

WC: 12.2k

A/N: This can surprisingly be read separate from the rest of the fic if you stumble across this and don’t wanna read the six prior chapters lol!! Thank you to anyone who’s been reading from the beginning, ily and I wanna give you flowers <3 this chapter was funnn + heavily inspired by the 2009 film

*4 months later*

With your eyes gently shut, you let yourself immerse in the soothing touch of your parents' heartfelt embrace. Cradled in their loving arms, you could almost believe they were actually in front of you, as if the RDA hadn't ruined your life and stolen them from you over half a decade ago. Slowly letting your eyes blink open, you took in the beautiful sight of their overjoyed expressions.

Throughout the years, you prioritized visiting your departed parents at the Tree of Souls every few days. But today's meeting was especially significant. It wasn't until today that you finally gathered the courage to tell them about your new relationship with Lo'ak.

Procrastination had been your ally in this matter, as you were well aware of how soul-crushing it would be to watch their delightful smiles and hear their excited words of praise and encouragement, knowing all too well that their appearances were a mere illusion. 

Eywa knows Mo'at would have your ear if she ever heard you speak down on the cultural significance of connecting with your ancestors through the tree. But still, you were all too aware that your parents couldn’t physically be with you, nor could they experience the joyous moments brought about by each milestone in your new relationship with Lo'ak.

Which was why you knew that engaging in the sensitive conversation with them would be like pouring salt on a still-open wound. Their presence felt so tangible, but deep down, reality weighed on your heart.

Your parents would never have the chance to meet Lo'ak—at least not as the version of the man he had grown into since your parents last knew him as your young, rambunctious friend.

He had changed so much since then, and they would never see the person he had become. Lo'ak was now mature and full of wisdom, but he still possessed those endearing quirks that only grew more captivating with time. Your parents didn't have the chance to give their blessing to your union, and you wouldn't get to witness their reluctant smiles give way to roaring laughter as they’d have watched Lo’ak’s spirited attempts to impress them.

Probably most heartbreaking of all, they wouldn't ever have the chance to watch their future grandchildren scamper around in sheer delight, growing up before their very eyes.

It was funny how life worked. Throughout your entire childhood, there were so many questions swirling around your mind—questions you’d always wanted to ask your parents but never got the chance to. You were too young, too innocent, and just too damn content in your blissful ignorance to even fathom the reality that one day your parents would be snatched away from you in what seemed like the blink of an eye. 

There were so many things left unsaid and unexplored. Among the questions crowding your thoughts was their connection, their unyielding love.

How did they know when it was time to leave their separate lives behind and commit to a shared existence?

It wasn’t just idle curiosity; you found yourself in a similar situation with Lo’ak. You loved him more than anything, and spending a lifetime together seemed inevitable. It was just a question of when and how the fuck you were supposed to approach that kind of topic.

Neytiri and Jake would've undoubtedly shed some light on your burning inquiries. They'd been there, done that, and would have happily guided you through the somewhat awkward yet endearing conundrum with honest advice. However, you couldn’t shake the odd feeling that clouded your judgment every time you considered confiding in them about their own son. It was just... weird. There was something too personal about it, making it feel less like asking for genuine wisdom and more like prying into an intimate family matter. They were Lo'ak's parents, not yours.

So, plagued by unanswered questions, you made the impulsive decision to reach out to your parents now that their spiritual presence stood before you.

“How did you know when it was the right time to make Tsaheylu?” you asked, full of uncertainty and curious desire. “I want to... I'm just...” Your voice faltered, the words stumbling and eventually fading away like a sad, distant echo. 

Your mother, sensing your unease, gently cradled your face in her warm hand. Her touch was so delicate; it felt like the brush of a feather, like a figment in the corner of your imagination. Probably because she was, quite literally, nothing more than a figment in the corner of your imagination.

“You will know when the moment is right, tìyawn,” she said with an air of soft reassurance that only a mother could provide. 

However, you couldn’t escape the persistent, nagging feeling in your chest.

The thing was, you had no idea when the right time to become mated to Lo'ak would come. Shaking your head in denial, you tried to convey your confusion without words.

That was when your father chimed in, his voice powerful yet soothing as ever.

“Eywa works in unspeakable ways. Always know that she will take care of you.”

Your father always spoke in tongues, offering words of wisdom wrapped in perplexing phrases. His words should have comforted you—they'd done so countless times before, providing you with food for thought that would last for days on end, giving you at least something to remember him by.

But today? Today, they only served to fuel a mounting sense of frustration inside you.

Unspeakable ways, your ass. The sky people killed your parents. They left you an orphaned child, alone and afraid in a world that would never be the same.

“Then why did Eywa take you away from me? Why would she leave me to fend for myself, all alone?” You shouted, no longer able to prevent the dam of emotions from bursting free. It was so unfair.

An overwhelming sensation bubbled up inside you as angry tears began to gather in your eyes. Your parents’ faces grew hazy, and your vision blurred. 

"You are never alone." Your father's voice interrupted your wave of sadness, his brow furrowing in confusion. He reached out and placed a reassuring hand on the top of your head, his thumb softly grazing your temple. “See? We are right here, maite,” he laughed.

The chime of his laughter was so beautiful, so familiar, and you hated that it wasn't real.

Unable to maintain eye contact with your blissfully unaware parents, you swiveled your head away and barely managed to stifle a heart-wrenching sob. This was exactly why you were so weary of approaching such a sensitive topic with your parents' spirits.

Under normal circumstances, during your connection with the Tree of Souls, you easily juggled your emotions and kept things lighthearted—happy and bittersweet. But this time, the pain proved to be too overwhelming, too raw.

“I miss you both so much,” Your voice trembled as the words barely escaped your lips. Filled with grief and longing that seemed to almost strangle your voice, the words hung heavy in the air before dissipating like a delicate mist.

The comforting warmth of your mother's hand slowly receded from your cheek, and the protective touch of your father's hand slipped from your head as you were slowly pulled away from them into a sea of darkness.

As you reluctantly allowed your eyes to flutter open again, you found yourself back in reality, with the Tree of Souls standing majestically before you, adorned with its glowing pink vines. The bittersweet sensation of tears silently carved their way down your cheeks as you disconnected from the tree, gravity dropping your queue against your front with a soft thud. You couldn't even bring yourself to swipe the trail of snot from your nose. You felt numb.

Returning to reality always felt like emerging from a nightmare, with each haunting detail stubbornly clinging to the edges of your consciousness.

Next to you stood Lo’ak, detaching his tswin from an adjacent vine. He was quick to register the pain etched across your face, and with two long strides, he closed the gap between you both. Before you could even process what was happening, he gathered you into his arms, nestling your head securely under his chin.

He rubbed soothing circles into your back, deep enough to release your tension but gentle enough not to overwhelm you, all while whispering calming words into your ear.

“It’s okay, y/n,” he assured you softly. “You’re okay. I’m right here.”

In the sanctuary of Lo’ak’s strong arms, you continued to tremble, seeking solace as you struggled to regain control of your breathing.

Despite your inner turmoil, you felt an overwhelming sense of security enveloping you like a warm blanket with every tight squeeze of Lo’ak’s comforting embrace. As his arms continued to encircle you, providing solace unlike any other, it gradually became easier to control your shaky breaths. Lo'ak seemed to possess a natural ability to right the wrongs in your life, even when everything felt like it was spiraling out of control.

Your thoughts drifted back to the gut-wrenching period following your parents' unexpected deaths. You remembered how deeply that pain had cut, how lost you were in those dark days. Their absence left a deep void in your soul that threatened to swallow you whole.

Back then, in an attempt to cope with your insurmountable grief, you recklessly flung yourself headlong into your warrior training. You ignored the cautious pleas of Jake and Neytiri, who urged you to take a step back from all the violence that suddenly consumed your life. They wanted you to confront the depths of your sorrow and allow yourself time to grieve and heal properly, but their words fell on deaf ears.

You remembered how you stubbornly demanded that Jake let you back onto the training field. You were so intent on becoming the strongest version of yourself so that you could wreak absolute havoc on the RDA and avenge your parents.

And much to Jake's chagrin, you were back on the field just two days later, paired up with Lo’ak for combat training. But Lo'ak wasn’t just another trainee; he was your best friend, and he knew better than anyone that your emotional state was barely hanging by a thread.

When the training started, you swung fiercely at Lo'ak. You were relentless in channeling every ounce of emotion into your powerful strikes, trying to purge the pain from within. You attacked with everything you had, but he refused to strike back. Instead, he sidestepped each of your advances and dodged every one of your hits. At every turn, Lo’ak kept pleading with you to take a break, urging you to take a deep breath and find some other way to let go of all the anger you were holding inside.

But his words only fueled your rage. 

His emotional appeal made you feel more out of control and increased your resolve to vent all those pent-up sentiments. You swung harder and faster at him, trying your best to land a solid hit, irrationally hoping it would somehow free you from your emotions.

Finally, after countless attempts, you managed to cuff Lo'ak hard on the jaw, causing him to stumble back and stare at you wide-eyed in shock. You took full advantage of his momentary bewilderment, managing another sharp hit to his nose. As your fist retracted from its solid connection with his face, it was marred with the dark red stain of his blood. Your stomach churned at the sight, but the part of you that was so angry with the world and all of its inhabitants was relentless.

There you were, standing in front of Lo’ak, fed up with everyone treating you like some delicate little flower. You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Come on, Lo’ak! Hit me back!” you yelled at him, your voice echoing off the surrounding trees. The frustration had been building inside you for days, and you finally reached your boiling point. Everyone seemed to tiptoe around you as if you were a grenade, ready to go off at any moment.

Lo’ak stood in front of you, his face etched with concern. He looked into your eyes with a mixture of pity and sympathy—not at all what you wanted.  

“y/n...” he began hesitantly, shaking his head at what could only be described as the shadow of your former self, but his words fell on deaf ears. His refusal to engage only served to fuel your anger even further.

In an act of blind frustration, you pushed him hard in the chest with both of your hands, hoping to elicit some sort of reaction beyond pity.

You didn’t want his sad eyes. You wanted him to feel your fury and understand how tired you were of everything. But much to your disappointment, Lo’ak barely even stumbled from your forceful shove. You moved to shove him again, but in that moment of pure emotion, he reached out and caught hold of your forearms, his grip gentle but firm enough to hold you in place. You tried desperately to pry yourself from his grasp, hissing, scratching, and doing everything in your power to swing at him.

As much as you wanted to best him physically, it was all in vain.

Realizing just how futile your fight truly was, you felt a wave of despair crash down on you. Just like that, all the fire went out of your fight.

Exhausted and defeated, your body went limp in his arms. Your head fell forward onto his shoulder as tears welled up in your eyes—a crushing conclusion to the emotions you had been holding in for way too long. 

Lo’ak slowly released his grip on your forearms, sensing your vulnerability. He hesitated for a moment before carefully wrapping his arms around your fragile, bony frame, a heart-wrenching reminder of the fact that you hadn’t been eating properly or taking care of yourself since the loss of your parents. Despite your frailty, Lo’ak held you just tight enough to keep you steady while providing a comforting presence as tears streamed down your face. You were a wreck, crying and snotting messily into his shoulder, but you didn't have the mental capacity to care.

In times like these, words seemed to fail Lo'ak. But that was perfectly fine with you.

You didn't want him to lie and try to tell you that your parents would be missed, that they were in a better place now. You'd already heard enough of that bullshit, and it didn't help at all. So you were thankful when Lo'ak began to silently trace soothing lines up and down your back with one hand while the other cradled your head against his shoulder.

Your breaths came in short, rapid gasps between each of your sobs—hyperventilating from the emotional turmoil—and normally, you would have been mortified to be so helpless in front of your best friend. But with the weight of the world on your shoulders and an overwhelming sense of exhaustion washing over you like a tidal wave, embarrassment was the least of your concerns. 

All semblance of decorum and composure abandoned, it felt as though everything would come crashing down upon you at any moment. You felt like you were about to pass out with how drained you were, how tired you were of everything.

“Hey, it’s gonna be alright, y/n. Just breathe with me, please. We can count together, okay? Just—one… two….” Lo’ak was doing everything in his power to comfort you as you stood there, struggling to regain your composure.

Despite his efforts, though, your sobs were impossible to ignore. They echoed throughout the forest, eventually grabbing the undivided attention of Jake, who had been keeping an eye on some of the other trainees around the corner.

Jake immediately sprinted over to investigate, concern etched across his face. As he approached you and Lo’ak, his wide eyes softened at the sight of you two.

Without uttering a word, Jake gently nudged his head in the direction of Hometree—a silent signal for Lo’ak to get you the hell out of the chaotic environment of the training grounds and take care of you. Jake knew that what you really needed was some peace and quiet to heal.

Following his father’s advice, Lo’ak remained silent as he took your hand in his and began guiding you back toward the refuge of your late family’s tent.

You and Lo’ak never held hands like that—there was never a reason to—but in that instance, it felt natural and comforting.

The warmth of Lo’ak’s touch seemed to spread throughout your entire body, providing an odd sense of comfort despite your emotional distress. As your heart pounded against your chest with each step you took together, it became increasingly clear that the simple yet incredibly meaningful gesture would be forever etched into both of your memories.

Lo’ak guided you through the forest landscape, bathed in the early evening's bioluminescent light, until finally, the view of Hometree dominated the horizon. Silently, carefully, Lo’ak led you along the path to your family's tent.

Lo’ak understood that it wasn’t about physical or even emotional support in just that singular moment—it was about standing beside you as a friend through life’s darkest chapters and refusing to leave you alone in facing such overwhelming shadows. And as much as he could feel the ache gripping every fiber of your being, he knew that together, you could slowly start rebuilding, piece by piece. After all, friends faced the storms together and remained standing side by side when everything else had passed. 

And for the first time since the death of your parents, you felt a sense of safety that you never thought you’d feel again.

As Lo’ak gently led you through the opening of your tent, his comforting grip still holding your hand, you finally understood that your idea of “home” had shifted. It wasn’t bound by the walls of a tent; instead, it was embodied by Lo’ak himself. As long as he was by your side, everything would be okay.

The scene inside your home was etched permanently in your mind—you curled in a ball on the floor beside Lo’ak, your head resting on the makeshift pillow formed from his folded legs. His fingers tenderly brushed through the unkempt wisps of hair near your forehead.

Your eyes fluttered closed, allowing you to concentrate on the soothing sounds around you: the rhythmic sound of Lo’ak’s steady breaths and the gentle rise and fall of his chest as his lungs filled with air and released it back into the quiet world.

You felt his chest expand and contract beneath you, almost seeming to synchronize with your own breathing. The sublime connection created a shared heartbeat between you two in that tranquil space. Time appeared to stand still as silence enveloped the both of you, like Eywa herself was holding her breath to preserve the pure moment of peace.

It was in that quiet instance that you realized how perfectly you fit together—how well he held you, protecting your fragile heart while offering solace and strength in equal measure. Lo’ak’s presence reassured you over and over again: everything was going to be okay.

And likewise, now nestled safely within the circle of Lo’ak’s strong arms beneath the Tree of Souls, you were reminded once more that together, you would be okay.

“I love you,” you whispered against Lo’ak’s skin, almost in a daze, yet every word held immense sincerity. 

You had loved Lo’ak as he comforted you all those years ago, and your love for him had never wavered—it burned just as brightly as it did back then. He was the anchor that tethered you to the world around you, his presence a comforting constant in the ever-changing tides of life. You cherished everything about him, from the gentle warmth that emanated from his touch to the familiarity of his laughter as you would relentlessly tease each other.

There wasn’t a single thing about him you would change—he wouldn’t be Lo’ak if you did.

Your heartfelt confession seemed to catch him completely off guard. It was as if someone had pressed pause on a video on one of Jake’s holo-pads, his entire being coming to a sudden standstill. He pulled away from your embrace, just enough to look down into your eyes. The desperation on his face only grew as he sought some kind of validation, some confirmation that what you said was real, that it wasn’t just some figment of his imagination.

You met his gaze, completely sure of yourself. There was no doubt in your mind regarding the depth of emotion behind those three simple words that had slipped from your lips. There was no trace of embarrassment or regret clouding your expression when you confessed your love for Lo’ak.

He simply stared back at you, wide-eyed and speechless, his gaze searching your face. He was just waiting for you to break out into a smirk, to let out a snort of laughter, to flick him in the forehead and say, “Just kidding, dumbass.” 

But that moment never came. Instead, there you were, open-hearted and genuine, with all the unspoken emotions now laid bare between the two of you, raw and unfiltered.

You watched as Lo’ak’s gaze shifted to the right. You remained clueless as he was captivated by the sudden, enchanting sight of a flurry of woodsprites fluttering closer and closer to the two of you. Their tiny arms reached out, almost as if they were cheering you on, creating an atmosphere of wonder and delight.

Unaware of the spectacle unfolding behind you, your attention was drawn to Lo’ak’s face. Curiously, you tried to decipher his expression. You were kind of expecting him to say he loved you back, not stare gobsmacked above your head.

Lo'ak watched as one by one, the delicate woodsprites began to land on your head with the grace of a feather. The first one settled softly on your crown, followed by another... and another, each seeking its own perch on your head. Soon, at least a dozen of them had landed there, each adding to your iridescent halo that glowed like a luminous headpiece. As the radiant display enveloped you, it only enhanced your beauty further.

The once-overwhelming confusion in your eyes slowly gave way to a dawning look of amazement as you caught sight of the enchanting flurry that had piqued Lo’ak’s interest out of the corner of your eye.

The air was thick with anticipation as you watched the woodsprites gather around the two of you with bated breath. Their movements were graceful and full of energy as they happily flurried around before finally settling on Lo’ak’s shoulders in an almost comically straight line. 

It was impossible to ignore the significance of the incredible moment. 

The tiny seeds that detached themselves from the Tree of Souls were known to carry omens and symbolize sacred moments in one’s life. You knew in your heart that this was Eywa. She was speaking to you, giving you a sign. As always, your father was right.

You glanced over at Lo’ak, curious to see if he was comprehending the gravity of the moment just as much as you were. Sure enough, the expression on his face mirrored your understanding and awe. His stunned gaze flickered from your face to his arms, which were extended out to his sides and covered in dozens of brightly glowing woodsprites. An unspoken understanding passed between the two of you, cementing the mysterious but profound connection shared at that moment.

Just as suddenly as they had arrived, the woodsprites detached themselves from both your bodies and floated away. They retreated gracefully back to their home within the glowing heights of the Tree of Souls. 

