#for one essentially incompatible with it

[tiredyke]

i honestly feel like the cis vs. trans debate depends on how we’re defining the terms. “trans” as in “no association with your agab whatsoever”? probably excludes a good sum of trans people. “cis” as in “only expresses their gender through stereotypical presentation and/or never experiments with the concept of gender”? probably excludes a good chunk of cis people. but this doesn’t necessarily conflict with or negate the cultural significance of being cisgender or transgender and labeling those experiences as such. cis and trans people obviously receive very different treatments and privileges, so it’s less about strictly defining what it means to be cis or trans and more about how these terms (as broad groupings) help us understand and identify where we stand. they’re communication devices first and foremost, not diagnoses. i hope that makes sense

[prokopetz]

I think a lot of folks in indie RPG spaces misunderstand what's going on when people who've only ever played Dungeons & Dragons claim that indie RPGs are categorically "too complicated". Yes, it's sometimes the case that they're making the unjustified assumption that all games are as complicated as Dungeons & Dragons and shying away from the possibility of having to brave a steep learning cure a second time, but that's not the whole picture.

A big part of it is that there's a substantial chunk of the D&D fandom – not a majority by any means, but certainly a very significant minority – who are into D&D because they like its vibes or they enjoy its default setting or whatever, but they have no interest in actually playing the kind of game that D&D is... so they don't.

Oh, they'll show up at your table, and if you're very lucky they might even provide their own character sheet (though whether it adheres to the character creation guidelines is anyone's guess!), but their actual engagement with the process of play consists of dicking around until the GM tells them to roll some dice, then reporting what number they rolled and letting the GM figure out what that means.

Basically, they're putting the GM in the position of acting as their personal assistant, onto whom they can offload any parts of the process of play that they're not interested in – and for some players, that's essentially everything except the physical act of rolling the dice, made possible by the fact most of D&D's mechanics are either GM-facing or amenable to being treated as such.*

Now, let's take this player and present them with a game whose design is informed by a culture of play where mechanics are strongly player facing, often to the extent that the GM doesn't need to familiarise themselves with the players' character sheets and never rolls any dice, and... well, you can see where the wires get crossed, right?

And the worst part is that it's not these players' fault – not really. Heck, it's not even a problem with D&D as a system. The problem is D&D's marketing-decreed position as a universal entry-level game means that neither the text nor the culture of play are ever allowed to admit that it might be a bad fit for any player, so total disengagement from the processes of play has to be framed as a personal preference and not a sign of basic incompatibility between the kind of game a player wants to be playing and the kind of game they're actually playing.

(Of course, from the GM's perspective, having even one player who expects you to do all the work represents a huge increase to the GM's workload, let alone a whole group full of them – but we can't admit that, either, so we're left with a culture of play whose received wisdom holds that it's just normal for GMs to be constantly riding the ragged edge of creative burnout. Fun!)

* Which, to be clear, is not a flaw in itself; a rules-heavy game ideally needs a mechanism for introducing its processes of play gradually.

[drdemonprince]

ENM/Poly circles explicitly discourage real talk around jealousy, and practical considerations around nonmonog in ways that routinely exclude and excise POC and disabled people.

ENM/Poly expects everyone involved to act as though “love” is the reason for every relationship choice. Cliche #1: love isn’t finite. Which… sure. Maybe love isn’t finite, but attention and time sure are— and those are at a premium.

Cliche #2: Love is all you need/love is what makes a family. I am familiar with criticism of this from a family abolition, anticapitalist standpoint, but I have seen this be uncritically repeated by ENM/Poly people. It’s not true that love is what makes a relationship work or not work. It’s also about dumb shit, like geographical proximity and practicality. Good luck being ENM if you can’t regularly host because you have roommates or live at home. Good luck being the gold standard of ENM (out to everyone, including family and maybe even the workplace!) if you are any kind of marginalized. Love is simply not enough. There’s real world shit to consider.

Most ENM/Poly people are white gen x’ers and older millenials for a reason. It’s a framework that works awesome if you have abundant spare space, disposable income to blow, and free time. Plus most ENM/Poly people are heavily in therapy, and just have a fuckton of time to deal with their various baggages… or at least like to posture as though they are doing those things.

Non monog can be liberatory— disabled polycules caring for one another. QPRs! Multiparent households! But ENM/Poly is very lodged in a liberal, hyper-independent Super Good Boundaries Thank You Very Much world of its own, and so most of the “resources” like More Than 2 or Polysecure have hella flaws in that respect.

COME OFF ANON SO I CAN FOLLOW YOU! Because you just said a whole word.

I find "ethical nonmonogamy" and polyamory circles to be viscerally unpleasant and alienating to be in as a crazy, chaotic antipsych person who does not always make choices for carefully therapized, restrained reasons -- and who doesn't believe that most other people do either, no matter how much they claim to.

I don't fuck multiple people to serve some higher purpose; I do it because I'm horny, impulsive, and have a variety of niche fetishes that are really difficult to satisfy.

I didn't choose to be openly nonmonogamous because I nurtured my soul and found that it was abundant with love that I just had to give -- all my relationships already were nonmonogamous at one point or another, either because I cheated or the other person did or both, and I eventually decided to move with my feelings rather than against them, and to stop denying all that is inside me -- all of the hunger and darkness as well as the light.

And I can't say that my nonmonogamy is inherently "ethical" either -- just like my monogamy sure wasn't! I'm a human being, and a crazy one at that, I get jealous, I have emotional blowups, I lash out and fuck other people to make myself feel better or to affirm that I am desired, I make big demands of the people I date, I fail to show up for people consistently, I get hurt, and I hurt others, and I will continually have more to learn. I will also continually have wild animal emotions and triggers, and I won't always deal with them in the way my partner(s) might want me to. I try to avoid hurting other people needlessly, of course, but sometimes your own needs are incompatible with another person's, and hurt is inevitable.

When there is only so much time and attention available in our lives, it's true that somebody's often going to come up short. And ultimately the person that I choose above all others is me. And so, no, I can't say I'm always doing nonmonogamy in some caring yet dispassionate way, or that love is the solution to all problems -- I am driven by passion and need, and sometimes being alive in those ways means getting hurt, or hurting in turn.

I would echo essentially all that you've said. We need time and resources and spaces to enjoy privacy with other people, and if you're not some rich work-from-homer, that shit's all in short supply. I hate the sheen of calm positivity that "ENM" and polyamory folks tend to place on everything -- as if no choices they make are fueled ever by bitterness, dislike, resentment, or hell, fucking white hot irrational DESIRE. With how fair and measured so many of them make their polyamory sound, I don't even see what's fun about any of it.

Sometimes you want to upend your whole life because you're so down bad for a person. Sometimes you hate the shit out of your partner's partners and you say and do little manipulative shitty things to convey those feelings, or to try and blow the relationship up. Sometimes the hours just don't add up and somebody gets shafted. Sometimes you make a promise and then you can't follow through, or just don't WANT to anymore because you have changed.

These are real human realities whether we like it or not, and I find it terribly unrealistic AND unsexy to refuse to acknowledge all the darkness and frustration that comes out in any relationship. I think a lot of the ENM/poly crowd that is white and middle class and heavily therapized is so averse to naming anything edgy or prickly in themselves that they make their spaces actively hostile to anybody who openly expresses negative feelings. That means Black & brown people get tone-policed a ton, "mad" people like me get no-true-scotsmanned out of "ethical" nonmonogamy for ever doing anything messily, and all the romance and sexiness of relationships gets sanded down into a Canva-graphic beige blandness of weekly polycule meetings and processing sessions.

In this world of self-optimization, even fucking and loving other people has to be cast as therapuetic -- our desires must justify themselves by somehow making us better, more capable, more controlled people, But fuck that. Sometimes sex or love is worth exploding your whole life over. The ENM/poly crowd says their way of loving makes them more even-keeled but it seems like a kind of death to me.

[kitsu-katsu]

No but I hate so much the fact that the amatonormative relationship hierarchy is so strong that romantic relationships are always referred to as More Than Friends™

If two friends seem to be forming a romantic relationship, it can't just be that the relationship is shifting into something a bit different, it is strictly More, and it's especially more not only compared to what the people involved had before, but it's also more than any other platonic relationship they hold. Other friends are expected to "know their place" in the relationship hierarchy despite sharing many more years of a connection with the people involved, because if the romantic relationship is More, then their platonic bond is Less, and it's just how it "should be" and if people get sad that their friend is isolating to their romantic partner only, restricted to only doing what they want to do, stopping speaking to them if their partner chooses so, leaving them behind all of a sudden because they are strictly Less Important, then they are actually ridiculous and should control their emotions because "of course you're less than their new partner"

And this then also translates to people not breaking off toxic, unhealthy or just simply incompatible due to life circumstances romantic relationships because then "they'll lose their partner". Because they already became More, so if they break it off, they'll become Less again and that's scary, and it can never be the same, because it's not just a simple shift where in many cases things don't even change that much, no, if they shift again they're essentially "breaking something sacred", something coveted, they're destroying the whole bond in every which way by Becoming Less. Not even getting into how society expects people to hate their ex-partners, or at the very least be very awkward about them, so people at large really cannot fathom the fact that maybe the change of relationship title was mostly just that and didn't change the dynamic so drastically that changing it back to "just" friends also wouldn't shake the foundations of the interpersonal bond at all. No, if they shake things up, they'll irrevocably lose their partner, they can never talk the same again, they can't share a laugh, they can't coexist as they did because now they're Less

And how this also impacts how people from outside claim to know more about the nature of a relationship than the people in it. Because "You're acting like More", "You can't really think that you're Just friends", "Look at them, 'Just Friends' don't do that, what they have is Deeper, it's More" or on the other side "You don't act like More, how can you say that you're partners? That's not a Real Relationship"

This devalues all types of relationships. People aren't allowed to put the title they want on it themselves. If you want something that's not either like a QPR you're breaking every rule and "actually it's Just a Friendship" or "actually you're just scared to call it romantic because you gave commitment issues but it is". And the people who buy into the More and Deeper can get so wrapped up in that ONE bond being More Than Any Other, that if it breaks, they've isolated themselves into it and pushed their friends away for so long that not it actually became the One Bond they had left

It damages Everyone

[porcelain-dollbones]

so- if gender is completely innate, unmalleable and obvious, it shouldnt need protection or maintanence. the existence of trans people could be considered temporary and unlikely to have any lasting effects on gender, so not worth making the focus of hatred or campaigning.

if gender is vulnerable to manipulation or dilution, one would have to argue that current ideas of male and female and their associated roles and stereotypes are worth protecting and preserving. this is fine if youre an open conservative, but should be incompatible with feminism, radical or otherwise.

if gender is not malleable or alterable in the long term, it becomes necessary to identify a material harm caused by people who transition. if trans women are transitioning to access the privileges of women, that necessitates claiming that women are privileged over men, enough so that it is worth abandoning the privileges of malehood, which is certainly not a viable radical feminist position. if the contention is access to lesbians, that would necessitate ignoring trans women who exclusively date other trans women or men, and setting aside that there are fewer lesbians than straight women.

the claim that trans men are harmed by undergoing hormone replacement, mastectomy or hysterectomy seems to fly in the face of the essential, inalterable gender- these surgeries could not have meaningfully changed them, if the argument is that one remains a woman no matter what. the only viable claim then is "some number of women might be tricked into having consensual hysterectomies they later regret", which seems dubious in feminist terms and surely too minor a concern for women's liberation to be chosen as its key platform.

there is no liberation for women to be found in the reinforcement of gender as an inalterable cage, or as an institution worth preserving at all costs in its current form.

[casscainmainly]

As much as I love Duke and Damian being the most adorable brothers ever, the tension between them is way underutilised. They both have very tenuous relationships to the Robin identity, and if you look at their interactions in Robin War, it's shot through with insecurity and dislike:

Specifically, Damian consistently refutes Duke's right to Robin. Robin War is the event that leads Duke to quitting Robin, and arguably he does this mostly because of Damian; Tim and Jason don't really interact with Duke, and Dick essentially endorses him. But the beef is not one-sided, because Duke consistently hits on Damian's insecurities as well:

Damian belittles Duke's friends and entire cause; Duke highlights how unwanted and abandoned Damian is. They are simultaneous Robins with incompatible views of what Robin should be. Damian, fresh from his journey in Robin: Son of Batman, sees Robin as atonement, a link to Batman, and a representation of his personal growth; Duke, in the middle of We Are Robin, sees Robin as power, freedom from adult authority, and a representation of collective community.

The worst thing Damian can say about Duke is that his Robin is meaningless; the worst thing Duke can say about Damian is that his Robin is alone. They both say that to each other. And then, they both give up Robin:

In Duke's case, he precedes saying "I'm not Robin" with "that's the difference between you and me." Their Robins are so wildly different, their ideals so opposed to each other, that they cannot co-exist as Robin. The risk of losing what Robin means to them, especially for Damian, fuels a lot of their early animosity.

This opposition continues in Batman & The Signal #1, where in Duke's dream sequence, there is only one person he imagines wanting to oust him from the family - Damian. But Bruce also pits Damian and Duke against each other in Batman: The Secret Files: The Signal, in Duke's favour:

Bruce drags Damian down ('requires continuous supervision') to uplift Duke ('Gotham's best'). The writing in this comic is very questionable, but this is reminiscent of the way he talked to Cass about Steph in Batgirl (2000). Cass is the acceptable girl vs. Steph's unacceptable femininity; in a similar vein, Duke is the acceptable Batkid of colour, whereas Damian's heritage is 'inconvenient'.

Which is why it's all the more important that, despite everything, Damian and Duke do love each other.

Damian, despite all his (understandable) ambivalence and outward disdain towards Duke, pretty much spends the entire comic trying to save him:

And Duke, when Damian defects to the Owls, staunchly refuses to believe he's gone for good. Tim and Jason also protest, but they get knocked out pretty quickly. It's Duke who refuses to give up on Damian. It's Duke who won't leave Damian alone.

Even though their Robins are complete opposites, Duke and Damian both know how big a deal it is to choose Robin; as the two Robins of colour (besides Dick, whose position is slightly different), they know how easily Robin can be taken away. It's why Duke, a virtual stranger, is the one to break through to Damian when nobody else could.

This panel from the end of Robin War hits so hard in context. Every interaction up until this point is antagonistic, and they have every reason to hate each other - but they don't. They choose not to. They choose to love each other instead.

[gallierhouse]

Some thoughts on Armand’s relationship with love, control, and his trauma. Armand’s relationship with Marius is the template for all his subsequent relationships. I know we haven’t met Marius yet, but of course Armand loves and loathes and worships and fears Marius in equal measure. Anything else would be surprising. Of course he loves the man who saved him, sold him, donated him, raised him, loved him, in whatever way Marius was capable of (“Amadeo” wouldn’t be in the painting if Marius didn’t), eventually tossed him aside, and then turned him (“the ones we turn always resent us for it”). I’m guessing that Armand half wants to go back to Marius (or whatever it was like with Marius, back in Venice) and half never wants to see him again. If he ever does see Marius again he’s probably going to shut down and try to avoid him, and the moment Marius is gone, he’s going to miss him and wish he’d acted differently. Marius, as far as I can tell, seems to be something between a master, father, and god for Armand. You see it leak through when he goes to Lestat’s play and in the way Louis comforts him. He treats Lestat like a child, he’s trying to seduce Lestat into joining the coven, Louis cups his face the way you’d comfort a child. His relationship with Marius is probably ultimately familial on some level, all the comfort and authority of a father, along with the abuse that comes with it. And we know that Marius sexually abused Armand and trafficked him to his friends, but that’s not incompatible with being a fatherly figure, it just means that the result it produced in Armand is probably a fundamental blurring of familial, romantic, and sexual boundaries, which does explain a lot of his behavior. When Armand reflects on what Marius was like, he says he “basked in his worshipful mercy,” and it makes sense. Marius saved him from the brothel, Marius held his life in his hands, Marius eventually gave him eternal life to save him from his illness. For Armand, he’s a god. And the thing about gods is that as much as you worship and revere and love them, they’re also objects of fear. That’s why you worship them. Fear and love go hand in hand. I think that mixture of fear and love, and the blurring of familial/romantic/sexual boundaries is essentially what explains all of Armand’s relationships post-Marius.