You followed their ascent with your eyes, craning your neck to keep them in sight for as long as possible, completely captivated by their presence.

An indescribable wave of joy surged through your body, electrifying and tingling every inch of your being. It was an overwhelming feeling of peace that engulfed you entirely and left a deep sensation of gratitude within your soul.

You were admittedly caught off guard as Lo’ak’s hand gently cradled your cheek. His touch was deliberate yet tender, guiding your face to meet his gaze. As his hand continued its journey, it slid from your shoulder and traveled down your arm before finally intertwining with yours, almost instinctively. A warm smile graced your lips as the feeling of your fingers meshing together felt as natural as the first time you had done so all those years ago.

“I love you too, y/n. So much,” Lo’ak confessed, his words effectively snapping you back to reality. Your smile broadened in response to his heartfelt declaration, trying to contain the overwhelming emotions that filled you from within.

The atmosphere around you was electric with love, and with a playful snort, you couldn’t help but tease: “I think that was Eywa telling us to hurry up.”

At that moment, all of your worries seemed to evaporate. You felt light and carefree and overcome with happiness. You felt so in love. The intensity of emotion that flooded through you needed release. It compelled you to take action.

Reaching out for Lo’ak once more, you wrapped your hands around the back of his neck and pulled him close, eliminating any space that separated the two of you. You were living in an idyllic moment, one where time seemed to stand still and nothing else mattered but the love you shared.

For a few moments, you both embraced one another tightly, allowing yourselves to take steady breaths. 

It was almost as if your breathing was synchronized, which caused your mind to drift in curiosity. You wondered if this was what the bond would feel like—like your souls were so intricately woven together that it was nearly impossible to separate the two of you into individual beings.

As those thoughts swirled in your head, you tenderly rubbed your cheek against Lo’ak’s, reveling in his warmth and soaking in every detail of his closeness to you. His unique scent enveloped you—herbal and musky and sweet—further entwining the two of you in an enchanting dance of passion and love. 

The very essence of him consumed your senses, and you felt like you could just forget the world and drown in his intoxicating scent, the tenderness of his touch, and the sheer intimacy of the shared moment.

In response to your affection, Lo’ak released a contented noise that very much resembled that of a soft purr, and you let out a breath of laughter at both the noise and the immediate blush that spread across Lo'ak's face as he tried to play it off. 

Quick to quiet your snickers, Lo’ak let out a quiet “Shh,” but you could feel the corners of his lips against your face as they curled into a smile that mirrored your own happiness.

Feigning innocence while still keeping your voice low and full of tenderness, you replied with a delicate whisper, “I didn’t say anything.”

Like the overgrown child that he is, Lo'ak only squeezed you tighter around the waist and mocked you in an overly high-pitched voice. "I didn't say anything," he parroted. You couldn't even bring yourself to pretend to be annoyed. You were way too proud of how easily you could reduce him to purrs.

You continued showering Lo’ak with your love by alternately brushing your cheek over his and planting a series of little kisses all across his face, effectively shutting him up.

It was as though each kiss held its own message—a reminder that you loved him beyond measure. You wanted him to absorb every ounce of the adoration you poured into those delicate kisses.

Your hands instinctively found their way to his chest, exploring the well-known paths that traced the curves and definition of the muscles hidden beneath his skin. The affectionate and almost habitual gesture seemed to serve as a call to action. It was like a spark that ignited an unspoken understanding between the two of you. 

At that moment, you were acutely aware of how desperately you needed Lo’ak, how you longed for him to be even closer to your heart and soul, to be one with your body. 

You told him as much, whispered your desires into the shell of his ear.

As you pulled back to gaze into Lo’ak’s eyes, you immediately noticed his pupils dilated with anticipation, the same way they’d always get whenever you were about to fuck. Without hesitation, Lo’ak wrapped his arms around your middle and drew you toward him, his lips hungrily connecting with yours in a searing kiss. He almost missed your mouth altogether with the intensity with which he sought out your whispered offering.

Your hands tenderly rose upward to cradle the back of Lo’ak’s head as you licked into his mouth, savoring each delicious slide of your tongue against his own. Your tail swung eagerly behind you, unable to hide your mounting excitement. The soft tuft of dark hair at its end seemed to possess a mind of its own as it brushed against Lo’ak’s side—a physical manifestation of the magnetic pull drawing you even closer to him.

You practically drank him in, fully immersed in the intoxicating sensation of your lips fusing with his in a wondrous, familiar rhythm. 

As the gentle breeze danced around you, you willingly let Lo’ak guide you down onto the cushiony grass, your back sinking into its soft embrace. You let him mouth his way down the length of your neck, his warm breath on your skin sending shivers down your spine. 

Barely audible, he grumbled into your throat, “Love you,” once more. His voice was heavy with emotion, and the raw sincerity in his voice stirred an overwhelming wave of emotion within you.

Lo’ak’s tender affections continued to unravel the edges of your composure. You felt completely undone. You were sure there was no way that all he had done so far was kiss you. With your eyes closed and your senses heightened, you could feel every tender touch as he grazed his teeth over your pulse point and delicately trailed his fingers up the expanse of your legs as if tracing a map; his touch simultaneously commanding and gentle.

As he let his fingers roam further up your thighs, he paused to appreciate the softness of your skin, gently squeezing the supple flesh before tracing teasing lines along the innermost part of your legs. His thumbs gently brushed against the sensitive skin there, sending tingles throughout your body like electric sparks. Between each lingering touch, your breaths grew shallow in anticipation.

Stubbornly, he maintained a small distance between your bodies, refusing to give in and press up against you even though you were desperate for it. You shamelessly keened for it, tried to push your hips up to meet him. You wanted to feel him inside of you, and judging by the strain against his loincloth, he wanted to be inside you just as badly. But Lo’ak was such a little shit.

He relished taking his sweet time with you, deliberately drawing out each moment as he explored your body, teasing you for so long until you were nothing but a pliant wreck under his touch. He always prioritized your pleasure above everything else, which was simultaneously frustrating and endearing.

Lo’ak continued working his tantalizing magic on your skin, his fingers hovering so close, yet never quite reaching the spot where you so desperately needed him. It was maddening and exhilarating how meticulous he could be. The dance between agony and ecstasy left every part of you desperate for more. You wanted to scream in frustration.

Attempting to gather your resolve, you meant to firmly call out “Lo’ak,” but instead, it escaped your lips as more of an anguished, pleading moan.

Lo’ak didn’t seem to mind at all, only humming in response as he continued his passionate onslaught. Leaving a fiery trail of burning kisses, he started at your throat and made his way down your collarbone, stopping to linger at your sternum before continuing his journey over the fabric covering your chest. And you immediately came to the conclusion that the extra barrier of material just wouldn’t do.

You swiftly sat up to remove your top, so suddenly that you almost smashed Lo’ak in the face with your elbow in the process. But with your chest now bare to him, you decided that you might as well kill two birds with one stone.

Efficiently eliminating the need for any further interruptions, you hastily reached down and loosened the knot holding up your loincloth just enough for you to slide it over your hips and down past your legs, mindlessly tossing the garment to the side amidst the tall blades of grass. You were sure that you were going to have to spend an embarrassing amount of time trying to find it once all was said and done, and Lo'ak was definitely going to laugh at you the entire time and not help you look for it, but that was the last thing on your mind at that moment.

No matter how many times Lo’ak had seen you in that state of undress before, his astonishment and awe remained fresh and unperturbed each time. He had the same awestruck reaction, his eyes wide in admiration as if he were beholding some rare and precious treasure. Lo’ak’s face revealed a myriad of emotions as his eyes traveled over every inch of your frame, the corners of his mouth curving into a small, affectionate grin. 

You found yourself rolling your eyes at his display, all while secretly delighting in how he never failed to worship your body without reservation. His presence had a unique way of making you feel at ease, even in your most vulnerable state.

Taking his time, Lo’ak’s gaze didn’t meet yours until he had thoroughly feasted upon the sight before him. 

His soft voice whispered into the air, “You’re so beautiful.” Then, with renewed determination, he resumed his quest to leave you completely breathless and speechless, planting tender kisses against your now-bare chest.

His hands meandered their way back to the curve of your waist, securing your writhing form to the ground as if to ensure you couldn’t escape from the captivating hold he had on you. With heightened anticipation and growing desire, Lo’ak slowly roamed his hands upward to trace the delicate curves of your breasts.

Lo’ak somehow intertwined the perfect balance of fervor and tenderness in each of his actions while meticulously extinguishing any ability for words or coherent thought. It was like straight-up mush in your brain. You were swept up in the whirlwind of sensation that he created with such exquisite attention to detail, every touch enhancing the emotional connection between you. 

It was in these moments where time seemed to slow down and reality faded away, that Lo’ak awakened a deeper connection within your soul—one built on trust, admiration, and an ineffable love that left you completely at a loss for words.

“So fucking perfect,” Lo’ak murmured, allowing the gentle pressure of his thumbs to glide across your sensitive nipples, already hardened into little buds from all the ongoing stimuli.

You let out a soft moan in response to Lo’ak’s continual praise, which seemed to envelop you like a warm, comforting ray of light. There was no doubt in your mind that you trusted Lo’ak with all your heart. He always knew how to make you feel so good every single time, without fail.

And as he began his tantalizing journey of sweet kisses, starting at your chest and gradually trailing lower and lower along the trembling lines of your stomach, you felt an exhilarating anticipation building within you. 

He made his way down to your already-wet center, and all you could do was sink your head further into the ground beneath you, exhaling his name in a breathy whisper.

The sensation of Lo’ak’s delicate touch combined with the warmth of his breath gently sweeping over your core caused a shiver to resonate throughout your entire being. He gently spread your legs apart even further, comfortably positioning himself between them before diving in without any hesitation.

Lo'ak knew exactly how to reduce you to moans, and this time was no different. He shamelessly loved eating you out. His enthusiasm for doing so became apparent from the very first time you let him go down on you. You figured it must’ve been fate because, as much as the boy loved to talk, he transformed into something utterly irresistible whenever his mouth descended upon you—each tantalizing lick into your wetness and gentle prod of his tongue at your entrance made you feel like you were going to lose your mind.

He loved the way you’d go all soft under his touch, practically melting beneath his skilled tonguework. He reveled in the sensation of your legs wrapping around him, curling over his shoulders as your ankles crossed snugly behind his neck, the way your thighs tightened around his head each time he circled his tongue around your clit. Your body couldn’t help but respond to his every touch.

Lo’ak loved the noises you made. It was as if you were unable to contain yourself or the stream of moans and curses that would slip past your lips, bitten red from trying (and always failing) to keep quiet.

He especially loved it when, seemingly without realizing it, you’d reach out and bury your fingers within his braids, grinding yourself against his face because you couldn’t stand how teasingly slow he was going.

The first time Lo’ak went down on you, all it took was a few mindless ruts against the soft forest floor before he was groaning into your wetness, coming in powerful spurts inside his loincloth—all without being touched.

And now, as Lo’ak enveloped you once again in his teasing embrace, skillfully flicking his tongue in a wet stripe up your center before zeroing in on the sensitive nub at your front, you felt as entirely blissed out as he did during that first time.

As Lo’ak continued his deliciously tormenting work, exploring every contour with practiced devotion, you found yourself powerless against the rising tide of euphoria.

He’d barely been at it for more than a minute or two before you could sense the rising tension within your core and the trembling of your legs—telltale signs of your impending climax.

But you didn’t want to finish like that. Given the tender, emotional exchange of words you’d experienced together for the first time, you wanted to finish as one, harmoniously intertwined in a mutual dance of ecstasy.

You needed Lo’ak inside of you, so close that he could never leave, so deeply intertwined with you that it would be impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. It wasn’t merely about physical closeness; it was about forging a new kind of bond with Lo'ak.

To make Tsaheylu was to embrace a wholly different plane of affection. It was all-consuming and intense. The very idea of forming that neural connection with Lo'ak—sharing in his experiences and emotions, savoring every conceivable sensation together—left your heart pounding wildly in your chest.

As soon as that thought took shape in your mind, there was no turning back. You had set your heart on truly becoming one with Lo’ak—inseparable and forever bound together by love, entwining your lives like the intricate patterns woven into a delicate tapestry.

“Mmm, Lo’ak,” you called out tentatively, your voice wobbly from both the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your body and the mere thought of finally making the bond with Lo’ak. 

However, Lo’ak seemed to interpret your call of his name as a sign of your continued pleasure, which wasn't entirely false.

He practically doubled his efforts as he increased the intensity with which he went down on you, slurping loudly and adding a finger that tenderly brushed against your clenching hole.

Your reaction was instinctive—a barely audible curse slipping past your lips as you inhaled sharply, just barely catching yourself before losing control completely. Frantically, you reached out and tugged on Lo’ak’s braids, using them as an anchor in a desperate attempt to draw him away from the dizzying height of ecstasy that threatened to consume you.

His yellow eyes grew wide in confusion as they darted over your face in search of some explanation for the sudden interruption. Finding yourself at a loss for words due to the intensity of his unwavering gaze, you struggled to articulate your thoughts.

Your heart thundered in your chest, pounding against your ribcage as you nervously contemplated the words about to leave your lips. 

Taking a deep breath, you began hesitantly, “I want us to finish together.”

You gently let your hand run down the back of Lo’ak’s head, continuing its path until it reached his arm. You tugged him closer to you until he had you caged beneath him, both of his arms planted firmly on the ground beside your head like a protective barrier.

Lo’ak’s face lit up with a radiant smile at your words. However, he was completely unprepared for what you would say next.

“Through Tsaheylu. Together,” you whispered almost inaudibly.

Your voice was so soft that one could easily have missed it, but Lo’ak’s eyes widened as if they were attempting to absorb the entirety of your statement. He had heard every single word loud and clear, and there was no doubt that he understood the significance of what you just proposed.

Lo’ak nodded emphatically, his chest rapidly rising and falling as his eyes wandered over your face, trying to determine for the second time that day whether this was reality or a dream.

“Yeah? You really want to?” He asked, his eyes filled with curiosity and hope, his eyebrows high on his forehead.

His hand tenderly reached out to brush away a stray strand of hair from your flushed face before gently cradling your jaw in a caring and familiar gesture of love. You mirrored his nod in response, silently conveying your mutual feelings and desires. At that moment, there was nothing else in the world that you wanted more than to make Tsaheylu with Lo’ak right there and then.

The atmosphere between the two of you was electric and palpable. A mixture of anticipation, passion, and unwavering trust laced the air.

Lo’ak leaned in closer, slowly bringing his face down to yours. Your lips met in a soft embrace—an innocent yet intoxicating kiss that was worlds apart from your previous messy and heated exchange. It was a testament to the deepening connection between the two of you, one filled with unspoken love, desire, and trust.

The emotions stirred by the simple act swirled around you like an invisible current, further cementing the bond that had formed throughout your time together. As Lo’ak’s lips gently brushed against yours, it seemed as though time had slowed down. There was no rush; no urgency had come into play when everything felt so perfectly crafted for the scene at hand.

The moment was intense, almost palpable, as you felt like your heart was on the verge of bursting when Lo’ak pulled back from your entwined lips, only to reach behind him and retrieve his braided queue. He swiftly pulled it over his shoulder, and as he held it up between the two of you, the dark hairs at the tip cascaded gracefully to the side, revealing the delicate pink tendrils that seemed to dance in anticipation.

You had seen Lo’ak do it countless times before—when he’d mount his ikran, when he’d ride the direhorses, when he’d connect to the Tree of Souls. Despite the familiarity, you found yourself marveling at the mesmerizing sight. This time was different, and the significance of what was about to happen hit you like a bucket of cold water.

By connecting in mind and spirit, Lo’ak would share all that he was with you—each memory enlivened with vibrant detail; every emotion given depth and nuance; all senses heightened and magnified beyond any experience you could have ever imagined.

And now the moment had finally arrived, the pivotal point in your relationship where you and Lo’ak were about to link queues and become one, mated for life.

With that thought in mind, you quickly shifted, momentarily lifting your back from the ground so you could seize hold of your queue.

Your hand shook with nervous excitement as you reached it out towards Lo’ak’s, your entire being ablaze with anticipation. You couldn’t help but wonder what the connection would feel like, how the essence of another living, breathing person would seep into the very depths of your soul.

As the tendrils of your queue edged closer to Lo’ak’s, they finally intertwined, sending an almost electric jolt through every fiber of your being. 

You could feel the presence of another living, breathing entity residing deep within your soul, as though you had welcomed in a part of yourself that had been missing all along. It was as if every fiber of your being was united with his in a timeless bond.

You hadn’t even realized that your eyes had fluttered closed.

When you finally opened them again and let reality return, the first thing you sought was Lo’ak’s gaze. 

And there he was, staring intensely at you, his dark pupils dilated wide in awe and wonder. His breath was shaky as it fanned across your face, a shared acknowledgment of the incredible experience that had just unfolded between you two.

The sensation was beyond anything you’d ever experienced before.

You could feel everything. Every single thing. The pounding of his heart seemed to reverberate within your very being, its rhythm unmistakable and powerful. It was as if every breath he took inhaled a part of you, and each exhale released a warmth that spread throughout your entire body, all in perfect sync.

And it wasn’t just his physical presence that became entwined with yours. His thoughts raced within your mind. The shared experiences birthed a flurry of emotions—pure love, affection, and desire—that poured into you. It was as if you could experience the entire spectrum of his emotions all at once.

The pleasure coursing through him fueled your own tenfold, creating an indescribable sensation that beckoned from deep within your soul. It was a pulsing, throbbing need centered between your legs, more powerful than anything you’d experienced even during the peak of your heat cycle.

Driven by instinct and a primal need for release, you wrapped your legs around Lo’ak’s waist, seeking any form of friction available to ease the mounting pressure. 

And though you knew damn well it wouldn’t be enough to satisfy either of you completely, even that slightest contact seemed to amplify everything happening between the two of you.

Almost as if orchestrated by fate, you both found yourselves moaning in unison at the feeling of sheer pleasure from the brief contact, a guttural sound born from the depths of pure ecstasy. The sensation was so intense and all-consuming that it almost knocked the air from your lungs.

“Shit, y/n,” Lo’ak groaned, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he tried to hold himself together. He firmly gripped your waist for support while you both struggled to catch your breath.

For a while, there was nothing but the sound of your combined labored breathing filling the air, mingling together and growing progressively louder as you continued to grind yourself against Lo’ak’s clothed front. You could feel how hard he was with each press of his length against your soaked core. 

“Get this thing off,” you mumbled, blindly searching with your hands to get a grip on his loincloth, because why was he still clothed and not splitting you in half at that very moment?