Armand is both tyrannical and loving towards the coven, but it’s the same thing. What he does to and for them is love. We know he’s abusing Louis in episode 5, but it is love. It’s punishment, it’s resentment, it’s hurt, and it’s love. When he talks about the “prison of empathy” he’s not being facetious. That’s genuinely how he sees it. All of this, Louis half-burnt to death, screaming for him to stop torturing Daniel, is love. Because if he didn’t love Louis he would’ve let him burn to death on the roof, if he didn’t love Louis he would’ve left him instead of taking care of him, and when Louis finally evokes their relationship to stop Armand from eating Daniel, Armand is genuinely hurt. How could you deny him this one thing? When all he’s done is love you? All he does is clean up after Louis, pick up the pieces of these broken and battered young men, pick up the pieces of Louis’ addiction. It’s love. And it’s not healthy and it’s not kind, and it’s selfish and it’s abusive, but it is love. I think, for Armand, punishment and abuse and servitude aren’t antithetical to love, but a necessary part of it. That’s the shape love takes for him. And when he asks Louis, “are you asking or making me?” I don’t necessarily think he’s trying to skirt responsibility or trap Louis by retreating into the safety of their BDSM dynamic. Louis obviously wants Armand there because he wants to share something beautiful with Armand. He’s asking Armand because he loves Armand and he wants to share something important and beautiful with him, Louis wants to be a family. But Armand’s obviously conflicted, he doesn’t believe in turning vampires, he doesn’t want to be there because he’s still caught between the coven and Louis’ love (if the story we’ve been told is accurate). I don’t think he retreats into the dynamic because he’s guilt tripping Louis or attempting to use the power of his sad amber eyes, he’s really just asking. Is this what you require of me? Is this what you want? To love someone is to obey them, to submit, even when it’s unpleasant, especially when it’s unpleasant. That’s how you show the value of your love. Louis detects this and immediately comforts him, and the way Armand responds is childlike. Louis is cupping his face, telling him it’s okay, Armand looks at him with a genuine expression of vulnerability. I think this is just the shape of love for Armand. Yeah, it’s fucked up, but that’s how he loves, and in turn, how he expects to be loved. So when he punishes Louis it’s not because he doesn’t love him, but because if Louis loved him, he’d take it. That’s just part and parcel of what love is for him. It’s why he doesn’t see the way he treats Claudia (or the coven) as abusive, that’s just love. You wouldn’t bother punishing someone if you didn’t love them, and their tolerance and acceptance of the punishment is proof of their love for you. It’s deeply masochistic. But he was trafficked and then raised by a man who continued to abuse and save him all at once. So it’s really only expected.

Ultimately, the reasons for his issues with sex and control and his inability to express agency are rooted in his abuse. It’s frozen his development and rendered him unable to express agency or even want without the comfort of submission. It’s also rendered him terrified of abandonment — which is probably related to being kidnapped by the Children of Darkness and taken away from Marius — which leads him to engage in self-defeating behavior. He desires submission, but he can’t truly submit, because he can’t let anyone leave him, so he must control them, but he can’t submit to them if he controls them. That���s the core of his power play with Louis. He’s the dominant figure (he’s older, stronger, in San Francisco and Dubai he essentially controls Louis’ life) but he plays at submission (their D/S dynamic) in an attempt to have his cake and eat it. He’s emotionally stuck being that scared child who worships this terrifying, loving, abusive father-master-god figure, and he alternates between trying to find the security of familiarity in being that scared child, and trying to emulate Marius when he’s projecting power. He’s a father, master and god to the coven, and the scared child to Louis. It’s all the same.

[bitter-bats-cult-of-the-moon]

Spirit Work

Working with spirits was popularized and developed in the 1840’s to the 1920’s. Spirit work has also been known as “Necromancy.”

The term necromancy as defined by Merriam-Webster Dictionary:

1: Conjuration of the spirits of the dead for purposes of magically revealing the future or influencing the course of events

2: MAGIC, SORCERY

Some may define that any working, communication, or magic involving the dead (and therefore spirits) is a form of necromancy.

By necromancy, I don’t mean to physically raise the dead. If that was truly possible, then I believe there would be a lot of skeletons and rotting corpses lurking around.

A spirit is a being that does not exist in our physical world. Many spirits can project messages into our world, but they cannot manifest into a solid, physical form here. Most spirits will reside within the astral – which is a separate dimensional plane from our own.

When someone works with spirits it is called spirit work and can take many different forms. Some people want to learn, and keep it strictly business, while others want to be friends or even more in some scenarios.

Deities, Spirits, or Ghosts

Deities are spirits who are seen as divine. They draw their powers from faith and being worshipped in a particular religion.

Spirits generally are entities with many other subcategories, but they tend to draw their powers essentially from the elements of nature and from peoples’ beliefs.

Ghosts were once humans or animals who have died and sometimes, they can remain in our world.

Religion and Spirit Work

Lots of people use spirit work to become closer to their faith or desired path working.

Abrahamic religions use spirit work to commune with God. While there are other individuals who only commune with the Angels or even better, those that commune with the Demons.

Pagans, on the other hand, use spirit work to commune with the various deities and spirits alike. Some people are aligned to a sole practice of religion or single pathworking, while other people are not tied down to any particular practice.

Building Spiritual Connections

Everyone is different in their approach on building relationships. These relationships can be started by either you or the spirit. Some people keep things strictly as business while others build friendships. However, they should not be a direct replacement for mundane relationships, especially not romantic ones.

Remember that spirit work takes effort.

Do the research. Sharpen your mind. Trial and Error.

Don’t let people play translator. No one should be the dedicated “interpreter.” Sometimes it’s okay to use a third party, but do not make it a habit. People can lie. Your relationship is between you and the spirit.

You can say “No.” Spirits can be held accountable for their actions, and you don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.

Spirits can say “No.” Spirits are like people, and they aren’t playthings. They’re autonomous beings capable of making their own decisions.

Incompatibility. Sometimes a personality, method, and antics might not work very well with you. Recognize when it happens. This may mean taking a break or going separate ways.

Discernment

The process of discernment is interpreting and vetting metaphysical experiences. It helps you build what’s known as UPG or Unverified Personal Gnosis.

UPG is your direct experiences with a spirit or deity. If someone else has the same UPG as you they got all by themselves without help, then that UPG can be considered SPG, or Shared Personal Gnosis.

Your experiences don’t have to match other people’s.

Don’t tailor your UPG to match others. Many people fall into this trap simply because they want to belong to a community or be recognized by authority figures or in some cases both.

Spirit Communications And Synchronicities

When spirits try to get your attention, they will do it in a way you will understand.

They’ll show rather than tell who they are. However, some aren’t as forthcoming because names can give power.

Sometimes the spirits will gauge you and wait for you to come to your own conclusions before giving away their name.

Sometimes the spirits will want to know more about you before giving away their name. Sometimes the give and take relationship must be further established before names are given.

For example, we had consistent communications with a certain Fae entity that did not give away any maliciousness, but at first, they failed to give a proper name. Instead of turning this spirit away we both decided to ask for the Fae to give a name we can call it, until trust could be further established.

The name they gave us was Charles the fox. So, we called him that, but we didn’t believe him to be a simple, ordinary fox. He’s a Fae after all, and it took us roughly one year or so for him to give us his names. Even now, I had to ask permission for this to be included within the writing itself.