Lo’ak understood your urgency and quickly moved to get rid of the garment in question. He untied the knot from around his waist with haste, allowing his loincloth to drop unceremoniously to the floor beneath him and finally expose his throbbing length.

The sight before you was mesmerizing. His cock seemed to sway in front of your eyes, as if calling out to you. It was already so full, the tip dark and leaking a steady trickle of precum.

Without hesitation, Lo’ak gently nudged your legs further apart using his knees, leaving you completely exposed to him once again. He firmly gripped himself, unable to resist the urge to slowly buck his hips into his clenched fist. 

Your head, which had been lifted off the ground so you could fully appreciate Lo’ak in all his unclothed glory, abruptly fell back to the ground with a loud and what should’ve definitely been a painful thud. However, the sensation of pain didn’t even register in your mind.

You were entirely consumed by the incredible pleasure coursing through Lo’ak’s body, a pleasure that rippled throughout your being through the bond with such an overwhelming intensity that it elicited a broken moan from your lips.

Breathlessly, you began to speak, “Oh my...” but the words were cut off by the sudden feeling of Lo’ak’s tip brushing teasingly against your swollen nub of nerves, tracing a tantalizing path from your clit along your slickened folds, and pushing you closer to the brink of insanity.

The anticipation continued to build, stretching out the moment and making it seem like an eternity as you both danced on the precipice of pleasure—every touch, every whispered word drawing you further in while heightening the emotional connection between you two.

Lo’ak leaned down to his favorite spot: the tiny, delicate jut where your neck met your shoulder. He sucked a bruising kiss into your skin, all the while continuing the slow, borderline sadistic slide of his cockhead against your front.

With each tantalizing nudge, his grunts echoed against the soft flesh of your neck, reverberating throughout your body. 

Desperate for more, you managed to gasp breathlessly through the haze of pleasure. “Inside, Lo’ak. Please, I need you.”

At last, it seemed as though your plea had broken through to him.

Lo’ak seemed to snap back into focus from his euphoric daze, finally pulling away from your neck. Licking his lips in anticipation, he nodded in agreement. 

“Yeah. Need you too,” he rasped out.

His gaze flickered between your flushed face and the spot between your legs where he’d been teasing you mercilessly, back and forth, as if he couldn’t get enough of observing every tiny movement you made. His rapt attention seemed to hang on your every labored breath, each moan and whimper that escaped your lips.

Finally, Lo’ak cautiously started to make his way inside of you.

Your eyes clamped shut as your forehead crinkled in reaction to the familiar yet still startling stretch. 

You mentally chastised yourself for every time you’d obliviously joked about how small he probably was, how his extra finger probably only existed to compensate for what he was lacking in other areas. Your smug ignorance seemed laughable now, as it was clear that your prior words were wholly mistaken.

He was anything but small. His size was, by all accounts, definitely more than substantial. That much was evident, as reiterated by the burning stretch of your walls each time Lo’ak would initially sink into you. You probably would never get used to it.

Lo'ak could’ve been annoyingly conceited about it. He could’ve laughed at the look on your face and made you endure the full brunt of his size all at once, because that was honestly what you deserved. It would’ve been a taste of your own medicine considering the past teases you’d ignorantly thrown his way. 

But, despite it all, he didn’t.

He was always so soft, so gentle about it, handling the situation delicately and never failing to check in on your well-being—just as he was doing now.

“You okay? You have to tell me if it’s too much,” he said softly, his thumb gently brushing across the inside of your thigh. His eyes darted across your face, searching every inch for any hint of discomfort.

Despite the uncertainty in his words, you were sure that he could feel the extent of your pleasure. Through your neural connection, he definitely had to have known how much you liked it when he stretched you open.

With some effort, you peeled your eyes open, staring up at Lo’ak with a half-lidded look of languid satisfaction. Your head shook from side to side as a contented grin formed on your lips. 

“No,” came the breathy reply, “it’s so good. Love how full you make me feel.”

And with that, you pushed yourself even further onto Lo’ak's length, continuing until you felt no space left between you; his hips pressed snugly against your front. The sensation of him being completely inside of you filled your heart with joy, and a gentle nudge against your cervix confirmed that he was deeply connected to you in every way imaginable.

Lo’ak pressed his chest against yours, allowing the warmth of your bodies to merge as one. His forehead tenderly touched yours, and you both closed your eyes, fully immersed in the moment.

Time seemed to stand still as you both indulged in the bliss of being as close as possible, physically and emotionally connected like never before. It was a sensation that could never truly be captured in words.

Lo’ak moved ever so slightly from your intimate embrace, pulling out only to ease himself back into you purposefully. It was as if he were guiding you on a journey to another world, one where the two of you floated seamlessly through space and time.

He fucked you slow and sweet with tiny, measured thrusts that mirrored the tempo of your heartbeats, synchronized by the undeniable connection between you. The mutual dance of love continued with deliberate grace as Lo’ak led the way with his gentle and controlled movements. It was that intense physical expression of love that made it impossible to break from the embrace. 

Your lips languidly grazed against each other's—just mere whispers of breathy, open-mouthed kisses that tasted like love itself.

As your intimacy built to a crescendo, so did your readiness to accommodate him completely. You were so wet, and you welcomed each gentle slide of his cock with ease, your bodies effortlessly melding together as one. You lovingly opened up for him, enveloping him whole with passion and tenderness.

It wasn’t hard and fast like you sometimes inevitably went at it with each other. Those instances took place hastily, either in between grueling training sessions or hidden in quiet corners of Hometree late at night. In those fleeting moments, you were constantly on high alert and trying to keep quiet. Every breath carried a sense of urgency and anticipation, as if someone might discover your intimate secret at any second.

However, things were different now. There was no sense of urgency. There were no watchful eyes, no impending duties or responsibilities that you’d had to run off to.

It was just you and Lo’ak, connected in the deepest manner conceivable—physically and emotionally united in the most intimate way possible.

As you lay there together in that beautiful moment, Lo’ak continued to whisper tender words of appreciation that seemed to make their way up your spine like tiny sparks, sending shivers of pure bliss up your spine. It felt as if his gentle, breathy little praises had some kind of magical property, tracing the path along your neural whip and leaving sparks of sensitivity all throughout your body.

He continued to fervently whisper sweet praises—"just like that" and “so good, y/n”, and each one made you feel even more entranced by the newfound connection you shared. You were convinced that his voice alone had the power to make you surrender completely and melt into the floor beneath you.

You were at a loss, unsure of what to do with your hands. They stretched aimlessly above your head, with your fingers absentmindedly plucking and tearing blades of grass from the ground beneath you. 

You finally reached out toward Lo’ak, hooking your arms beneath his and clutching at his back as if attempting to anchor yourself into some semblance of reality. His movements seemed to cut through you, each thrust driving a wedge deep within your core that further solidified the bond shared between the two of you.

“I love you so much,” Lo’ak murmured into your mouth, his grip on your waist growing stronger to emphasize the undeniable sincerity behind his words. He continued, almost manic in his declaration, “Fuck, I love you. You have no idea.”

His voice was low and throaty, and you could only respond with a moan of unconditional agreement. It felt as though once he had uttered those three powerful words, it was no longer enough for him to simply think or feel the intensity of his love for you—he had to say it aloud, over and over again.

It wasn’t as if the two of you had been deliberately or even knowingly avoiding saying those words until now.

You obviously loved each other and were obviously in love with each other for as long as you could remember. However, your journey began as best friends and remained that way for such a long time that you didn’t really know how to approach the affectionate verbal confession until now. It was as if uttering those special words might somehow disturb the delicate balance between friendship and romantic love that the two of you had maintained almost effortlessly for so long.

Sure, physical affection was something you’d grown comfortable with. The intimacy of sex with Lo’ak was electric, and it left you both breathless. Nonetheless, the foundation of friendship you had built over the years remained strong and unwavering. 

The very fact that you were not only lovers but also best friends added an intricate layer of complexity to your still-new relationship. It was exciting yet puzzling at the same time, figuring out how to balance your undeniable love for one another with the familiarity that came with years of close-knit friendship.

At times, you both found yourselves grappling with the delicate balance between foolhardy banter and serious talk about your relationship.

You’d often resort to flustered, stuttering wrecks whenever anyone around you would steer your conversation toward topics like mating or raising children together. It was clear that both of you deeply desired those things, but figuring out how to effectively communicate your feelings and intentions was still a work in progress.

And in all those months since you'd been courting, you just hadn’t yet learned how to express your affection for one another in its purest, verbal form.

Sure, Lo’ak would often share the things that he loved about you: “I love your eyes...”; “I love how much you care about everyone around you, even though you pretend like you don’t...”; “I love the way you look on top of me...”—yet despite all the passionate declarations, the simple utterance of those three potent words remained an unspoken truth between the two of you.

It was just another one of those things that the two of you danced around until one of you was bold enough to face it head-on. And it definitely hadn’t been the first time, as you recalled how you’d skirted around your feelings for each other for years before finally admitting them to each other only a few months ago.

That was precisely why the phrase “I love you” carried such monumental weight each time it escaped from Lo’ak’s lips right in front of you.

Those three little words felt like a sacred hymn that touched your very soul. You savored every syllable, allowing his tender words to envelop you, allowing his warm breath to caress your lips—just a hair’s breadth apart from his.

You could practically feel the warmth of his love emanating from every touch, each caress sending shivers down your spine. Simultaneously, the heat in your core intensified, amplified by a heady concoction of love and lust. You became increasingly aware that you weren’t going to be able to last much longer. It was all so intense.

Yet even amidst the whirlwind of raw emotion and overwhelming passion, you found yourself wishing that the breathtaking moment could stretch on into infinity. The connection shared between you and Lo’ak was so powerful and awe-inspiring that the thought of it ending seemed unfathomable.

“Fuckfuckfuck Lo'ak, I’m gonna—” You barely choked out the warning, your words probably indecipherable as your entire world seemed to blur and your vision whited out around the edges. Your body went rigid, your walls clenching around Lo’ak so tight in a series of spasms that left him stuttering his thrusts to a halt.

He threw his head back in a deep moan and held onto every last bit of control he had left, trying his best not to spill inside of you in that overwhelming moment. Despite the literal death grip you had on him, he managed to hold on for just a bit longer.

Through it all, Lo'ak covered your face in soft, tender kisses as a wave of pleasure washed over you. Your body felt light and blissfully exhausted under Lo’ak’s tender and unrelenting affection. You felt utterly spent under his unwavering care.

As your high finally started to subside, all that remained was a lingering, trembling sensation running through your body. 

Lying there with Lo’ak still fully enveloped around and within you, all you could do was weakly reach up and run a shaky hand through his braids, holding him close to you until you slowly came back to your senses.

In the aftermath of your intense orgasm, you could unmistakably sense the desire emanating from every fiber of Lo’ak’s being through your bond. He was holding himself back, trying to stabilize his frantic heartbeat.

Both of you had mutually (and flusteredly) agreed that you weren’t ready for children anytime soon, both still young and wanting to take your time with one another. You wanted to cherish every moment with Lo'ak in the honeymoon-like phase of your relationship for a few more precious years before even entertaining the thought of building a rambunctious herd of little kids.

With that mutual agreement in mind, you gingerly unfurled your legs from Lo’ak’s waist, keenly observing his every move as he painstakingly pulled out of your tight wetness.

With a final obscene popping sound, he finally withdrew completely, firmly gripping the base of his slickened shaft. His eyes squeezed shut, his head hung low, and his breath escaped in shallow puffs of air.

You propped yourself up on one elbow, reaching out with your free arm to swat Lo’ak’s hand away and get him off yourself. As your fingers curled around his length, a look of determination crossed your face.

Lo’ak leaned into the sensation of your tight grip, letting out a deep moan as he instinctively thrust into your fist to meet each of your pumps. 

You relished in the way Lo’ak went pliant under your fingers—his arms hanging limp at his sides and his head thrown back in overwhelming pleasure from just your slightest touch.

You sat up fully, instinctively steadying yourself with a firm grip on Lo’ak’s hip. You delicately brought your mouth to him, licking a wet line all along the length of his shaft, leisurely starting from the base and gliding up to the tip. 

The sudden sensation caught Lo’ak completely off guard, his eyes snapping open in surprise to just barely catch the sight of you taking the swollen head of his cock between your lips.

As you did so, your other hand moved in perfect synchrony, gripping and pumping at the base of his shaft. Your head skillfully bobbed up and down in a leisurely dance of pleasure as you took him deeper into your mouth.

The entire ordeal created a messy symphony of sound: a concoction of your own slick arousal, saliva, and his leaking precum forming an unmistakable wetness. But much to your delight, you loved every moment of the sensory overload—almost as much as you loved watching Lo’ak slowly fall apart above you.

Taking your time (as well as revenge for how cruelly slow Lo'ak had teased you earlier), you gently slid your mouth off his head with a wet, satisfying pop. As your hand continued to lazily fist his shaft, your eyes were completely captivated by his reactions, as if you were privy to a secret performance just for you.

He looked the same way he always did when you sucked him off—all disheveled, his cheeks flushed with passion and a series of low moans escaping his throat—and you loved it so much.

But even more so, you loved the intimate connection that allowed you to feel every emotion coursing through him: the boundless love, the fiery desire coursing through his veins, and the growing anticipation toward his climax. It was an exhilarating experience. It made you want to be the one to make him lose himself completely, just as he had done for you moments ago.

With purposeful intent, you guided Lo’ak back into your eager mouth, sending subtle vibrations coursing through his body by gently humming around his length and eliciting yet another groan from him. 

Carefully meeting each of his responses with enthusiasm and skill, you took him deeper and deeper into your mouth. Your movements became bolder, taking nearly all of him until he grazed the back of your throat before gradually sliding back up once more.

You repeated that motion once, then twice, before you heard Lo’ak calling out your name, desperately warning you that he was about to come.

You couldn’t help but smile when you felt Lo’ak twitch in your mouth. It was a familiar sign that he was about to spill every last drop of himself down your throat.

Lo’ak’s fingers gently found their way through your hair as he released a deep, guttural groan. He watched you through half-closed eyes as he came in sharp bursts into your eagerly awaiting mouth. 

Your enthusiasm was unrestrained as you swallowed around him, hungrily capturing every last drop of him. You practically sucked Lo’ak raw, leaving him gasping and whimpering from the overstimulation.

Eventually, you decided to show him some mercy as you slowly trailed your lips upward along his overly-sensitive shaft. Gently, you placed a tiny kiss on his tip, grinning like a madwoman at how Lo’ak’s eyes squeezed tightly shut, his abdominal muscles tensing in response to the sensitivity of your touch. 

With his eyes still shut, Lo’ak shook his head in disbelief, marveling at the power of your loving touch. 

It was so much more than just physical contact.

Tsaheylu made everything feel a million times more powerful, more intense. You couldn't help but feel a little light-headed from the sheer perfection of it all, almost as if you were floating.

Without any hesitation, you grabbed hold of Lo'ak's arm and pulled him down to the ground until both of you lay side-by-side, face-to-face, basking in the blissful afterglow of your shared intimacy.

You hooked a leg over Lo'ak's side, drawing him even closer to your body. He responded with his own lingering touch, his hand confidently yet gently cradling your thigh as if it were second nature. It was a simple act of intimacy that somehow felt like so much more.

As you lay there in that tender embrace, your heartbeats synced as if they were dancing to the same rhythm. Soft smiles spread across your faces, and everything around you seemed to blur out of focus. It was just the two of you at that moment, wrapped up in the delicate threads of the bond that interwove between each of your shared glances.

Though your communications were mostly unspoken in that moment, it didn't matter. The way your eyes locked together and the raw emotion displayed on your faces told an entire story on their own—one of love, trust, and vulnerability. It was a conversation without words that could be understood by anyone who had ever experienced connection as powerful as Tsaheylu.

Your chest tightened at the undeniable joy that illuminated Lo'ak's face. His eyes sparkled with pure elation, and you were sure your face mirrored the exact same expression.

You were one—mated for life—and you couldn’t be happier.

The concept of time seemed to vanish into thin air as you remained entwined, reveling in the unmatched closeness. The intimate connection enveloped you like a warm blanket.

Lo'ak's voice came as a welcome interruption to the tranquility of the moment.

"Can I say it again?” 

Completely spent and practically half-asleep nestled within Lo'ak's arms, you could only muster a faint 'hmm?' in response to his question. You closed your eyes and burrowed yourself further into his embrace. He was so warm.

You felt the soft vibrations of Lo'ak's laughter within your body, resonating deep within your chest. He was well aware of how you would always go all quiet and soft after sex. He also knew that you would drift off to sleep right there in the middle of the forest, completely bare, if he let you. He wasn’t going to let you.

"That I love you," he murmured, reaching out to tuck your hair back in place behind your ear. His fingers continued their journey to the nape of your neck, where they lovingly grazed the wispy hairs there. His touch was unimaginably delicate and tender; it was almost unbearable.

"Are you planning to ask for my permission every single time you want to say it?" You asked sleepily, the corners of your mouth lifting into a smile at the thought. You knew deep down that he would actually do it, and his response only solidified your conviction.

"If you want me to," he replied genuinely, his voice almost a whisper.

You opened your eyes, only to roll them at the earnest expression painted across his face, despite the way his words made your heart flutter. He was so endearing, so fucking adorable, you wanted to tease him for it. To be honest, you couldn't pinpoint when the shift happened—the moment he evolved from your foolhardy best friend into the still foolhardy, but also tender-hearted and affectionate man laid out before you.

"You don't have to," you began softly, stretching out your arm to take hold of Lo'ak's hand.

Slowly, you guided his hand towards yourself, pressing his open palm directly over your chest. Right over the rhythmic beat of your heart.

"I can feel it. In here," you whispered to him, making sure to emphasize the sincerity of your words by giving his hand a gentle yet meaningful squeeze. For a few seconds, the two of you remained like that. Silent, the only sound being that of your racing heartbeats.

Love—the breathtakingly powerful emotion—washed over you like a tidal wave as you lay there, your heart racing in your chest. Your heart beat with a fervor that mirrored the intensity of your mutual affection. It was both exhilarating and terrifying. The love was a beautifully combined force; it belonged to both you and Lo'ak equally. 

The love vibrated deep within you. It surrounded you with its warmth and energy. It felt as if every fiber of your being was completely saturated with the incredible emotion, connecting the two of you with an undeniable bond. You were so deeply in love, and you knew Lo'ak could feel it just as strongly through every frantic beat of your heart.

As your hand gradually loosened its grip on Lo'ak's, his own fingers remained unwaveringly pressed against your chest, right above your heart. He seemed entranced, as though attempting to imprint every pulsating beat and the faintest echo of your heart beneath his palm into his memory. Time seemed to slow, as if granting him the chance to capture every minute detail.

He devoured every intricate aspect, each subtle expression that adorned you. And as Lo'ak gazed upon you with the warmest, most affectionate eyes, a tender smile of pure adoration spread softly across his lips. His entire demeanor conveyed a simple yet profound message—one that spoke of love and devotion beyond anything imaginable.

“You know I’m still gonna say it,” Lo’ak declared with a wide, boyish grin. “Every single day, for the rest of my life.” 

The warmth that filled the air between you intensified as his grip on your waist tightened, drawing you closer to him as if trying to physically absorb the moment. His lips brushed against your temple in a slow, lingering kiss that seemed to carry the weight of his vow.

He meant what he said, and you knew that without a doubt. 

You reveled in the feeling of his breath on your skin and the steady heartbeat that echoed against your chest. The simple pleasure was enough to make you giddy with happiness about the prospect of your future together.

As if reading your thoughts, Lo’ak squeezed you gently and whispered those cherished words into your ear over and over again, like a promise. 

end

Taglist <3:

@vanillawhale, @strawberryclouds22, @countryandsweetbabygirl, @kurogxrix, @yunonaneko, @ahsatan785, @lauratstrange, @lwesodra, @kaealowri, @starboyloak, @thefirst-ofus

Previously: Chapter I, Chapter II, Chapter III, Chapter IV, Chapter V, Chapter VI

[tevruden]

@ferote-eerfreve 2006 Suzuki GSX-R 600:

Got film developed and found pictures of my motorcycle and old apartment

[what-gs-watching]

"If you have to ask, you're streets behind."

Welp. This week on What G's Watching: comfort shows.

Because gang, I got (somewhat surprisingly) laid off yesterday. Internal politics, blah blah blah, a lot crying, a lot of beautiful messages from coworkers, some insomnia, more crying, cleaning random things, turning my airpods up as high as they go and screaming through playlists. You get it. 

So if I thought I was watching everything before, just kidding. It's about to get so much worse. Which means, right now, I need comfort shows.

Today's comfort show highlight? Community. A pure and beautiful masterpiece.

Here's the thing: I watched Community from the beginning. Like, when it started airing weekly on NBC in 2009. From the very first episode. Because I'm ancient. I was a fan of Joel McHale from Talk Soup (oh yeah, we're going back that far) and I would have watched him in anything, so I was down for a show about a community college, hell, I'd even gone to one for a little bit.

But it's so much more than that. It's hilarious and real and way too meta for most people and all of the characters are imperfect and ridiculous and some of the plots are so dumb, but it makes you feel things. 

The overall point of the show was that Jeff was a lawyer who lied about having a bachelor's degree and got caught so he goes Greendale Community College to replace it. He lies about having a spanish study group to hook up with a blonde in his class - Britta - and ends up creating an actual study group with the help of Abed, who I'm not gonna lie, might be my favorite character. 

Group of the usual suspects, right: 

- Jeff is the handsome manipulative one (I'm still not quite sure why Joel McHale is handsome, like, its WEIRD but I'm here for it)

- Britta starts out as a chick in her late 20's who maybe got lost along the way and was trying to clean her life up and then she kind of becomes a caricature of herself later on, but it works

- Shirley's a mom going through a divorce, wanting to start her own business

- Pierce is a rich old guy that's been going to Greendale for years just for something to do (Chevy Chase returning to TV, which sounds great but then it gets weird behind the scenes)

- Abed is sweet and magical and likely on the spectrum (and the best unreliable narrator)

- Troy is a former high school football star that suffered an injury (he's Childish Gambino! Before anyone knew he was Childish Gambino! But he will ALWAYS be Troy to me)

- Annie is young and a perfectionist and a control freak who had a pill addiction that landed her there (Allison Brie becoming Allison Brie)

and it starts out as you would assume it should, but it gets unexpectedly hilarious. And I give that credit to Dan Harmon. For his flaws, Dan Harmon is a tortured genius and I will, and mostly do, watch anything that man is involved in. He puts shit in your face that you never wanted but in a way that makes you laugh out loud and then hurt a little bit, for a while. 

Honestly the charm of the show comes from the fact that it never truly takes itself seriously. Abed relates to the world through media (hi it's me, I'm the problem, it's me) and he insists time and again that they're in a tv show. Episode about everyone turning into Zombies because of tainted food at the Halloween dance? Completely plausible. 'Bottle' episode because Annie lost a pen and she can't fucking take it anymore, someone must have stolen it? Yes. Series-running story about the "Ass Crack Bandit" that drops a quarter on you when you least expect it, resulting in one of the best episodes of the later seasons? 100%. 

Abed deciding that by rolling a dice to see who goes down to get the pizza being delivered, six different timelines are being created? That one will knock you on your fucking ass. And it makes no sense, but it really, really does. 

This show has given me a lot of random things that still rattle around in my brain, even now N rewatches deep. Way back when offices were a thing, I'd once shouted "BOOKS!"when it was particularly quiet and a single engineer stood up across the room and just pointed at me, incredulous. After that he and I didn't stop terrorizing the entire team with random quotes. I still find myself humming 'Daybreak' (IYKYK). Yesterday while I muddled through my feelings I started yelling "I'm high as hell and I'm about to get SHOT!" It's infectious, it gets in your bones.  

The best part of course is the relationships, complicated but sweet and endearing. Troy and Abed form a friendship that makes me sad almost because it's childish and pure for a while and it does (what I think, I'm not an expert though so who knows) a pretty good job of portraying the bond that can come out of accepting someone on the spectrum wholly and fully. 

They build a blanket fort. They pretend to have their own morning tv show (🎶Troy and Abed in the mornnnniiiing 🎶). They dress up in coordinated Halloween costumes. They get obsessed with Inspector Spacetime (we're gonna get to Doctor Who, I promise). They spout off the best random Spanish rap and create 'Baby Boomer Santa'. They invent the Dreamatorium. They pillow fight for hours because they think if they stop, their friendship will end. 

The two of them desperately make you wish you had a friend like that in your early twenties to just get real WEIRD with, because they'd always go along with it and have your back no matter what. I still, very much, want to build a blanket slash pillow fort half as majestic. (Which, maybe I should. I have a fuck ton of time right now.)

Honestly, Community is one of those things I sometimes measure people against. Seen it and loved it? You rank a little bit higher with me. Season 4's your least favorite? it's okay bud, we all agree. You wanna use your name in poorly concocted puns? That's you're i-dean-tity, I'm with it. You found something that's streets ahead? YES. Be my best friend.

I know a lot of people feel a certain way about Friends, like, oh they're the friends everyone wishes they had, but I'm sorry. No. The friends you wish you had are the Greendale Seven. And there's too many moments and too much to go into here, but you need to trust me on that. Because they're all just flawed people trying to do better in a flawed place that manifests a little bit of the mania we all feel. And it lets you feel it, but it always wraps you up safe at the end. Jeff always brings it home with a perfect Winger speech. And sometimes I really wish life was a little bit more like that. Because sometimes we suffer a fucking gas leak year in our existence, sometimes it's like that, and it'd be nice if everyone just shrugged that off, if everyone just accepted the fact that we're all flawed, selfish people is actually a strength. 

At one point in the first season, Abed gets obsessed with "The Cape" (which was a real show, y'all) and he's skulking around in this ridiculous get-up and Jeff yells "That show's gonna last three weeks!" and while Abed runs off he yells "SIX SEASONS AND A MOVIE!"

During the show's run, #sixseasonsandamovie became a mantra, because it was always on the brink of cancellation - season six was revived by Yahoo Stream, which isn't even a thing anymore - and I still think about that when I want something to last. I want #sixseasonsandamovie for everything that I love. I want everything to have that little bit of magic and faith. 

I started my latest rewatch a couple of weeks ago, compelled to seek out the comfort for some reason, my brain trying to tell me something was wrong. My brain had been right. So yesterday I eventually climbed into bed with puffy eyes and I got back into season five. I'm already into the part where the show starts to dismantle a bit (the second half of season 5 and all of 6 are distinctly different but still perfect), and that makes sense for me right this second, it's fitting. Sometimes things fall apart. Sometimes people leave. Sometimes you have to clone yourself in a game of 'the floor is lava' so you can properly say goodbye. 

I'll finish it again in the next couple of days I'm sure, and I'll put it down for a while (until the next time my brain is trying to tell me something). But I'll be thankful I had something to turn to while I attempted to sort myself out. 

Greendale is always the perfect place to sort yourself out. 

[kur0m1sblog]

What Thrax Would Think Of Daphne Bones

Summary: What Would Thrax Think Of Daphne Bones And How They’re Relationship Would Be

Characters: Thrax, Osmosis Jones

Warnings: NSFW, Cussing

Genre: Fluff, Romance, NSFW

Reader: Fem! White Blood Cell! Reader

Tags: @contaigo

Song: Do You Want To Know A Secret? -The Beatles

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

First time he saw you, he thought you were incredibly beautiful, and that outfit he saw you wearing made him bite his lip at how snug and fit your clothing was on you and how it shaped your body

But what he didn’t like is when he was in Frank’s body that he noticed that you were apart of the Immunity Force, and he knew you were looking for him

He thought it was a little silly that you didn’t know that he was above you

He found out because he overheard you and a couple other boys pull up in a car, and walk out go over the area he was detected in, you automatically knew that there was a dangerous threat in your hands, “it’s not only a threat, it’s a killer that’s on the damn loose..” you say in a snarky tone and stomp back to the car in the passengers seat

Where you were greeted by the notorious, Osmosis Jones

“When the hell did you get here? Or in the damn car?” “Look sweetheart are we gonna work together or what?” “Psh, whatever just step on it darling..” You say looking out the polished window and observing the area you and some other boys were just in

After this incident you had to go to The Zit to track this thing down, you had to go in disguises, but with your looks and putting on a cute dress, they let you in.

After getting in Ozzy went somewhere while you and Drix had fun and danced together, and a couple minutes later you two busted in some room to find some germs and this surprisingly attractive germ..? or whatever he was, but all you knew was he was definitely your type

You stood there for a couple seconds looking until some dude tried grabbing you

After this dumb little fight or whatever, there was a bomb and Drix snatched you and Ozzy beside a table, and wouldn’t you know it.

The whole entire club blew up, but you three were safe and sound, except one more was too, Thrax

He was holding onto a piece of the outlining of The Zit, and was looking down at you, he thought you were gorgeous

And as you got the help you needed to get off your knees you huffed and puffed and let out a big sigh, “man and he was cute too” you say silently

He’s honestly so surprised he heard you say that

After having encounters with the virus one night he caught you walking in an alley wall and pinned you against the way, asking you questions, and it kind of turned you on because once he pressed his knee to your covered area, he could tell something was going on down there

And let’s just say it ended up with you wobbling down the alley after giving a sloppy kiss to Thrax

And after you two started seeing each other, secretly of course, until Jones stumbled into your apartment saying he had some information about the virus that was cuddling you on your couch and playing with your hair.. he stood speechlessly until you ran towards him and shut the door quickly, begging him not to tell the chief of police and that Thrax had already stopped making Frank ill, even though he was living in his body, he didn’t affect him drastically

After many years of your relationship, he decided he wanted to get more serious with you and went to the local jeweler to buy a ring for you with some money (stolen to be exact..)

(NSFW) For the few times you have had intercourse with him, he’s usually fucked you from the back with your hair in one and you the other holding both of your hands behind your back

For the most part you both had a hatred for each other at one point but then mysteriously found a feeling for a each other you both couldn’t described, and he loves you with his heart and would blame himself if anything happened.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Notes: Thank you so much for asking for this request, I had fun with it and hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading, and have a great morning/afternoon/night!

[adultswim2021]

Robot Chicken #66: “Tell My Mom” | January 4, 2009 - 11:30PM | S04E05

This one has a wide array of jokes that I mostly don’t care for. I will discuss two sketches because I really need to not be writing about this show so much. You don’t need me saying (for demonstration purposes only) “There’s one where the Hungry Hungry Hippos barf… hmmm, check please!”.

Okay, the first sketch is one that once made an informal list of worst sketches I’d ever seen. It’s Joey Fatone on a stage with an easel, which he is using for visual aid for a sketch he’s pitching to the Robot Chicken show. It’s supposed to be a lame idea. But, it's not satisfyingly lame, if you get my drift. It feels like a sketch for babies or something. Like, even with the intended irony level, it feels like it’s rated freaking G! I need some PG-13 stuff, STAT. 

The other sketch I want to highlight is the B-Team, which pisses me off. There are a number of sketches on Robot Chicken that remind me of ideas I had in high school. This one does, but I remember it as an idea that I rejected for being too easy and dumb. An off-brand A-Team called The B-Team? Who on Earth hasn’t thought of that premise. I did like the punchline where they attempt to build a thing and just give themselves carbon monoxide poisoning while in a locked garage. Admittedly, this one grated on me more for the fact that it was highlighted in the promo for the episode, like they were PROUD OF IT. NASTY!

EPHEMERA CORNER:

King of the Hill (January 1st, 2009 - 10:00PM)

Starting with the episode "Westie Side Story", for some reason (that's like episode 6), Adult Swim began airing King of the Hill at 10PM. On Monday December 29th (mere days before this), Adult Swim weekdays expanded into 10PM. That slot was quickly filled with a pair of King of the Hill episodes, which I'd argue is a pretty good transitional show from Cartoon Network into the stankier Adult Swim.

Do any of you remember seeing an interview from some respected anime guy, who was asked what his favorite cartoon of all time was and he got mildly bashful and said it was King of the Hill, and that he considered it a masterpiece? I can't find it, but I swear I read that once. Anyway, I agree with that guy. King of the Hill is wonderful. It's "post-classic" years are still very solid.

This is also a show that I badly need to rewatch. I haven't on-purpose watched this show in over a decade, maybe.

The Adult Swim run was also welcome because I remember the DVD releases had halted at this point, so seasons 7 onward were not available to own. This is one of the last shows I remember "collecting" by recording the missing seasons on DVD-R.

I don't remember if they started right away, but King of the Hill typically aired with special bumpers that seemed like more typical sponorship bumpers; "King of the Hill is brought to you by" but then they'd name a fictional business or organization from the show itself.

I respect King of the Hill and consider it fun.

MAIL BAG:

Shameful story: In high school a funny friend of mine was passing around an exquisite corpse-style drawing for fun. One of the things he drew was a little fish with a funny deadpan expression. I added what I thought was a brilliant idea i'd just had: a little speaker plugged into this fish's brain broadcasting his thoughts (a little speech bubble portrayed him saying "oh no.") I was so proud. Then some time later I sat down and re-watched Fire Ant for the first time in a while. Oh, right. Fuck!

Who among us hasn't stolen from Space Ghost? I am certain I did the same shit. Space Ghost, Mystery Science Theater, and Kids in the Hall were probably the shows I cribbed from the most. Also cartoons stealing from each other is just such a rampant thing I feel like it's basically a non-issue. I forgive you for your crime, I'm nice!

[batmanshole]

@okcomputeroknotok19972017 OKAY SO

jacksfilms is a comedy youtuber who has been making content since 2006, and got his big hit in 2009 and has been making videos ever since. he did daily uploads for a LOT of that and he has about 4 million subscribers as of today (aug 16 2023) an important note that will come into context later is that he has ALWAYS credited people in his videos.

sssniperwolf is another youtuber who started in 2013 and started out playing video games. she was one of the original "girl gamers" but constantly puts other women down, has been known to cheat and does anything to look better. she's been known to bodyshame people and make fun of people for being poor.

in the past few years she's been doing "react" content where she steals people's videos (usually tiktoks) and reacts to them, usually by using the same shocked faces, summarizing the videos, and not actually adding any meaningful or transformative content/commentary. she has 34 million subscribers, mostly younger teens, who watch her make extremely lazy, repetitive content with stolen jokes and footage.

at some points, sssniperwolf will use the same clips twice in her video to hit the 8 minute mark to get midroll ads.

jacksfilms has pointed this out before, and her response was to make fun of his receding hairline. (he was not upset, he just laughed at her because she deleted the tweet)

this all came to a head when youtube the company started endorsing her content and saying she gets her ideas from fans (she does not! she just steals.)

recently jacksfilms has been doing a series on his livestreams where he watches her videos and tries to predict what she's going to do, and points out how many of her videos are stolen with no credit. this got to the point where a fan made bingo cards with things she does frequently (reading the caption word for word, no credit, using "the accent" which is aave, yelling for no reason, silent for over 5 seconds, etc.) and they get a bingo almost every time.

this content falls under fair use as it is transformative, adds meaningful commentary, etc. and it could be argued that sssniperwolf's "reactions" do NOT.

so this is what's been going on.

even with full context this image is still really funny

[maxineswritingcenter]

Heart’s Possession - MichaelxAdamxfem!reader

So after writing Michael again in the last fic I got a bit attached. No idea why. 

... It’s probably the daddy issues that everyone in Supernatural seems to have. 

Oh well. 

Adam and Reader grew up together and were high school sweethearts, after his death and learning about monsters, (Y/N) tries to move on but never forgets her first love. When ten years pass, what will happen when a familiar face appears?

------

When you lose someone, you never stop loving them. And sometimes you never stop grieving. Especially when that person was the love of your life. 

There are days when (Y/N) forgot that Adam Milligan was dead. And the days she remembered that he was dead, she remembered that his mother, Kate, was dead when she tried to call the house phone only for the voice on the other end to say the line was disconnected. 

The worst part of it was that his death was all his father’s fault. John was as absent as absentee father’s got. Only deciding he cared about Adam once a year on his birthday to take him to a baseball game after he turned twelve. And because of John’s career, Kate and Adam paid the price. And so did she. 

(Y/N)’s life was as ordinary as it got, parents were divorced but still found a way to be civil, decent grades. Adam made her life great, made it interesting. He was so incredibly smart and thoughtful. He had dreams. He had created a whole future planned out for them. He was going to be a doctor and she was going to be a therapist - a power couple he used to say. They were only nineteen, but things were already perfect. 

Adam Miligan was the love of her life. And in the span of a few short minutes she found out he was dead and she was left to figure things out by herself when his half-brothers disappeared as quickly as they appeared. 