… And people tend to forget that sometimes spirits are like this.

…And then there are those ones that aren’t forthcoming about showing much of anything at all because they probably may be imposters – and have malevolent intentions.

One half of this tricky puzzle includes examination of coincidences being too much of an experience to be just coincidences.

Omens

Omens are a sign that appears in the physical world, and they can be good or bad omens. Most often, omens will directly relate to the spirit’s associations. Omens tend to be “gut feeling” experiences and not every unique thing you see may be one. When you’re unsure about a spirit making contact, you can ask for signs. Don’t look everywhere for a sign, though. Not everything is.

Dreams

Spirits can send messages through dreams, and it’s up to you to determine whether a dream is significant based on what happened and why. Analyze things from a logical and psychological manner before delving into spiritual territory. Record whatever makes the most sense to you and any repeating dreams as necessary.

The Astral

The Astral is whenever you are communing with a spirit by projecting and speaking with them. This requires Clairaudience or Claircognizance to be able to recognize and comprehend messages being received. Many people also need to make sure that the experience is not your imagination. Learning the differences from internal thoughts and external thoughts outside your own can be a challenge.

The astral is a dimensional plane that exists outside the physical world. The only way to communicate there is by learning how to project your consciousness.

There are many different dimensional planes, and an infinite number of places and people. One of the astral planes corresponds to earth, however it is hard to discern this. One would have to do research and examine other peoples’ experiences, coming to a well-rounded conclusion. 

Divination Methods

Divination is whenever you are communing with a spirit through methods of divination, such as pendulum, cartomancy, scrying, etc.

However, not all forms of divination are guaranteed results. Pendulums are swayed easily by subconscious influence. It’s important to have an open mind and factor in repetitive results as a sign.

Telepath Linking

Telepathy is whenever you are directing thoughts towards the spirit in question. This method can be difficult to achieve due to the mind and imagination wanting the results. Sometimes, desired results will redirect your mind to fill in the result most wanted versus actual spirit communications taking place.

Rule of Three

Repetition is key to the rule of three, as it is a measurement that can help you decipher potential signs from everyday mundane activities. Most signs will show up in different ways around the same time if a spirit is eager to meet you. If you aren’t sure, ask for more before making any solid conclusions.

Confirmation Bias

“This is the tendency to search for, interpret, favor, and recall information that confirms or supports one’s prior personal beliefs or values.”

The more you work against this, the more authentic interactions will potentially be. Use different methods of discernment to help assist you. Don’t try to push things together, that just don’t stick and eventually fall apart.

[koyangii]

Love in the big city and HIV

So, I have recently watched one of the best dramas of the year, “Love in the big city”, in which HIV is a major theme. 

The show portrays really well the stigmatized scenario around HIV: as a person living with the virus,  Go Young feels exactly as if he's carrying some kind of curse. He can't accept it, but who can blame him for that, if "Kylie", as he calls the virus, is always around like an inconvenient person? In his sex life, while applying to a job, and even while hanging out with friends. 

Society doesn't make it easy for a person living with HIV to accept the condition and that's essential when it comes to healthcare, which is what I want to address today. 

First, let me introduce myself: my name is Nico and I'm a Medicine student in Brazil. Here, we have probably one of the biggest public health system in the world, the Unified Health System (a.k.a. SUS). In this essay, I intend to share some general information about HIV, its treatment and prevention, by using some parts of “Love in the big city” to discuss this theme, because although the show did an amazing job when it comes to talking about it, there are some points I found needed some better explanation. 

HIV is a sexually transmitted infection (STI) that can also be transmitted by the contact with infected blood (e.g: incompatible blood transfusion; use of shared needles) or from the mother to a child inside the womb or during labor. The virus uses a specific type of immune cell to multiply. Explaining it in a very simple way, he gets inside the cell, uses its components to produce new viral copies and then ruptures the cell membrane to release these new copies in the blood, killing the cell by doing so. For this reason, untreated HIV is very dangerous, since it can cause immunodeficiency (failure of the immune system), making the person susceptible to acquire opportunistic infections, which are diseases that usually don’t occur in people with regular immune systems. When someone has immunodeficiency caused by HIV, this person is diagnosed with Acquired ImmunoDeficiency Syndrome (AIDS). That being said, AIDS and HIV are not the same. There are many people living with HIV that don’t have AIDS, thanks to appropriate treatment. 

There are multiple ways a person can discover about having HIV: you can be notified because the person you have had relations with discovered the infection, or by taking blood tests for blood donation, or in the worst case scenario, when you are already suffering from an opportunistic infection. Go Young, for example, discovered it because of the blood tests results while he was in the army. One thing I found very outrageous was that the physician instantly inferred that Go Young was gay because of that, but this is impossible, since anyone can get the virus, regardless of their sexual orientation. This appointment was like a death sentence: the unempathetic doctor as a ruthless judge, blaming the patient and not offering a single word of comfort. (Quite the opposite: he even asked that very intimate question about sex positions. Seriously, I wanted to punch this doctor so hard.)

Nonetheless, even if it was made in a very inappropriate way, diagnosis is still very important, because that is the only way one can have access to treatment. Each patient must be evaluated separately, since treatment may vary due to the different genetic subtypes of the virus and the person’s own body response. Medication can also be adjusted until satisfactory results are accomplished. Overall, all patients are submitted to a lifetime antiretroviral therapy in order to stop the virus from multiplying and to keep immune cells at a higher level. In the series, we can see Go Young asking for any antiretroviral in a pharmacy, but in real life, he would be very specific about the drugs.

If done properly, treatment can provide quality of life and long life expectancy (very similar to people who don’t have HIV), prevent opportunistic infections and, most importantly, transmission! Yes, that is exactly what you read: treatment can result in really low levels of HIV in the blood, which is called “undetectable viral load” if it happens for at least six months. There is even a saying which goes “Undetectable = untransmittable”. In this scenario the patient can even have sex without a condom with their partner, which is what happened with Go Young and Gyu Ho in the series. However, it is important to mention that this only applies to HIV: one can still get other STIs while having unprotected sex. 

In addition to condoms and proper treatment, there are other ways of preventing HIV infection. Susceptible people can use the pre-exposure prophylaxis (PREp) medication, which highly reduces the risk of getting HIV from intercourse (and also from blood contact in a less effective way). There is also the post-exposure prophylaxis (PEP), which can prevent infection if taken within 72 hours after possible exposure. Treating other STIs, not sharing needles, using lubricant (less chance of injury during intercourse) and avoiding sex while in use of alcohol or drugs are some other habits we can do ourselves to minimize the risk of acquiring HIV. 

Nevertheless, individual actions can help only until a certain point, given that the best prevention is the “combination prevention”, which includes not only behavioral and biomedical approaches, but also structural interventions. Every country should have their own public policies to assist people living with HIV and to prevent transmission. I’m proud to say that, in Brazil, thanks to our public health system, everyone has access to condoms, lubricants, tests, treatment, PREp and PEP - all free of charge. The system also has policies of damage control, providing all of these strategies to the population of risk, such as sex workers and people with a substance use disorder, including kits with individual needles to prevent sharing and, consequently, blood transmission. No wonder we are an international reference for HIV/AIDS treatment and prevention. 

To conclude, I also need to remind you that you can actively help in this cause by simply showing support. As we all watched in “Love in the big city”, a person living with HIV faces all kinds of prejudice in society. Go Young carried a heavy burden for years, not being able to share it with anyone until Gyu Ho embraced him. Sometimes, patients have these prejudices themselves and it can deeply hinder treatment. I have seen this myself: a patient that denied the diagnosis and returned to the hospital sometime later with a severe health condition.

You can be the person that will accept and embrace this other person, who is only living with a chronic condition, such as many people who live with hypertension or diabetes, for example. You can be the person that will call out on others for their preconceived opinions. You can be the person who will share high-quality information to your friends, family, fellow workers or students (There are links in the last paragraph with reliable information for those who want to do some further research). 

Finally, I can’t stress enough how much I loved “Love in the big city” for addressing so many types of love and so many sensitive topics, including this one, in such a beautiful way. It has been a long time since I had felt so connected to a story, to a character so human like Go Young. 

I hope this essay provided a little bit of information to you. I mostly used the knowledge I have learned in college and sites of well-recognized organizations, such as the UNAIDS, the World Health Organization (WHO) and, for the Portuguese speakers, the Brazilian Ministry of Health (Ministério da Saúde). Thank you for reading, and please, feel free to send me any questions you might have, I’ll do my best to answer them. Also, if you notice any English mistakes, please let me know so I can correct them. 

[mxtxfanatic]

Fandom Gripe #23: I know that fandom is in some deep denial about its treatment of female characters that are canonically involved with fan favorite m/m ships, but do y’all realize that when you disappear female characters from the narrative wholesale to push the idea that your canonically straight fav was “secretly gay all along!” you’re making several bad implications? That 1) bi men don’t exist, 2) bi men do exist, but those who have genuinely loved a woman before cannot genuinely love a man after that (therefore bi men don’t exist in practice), 3) women cannot inspire genuine love and devotion in men, therefore any relationship with a woman is “lesser” than the one they later have a man (see previous parenthesis), or 4) to acknowledge the existence of a lovable woman who isn’t a terrible person, where if a relationship previously existed, it did not end because of “incompatibility,” is enough to destabilize the present relationship between two queer men?

Because why is the tgcf fandom allergic to acknowledging that He Xuan had a whole ass fiancée that he loved? Why does no one ever seem to remember that the kidnappings and murders of He Xuan’s sister and fiancée were the final straws that sent him on his rampage, and he still keeps a shrine to them in the present-day of the story? Why is her entire existence and significance to He Xuan as a man, character, and to his character arc disappeared in favor of pushing Shi Qingxuan—the brother of the man responsible for his fiancée’s death—into that same role, as if to say that her impact on He Xuan is significant... just not when it's from her? Why does He Xuan’s life in fandom essentially begin not just after her death but because of it?

[youmakethelight]

It just doesn't make sense at all for Daryl and Carol to stay platonic. You're telling me that in 12 whole years, Daryl and Carol just never once thought about each other in a romantic way. Bc if they did, they'd *definitely* want to go there. It's literally laughable to think that two unrelated, sexually compatible adults with that much love, respect, and chemistry just wouldn't go there in their heads.

They didn't grow up together. They met when they were in their 40s. Having a sibling-like relationship would be if they're sexually incompatible or if they knew each other as children.

I get that people want to see more male-female friendships depicted on screen, but keeping this one platonic just isn't realistic. You're essentially trying to deny the sexuality of two allosexual adults who deserve to have sexually fulfilling relationships 🙃. The beautiful thing about them is that they *can* be platonic, but they don't have to be. They'd still love each other just as much if they aren't romantic, but that doesn't mean they don't get to be romantic as well.

And that brings me to the prevalent issues with de-sexualising middle-aged women, in particular.

One day, I will be a middle-aged woman, and I'd like to see what I have to look forward to represented on-screen. Currently, I'm being told by this narrative that it would just be impossible, out of the question, a thing of no existence, for a man of my same age, who I am compatible with in every way and who loves me in every other way, to love me romantically. How nice.

It's a joke because Carol is literally one of the hottest women to exist. And the one man who she loves with her whole heart, and who also loves her, doesn't want to share intimacy with her. Lol, ok.

[babybutchianthe]

if you can admit john is an imperialist then you should be able to identify how the preservation of imperial conditions is reliant on violence, both exported and internal, but that the violence internal is not criminal in character due to how criminality and illegality are constructions steeped in sites of violence at which imperialism must fortify itself. the exceptionalisation of violence within as deviant is part of how imperialists carve out spaces of civility from which violence can be exported, and where the import of violence is branded terrorism, as it allows them to frame that interior violence as isolaled incidents that are the product of abnormal and essentially criminal minds that are incompatible with civility—thus allowing them to maintain that this violence is not intrinsic to civility 😁

all of this is to say john isn't a war criminal because that's a purely legal concept that is meaningless in-universe, because there is no criminal court and established jurisprudential processes he can be labelled one under as house society is the only one allowed to flourish, and out, because to call an imperialist a war criminal is to misunderstand how imperialists utilise criminality and illegality to protect their own interests. if you want a word synonymous with violence to call him then imperialist is already that

[prokopetz]

Not posting this as a reblog because I don't want to screw with somebody else's notes, but the whole "theological implications of Tolkien's orcs" business has some interesting history behind it.

In brief, a big part of why the Lord of the Rings Extended Universe™ is so cagey about what orcs are and where they come from is that later in his life, Tolkien came to believe that orcs as he'd depicted them were problematic – albeit not because of, you know, all the grotesque racial caricature.

Rather, he'd come to the conclusion that the idea of an inherently evil sapient species – a species that's incapable of seeking salvation – was incompatible with Christian ethics. Basically, it's one of those "used the wrong formula and got the right answer" situations.

In his notes and letters, Tolkien played around with several potential solutions to this problem. (Though contrary to the assertions of certain self-proclaimed Tolkien scholars, there's no evidence that he ever seriously planned to re-write his previous works to incorporate these ideas.) In one proposal, orcs are incarnated demons, and "killing" them simply returns them to their naturally immaterial state; in another, orcs are a sort of fleshy automaton remotely operated by the will of Sauron, essentially anticipating the idea of drone warfare.

Of course, this is all just historical trivia; any criticism of The Lord of the Rings must be directed at the books that were actually published, not the books we imagine might have been published if Tolkien had spent a few more years thinking through the implications of what he was writing. However, the direction of his thoughts on the matter is striking for two reasons:

Tolkien's orc conundrum is very nearly word for the word the problem that many contemporary fantasy authors are grappling with fifty years later. They want epic battles with morally clean heroes, and they're running up against exactly the same difficulty that Tolkien himself did – i.e., that describing a human-like species who are ontologically okay to kill is an impossible task.

After all the work he put into solving this impossible problem, one of Tolkien's proposals was literally just "what if they're not really killing the orcs, they're just sending them to the Shadow Realm?"

[moni-logues]

Dickless

Pairing: Taehyung x reader

Genre: basically pwp but like, enemies to lovers if you REALLY squint

Summary: Your boyfriend won't go down on you and it is a Problem. Fortunately, your friendly neighbourhood fuckboy (or is he??) Taehyung is there to lend a mouth hand.

Word count: 11.1k

Content: oral sex (f. receiving), protected sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, infidelity, some very poor communicating

A/N: it's another repost!!! because this just hit 2k notes on the old blog 🥺🥺🥺 I have a secret soft spot for this fic, ngl. I'm secretly (not so secretly) proud of the smut; I tried to do something a bit different with my writing and I like how it came out, at least those parts. I have not edited this at all due to the aforemetioned bottle of wine so, here it is as it always was

ETA: the sexual politics of this one are 🥴😬 because reader essentially won't accept the truth that sexual incompatibility is both real and a valid reason to not continue a relationship. No one should be pressured into doing something they don't want and that extends to her bf! It's not his fault! She should have dumped him months ago! And she didn't! And she's in the wrong for that!! To be clear: she is in the wrong!!!!

That said, she's not a total cunt; she is struggling with it and doesn't want to break-up with him because she does (did) love him and she feels like she should just be able to give up this thing because it's only her, it's only what she wants, it doesn't really matter-- except it does matter; what she wants does matter and she had to come to terms with that and the fact that that means she and her bf can't be together.

* * *

You remembered the first time you saw Taehyung. You were at a bar your friend had dragged you to because she knew he would be there; they had been sleeping together for a couple of weeks and she wanted to ‘casually’ run into him as he had stopped replying to her texts.  

“There he is,” Tara had hissed, pointing to a tall man across the room, dark curls bouncing on his brow, long fingers curled around a wine glass, and an intense look on his face.  