After his death, she dropped out of school. How was she supposed to live that life without him? (Y/N) had started working at the local library and the diner on the side. Her free time was dedicated to finding out more about the things that killed Adam and his mother, protecting herself in case any more of John Winchester’s enemies came back. 

-

It was eleven years, a new town later and there were some interesting things going on in the weird world they lived in. From her contacts in the hunting world, she learned that hell had opened up and who knew what monsters and demons had escaped. At this point, she was on high alert more than ever. 

(Y/N) had become a regular at Jaci’s Red Wagon Diner and her usual waitress smiled as she came in. 

“Hey, (Y/N)!” The waitress, April, greeted her with a smile. 

She waved as she made her way to the hostess stand, “Hey, is the high top available?” She asked, looking around the waitress. 

“Unfortunately, no. We’re pretty busy today.” April grabbed a menu, “but I have a little table across from that booth over there.” She leaned forward and whispered, “Plus, there’s a pretty cute guy who blew in. But I think he’s a little coo coo because he’s talking to himself.” 

“Well.” (Y/N) leaned forward, “Lead the way.” She joked. But was it a joke? It had been over a decade... Maybe it was time to move on. It was weird to think about but maybe it was. Hell, she was still wearing his high school class ring on a chain around her neck. 

April led her to the table and sat her down, when she left to go put in her usual order - chunky potato soup, a side of fries, and a root beer - she motioned her head behind her where the mystery man sat. She could probably deal with crazy or maybe he wasn’t crazy. She talked to herself sometimes to walk through what she was going to do in the day ahead. 

Finally building up courage, she took a glance towards the stranger. It was meant to be a look that would seem like she was just glancing around the diner casually. But that plan went out the door when she saw him. 

“Adam...” She whispered. 

2009

(Y/N) met Dean outside the tomb where the previous bodies had been stolen a few weeks ago. She had stolen the keys that locked the tomb shut from her father, the grounds keeper of the cemetery to help Adam’s brother stop the creature from getting to her boyfriend since he seemed to be on the hit list. 

“Thanks for meeting me.” He said, holding up a flashlight. She nodded. 

“I just want to make sure nothing happens to him. He’s everything to me.” She said, still so very young. 

Dean nodded, “I promise I’ll keep him safe. He’s family.” (Y/N) used the keys on the rusted lock and led the hunter inside. `The tomb seemed ordinary, nothing seemed out of place. 

Dean sighed as he looked around. 

“What are we-” She started to say but he hushed her. In the silence she heard a whistling sound, somewhere air was getting through. The tomb should be airtight, no matter how old it is. 

He pointed his flashlight towards the wall in front of him where a dust and spider-web covered drape was blowing in the wind. 

Looking around, (Y/N) spotted a crowbar used for adjusting the cement grave coverings and handed it to Dean. He took it, starting to jab and pry at the cinder blocks. When it was loose, he pulled a block out of it’s spot and dropped it to the ground, moving it aside. The hole it left behind was dark.

(Y/N) got down on the ground, shining her flashlight down to reveal a tunnel, “There’s a path.” She scrunched up her nose, starting to wiggle her way through. 

“Wait-” Dean began, but seeing as she was already halfway in the tunnel, sighed and followed behind. At the end of the tunnel was a drop off that led to a deeper part of the tomb. 

(Y/N) helped Dean down, “Looks like an older part of the tomb, must have closed it up when it got full." They shined their flashlights on the floor, revealing old and decrepit bones scattered over the floor. Or, at least, she hoped they were old. 

“Home sweet home.” Dean said grimly, walking around until he heard a squish under his boot. (Y/N) turned, shining her flashlight to his feet where she saw blood and... an arm. 

“Dean...” She squeaked, shaking. Dean, clearly not a stranger to the sight of blood, kneeled down and picked up a pair of glasses that were left on the floor. Those were Joe Barton’s glasses, the first man to go missing and the police chief who helped John with the case all those years ago. 

“Sloppy Joe.” Dean joked darkly. Not exactly her first thoughts, but Dean wasn’t afraid of stuff like this. This was a regular Tuesday to him. Probably. That’s when they heard scraping coming from where they had entered. Dean dropped the glasses to look back into their entrance to see that it was being bricked up again. Dean shot into the hole at the perpetrator causing (Y/N) to jump back and press her hands over her ears. The shots had caused the hole to collapse, trapping them in the crypt. 

“Oh, son of a bitch.” Dean glared at the hole, then took out his phone to try and get reception, no such luck. 

“Son of a bitch.” He said, as if this situation was only slightly inconveniencing. 

“Dean, what do we do?” She asked, starting to panic. If they were here, that only left Sam to protect Adam. 

Dean sighed, shoving his phone back into his pocket, “There another way out of here?” He asked. 

Her thoughts already racing, she tried to remember the blueprint that was on her father’s desk, “Um, ah, I think so.” She shined her flashlight to their right showing that the tomb went further, “If I’m right, this should lead to another exit. But this place is so old that it might have collapsed which would explain why this place was bricked up in the first place.” 

“Well, let’s hope you’re right.” He started walking into the darkness, his flashlight leading his path with (Y/N) following behind. 

“Is it going to come get us?” She asked, her voice wavering. 

“No,” Dean sighed, “Not yet, at least. It trapped us here so it could get to Adam. It’ll come for us after it gets him. Which is why we need to get out of here ASAP.” He looked around, “The draft led us here and there can’t be a draft in dead space. There’s a way out.” 

In front of them was a wooden door that led to an even deeper and older part of the tomb. Dean motioned for her to step back then promptly beat the door down. If not for the situation, she would be incredibly impressed. 

Upon further inspection, the place was littered with bones, almost like these people were simply deposited here after they died with little to no regard. Dean walked over to a coffin and furrowed his eyebrows. 

“You seein’ what I’m seein’?” He asked. She looked closely, the dust that was covering the tomb had been disturbed revealed the polished dark wood that was under the film of dust. 

Dean shoved the coffin open, what met them was the smell of rot and the face of Kate Milligan. 

“Oh my god.” (Y/N) choked out, seeing Adam’s mothers guts splayed out. Tears burned at her eyes from sadness but also the stench. Dean looked up, his eyes widening. 

Dean moved to the other coffin and lifted the lid, revealing Adam, his eyes wide, mouth open, and guts open to the world. 

(Y/N) looked over in horror, dropping her flashlight and screaming.

-

(Y/N) blinked hard and looked away from him. He or it hadn’t seemed to notice her. He was eating a burger like he had never eaten before. He was staring at it in adoration. A waitress came by, dropping a pepperoni pizza down on the table. Adam thanked her. 

“You got it.” She said, walking away. Adam was looking across at the other seat of the booth like there was someone or something there.

“So, what about you?” He asked, dumping parmesan cheese on the pizza from a shaker, “You gonna go back to heaven?”

Heaven? 

He paused, “Yeah. Same here. It's not like I have family waiting to see me.” He answered no one. 

What was this? Was it a ghoul again? No, it could be. Sam and Dean killed the ghouls that were impersonating Kate and Adam. This Adam was aged, like he had been alive the last eleven years. But he said ten years. It made no sense. Adam died in 2009, that was eleven. 

“I met them once. And they let me rot in hell.” He said smugly, “Plus, I’m pretty sure my girlfriend moved on a decade ago.”

“Family sucks.” He said after another pause, then started eating the pizza in front of him. 

After polishing off the burger, fries, an entire pizza, apple pie and ice cream, Adam leaned back against the booth, an arm draped over the top. He was looking around fondly. (Y/N) made sure her hair was covering her face, using the cover to continue to look at him. He seemed so much like the Adam she knew but also not. 

“Maybe I should pick up some kinda little job.” He said, then looked back at the other side of the booth, “Yeah. Yeah, I mean, these are the same clothes we went to hell in. We're gonna have expenses, right?” He leaned on the table with his arms, “And whatever change I had, I spent on food, so, it's not like I can go back to college.” He chuckled, “Not with an archangel inside of me.”

Archangel? Heaven? Hell? What was going on? (Y/N) had been raised in the church but left after everything that had happened. That’s what usually happened to kids when they left their small town. But was this real? Was God real? Was this really her Adam? Trapped in hell, possessed by an archangel. 

In her inner monologue, (Y/N) hadn’t noticed the blonde woman appear at Adam’s table. She put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Hello Michael.” She said casually. 

Adam stared at her intently, a flash of bright blue light in his eyes, “Lilith.” He watched her walk to the other side of the booth, “you’re dead.” His whole demeanor had changed. He had become stiff and rigid, a wrecking ball couldn’t knock him down.

Michael? The Michael? And the demon queen, Lilith? Her head was spinning. 

“Was.” She spun around quickly, “Now, I’m back, baby.” She grinned, sitting down, “And I’ve been sent to fetch you.”

“I'm not accustomed to being fetched.” He glared, “Who sent you?”

“You have to ask?” She asked, “Your daddy. God.” She scrunched up her nose and smiled, “Yeah. He'd like a word.” 

“You’re lying.” 

“Really not.” She reached forward and swiped her finger across the plate that had once had vanilla ice cream with chocolate syrup on it and put it in her mouth. 

“Then why would he send you, a demon, a speck of infernal bile?” He spoke the words as if they tasted bad. 

The woman, Lilith, feigned offense and leaned on her fist, “One, ouch. Two, maybe because we worked together before. Remember? Setting off the Apocalypse?” She said casually.

“To try and bring God back.”

“Right.” She said, “Didn't work then, but then he came back on his own. So, win?” She smiled slyly.

He leaned forward, “If that's true -If - he can come talk to me himself.”

She rolled her eyes, “Yeah, except I'm not supposed to leave without you.”

“Get out.”

“Michael.” She said with some urgency, grabbing him by the wrist, “I can't fail him.”

Adam, or Michael, looked down at his wrist, then the table. Suddenly, his eyes burned bright blue and a blinding light enveloped Lilith. (Y/N) squeezed her eyes shut. When the light was gone she opened her eyes, Lilith was gone. April was standing near her table with a serving tray in hand that held (Y/N)’s meal. Or it had, it had fallen to the floor in April’s shock. (Y/N) looked down at the table, squeezing her eyes shut out of fear. 

The woman was gone. And if he really was Michael, she was smited. 

“Remember nothing.” He said and snapped his fingers. 

April seemed to jolt next to her, like being awoken from a trace. She looked down at the mess and sighed, “I’m sorry, sweetie. I am such a clutz.” She set the tray down and rushed away to get a mop. 

Michael’s snap hadn’t worked on her... What did that mean? 

-

After he ordered a few more things, Adam got up and left his money on the table. He started walking towards the door. 

‘I have to catch him’, She thought to herself, ‘I have to figure this out.’

Food untouched, she left a twenty on the table and followed him out. 

Down the street she followed, keeping her head down and her hands in his pockets to not seem suspicious. After a block, he turned abruptly down into an alley. She scrunched her eyebrows in confusion and turned to look down the alley but he had disappeared. 

“What...” She whispered to herself. 

Suddenly, what sounded like a flutter of feathers made her turn around and Adam stood there. He shoved her into the alley and caged her against the brick wall of the building with his arms. 

“Who are you and why are you following me?” He asked, eyes glowing bright blue, “And speak quickly, I’m growing impatient.” 

(Y/N) squeezed her eyes shut and let out a deep breath, when she finally looked up at him and opened her eyes, there were tears making their way down his cheeks. 

“Adam?” Her voice shook, “Is it really you?” 

After a second, the light left his eyes and his body language changed back to what she remembered from Adam. 

“(Y/N)?” He breathed out, a grin on his face, “(Y/N)...” The arms that caged her pulled against his body and hugged her tightly, one arm around her shoulder and the other holding the back of her head tenderly. She began to cry, grabbing fist folds of his jacket and hiding her face in his shoulder. He smelled like home, but there was an underlying smell of fresh Earth and smoke, a smell she knew well from her father’s clothes after he got back home from a funeral. 

-----

Read part 2 here!

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[heraldofzaun]

This is my “Viktor has never been a stereotypical evil villain, you guys are just mean” post.

Hi. Well. That says it all, really, but I guess I should elaborate. I think that Viktor has always been a victim of society [cue Joker meme], it’s just that what society has shifted over the course of his lore update.

With new lore, it’s very clearly Piltover casting him out for his (in my opinion, pretty unethical from the get-go) ideas on free will/worker safety/etc. and that subsequently making him worse. But with his previous lore - what I run off of on this blog - I’ve seen a lot of commentary about how he’s always just been “evil”, or that his motivations weren’t defined, etc. And while I can agree that his old lore certainly has less of a word count (5x less, actually) and doesn’t make his motives crystal-clear, it’s just not true that his original incarnation was just a villainous scientist. (Nor is it true that he was perceived as one by his old fans!) It takes a little bit of looking at Blitzcrank’s lore, and the Journal of Justice (hey, remember that?) to see, but it’s there... So, here goes. I’m sorry for how long this ended up being (2k words!) - it ended up touching on a lot more than just Viktor.

Viktor’s always been stolen from. (Except for Blitzcrank’s newest lores, which contradict Viktor’s new lore, which... That’s a topic for another time.) It’s always been Professor Stanwick Pididly (now Professor Stanwick) who’s done the stealing - originally, he was a professor at Zaun’s “prestigious College of Techmaturgy”. In new lore, he’s a professor at an unnamed academy in Piltover. I think the best way to track the new/old changes is bullet-points, rather than writing this all out. Tumblr doesn’t allow T-charts, sadly.

Professor Pididly in old lore:

Zaunite professor.

Stole Blitzcrank (well, the accolades for developing Blitz’s sentience) from Viktor and Viktor’s doctoral team. (While this is headcanon, I’ve always assumed that Stanwick was Viktor’s (and Viktor’s team’s) doctoral advisor. I can’t quite imagine how else he’d pull off stealing a group project like that.) Viktor subsequently withdrew from the college and “barricaded himself in his private laboratory”. (Which is his house in my personal take, because really - what sort of doctoral student can afford a lab?)

Blitzcrank’s case reached Zaun’s legal system, resulting in a “legal maelstrom” (Blitz’s original lore) that ended with Stanwick presumably being legally declared Blitzcrank’s creator.

Blitzcrank’s lore states that “most now know the truth” in regards to who his creator is. This is important for later, so stick that in your back pocket.

Pididly is referred to as “Professor Pididly” in JoJ issues 3, 18, and 23, which are given the dates of August of 20CLE, March of 21 CLE, and June of 21 CLE.

Side note: According to Orianna’s judgment, which is dated May of 21 CLE - stay with me here, it’ll make sense - Blitzcrank entered the League “years before”. As League at this time was mostly running in time with the real world, this makes sense - Blitzcrank was a 2009 champion and Orianna was released in 2011. Judgments seem to be dated to a few days before a champion’s release, in order to tie with the lore - one had to be “Judged” before made a champion... but I’m rambling. Anyways, years before, back pocket.

Is referred to as “Chairman Pididly” in JoJ issue 27, dated August of 21 CLE. “Chairman” seems to be a title given to those in political power in Zaun. Another example is Chairman Magnus Dunderson, Zaun’s “Chief Executive” (issue 5). (I could’ve sworn that there is canonically a “Board of Executives” in old lore Zaun, but scrubbing through the JoJ on the wiki hasn’t turned it up - just Blitzcrank’s lore mentioning the “Council of Zaun”. Maybe it was fanon? Anyways.) Back pocket!

Also stole some work from Viktor in order to revive Urgot. Urgot’s revival was reported on in issue 3 of the JoJ, and the confirmation that it was from Viktor’s work is in Viktor’s original lore.

Professor Stanwick (Pididly? I feel like they ditched his last name because it was “too silly”, also because Stanwick sounds British-adjacent anyways and that’s Piltover’s “thing” - but anyways) in new lore:

Piltovian professor.

Stole Blitzcrank from Viktor alone, who made the robot to help clean up a specific chemical spill. Viktor went to Zaun for a few weeks and came back to find that Stanwick had “held a symposium on Blitzcrank and presented Viktor's research as his own”. Viktor subsequently continued on his studies, culminating with him later being expelled for “violating basic human dignity”. Viktor returns to a laboratory that he had in Zaun.

Blitzcrank’s case is solely a university matter. Viktor petitions Jayce to help support his claim, but Jayce is Jayce and doesn’t help out. The “matter [is] decided in Professor Stanwick’s favor”.

Blitzcrank’s lore doesn’t really say anything about if people know that Viktor made him (them, technically, but Riot doesn’t get to make the robot non-binary), but I guess it’s implied in the 3rd iteration? (That would be the first new one, after the IoW retcon making most champions’ 2nd lores being the same lore with any reference to the titular League of Legends removed.) He works with Viktor in that one. It doesn’t fit with Viktor’s updated lore at all, actually, because it mentions Stanwick absolutely zero times. (A post for another day...)

Has nothing to do with Urgot, since Urgot’s different now.

So, the general plot of “professor rips off a student” is there, it’s just got an added layer of “professor rips off a foreign/out-group student” in new lore to tie into the overarching idea of Piltover exploiting Zaun. (Is Zaun considered foreign? Yes? No? It’s sort of textually implied sometimes to be another city, but can it actually be when it’s physically underneath Piltover? Is the metaphor in new lore a class thing, then? Is it both? Am I supposed to take Viktor’s Russian accent into account when reading this text? I don’t know.) Anyways, so far so... same, in the broad strokes. Unless Viktor’s villainy in old lore is specifically because someone from his city ripped him off, I don’t know how you can compare new/old lore and say that old painted him as a villain.

But what about the everything else I put there? We’re getting there - that’s part of Viktor’s in-universe stuff. I’m taking a quick detour out of universe, to Jayce’s very first lore...

Which had Viktor stealing a techmaturgical device from Jayce. While I can’t cite this, sadly - thank you, Riot deleting the old forums and me not having the patience to look through archives at the moment - there was a backlash around this on the forums. Why would Viktor, a character who’d been stolen from, steal in turn? So Jayce’s second lore, the one that most people were familiar with before the new lore update, was made. Now Viktor stole a crystal after trying to partner with Jayce, Jayce was less well-established as an inventor, he had a bit more character... All good things. (Also, this is probably where the new lore direction of them being former college colleagues come from.)

Also, as an aside: this is the first use I can see of crystals specifically being described as arcane power sources... The only other discussion of magical crystals was the Brackern... which was then merged into magical crystals having to be from the Brackern... Which means that...

But anyways! Clearly Viktor fans didn’t see him as a villain in 2012, or at least not one that would victimize others in the same way that he’d been hurt. They made such a fuss about it that Jayce’s lore was changed to paint Viktor more sympathetically! (When’s the last time that there’s been that much backl- oh. It’s Seraphine again. Anyways.) So, again, Viktor’s perception as an evil scientist mostly seems to have come from people who weren’t really familiar with his lore. So... case closed?

Except that I also want to talk about in-universe things! Everything that I told you to put in your back pocket! Because this post is already over a thousand words and I have thrown myself firmly into this vortex.

Viktor’s victimization by society [Joker meme] is actually probably worse in old lore, which is a fact that I think has been pretty overlooked. While new lore Viktor gets kicked back down to Zaun and gets his work stolen in academia - with Stanwick presumably never being questioned on whether or not he made Blitzcrank, because there’s that whole “Zaunites are bad” thread that is both in and out of universe... Old lore Viktor sure does get it worse, although I admit that this requires some interpretation of canon. His thing with Blitzcrank was, again, a “legal maelstrom” - and with Blitzcrank being considered a Zaunite celebrity before this court case, it seems relatively easy/logical to infer that this maelstrom was a very public case.

So all of Zaun gets to see Viktor crash and burn in court. I’d say that’s a bit worse than just academia seeing it, as is the case in new lore.

And then there’s Blitzcrank’s lore flat-out saying that “most now know the truth” about who made him. (While this lore does predate Viktor’s existence - isn’t it odd to think about a Blitzcrank made by a faceless team of generic doctoral students, rather than Viktor... and a faceless team of generic doctoral students? - I see no reason not to take it as canonical for Viktor’s original lore. There’d been minor lore touchups before, so if Riot wanted Viktor’s creation of Blitzcrank to be an unknown... they could have edited Blitzcrank’s lore.) But Viktor’s still on the fringes, and nothing in his lore (which, again, was written years after Blitzcrank’s) seems to acknowledge that by the time he enters the League we have confirmation, date-wise, that it’s been years since the truth came out. (Orianna Judgment, etc.) That’s to say: people knowing that Viktor made Blitzcrank does nothing for him - he gets no apologies or anything like that.

Of course, if you take League lore as happening concurrently and nix the Judgments and the League, I guess that this is tenuous - but working within the framework of when he was released, it seems clear to me that the implication of all this lore is (whether it was intended by Riot to be read this way or not) that no one in Zaun cares that Viktor was stolen from. It’s an open secret. No one’s seeking justice for him. But it gets worse...!

So, it’s generally known that Stanwick didn’t make Blitzcrank by the time that the JoJ is running. And he’s just a professor for most of the run of that part of the lore, until... Issue 27. In which he becomes Chairman Pididly, someone who is now implied to have political power. (I have to assume he gets the position due to the political goodwill from Noxus that his revival of Urgot must have brought Zaun, but that’s just interpretation.) But! Even though most people know that Stanwick didn’t make Blitzcrank - that he stole Blitzcrank - he ends up not losing his university job (he’s still Professor Pididly for most of the JoJ, after all) but... gaining political office!

All of this is to say that Zaun is so crooked that you can have the fact that you stole from someone and ruined their life revealed... and get a promotion to government! You can shatter an idealistic man who had a “hope to better society” and make him into someone like the Machine Herald and face absolutely zero repercussions. I think that that is significantly worse than how new lore Viktor’s victimization by Piltover consisted of an academia-only dispute that left him with just some bitterness... New Viktor was, after all, kicked out of Piltovian academia for ethics violations, not for Blitzcrank.

Everything surrounding old lore Viktor is a bit harder to piece together, since you have to look through a few lores and make a few inferences, which is why I think that people don’t realize exactly how bad he had it... (That and time erasing memories, or people being new to the fandom, or people not being interested in Viktor, or...) But he had it bad, and I’m honestly disappointed that we never got to explore much of Zaun’s particular brand of corporate corruption in canon. Now they’re the perpetual underdogs, both victims and villians, and Riot isn’t quite sure how to write them beyond constant exploitation from Piltover. (Even the chem-barons have taken somewhat of a backseat lately in new lore, from what I’ve seen - Piltover seems to be the primary cause of Zaun’s ills, because the combined region is now an upper city/lower city metaphor about class. The chem-barons just seem to be written as a result of Piltover’s ignoring of Zaun - because Zaun seems to be more of an undercity than a sovereign city or state, but that varies depending on whatever piece of lore you’re reading and... Another post, another time.)

So. TL;DR: Viktor’s always been a character who was victimized by a city, be it Zaun or Piltover. Viktor’s always been a character more complex than just a maniacal villain, although it takes more work to see that in his old lore as compared to his new. (His new pretty much screams “we are trying to make him and Jayce morally grey”, after all.) This victimization is arguably worse in old lore, as it’s implied that he went through a very public legal case that ended with Stanwick taking credit for Blitzcrank. In addition to that, Stanwick’s subsequent shift to politics implies that Zaun is so corrupt that most everyone knowing that he’s a thief isn’t an issue at all. He’s untouchable.

Viktor’s always been the result of an idealistic man being crushed by a society that doesn’t care for him and his dreams. That’s nothing new.

[youremyonlyhope]

(This got long)

When Katie forgot the milk for the tea, Owen's reaction to me didn't seem like this was new, it seemed like this had happened before and he was used to comforting her through it. I don't think she'd have cried so quickly if this was new to her, I think she had been frustrated not confused. That scene must happen very shortly before the scene where Owen begged Dr. Jim for the extra tests. Then the alien parasite in Katie's brain grew from undetectable to a "clear physical tumor" that "wasn't there last week" between that meeting and the MRI and she was brought in for surgery "as soon as possible" where she died. I think it all definitely happened within a year, it may have happened within a couple months honestly. Especially if the tea scene was close enough to their summer wedding that they were planning seating assignments, but far enough that some people were still only just now receiving invitations. Dr. Jim was either a coworker or had been treating Katie long enough that they felt the need to invite him to the wedding.

Then during his 3 month leave from work, he sees Jack again at the graveyard. I think it's really telling that when Owen says "there is no such thing as aliens." that Jack brings him to the Hub to show him Myfanwy as proof (she's not even an alien), instead of referencing the Auton Invasion of London from March 2005. So I'd want to say this was before that invasion.

But then Aliens of London comes in and RTD messes up the entire timeline by jumping forward a year. So honestly, because Chibnall wrote Fragments and Exit Wounds and RTD was pretty hands-off with Torchwood's early seasons, I think Chibs just wanted to find a way to retcon why Naoko was there for the Space Pig. I think he completely forgot about the 1 year time jump and he just thought it took place in 2005 like when it aired.

Because if we say Fragments is 2008 (either later in the year, or set in March when it aired), then Owen's flashback to 4 years ago being 2004 and occurring before the Autons makes sense. And if we assume a few months pass before Owen gets hired and then he's hungover 2 weeks later, having the Space Pig show up in March 2005 like its airdate would match up.

But if we say Fragments is 2009 (because post-Year That Never Was but pre-Stolen Earth) then all of this occurring in 2005 would make more sense. Though if that's the case, I still don't know why in Jack would show Owen a pterodactyl from Earth as proof of aliens if he can reference the mannequins that attacked people less than a year prior.

Basically. RTD made the Doctor skip a year as a gag, and 20 years later we're still trying to make sense of his era's timeline due to all the ripples it caused. God, if only Tosh had said anything other than "your second week" in the Space Pig scene and it'd be slightly clearer. I really think Chibnall might have been imagining the Autons and Space Pig happening really close together like they did when airing, but not in the nonsense timeline RTD set up.

Plus Rose Noble being 15 in the Giggle in 2023 yet being born AFTER Donna and Shaun's 2010 wedding, just tells me RTD2 is still up to his old timeline destroying tricks.

Owen's Age

In Martha's medical log, she states that Owen is 27 during the events of Reset. We're going to talk about why we should stop accepting that as canon and start referring to Owen as being 34 during Reset.

His birthday of February 14th is always constant and isn't something I dispute. We are given two dates for his year of birth, 1974 or 1980.

1980 is on screen in Reset and I believe Exit Wounds, as well as in text published after season two. The fact that this is well documented makes it hard to argue with, and yet I will.

1974 is only ever mentioned once, in an email that was written and published on the TW website alongside Dead Man Walking. Keep in mind that this would have been written before DMW aired, which suggests that 1980 wasn't in the script that the writers were given. A few days after airing, the date in the email was changed to 1980 to match what we saw on TV.

Let's take a quick look at a Owen timeline.

Born either 1974 or 1980.

Began training as a doctor in 1994. He would either be 14 or 20.

Late 2000/early 2001 he walked out on his college girlfriend in London. He would be either 20 or 26.

In March 2001, Owen is a qualified Doctor in Cardiff. He would be either 21 or 27.

Owen was employed by Cardiff General between at least 2000 and 2002. He would have been either 20-22 or 26-28.

Lucy Marmer is brought to Owen's attention in September 2001, six months after Owen qualified. Owen would be either 21 or 27.

Katie dies in 2005, which would make Owen either 25 or 31.

Owen is hired by Torchwood in 2006, making him either 26 or 32.

Reset is set after June 2008, making Owen either 28 or 34.

Having Owen be born in 1974 puts his timeline into some form of sense. It makes him a year older than Tosh, four years older than Gwen, and nine years older than Ianto, which sits well with the dynamics. He in no way feels five years younger than Tosh, two years younger than Gwen, and three years older than Ianto.

In addition, Burn himself is born in 1974 and I frankly don't think he looks six years younger than he actually is.

I will now take questions from the audience.

[nyxocity]

Fic Writer Questions!

Thanks to @redmyeyes for the tag!

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

82, although that's not even close to my actual total. There's a bunch on LJ that have never been transferred (all shorter works)

2) What’s your total AO3 word count?

1,780,805 (over 2mil on LJ)

3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Mostly three, plus a couple dips into a few other pools. X-Men Comic Book fandom, Buffy & Angel fandom (they kinda count as one since it's the same universe), and Supernatural & SPN RPF. Dips have included Dragon Age, Firefly, a tiny bit of TVD, a Sons of Anarchy crossover.

4) What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

This is tough if I go by numbering. Homework Verse has the most kudos scattered across all parts, but Stranger Than Fiction has the most as a single story. Anyway...

Homework Verse (J2 RPF, 200k+ words) - My very first RPF fic, Supernatural or otherwise. Two of my online fandom friends basically TOLD me I was going to write Teacher/Student J2, and I kept protesting that I drew the line at RPF. They didn't care. 200k later, here we are. This story was a game changer for me; it made me fandom famous. I still love those boys with my whole heart, and they still talk to me sometimes.

Stranger Than Fiction (Sam/Dean, 50644 words) - This story idea took root immediately following the episode The Monster at the End of This Book. I quit the Big Bang I'd already begun writing for that year (which was Who Watches Over Me, which I finished and posted for BB the following year) to write this story. It just took hold hold of me and took over. I wrote it in 6 weeks and it was easily the most fun I ever had writing anything--I cackled like a madwoman most of the time.

Who Watches Over Me (J2 RPF, 96591 words) - This story was, at the time, the toughest thing I'd ever written. Little did I know that would become the norm and not the exception, as I began to write more complex stories. It was by far the longest story I had ever posted all at once in its entirety (rather than chapter by chapter) and I had no idea if people would like it. Fortunately a lot of people did.

Like Staring Into the Sun (Sam/Dean, 23243 words) - Ah, my very first hardcore Wincest fic. I remember writing the first chapter of the story (meant to be a one shot honestly), and just sitting there, at 5am, being terrified to post it. It was twisted, dark and intense and SO porny I was scared people might think I was weird. There wasn't anything like it out there at the time. As it turns out, people loved it so much I ended up writing eight more parts.

Like a Fish Out of Water (Sam/Dean, 59498 words) - I have a lot of love for this story. It didn't come to me easily, but it was fun to write. I remember smiling a lot and just having a nice, warm cozy feeling the whole time. I had no idea if anyone was interested in reading this many words of what amounted to a dramedy curtain fic

Of course there are other stories that I feel deserve love, but I can't argue with these.

5) Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I do. And by that, I mean I try. I don't always succeed in answering them all, but I answer as many as I have time and energy for. Life is busy and there is writing to do as well. I read every comment I get (multiple times) and I feel guilty for all the ones I don't answer, because they mean SO MUCH TO ME. Like you took time to leave this beautiful, well thought out comment, or even a keysmash, or a heart, in response to something I wrote. That means the world.

I WISH there was a reaction function for comments on Ao3, so I could heart things, or laugh in response. Replying with emojis without words feels weird. So yeah, a reaction function would be amazing. But in the meantime, I do my best.

6) What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Hmm. Probably A Touch of Evil. Interestingly, it's also a HAPPY ending, so there you go lol. It's a serial killer love story with a happy ending that comes at an exorbitant price.

8) Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I'm not sure why the OG post skips from 6 to 8 lol . So, yes, I have written a few minors crossovers. Mostly Faith in the SPN verse with the boys, nothing too crazy, because she fits right in. But for long stories, I have written all of ONE crossover. It's Dean Winchester/Jax Teller (SPN / Sons of Anarchy). My crossovers so far have tended to make sense to crossover, so I don't think any of them are crazy.

9) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yes. I got some hate on a Buffy/Xander fic back in the day. I got really excited and had fun with it. Like yeah, now I'm SOMEBODY! You're no one til someone hates you lol Most of that was people who were haters of the ship, or were like, gross, they're like brother and sister (they weren't, they were FRIENDS). I've gotten nasty comments here and there on some of my SPN fic. My favorite was the person who accused me of having a "Top Dean Agenda". I STILL laugh about that one. I don't respond to that crap.

10) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Have you MET ME? LOL If I ever post a story without smut just put me out to pasture, because I'm done. And all kinds. Het, Gay, PWP, Plotty porn, mostly super kinky but some vanilla (but intense). I used to challenge myself regularly to see if I could up my kink game--like hmm, but could I write THIS? I haven't written really kinky sex in a long time, though. Might be time to do that.

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Several times. Who Watches Over me was stolen by someone and converted to One Direction Lourry fic. Literally just did a name change. Someone else stole a bunch of my one shots and passed them off as their own. I know there were a couple other instances but I only vaguely remember. I never got too deep into it, most of the time the people who discovered the theft already told everyone else too, and the plagiarist had been hammered by them so hard that I didn't have to step in before they took it down.

12) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes. I used to get requests so often that I just posted my usual response in my profile for people to read instead of replying. Definitely into Russian and Chinese for most of the stories listed with most kudos above.

13) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

A few times on one shot fics. SO MUCH FUN. I love co-writing with people.

14) What’s your all time favorite ship?

Sam/Dean. Easily. Hands down. I just love their unique relationship, bond and love so much.

15) What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Well I finally finished A Touch of Evil after posting 3 chapters in 2009 and never touching it again until 2017. And I never thought I'd finish that. So never say never, I say. That said, there's the third and final part of my X-Men comic book epic that remains unfinished by about five (shorter) chapters, and it HAUNTS ME. But I don't think I'll ever finish it.

16) What are your writing strengths?

NOW we get to the hard questions. I'm really good at dialogue, bouncing banter back and forth between characters, and I have a sense for how long a scene should be. I just KNOW when it's going on too long, even if there's more that needs to be said, and I try to tighten it up in that case.

A friend of mine once told me "Porn is my gift". I don't write as much of it as I used to, but yeah, I shine in that area.

17) What are your writing weaknesses?

So I always reach a point after writing so many words in an unpublished fic where I'm like, I have no idea if this is even any good/makes sense/hangs together etc. Beyond that, I've been writing for so long that I've had so much practice that I've strengthened a lot of my weaknesses. I'm sure I still have some, but I don't FEEL them like I used to anymore. That said, there are things I simply will not write. Like historical pieces. Because I would research the fuck out of every detail trying to get it perfect and then I would still doubt myself completely.

18) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I mostly try to avoid it, because there's no way I would ever get the language correct. I usually write it in English and then explain that they're saying it in another language. Like, "What are you doing?" the man asks, speaking in Chinese. Then reiterate in the continuing dialogue in various ways that they're speaking in Chinese.

19) What was the first fandom you wrote for?

X-Men Comic Book fandom. I was reading a lot of Remy/Rogue fic back in 1996-1997, and one day I was like, you know what? This person did a pretty good job on this story. It's not great, but it's pretty good, and if they can have the guts to put it out there, then I can do it, too.

20) What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

This is a tough question. I don't love all my children equally, but I love them all a lot in different ways lol

Remembering favorite is different than which one I think is BEST... Homework Verse is probably my favorite. I was learning so much about writing then, I was really growing, and discovering, and pushing my limits. Those characters lived and breathed in me, I swear they spoke through me from some alternate universe. They feel so REAL to me. There's so much of what I've learned in life in that story, like really, big, life changing ideas and understandings that happened to me that I put into that story. There's so much of me in that story, and yet there's so much of THEM, too. It's their story, but it's also mine. It's raw and not entirely perfect and it feels like home to me.

--

So that's it, that's my piece. I feel like EVERYONE has been tagged since it took me 3 days to have time to do this, but I'm basically tagging any of you writers out there who haven't done this yet!

[path-of-my-childhood]

Taylor Swift: Pop Star of the Year

By: Jonathan Dean for The Sunday Times Date: December 27th 2020

Rather than hunker down, the singer put out two albums in 2020 and won over new audiences. She’s the pop star of the year.

Taylor Swift met Paul McCartney in the autumn for a big interview in Rolling Stone. The two would have headlined Glastonbury this summer. Who knows if they will do that next year. Anyway, both recorded albums in lockdown, working from home like the rest of us. When they spoke, though, Swift had a secret. As well as Folklore, released in July, she had a follow-up record in the pipeline — Evermore, which was released this month.

Swift noted that the former Beatle was still so full of joy. “Well, we’re just so lucky, aren’t we?” he said. “We’re really lucky,” Swift replied. “I can’t believe it’s my job.” And she is right. Being a pop star is an extraordinary way to earn the living she does. But rather than accepting luxury and letting this tough year tumble on, Swift is also keenly aware what music means. Sad songs soothe, happy songs make us dance, but as fans of most artists waited for something — anything — this year, this 31-year-old released two albums that broke chart records, were critically adored and introduced her to people who once thought that she wasn’t for them.

“I’m so exhausted!” she said to the American chat show host Jimmy Kimmel, laughing, a few weeks ago, when asked if she had a third new album planned. “I have nothing left.” In addition to Folklore and Evermore, she filmed a TV special and even started rerecording her back catalogue, after a volatile dispute over who owns her work. By October I’d just about cobbled together my first sourdough loaf.