Moving further into the room, it had then been revealed that the target of his gaze was another woman and, despite your friend’s best attempts, Taehyung was not interested. She had dragged you to the toilets where she cried, real, huge tears. 

“It’s just been a couple of weeks, hasn’t it? Did you say you were exclusive?” you had asked, trying to be sensitive but shocked at the display of emotion. She wasn’t usually like this. 

“I’m not crying because I’m in love with him or something!” she had replied, her voice thick with tears. “I’m crying because he’s never going to sleep with me again!” 

“What?” 

“If he’s done with me, then that’s it. I’m done for. I’m done with sex.”  

She had fixed you with a wet, shining stare. 

“No one is as good in bed as Taehyung.” Her voice was hushed, awed. “He... You just don’t know if you haven’t slept with him, ok? He has ruined me. I can never sleep with anyone else, not knowing that he’s out there somewhere, not sleeping with me. No on-” 

“No one is that good at sex. Come on; it’s not like he’s got a magic dick or so-” 

“Yes, he has! He absolutely has. But it’s not just his dick – it's his everything. I’m telling you, y/n-” she had sniffled for dramatic effect, her tears were mostly dried- “he’s the best I’ve ever had or will ever have and, honestly, if he ever shows any interest in you, take it.” 

“I have a boyfriend.” 

“I don’t care.” 

Your mouth dropped open in shock; she knew your boyfriend; you had thought they got along well; but she interrupted you before you could argue. 

“I’m serious, y/n. This is a hall pass situation. Do not turn Taehyung down.” 

“So I can end up like you, crying over his dick in a toilet?” 

She had fixed you with a death glare but could not exactly say you were wrong.  

* * *  

That was months ago now. And, somehow, Taehyung kept popping up in your life. At the pub, at bars, at a party where you weren’t even sure he knew anyone – he just happened to be there. It wasn’t that you didn’t like him because you didn’t even know him, but you certainly had no interest in getting to know him. Men like him were ten a penny and, despite what you had been told about him, you were not convinced he was all that in the sack, because men like him never are. 

He was certainly handsome; you wouldn’t deny that. But attractive? No one that smug, that arrogant, could ever be attractive to you. Someone who thinks the world is at their feet, that everyone should fall to their knees for them, that other people exist only for their delectation... That was disgusting, not sexy. Even if you hadn’t had a boyfriend, you knew there was no way his ‘charm’ could work on you. All bluster and machismo and that quirked eyebrow and little smirk? No, thank you. 

“You know, I’ve been seeing you around a lot, but I don’t think we’ve ever spoken.”  

The voice came from behind you and you knew, without having to look, who it would be. You replied not even bothering to turn around. 

“No need. I know who you are.” 

“Oh? And who am I?” 

He was next to you then, leaning against the wall, your arms touching. 

“You’re Taehyung with the magical dick.” 

“Oh, is that what they call me?” 

“Well, I don’t-” 

“You just did.” 

“I don’t but rumour has it... Of course, I don’t believe a word.” 

“There are rumours going around that I have a magical dick and you don’t believe them... You know there’s one way to know for sure?” 

You turned to him, then, stared into his eyes – wide, innocent, as if he wasn’t just asking you to fuck him without even knowing your name – and scoffed. 

“No, thanks. I have a boyfriend.” 

“And does he have a magical dick?” 

You didn’t hesitate, not really, not for more than half a second, but it was enough. 

“Oh, sweetheart, that’s a real shame. You want my number so you can pass it on to him? Maybe I could give him some tips?” 

“Ugh, goodbye, Taehyung.” 

You pushed yourself off the wall and made your way through the room, but he followed after you. 

“Or,” he continued. “You could just take my number and not pass it on, maybe keep it for yourself. In case of an emergency or-” 

“Emergency? What emergency might I possibly ever have that I would require your assistance?” 

He leant down, so close that you could smell his shampoo and his drink on his breath. His cheek barely brushed yours as he brought his lips to your ear. 

“Maybe your boyfriend with the disappointing dick can’t get you off and you’re so on edge that you think, god I’d do anything, anything, to come right now, but you can’t. Then you’re lying there, hot and bothered and unsatisfied, yearning for something, someone, to come and sort you out, to show you the kind of pleasure you’ve not even ever dreamt of. And you think of me, and my magical dick, and you think, oh how I wish I’d taken his number; if I had his number, I’d call him right no-” 

You put a hand against his chest and pushed him back.  

“I’m not taking your number and I’m not going to call you. This-” you gestured broadly to him “this doesn’t work on me. You’re a fuckboy and I don’t fuck with fuckboys. Goodbye.” 

As you walked away from him for the second time, he didn’t follow and you had to stop yourself turning around to see if he was still looking at you. It didn’t matter if he was or not, but you liked the idea of denying the undeniable man, of being one person he couldn’t charm, couldn’t win over. You didn’t care if his dick really was magic or not because you knew you would never be finding out.  

* * *  

The next time you saw him was a few weeks later, at a party. He was on the sofa, slouching low, an empty glass held slack in his hand, dangling at the end of his wrist. He wasn’t talking to anyone, not making moves or scanning for prey; just sitting, staring into space. You turned away from him; you didn’t want to think about a sex god right now; you didn’t want to think about sex full-stop. You ideally wanted to not think at all. You left the room. 

Later that night, when you went back inside, you saw him again. He was still sitting on the sofa, empty glass (the same one?) in hand, still staring into space. You briefly wondered if he was on drugs and, if he were, whether that was deliberate or he’d had his drink spiked. Most people seemed to be ignoring him, or they hadn’t noticed him at all. You sat down next to him. 

“No conquest tonight?” 

“Nope.” 

“What? Not even one? You can’t be telling me your magical dick would miss an opportunity like this: all these people, drinks flowing, inhibitio-” 

“I said no.” 

He tipped his head over the back of the sofa and stared at the ceiling. 

“Are you ok?” 

“Yep.” 

“Are you lying?” 

“Yep.” 

You had to stifle a giggle and take a pause before you continued. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve had your heartbroken. Mr Magical Dick, Mr Fuck Anything That Moves, Mr Don’t Keep Anyone Around For More Than Two Weeks has had his little heart broken?” 

You could see his jaw work as he tongued at the inside of his cheek, as if deliberating whether or not he would confide in you. 

“In a manner of speaking.” 

The way you gasped was uncharitable, and on a different night, you might have been less callous, but misery loves company and you were delighted to find out that someone else – Kim Taehyung at that – was having relationship problems. You were just fixing on your best retort, tidying it up on the tip of your tongue when he spoke again. 

“Before you say whatever clever remark you’re currently labouring over, my fucking grandmother died, ok? So save it.” 

“Oh.” Surprised didn’t even come close. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Yeah, whatever.” 

He stood and walked away but you followed him, up the stairs and into an empty bedroom where he collapsed on the bed. You followed him in and shut the door behind you, but stayed next to it, unsure what to say or do. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” you ventured. 

“No.” 

“Do you want to drink about it?” 

He lifted the empty glass in his hand as if he were about to take a sip and then held it out to you. 

“Sure.” 

“Ok, uh, stay here then and I’ll be back.” 

When you returned to the bedroom (bottle of unfortunately cheap vodka in hand), you thought he must have left: the bed was empty. Then you saw his feet poking out from the other side and found him lying on the floor. You took his glass, poured him a drink, and watched him as he knocked it back. He grimaced and looked at you. 

“This is horrible.” 

“Yeah, I know, but I figured it wouldn’t be missed. Sorry.” 

He held his glass up for more. 

You sat, drinking in silence. You didn’t know what to say to him and he was obviously not interested in conversation so part of you wanted to leave him alone, but he hadn’t told you to leave, and he was still holding his glass out for more, and you didn’t really feel like he should’ve been alone. So, you stayed. It was nice, actually. You hadn’t really been in the mood for a party – you had just wanted to get out – so you were enjoying the quiet. You were enjoying the way the vodka was making you warm, edges all fuzzy and soft, the noise far away.  