A decade ago Swift moved firmly into the limelight thanks to a squabble with Kanye West entirely of the rapper’s own making. In 2009, when Swift — then a nascent country music star — won the best female video award at the VMAs, West stormed on stage, grabbed her microphone and said that Beyoncé should have won. Swift was 19 — West was 32 — and she looked scared. This wasn’t just about her biggest moment yet being stolen, but also about her position in the pop hierarchy being questioned, very publicly, from the off. She stood there as that man bullied her. Apparently she left the stage in tears.

Years later West released Famous, with its infamous lyric “I feel like me and Taylor might still have sex/ Why? I made that bitch famous.” The alt-folk singer Father John Misty also wrote about sleeping with her. Every time that sort of thing happened, a powerful man in Swift’s industry was reducing a successful, talented, younger female to the level of a sex object. It was back-in-your-box belittling — as it was when a TV host groped her. (She successfully sued him.) While Swift herself would retort to West, as her music became less country, more slick pop, such retorts felt forced and gave the rapper too much of her oxygen. A nod to him on Folklore comes with the “Clowns to the West” line, but it is a sideshow now, not a headline.

Not that Swift’s life is entirely her own. She’s been one of the world’s bestselling female artists for a decade, coupled with curiosities such as a well-orchestrated relationship with Tom Hiddleston that kept her in the spotlight. Like many twentysomethings, Swift spent her youth apolitically, only to receive flak for staying silent during the 2016 US election. This year she endorsed Joe Biden, but what if she had wanted to stay quiet? Would the media have let her? She is under so much scrutiny that, after she made an innocuous hand gesture in a recent TV interview, similar to one women make to draw attention to domestic abuse, this headline ran: “Some people think Taylor Swift is secretly asking for help in her latest interview.”

Like many at the start of the pandemic she felt listless. The world we were used to was a wasteland, and we could only find the energy to watch Normal People. Swift’s ennui, though, was, well, swift. Stuck in LA, she emailed Aaron Dessner of the beloved beardy indie band the National to see if he fancied writing with her. No fool, Dessner said yes and, mere weeks later, the duo — with help from Swift’s regular collaborator Jack Antonoff as well as Justin Vernon, from the beloved beardy indie band Bon Iver — released Folklore. The gang just carried on working and, five months later, gave us Evermore.

Creativity is not on tap. Indeed, this year is not one for judging what others may or not have achieved. However, the silence of many big pop stars is striking because they know that even a single would make someone’s day; distract for a while.

Everyone needed to adjust to working from home, but Swift was one of the only musicians who did and, by eschewing the arena pop of recent albums for something more subdued, organic and folky, she gave the sense that she was letting fans in more than ever. She was at home, like us. This is who she is, and the first single from these sessions was so cosy, it was even called Cardigan.

“I just thought, ‘There are no rules any more,’” she told McCartney. “Because I used to put all these parameters on myself, like, ‘How will this song sound in a stadium?’ If you take away the parameters, what do you make? I guess Folklore.”

Maybe it is tedious, for a deft writer with a career of varied, brilliant songs — Love Story, I Knew You Were Trouble, Blank Space — to find respect from some people only when artists who appeal to middle-aged men start to work with her. On the other hand, pop has never been particularly welcoming to many until it sounds like something you are used to and, with delicate acoustics and gossamer-like piano, Swift’s two new albums recall, sonically, Nick Drake or Kate Bush. Thematically, lyrics seem to come from anywhere. Daphne du Maurier, for one. Even the Lake District and its poets.

Some songs are personal. She is dating British actor Joe Alwyn, and on one track she sings, “I want to give you a child.” Make of that what you will. But these records’ highlights are not about herself, but others. “There was a point,” she told Zane Lowe on Apple Music, “that I had got to as a writer, [where I was only writing] diaristic songs. That felt unsustainable.” Instead, she does what the best writers do and mixes subjective with objective. The Last American Dynasty is a terrific piece of writing about the socialite Rebekah Harkness, who lived in a Rhode Island house that Swift bought and was, by all accounts, a bit scandalous. Swift tells her story almost with envy. Imagine, she seems to say, that freedom.

“In my anxieties,” she said in Rolling Stone, “I can often control how I am as a person and how normal I act. But I cannot control if there are 20 photographers outside in the bushes and if they follow our car and interrupt our lives.”

Then there is Epiphany. The first verse is about her grandfather, who fought in the Second World War; the second about frontline workers in hospitals now. Sung in a high register, it is suitably choral. Marjorie, on Evermore, is even better. It is about her grandmother, an opera singer who died in 2003. “What died didn’t stay dead” is the repeated line, and it is eerie, gorgeous. Swift sings how she thinks Marjorie is singing to her, at which point some vocals from the latter’s recordings waft in. Touching, but the real power is in Swift writing about vague memories of a relative who died when she was young. “I complained the whole way there,” she sings. “I should’ve asked you questions.”

In person she is warm like this, and funny. When Kimmel told her there were far more swearwords on Folklore and Evermore than previous records, she replied: “It’s just been that kind of year.” She is also odder than people realise. In the way pop stars should be. Obsessed by numerology, she wrote, on the eve of her birthday when announcing Evermore: “Ever since I was 13, I’ve been excited about turning 31 because it’s my lucky number backwards.” When I turned 31 I just wished to be 13 again, with all that youth, but then, maybe, she is just joking. “Yes, so until I turn 113 or 131, this will be the highlight of my life,” she said. “The numerology thing? I sort of force it to happen.”

Swift, of course, is far from the first pop star to become public property, or have a close bond with fans. This year, however, she was one of the few to show that such adoration is not one-way. She is, simply, a fan of her fans — from planting secrets in her artwork and lyrics, to recording two albums of new music as a balm for them when real life became too deafening.

“One good thing about music,” sang Bob Marley. “When it hits you, you feel no pain.” The 80.6 million who streamed Folklore on its first day will attest to that idea. So will the four million who bought it. Swift is pop star of the year, no doubt — leaving her peers in her wake, on their sofas, rewatching The Sopranos.

[howaminotinthestrokesyet]

Where Have They Gone Now: Izzy Stradlin

Born Jeffrey Dean Isbell, the future guitar player for Guns N’ Roses was born and grew up in Lafayette, Indiana. He always held a fondness for the small-town life in Indiana. “It was cool growing up there. There's a courthouse and a college, a river and railroad tracks. It's a small town, so there wasn't much to do. We rode bikes, smoked pot, got into trouble—it was pretty Beavis and Butt-Head actually." His first instrument turned out to be the drums because his paternal grandmother played in a swing jazz band. Izzy started his first band in high school with a group of friends including a young man named William Bailey, who later became Axl Rose. Stradlin would later recall his first impression of Rose. “We were long-haired guys in high school. You were either a jock or a stoner. We weren't jocks, so we ended up hanging out together. We'd play covers in the garage. There were no clubs to play at, so we never made it out of the garage." He would go on to actually become the only member of GNR to graduate high school with a D average. Upon graduation, the future rhythm guitarist moved to Los Angeles in 1980.

Upon his arrival in LA, Stradlin joined the group, Naughty Women. During their first show, audience members began assaulting the band as they played. Izzy would later recall the incident. “I just grabbed a cymbal stand and stood on the side trying to fend them off, yelling, 'Get the fuck away from me, man!' That was my introduction to the rock scene in L.A." After two months, he left Naughty Women to join the punk band, The Atoms, which was short lived. During his time in that group, his drum kit was stolen, so Stradlin switched to the bass guitar. In 1983, he joined with Axl Rose to form the group, Hollywood Rose. They would go on to record a five song demo, but they eventually disbanded. He had a short stint with Sunset Strip local favorite London before reuniting with Hollywood Rose. In March 1985, they added more members to Hollywood Rose to become Guns N’ Roses.

As Guns N’ Roses began work on a first album, Stradlin emerged as the key songwriter for the album, Appetite For Destruction. He held a co-writer credit for almost every track on the album. At the time, this might have surprised some people as Izzy had garnered the reputation as a go to guy for really good heroin. He had become quite the addict himself as well. Yet, the guitarist was still able to function as a member of Guns N’ Roses at a very high level. In the band’s follow up EP, Lies, Stradlin also contributed by helping to write the track, “Patience.” Yet, the good times quickly went bad for the guitarist, when he was given probation for a year for urinating in the aisle of an airplane. This led him to making the decision to get sober going home to Indiana to detox from drugs and alcohol. Upon his return to the band, things were not quite the same. In 1991, Guns N’ Roses released Use Your Illusion I and II. The group was probably at the height of its fame during this time. Stradlin shocked the music world when following its release, he quit the band. His last performance with the band was in late August of that year at Wembley Stadium. He received songwriting credits for 10 songs on the new albums. In interviews, he would go on to say that he did not want to deal with the band drama any longer, but more specifically the antics of one Axl Rose. Another issue was the fact that other band members were trying to pay him less in royalties. “Once I quit drugs, I couldn't help looking around and asking myself, 'Is this all there is?' I was just tired of it; I needed to get out."

Following his surprising exit from Guns N’ Roses, Izzy Stradlin returned to his home town of Lafayette, Indiana. It was here that he began writing and recording new music. He formed the band Izzy Stradlin and the Juju Hounds, which included members of the Georgia Satellites and Broken Homes. Their first album, self titled, was released in October 1992. In the Rolling Stone review, they said it was a “thoroughly winning solo debut.” The band played their first show at the Avalon in Chicago that September. In May 1993, Stradlin would return to Guns n’ Roses to fill in for his replacement, Gilby Clark, who had an injured wrist. After that ended, Stradlin returned to the Juju Hounds for a tour of Japan. He would then take time off from any music-related projects.

In 1995, the guitarist began working on material for a new solo album. The album would not be released until 1998. Duff McKagan formerly of Guns N’ Roses played on the album. Much like his album with the Juju Hounds, Stradlin did absolutely nothing to promote the album. He would not do any interviews, no tour, and for the most part tried as hard as he could to stay out of the public eye. This was his last album with Geffen, as they dropped him from the label because he did not sell very many records. In December 1999, Stradlin released his third solo album, Ride on on the Universal Victor label. This time he would actually play four live shows to promote the album. Stradlin and his band would go on to record two additional albums, River in 2001, and On Down the Road in 2002. The latter album was a Japan only release. Around that time, he was asked by former bandmates, Duff McKagan, Slash, and Matt Sorum to join the supergroup Velvet Revolver. In the end, he decided not to join because of his dislike for life on the road and collaborating with a lead singer. Though, he did contribute to some early songs.

In the next few years, Stradlin turned out to be quite prolific in the release of new material. He released solo albums in 2005, 2007, 2008, and 2009. In 2012, Izzy was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame as part of Guns N’ Roses. He released a statement thanking various people, but did not attend the induction ceremony. Stradlin would join Guns N’ Roses for a few shows later that year, but the guitarist ultimately decided not to return full-time. One of the sticking points was salary for the concerts not being split equally. He might have been offered guest appearances, but he would have declined those as well. Since then, Stradlin has only released a few singles and played guitar on a John Mellencamp album in 2017.

Izzy Stradlin is one of the most unique stories in the history of rock and roll music. Here is a guy, who walked away from fame, money, adulation, and did not think twice about it. He still lives in Lafayette, Indiana remaining a bit of a recluse to this day. The only time you hear from him is upon the release of any new music. Yet, it is interesting because you never hear him, but instead the only time you hear him talk at all is probably in his lyrics. In 2016, people did make a big deal out of the fact that he had joined Twitter. Stradlin has since deleted that account. The guitarist felt that the royalties he would earn for the rest of his life because of one album was good enough for him. Over the years, people had said that he was the coolest dude they have ever met in their entire life. Nothing ever phased him at all. I would say that is fairly accurate. Izzy Stradlin walked away from Guns N’ Roses and didn’t give a fuck what anybody thought about it.

[thevioletcaptain]

Empty Heroics, Low Comedy, Pointless Death

~33k | DeanCas | Mature

Dean’s mind is sticking on the one question he can’t ever hope to answer: was Chuck’s manipulation limited to the world around them—the maze Dean had described to Sam, where Chuck built an obstacle course and set them loose like lab rats—or were they designed, too?

Are Dean’s thoughts his own? His feelings? His reactions and actions, his likes and dislikes? His love for his family and his friends?

If Chuck has been behind all of it, then who is he? Who are any of them?

A canon-divergent S15 fic, posting in three parts.

________________________

Part One | Empty Heroics

“The worst thing that could possibly happen to anybody would be to not be used for anything by anybody. Thank you for using me, even though I didn’t want to be used by anybody.”

― Kurt Vonnegut, The Sirens of Titan

________________________

For the better part of twenty-three years, as he’s travelled in a seemingly endless and uneven loop around the lower forty-eight, there’s been a dog-eared, pilfered copy of Vonnegut’s The Sirens of Titan among Dean’s scant few possessions.

The book spent its first handful of months in the bottom of Dean’s duffle bag. Then, a year or so jammed into the Impala’s glove compartment, and a few after that tucked into the increasingly tattered Steve Madden shoebox with John’s collection of worn out cassette tapes. For several months in 2009, it was wedged under the edge of a mattress in Bobby Singer’s spare room, and then, eventually, it ended up in its current home—nestled between a stolen motel bible and a book of Enochian protection spells in the only bedroom Dean has had to call his own since he was four years old.

These days, the first page is held in place by several strips of yellowed tape, each layer added when the previous one started to come loose. In the back, there’s an empty pocket where a library borrowing card used to go.

On the front cover, a long, diagonal crease runs from the lower left corner to the upper right, bisecting the title so that it looks like it reads The Sire of Tit if you’re not paying close enough attention.

Dean had just turned seventeen when he first picked it up.

The public library in Chisholm, Minnesota had been across the street from one of the only paying jobs Dean’s ever had. For the two months that he and Sam were stuck in the small town—waiting while John and a hunter they never met made slow work of tracking a wendigo in the George Washington State Forest—he’d finish his shift at Video Hut, and wander over to meet Sam, whose thrill at the novelty of staying in one place for two whole months had translated, naturally, into joining an after-school study club.

Every afternoon, Dean would arrive at the library, wave at Sam through the study room window, and make himself comfortable on the nearest chair for the twenty minutes it would take Sam and his new friends to wrap things up. He usually just grabbed whichever book had the most interesting cover on the closest shelf. He’d read a few pages for something to do, then shove it back in place when Sam was done. A couple of weeks in, though, he’d started reading Slaughterhouse-Five and hadn’t wanted to put it down.

He used Sam’s library card to borrow it, and finished it three days later. He borrowed Sirens next, and when they left town, it had ended up mixed in with his things, bundled up with the too-big Carhartt jacket he’d found at a garage sale in Idaho and shoved into the bottom of his duffel bag. That’s when it got the crease in the cover. The dog-eared pages came later, when he read it for the second time. Third time. Eighth.

Soon, he started seeking out more books whenever he found himself with a little bit of downtime, whenever Sam was preoccupied and not in need of his help or company. Over the years, he worked his way through the rest of Vonnegut’s catalogue before moving on to Kerouac and Palahniuk and a decent chunk of Burroughs. Vonnegut, though, was responsible for the first book he’d read just for the hell of it. For the simple pleasure of it. He’s always had a soft spot for the author because of that.

So, on the mile-long list of things that Chuck has thoroughly ruined, Dean’s appreciation for Vonnegut novels has to be somewhere near the bottom in terms of importance, but… man.

There’s just something so vindictive about the way he’d played along all those years ago—It’s Kilgore Trout Vonnegut, haha, we’re all friends here—that it makes Dean want to smack the soulless prick directly in his smug, smirking mouth.

Right now, standing in an empty classroom at John C. Harlan High School and staring at some unknown English teacher’s list of extra credit reading assignments scrawled across the chalkboard, Dean thinks about Slaughterhouse-Five, and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, and Twelve Monkeys, and every other book and movie that has ever made him think about the concept of free will for more than three seconds, and wonders if Chuck was responsible for their creation in this universe as some kind of private joke shared only with himself.

If he had watched Dean reading them and laughed.

More than anything, though, Dean’s mind is sticking on the one question he can’t ever hope to answer: was Chuck’s manipulation limited to the world around them—the maze Dean had described to Sam, where Chuck built an obstacle course and set them loose like lab rats—or were they designed, too?

Are Dean’s thoughts his own? His feelings? His reactions and actions, his likes and dislikes? His love for his family and his friends?

If Chuck has been behind all of it, then who is he? Who are any of them?

Because he can’t shake the all-encompassing fear that, at best, they’re in a choose your own adventure. One of those Give Yourself Goosebumps stories that Sam was obsessed with for a few months when he was thirteen. Books where you’re given the illusion of autonomy, but ultimately doomed to wind up with one of a few predetermined endings no matter which page you turn to at the beginning. All the lines already written. All the possibilities set out in a facsimile of free choice.

Digging his fingers into the back of his neck, Dean breathes deeply, slowly, sits down on the edge of the teacher’s desk, and tries to rationalize. He’s real. He’s real. He defied Chuck in the graveyard. Pick it up, Chuck had demanded, and Dean had refused. That’s proof. That has to be proof.

And… there had been something humming under his skin, in the graveyard. Something pushing, making his muscles twitch toward the weapon he’d dropped. A pulse, an electric buzz that made him feel as though it would have been easier to just do it, to do what Chuck wanted him to do. As though his hand wanted to reach out and hold the grip, his finger itching for the trigger, the gun that was made for him, molded to fit his palm.

He’d fought it, he’d had to fight it, but the feeling had been unsettlingly familiar.

Now, he wonders now how many times he’s unwittingly let Chuck force his hand because the stakes hadn’t seemed all that high, because he hadn’t recognized that the compulsion, the anger, the righteousness was coming from someplace outside of himself.

How many times has Chuck made him act out a more dramatic plot line? Which losses were truly his own? Which victories? Which mistakes can he wholly take the blame for?

How can he ever know how far down the manipulations go?

“Shit,” he gasps out against the back of his hand, and squeezes his eyes shut, and curses again, bites the word out through gritted teeth. “Fuck.”

A knock comes at the open classroom door a moment later, startling him out of his thoughts before he can spiral any further into what feels like an endless pit of existential dread that he’s not remotely equipped to deal with. He’s expecting to see Sam—he doubts that Cas is going to seek him out any time soon, given the barbs Dean’s been flinging at him—but as it turns out, it’s neither of them.

A fatal combination of reflex and utter exhaustion makes him ask, “What’s the news, Jack?” without thinking. The moment the name leaves his mouth he feels a sick, slithering lurch in his gut, skin prickling hot and cold. The taste of bitter bile floods his mouth.

To his credit, Belphegor doesn’t comment on the slip.

Dean thinks the demon may have raised an eyebrow, but thanks to the sunglasses, it’s hard to tell. For a moment, Belphegor just stands there awkwardly and looks at him, hands hidden in the pockets of the jeans Jack had picked out for himself at a thrift store in Red Cloud after Dean had emphatically vetoed a pair of highlighter-yellow track pants.

“Your brother sent me,” Belphegor says, finally, sounding more put-upon than he has any business being. “A few of those hunters you called turned up. He’s going with them to start clearing out the bodies.”

“The bodies,” Dean repeats, slow, still a little off-kilter, and then his brain kicks back into drive. Right. Ghost-Gacy’s victims. The teenage girls Cas mentioned finding in a blood-splattered bedroom. The Sheriff, whose heart Belphegor had ripped right out of his chest while Dean watched in muted horror from six feet away. He’s still not sure how the hell they’re going to make that—or any of the others, really—look like the result of a damned chemical leak, but moving them to an uncompromised location is probably a good start. He nods to himself. “Right. When are we heading out?”

“Actually… Sam said you’d be staying here. Apparently I’m ‘not allowed’ to be left on my own. Benefit of the doubt would be nice, considering I’ve been nothing but helpful since I showed up, but whatever, I get it. You’re hunters, I’m a demon. Old dogs, new tricks, yada yada yada.”

What about Cas? is on the tip of Dean’s tongue, but he doesn’t voice the question.

For one, considering the fact that Cas can’t stand to even look at Belphegor, supervising him is probably out of the question. For two, Dean’s too messed up to even think about Cas right now, let alone talk about him with the jackass demon wearing his kid. Their kid.

Jack is dead. Mom is dead. Belphegor clears his throat, impatient, and Dean wants to be sick. There’s no time.

“Okay.” Swallowing against the sour taste in his mouth, Dean pushes back to his feet. His knees pop with the movement as his whole body protests at being forced to stand again when he still hasn’t paid off the 40-something hours of sleep debt he already owes. He shakes it off. Pushes through. “Okay,” he says again, and gestures for Belphegor to lead the way. “Let’s go.”

[keep reading on ao3]

[canmom]

Animation Night 14 - Cartoon Saloon

It’s Thursday! Animation Night day!

Today we’re going to focus on a pretty special studio - Cartoon Saloon of Ireland, who are known for beautifully composed Irish mythological stories and arty dramas...

The studio was founded by former classmates Tomm Moore, Paul Young and Nora Twomey in 1999. In their first few years, they directed a couple of short films, From Darkness and Backwards Boy. But they first got everyone’s attention in 2009 with their feature film The Secret of Kells.

A collaboration with French and Belgian studios such as Les Armateurs, the film took inspiration from a beautiful 9th-century illuminated manuscript called the Book of Kells. The book, one of the loveliest surviving illuminated works, is named for the Irish abbey where it may have been written, and where it was kept for many centuries. It’s in this Abbey of Kells where our story is set.

In the period after the Book of Kells was written, Vikings would frequently sail from Scandinavia to raid Ireland, and the abbeys - where a great deal of wealth was concentrated - were a particularly juicy target. The Abbey of Kells was attacked repeatedly throughout the 10th century. The Book of Kells itself was stolen despite the best efforts of the monks, but returned without its cover a couple of months later.

The Secret of Kells, directed by Tomm Moore and Nora Twomey, imagines a fictional story of how the book was written, placing the Christian world of the abbey in tension with the world of Irish mythology outside it. It focuses on a young boy Brendan in training to be a monk at the Abbey, and a fairy called Aisling with whom he strikes up an unlikely friendship. In the film’s telling, the book’s illumination depends on a magnifying lens stolen from the Irish god Crom Cruach, whose worship was historically suppressed by early Christians. But it’s also the first few years of Viking attack, and the monks live in fear for when the invaders will come for them.

Because they’re using Flash, they can make all the movements butter-smooth with computer inbetweening, but they do some really sweet elegant character animation and some absolutely splendid scene composition (inspired by the book itself) and music which really creates something special. You can definitely see the influence of Richard Williams through The Thief and the Cobbler, though thankfully dropping that film’s shallow Orientalism.

The Secret of Kells was a big international hit, so Cartoon Saloon got to make many more films, short and long. Their next full-length film, Song of the Sea (2014), is even more directly inspired by Irish mythology. Directed again by Tomm Moore, it’s the story of a selkie, Saoirse, and her brother Ben, whose mother disappeared when they were young, leaving them with their father, a lighthouse-keeper, and grandmother, who casts Saoirse’s selkie coat away when she takes the kids to the city.

Saoirse falls ill without her coat, and soon she and Ben find themselves embroiled in a complicated situation involving fairies who are unable to return to Tír na nÓg, and the mythological figure Manannán mac Lir, who has been turned to stone by his mother Macha, now determined to strip the world of emotions. So it’s time for things to get really mythological...

And honestly, just look at these gifs... it seems like they’ve outdone themselves on the animation front too. I didn’t get the chance to see this film when it came out, so I’m really excited to show it now. Like with Kells, this film is a big international collaboration supported by animation studios from across Europe. They have a real knack for lush, intricate backgrounds full of little spirals, and simple but extremely appealing character designs with great motion which is making my animator brain go ‘ooooooooooooooooooooooooh.......’

With their third film, Nora Twomey went in a totally different direction: where their previous films had been all about mythology, their next one goes for realistic drama, adapted from a book by Canadian author Deborah Ellis. Set in Kabul during the years before the 2001 American invasion, it centres on a girl called Parvana, whose father (an injured veteran of the Soviet-Afghan war) is arrested by the Taliban. Since the Taliban heavily restrict women going outside without an accompanying male relative, Parvana starts to dress as a boy to support the family. She struggles to save up enough of a bribe to visit her father in prison. But history is unfolding, and the US invasion is about to begin...

I admit I have a few concerns about this film. Deborah Ellis wrote her novels not from any personal familiarity with life in Afghanistan in the 90s, but from interviews with people in a refugee camp in Pakistan, inevitably filtered through her own interpretation. Without trying to exonerate the Taliban, who are obviously as fashy as they come, this premise seems to fit rather neatly into jingoist Western conceptions of Muslims as universally violent, irrational misogynists. I can’t say if it has the same eye for complexity and humanity as a film like Persepolis - at worst it risks verging into misery porn. Even so, I would like to watch it, just with a critical eye...

On an animation level, this film looks really beautiful though, with a lot of smooth, subtle movement and gorgeous background painting. I hope the story it’s telling is worth the evident effort they’ve put in.

Cartoon Saloon are presently working on two more feature films. Tomm Moore is directing The Wolfwalkers, a kind of fantasised account of Cromwell’s genocidal occupation of Ireland through the lens of transforming wolf people. Nora Twomey meanwhile is working on an adaptation of the children’s book My Father’s Dragon, about a kid running away to an island of strange creatures in order to rescue a dragon.

In the meantime, they’ve also released various short films, such as Late Afternoon (2018), a 9-minute film directed by Louise Bagnall, about an old woman with dementia reminiscing on her life.

My plan for the schedule is to sandwich The Breadwinner between the other two films, so it will go like:

Secret of Kells

The Breadwinner

Late Afternoon (short film)

Song of the Sea

I’m really excited and hope to see you there, because these are some really beautiful films and there’s nobody really doing anything else in this style!

time: 7pm UK time (about 5 hours from posting)

place: twitch.tv/canmom

[carelessgraces]

thinking about astoria in her modern verses, both magical and mundane, and her relationship with her godparents. since i’ve made a few adjustments to her godparents, i figure it’s worth getting into here —

     evander (1968-2009) and elyssa (1970-2009) vetri are astoria’s first cousins, once removed, the niece and nephew of her paternal grandmother. evander and elyssa were both born within a year of astoria’s father, gaspare; though the three didn’t see each other as often as they’d have liked, they were close nevertheless, and when they were together, they were inseparable. when it came time to name godparents for his youngest daughter, gaspare insisted on his cousins, fully believing that they would love her as much as he did, and care for her to the best of their ability if anything happened to him and his wife. but evander and elyssa’s lives took them to london, and gaspare moved to dublin to be with seraphina, and they saw each other less and less; astoria always knew of them, but didn’t know them particularly well.

     when astoria was thirteen, during the summer holiday, evander and elyssa moved to dublin, claiming that they hoped to reconnect with the family. gaspare was ecstatic, and encouraged them to spend time with their goddaughter especially, and astoria was thrilled to get to know them better. elyssa’s influence began early: she laid the groundwork to subtly undermine astoria whenever she had the chance, calling into question her perception of reality whenever she had the opportunity, and making a point of diminishing all of astoria’s successes and skills as often as she could. 

     by the time that the evander and elyssa recommended withdrawing astoria from hargrove academy, her school in dublin, following the easter holiday, astoria had begun to beg for the same thing: of course her godparents could provide for her. of course they could teach her. they would take her to venice, and would bring her throughout europe; she would learn by experiencing and doing, would have the best tutors money could buy. her sense of self had been damaged to the point that, despite their skepticism, gaspare and seraphina agreed to the suggestion. thirteen was a hard age. lots of little girls started to hate themselves. maybe what astoria needed was more hands-on attention, where she was the only child being looked after. 

     they hadn’t realized that, for months, the vetris had been using astoria to transport weapons and stolen goods throughout dublin, often without her knowledge that she was carrying anything at all. ( who would suspect astoria — small for thirteen, pretty, bright? ) they had become donors at hargrove, which granted them access to her and freed them of suspicion when they were present on-campus, “visiting.” when she was withdrawn from hargrove and brought to london, she had already been an unknowing accomplice in a number of crimes, and at this point, things only got worse. if she struggled with her education, or questioned her guardians, or tried to get help, she was severely disciplined; she quickly learned how to hide the marks. while elyssa made her believe things weren’t as bad as they seemed, and that perhaps they were only disciplining her because it was the only way to get through to her, evander had become physically abusive. 

     she sent letters to her parents throughout their travels — london was their home base, but they moved frequently — and called regularly, and after the first time she tried to tell her parents to come get her, she didn’t try again. at fifteen, astoria was used as bait to kidnap one of the vetri’s rivals, left ( apparently ) alone and injured along a roadside. when the man they were targeting got out of his car to help her, the vetris stole the car, and took him with them. she was present for his murder, shortly after, and at this point, astoria realized that the only way she was getting away from them was if they were dead. 

     here’s the major divergence. in astoria’s modern witch verse, she waits until they attempt to steal a grimoire held in a catacomb in paris, heavily guarded. astoria catches a lucky glance at some notes, learning of some of the spells in place to protect the grimoire, and when they arrive, she begins to goad evander, knowing that he’ll lose his temper first. when, in his anger, he moves to strike her, she’s able to trigger one of the protective spells, which kills evander and traps elyssa with astoria — and when elyssa lunges at astoria, she does it again. she’s found two days later, dehydrated and weak, by the grimoire’s owners, and she explains that she was brought there against her will, that she didn’t know what was happening, begs for help, and appears entirely as a traumatized child. the grimoire’s owner takes pity on her, contacts her parents, and keeps her safe until their arrival; when her father heals her injuries with magic, he discovers several healed breaks, and she tells him, and her mother, the truth about the vetris and their abuse. she does not tell them about her participation, unwilling as it was, in their crimes, only that she observed them. she also doesn’t tell them that she killed evander and elyssa.

     in astoria’s modern verse, she goads evander again, shortly after the murder, and he leaves her with a broken arm and clavicle. the following day, he and elyssa leave to take her to a hospital only after astoria ( very deliberately ) lets “slip” how much pain she’s in around a neighbor, who expresses concern. ( they explain it away as a fall, and astoria never complaining much, and that they had hoped it wasn’t a serious injury. the neighbor is a bit skeptical, but ultimately accepts this. ) while driving to the hospital, astoria goads evander again, over and over and over again, until he starts to lose his focus on the road — and a hard kick to his seat has him turning around to hit her again, and elyssa scrambling to keep them from veering off the road. elyssa isn’t able to help much. it’s a rainy day, and the roads aren’t great — just as astoria had expected — and they crash into a tree near the road. evander is killed on impact. astoria remains in the car, watching elyssa struggle, until she’s certain that elyssa won’t survive — then she drags herself out of the car and tries to flag down help. 

     when help arrives, she seems shocked, too traumatized to fully understand what’s happened. her parents come to her in the hospital, where a doctor quietly explains that her injuries are more extensive than what the accident caused, and that the healed fractures in her x-rays suggest abuse. she admits that she’s been abused, and that the vetris forced her to witness their crimes — not to participate, only to observe — but not her part in their deaths. 

     her one slip-up is that she gets her license within a month of turning sixteen, while in boston. she drives well, and she drives fast. her teachers and parents think it odd, but chalk it up to a desire to control something traumatizing for her. it’s the start of a lifelong love affair with cars. 

     in both cases — astoria moves in with her aunt ( her mother’s sister ) in the following months, to complete her schooling in boston. that takes some convincing, and her parents stay with her on and off during the next two years, but they know that she needs space, and that she needs a fresh start. a few years later she tells her brother, damon, about the abuse and asks him to tell her sisters; it’s not a story she wants to tell more than she has to. she tells iain an abridged version about three years into their relationship, and she typically doesn’t tell another soul for years — she only shares this information, and only a very limited version of this, if she believes it necessary. the only people who get the full story are her aunt astoria, who she lives with in boston, and a priest in boston eventually, if she ends up in a permanent and committed relationship, she will tell whoever she’s with the full story, but it takes a long time to get there. 

[cinema-tv-etc]

Ruth Bader Ginsburg's Late Husband Marty Was the 'Only Boy Who Cared She Had a Brain'

"He was smitten pretty quickly," the justice's son, James, says of his father. "It might have taken my mother a little longer"

By Liz McNeil December 19, 2018

When Martin Ginsburg met Ruth Bader, a fellow Cornell University student, back in 1950, he first thought: “She’s awfully cute.”

But that wasn’t his only thought. “Then he noticed, she’s awfully smart,” says their son James Ginsburg, 53. “Mom said Dad was the only boy who dated her who cared that she had a brain.”

“He was smitten pretty quickly,” James recalls. “It might have taken my mother a little longer.”

But not too long. They married in 1955 and both enrolled in Harvard Law School. In an era when Ruth was one of nine females, out of 552 students, in her class, and who, upon graduation was unable to get a law firm job (“We hired a woman the last year, we don’t really need you,” she was told) their 56-year relationship, based on mutual adoration and respect, was an example of what equality of the sexes was all about.

The Ginsburgs  Collection of the Supreme Court of the United States

Their love story, from their first blind date to Marty’s death due to cancer in 2010, is the subject of two films. The upcoming feature film, On The Basis of Sex, starring Felicity Jones as Ruth, and Armie Hammer as Marty, (written by Ruth’s nephew Daniel Stiepleman) and the highly acclaimed documentary, RBG, which includes stunning footage of the young couple. (The documentary has been shortlisted for an Oscar nomination, come January.)

Both films reveal a softer side of the Supreme Court Justice, whose brilliant legal mind made her one of the foremost experts in gender discrimination law and an unlikely pop culture icon, The Notorious RBG.

Through it all, Ruth has credited Marty, whom she calls “my best friend and biggest booster.”  As she wrote in a New York Times Op-Ed in 2016, “I betray no secret in reporting that …without him, I would not have gained a seat on the Supreme Court.”

“My father really believed in her,” says their daughter Jane Ginsburg, 63, a Columbia Law School professor.

RELATED VIDEO: Ruth Bader Ginsburg Joins the #MeToo Movement with Story of Her Own Sexual Harassment

“They each understood what the other was all about,” says longtime friend Judge Harry Edwards. “Ruth gave to him the same way that he gave to her. They were unbelievably compatible.”

Their bond was cemented early on when Marty was diagnosed with testicular cancer (and given a five percent chance of surviving.) Ruth, who cared for their baby daughter, Jane, after a day of classes, organized his friends to take class notes, which she typed up so he could study when he woke up after midnight. (At the time, he was undergoing radiation and slept much of the day and night.) At two in the morning, she would begin her own studies.

At home, they were equal partners. When James temporarily hijacked the elevator at his grade school, the headmaster called his mother. “She’d been up all night working on a Supreme Court briefing,” says James, a producer of classical music. “They said ‘You must come to school right away.���  And she said, ‘This child has two parents. You must alternate the calls from now on, starting with this one.’ ”

The Ginsburg family  Collection of the Supreme Court of the United States

Marty’s take was different James says: “When they said your son has stolen the elevator, he said ‘How far could he have taken it?’ My behavior did not improve but calls to parents diminished greatly!”

As for cooking, Marty gladly took over. After they received the classic French Escoffier cookbook as a wedding present, he learned the recipes from front to back “for his own survival,” their son James says with a laugh.

“She was the kind of chef who had seven dishes for seven days of the week and all of them were bad,” says Daniel Stiepleman, including her tuna fish casserole which her family begged her not to make.

After she became a Supreme Court Justice in 1993, Marty’s support continued. From taking her clothes shopping for her confirmation hearings to joining the court’s “spouses club” and cooking for them when they got together.

The Ginsburgs   Ed Bailey/AP/REX/Shutterstock 

“Marty was a caretaker for her,” says her childhood friend Harryette Gordon Helsel. “He made sure she ate three meals a day, or two meals a day, and he made sure she got a physical trainer after her bout with cancer.” (Ruth has survived both colon and pancreatic cancer and still works out with a trainer twice a week, plank exercises included.)

In turn, Ruth was at Marty’s side when a tumor was discovered near his spinal cord in 2009, and she became his caretaker once again, doing double duty, caring for him at night after a day on the bench.

For the full love story, pick up the current issue of PEOPLE, on stands this Friday.   

On his deathbed, Marty left his wife note which read in part: “You are the only person I have loved in my life, setting aside a bit parents and kids and their kids, and I have admired and loved you since the day we first met at Cornell some 56 years ago.”

He died ten days later.

Friends and family say he’d be thrilled by the Notorious RBG phenomenon. “There is no doubt in my mind that without Marty, there would be no RBG, the RBG we have today,” says another childhood classmate Ann Kittner. “What a kick he’d be getting out of what has happened to her, becoming an icon. She’s amused by it but he would have been delighted by all the publicity and the bobbleheads! He would have been kvelling!”

https://people.com/politics/ruth-bader-ginsburg-husband-marty-only-boy-who-cared-she-had-a-brain/