“She basically raised me.” 

His voice was quiet and thick; you weren’t sure if he was talking to you or just talking.  

“Yeah?”  

“She-” 

He looked at you then, his eyes not quite focusing, and stopped talking. 

“You can tell me about her, if you want.” 

He shook his head with a groan and drew his knees up to his chest, dropping his head between them.  

“I’m going to go home,” he said after another short while had passed. 

“You sure?” 

He nodded. 

“Can you get home ok? Did you need me to get you a taxi or call someone?” 

He shook his head and fished his phone out of his pocket, waving it at you, unlocking it to order a car. You almost didn’t reach out for it, but you knew you would feel responsible if something happened, so you took his phone and entered your number into it. 

“Please let me know when you have got home safe, ok?” 

He looks at you, suspicious, and then playful as that all-too-familiar smirk returns to his lips. 

“It was all a ruse, huh? Get me drunk and give me your number under the pretence of concern for me, huh? I knew you wanted me.” 

“What I want, Taehyung, is to not be the last person to see you alive and the subsequent subject of a murder investigation.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever you say. You’re the one who calls me magic dick...” 

He winked at you and then turned, waving a hand in your direction, stumbling down the stairs. You figured you might as well call it a night yourself.  

You were back in your apartment, washed and undressed, tapping impatiently at the side of your phone, not sure if you should wait to hear from Taehyung or assume that he’d forgotten and just go to sleep yourself. Then a message came in from an unknown number. 

A head shot, but with enough of his shoulders displayed to make it clear he was topless, his black hair splayed on the pillow behind his head. He had his eyes closed, his fingers in a V over his mouth. 

???: Didn’t die. 

???: Unlike my grandma 🙁 

You choked on surprised laughter. 

y/n: Glad you got home ok. Sorry about your gma 🙁 

* * *  

Your phone rang the next evening while you were making tea and you answered without looking who was calling. 

“Hello?” 

“What the fuck is this I hear about you and Kim Taehyung?” 

It was your boyfriend. 

“Uh, I don’t know; what did you hear?” 

“Apparently, you’re fucking.” 

“WHAT?!”  

“Apparently, when you were out last night, you and Taehyung went into a bedroom for a very long time and he came out looking very pleased with himself.” 

“Ok and? That means we’re fucking, does it?” 

“I don’t know; I’m asking you.” 

“Ok, well, no, we didn’t. We didn’t really do anything. We just sat and drank.” 

“What do you mean you just sat and drank? What even is that?” 

“I mean we literally sat and drank. I wasn’t in a good mood and neither was he, so I nicked a bottle of vodka from the kitchen and we sat in the dark, in silence, drinking it. That’s it.” 

There was an aggrieved sigh from the other end of the phone. 

“So, it’s my fault, is it? Is that what this is about? You trying to make me jealous or some sh-” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“I’m supposed to believe it’s just a coincidence that, almost immediately after we have an argument about me not going down on you, you end up at a party with the most notorious fuckboy in the fucking country?” 

You could feel anger swelling within you, sweat pricking on your back and in your palms. 

“Believe what you want. I’m telling you nothing happened.” 

You hung up. You were not about to be accused of cheating by a guy who, frankly, already owed you an apology. As if you would’ve done that. Even if you had been single, you wouldn’t have slept with Taehyung – not ever, but certainly not last night. You had a little more decency than that. Hell, even Taehyung had more decency than that. You tried to push it from your mind; if you had been your boyfriend, maybe you would’ve thought it, too, or at least, felt insecure about it or unsure. You could admit that it didn’t necessarily look great – you were very aware of Taehyung’s reputation and maybe you should have considered that before shutting yourself in a room with him. But you also knew you hadn’t done anything wrong. So you were prepared to let it blow over.  

* * *  

Taehyung: You coming tonight? 

y/n: Coming where? 

Taehyung: Jimin’s party? 

y/n: 🤷‍♀️ not invited 

Taehyung: Ok, I’m inviting you. 

Taehyung: So you coming? 

y/n: Can’t. Have a date 

Taehyung: You dumped disappointing dick??!!! 😄😄😄 

y/n: No. 

y/n: He’s still my boyfriend. My date is with him. 

Taehyung: Boo 😒 let me know when you finally leave him 

y/n: Fuck off, taehyung 

* * *  

You didn’t see him for a few weeks after that, until you found yourself actually searching for him, peeking into dark corners in clubs and bars to see if he was there. You weren’t sure why you did; you weren’t friends and you certainly weren’t interested in him. But you were intrigued. You always assumed people like him were shallow – truly of the no thoughts, head empty kind. You hadn’t really considered that he might be a real person under there somewhere. Albeit a smug, arrogant, charmless, shameless person. Who may or may not have had a magic dick. 

You thought about what your friend had said, the first time you met Taehyung. How she had cried, not because she liked him, not because he broke her heart, but because she would never get to sleep with him again. You couldn’t imagine it, sex that good. Not that the sex you had was bad (it wasn’t), it was good, even, but you couldn’t imagine it being so good, so much better than now that it would inspire such a reaction.  

You began to think about it more and more as things with your boyfriend went from bad to worse.  

The club was hot and loud and you were happy to be drunk and dancing. Happy, that is, until you weren’t. Your phone buzzed once, twice, three times, four times. You knew it was your boyfriend and you knew it was because you were out without him. Which was kind of the whole point; you didn’t want to speak to him. 

You wandered outside to the smoking area, for some air, to scan your eyes over your boyfriend’s messages and see if there was anything worth replying to. And there was Taehyung. He hadn’t seen you yet and you knew you had only a few seconds before he turned around and noticed you. You realised, with what might have been clarity or might have been too much gin, that of all the people in all the world that you might speak to about your problems, Taehyung was probably the best: experienced, not your friend, you didn’t care about his opinion of you, and he didn’t think much of your boyfriend. 

“Hey, Taehyung,” you called as you approached.  

He turned and his smug, little smirk turned into a genuine smile when he saw you. 

“Y/n! It’s been a while. Still being disappointed in the bedroom?” 

You almost changed your mind. 

“Shut up, Taehyung. I have to ask you something.” 

“Go ahead.” 

“You have a lot of sex, right? Like, a lot of sex with a lot of different wome-... people? Right?” 

He shrugged. 

“Some, sure. Maybe a lot. Depends who’s asking.” 

“Whatever, you know what I mean. When you have sex with someone with a... with uh, a vulva, do you go down on them?” 

He looked at you as if you had suddenly grown another head and, when he answered, he spoke slowly, as if you were an idiot. 

“Yes, if they have a pussy, I go down on them.” 

“Always? Like, every time?” 

“Well, I guess probably not 100% of the time, but... I don’t know, 95?” 

This was not the answer you had been hoping for.  

“Why are you a-” He cut himself off with a gasp and looked at you, shock and glee in equal measure on his face. “Does Disappointing Dick not go down on you?” 

You blushed furiously, your face hot, and stomped your foot, shushing him viciously. 

“No,” you admitted, through gritted teeth. “No, he doesn’t. Not ever.” 

“Not ever?” 

“Not ever.” 

“Like, not even a little?” 

“I said not ever! What do you not understand about those words?” 

“Why?” 

“You mean why doesn’t he?” You shrugged, trying to appear more unbothered than you were. “He says he doesn’t like it.” 

“Doesn’t like it? Is he gay?” 

You rolled your eyes and turned away with a groan, intending to drop it, but he grabbed your arm and turned you back. 

“I’m being serious. If he’s not going down on you, he can’t be that into pussy. Is it just you or was he the same with previous partners?” 

“He says it’s everyone, not just me. He says he just doesn’t like it.” 

“Has he tried? With you, I mean?” 

You grimaced at the memory. 

“Once.” 

“And how was it?” 

“Awful. I couldn’t relax because all I could think about was how much he didn’t want to do it and he was so awkward and tentative and then he got annoyed because I wasn’t enjoying-” 

“He got annoyed?” 

“Yeah.” 

Taehyung’s brows came over his eyes and his lips pouted forward. He looked at you, thinking carefully. 

“Do you go down on him?” 

“Well, yeah, but I like doing it so it’s not an issue.” 

“But him not going down on you is an issue?” 

“Yes. I know I shouldn’t make it a big deal and maybe it’s not and I’m just being selfis-” 

He held up a hand to cut you off before you could even finish the word. 

“You’ve done things you aren’t that keen on in bed, right?” 

“Uh, wh- what do you mean? No one’s ever forced me to do-” 

“No, I don’t mean that. I just mean... There are some positions you like more than others, yeah? Or maybe he likes to fuck in the shower but you prefer not to or he likes morning sex and you don’t really, but you sometimes do it anyway, even though it’s not your favourite thing?” 

“Yeah, I guess.” 

“So why do you do them?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well if they’re not really top of your list, why do you do them at all? Why not just say no and only do it how you want?” 

“Because it’s not just about me. It’s about them, too, and I want them to have a good time. And, ok, maybe we do it that way this time, and next time, we’ll do it my way.” 

“Exactly.” 

“I don’t see your point.” 

“My point is that, even if eating your pussy isn’t his favourite thing to do, he should still do it because it’s something that you like and that makes you feel good and he should care about that.” 

“You care, do you? About all the people you have sex with?” 

“Yes, I do.” His eyes were sharp, his lips almost sneering. He seemed annoyed but you couldn’t work out why. “Why are you asking me about this anyway? Want me to give you what you’re missing?” 

You punched him in the arm, a little harder than you’d intended, and he scowled, giving the area a rub. 

“No. Why would you ask me that? Of course, I fucking don’t. I have a boyfriend.” 

“Yeah. And maybe you shouldn’t.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

He lifts an eyebrow at you, disbelief and impatience clear on his face. 

“You know what I mean. And you know I’m always here for you.” 

For one second, you really thought he was being nice and thoughtful; you thought he might be treating you like a friend. And then reality came back to you and you realised precisely what he meant. You punched him in the arm again.  

“Fuck off, Taehyung. I’m not fucking you.” 

“That’s not what I offered. Come on, sweetheart-” 

“Don’t fucking call me that!”  

“Y/n, seriously.”  

He cradled your cheek with his hand and looked closely at you. His brown eyes were so warm, inviting, so wide and open and sweet that you couldn’t believe what came out of his mouth next.  

“What’s a little oral between friends? Let me show you your pretty little pussy’s worth wanting.” 

“Ugh!” 

You ripped your face away from his hand and stalked off, even as he called after you. The juxtaposition of that cute, teddy-bear face and his fucking depravity would give you whiplash. You told yourself that’s what it was; that he was confusing and you didn’t know how to take him, didn’t know if you could trust him. That’s why you could feel a cold stone of anxiety sinking in your stomach; you were discombobulated, that’s all. You were drunk. He had knocked you off kilter.  

You were fine. 

The next day, Taehyung messaged you. 

Taehyung: I’m sorry for overstepping, ok?  

You didn’t have time to read the rest before he was video-calling you. 

“Hi.” 

“Hi.” 

“You haven’t even given me three seconds to read your messages yet.” 

“I know, but it said you read them so I knew you were looking at your phone and I wanted to speak to you.” 

“I don’t know if that’s smart or creepy.” 

You could tell he shrugged by the jolt of the camera. 

“What do you want, then? You’ve already apologised.” 

“I don’t want to apologise. Not really... Well, I do if I made you uncomfortable. I am sorry if I did but I’m not going to apologise for anything else. Not even this... 

“No partner should ever make you feel weird or self-conscious or bad or insecure or anything like that. If you are putting your trust in someone, if you’re literally putting your body in their hands, they had better make damn fucking sure that they’re treating it right, that they’re taking care of you, that you feel good, that you feel better being with them than you do on your own. That’s all non-negotiable. It doesn’t sound like Dickless is doing that.” 

“What happened to Disappointing Dick?” 

“I demoted him. He doesn’t deserve a dick.” 

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. 

“I’m fucking serious. You deserve better.” 

You hung up on him. You didn’t want to hear it because you didn’t want to admit that it did make you feel bad; that you were self-conscious now; that something bad was definitely happening inside your brain and you didn’t, somehow, feel like you had the right to blame your boyfriend. 

Taehyung, persistent as ever, sent a text. 

Taehyung: I’m sorry if you’re upset but I’m also not sorry. You deserve better. You deserve to be feel like your body is perfect because it is. Your body is a site of worship and if he’s not praying to you, sacrificing to you, he’s blaspheming. You deserve to be fucked by someone who will recognise what you are, will recognise how lucky they are to be with you, will make sure they let you know just how desirable and sexy and fucking perfect you are. That's all. 

Y/n: You mean someone like you? 

Taehyung: 🙄🙄🙄 

Taehyung: NO. I’m not trying to fuck you; you’ve made your feelings on that abundantly clear. This is not about me at all. How many times do I have to say I’m serious about this? Your boyfriend is a sack of shit.  

You did not reply. 

* * *  

It was a Monday morning, hardly the highlight of anyone’s week, when you next ran into Taehyung. As you entered the café, you could see him, waiting for his coffee at the other end of the bar. You ignored him and placed your order, hoping he would be gone before you had finished.  

No such luck. Worse still, he immediately started talking to you. 

“I just have one question; will you let me ask one question?” 

“What?” 

“Are you prepared to go the rest of your life with no one going down on you?” 

“What?” 

You could feel your face heat and you glanced nervously around, hoping no one else had heard him. You were furious with him for bringing it up here, in public, first thing in the morning, but you were also not prepared for that question and a cold feeling of dread slipped through your veins like ice. 

“You’re in a relationship with this guy; at some point, eventually, you’ll get married, right? And that’s it, then; you’re staring down the barrel of what, 70 years without it? You’ve already had your last time. Do you remember it? Was it even good?” 

You knew it wasn’t because the last time anyone did it was the first – and only – time your boyfriend had and that had been an unmitigated disaster.  

“We’re not that serious, Taehyung. We’re not getting married.” 

“Maybe not now, but if you don’t break up, that’s where you’re headed, isn’t it? Is it really something you’re willing to give up forever? For him?”  

Your coffee had arrived and you had hoped you could take it and run, but Taehyung picked up your cup with his spare hand and wandered towards a spare table.  

“I don’t even know why you care so much,” you hissed as you sat opposite him at the table. 

“I don’t know why you don’t. You asked me for a reason and you are apparently completely unwilling to listen to anything. Is what I’m saying so radical? What do your other friends say?” 

You couldn’t answer that question because you hadn’t told anyone else. It was too embarrassing.  

“Have you even told anyone else?” 

“No.” 

“Then why me? Because I’m just some disgusting, shallow fuckboy whose opinion you don’t care about except when it might benefit you? Because you expected me to say that I don’t go down on the women I sleep with? Expected me to make some crude joke or cruel comment about them? Because you think that, just because I sleep with a lot of people, I must not respect them enough to treat them right? All of the above?” 

The silence between the two of you was thick, untouched by the noise and bustle of the café around you. You couldn’t deny that basically everything he had said was true, but hearing him say it made you feel thoroughly shamed. 

“I’m not offended,” he continued. “Because I know that none of that is true, as does everyone who actually knows me. You haven’t bothered to get to know me-” 

“Yeah because all you do is try to get in my pants!” 

“How is that true? Did I not just tell you that I’m not trying to fuck you? That this isn’t about me? Contrary to your beliefs, you are actually not some kind of irresistible siren whom I will make it my life mission to bed. I can live without fucking you, thank you very much. And you think I’m arrogant.” 

“I don’t think I’m irresistible,” you protested weakly.  

“I’m not interested in arguing with you. I’m a lover, not a fighter.” He paused to give you a dramatic, over the top, sexy wink and you couldn’t stop yourself rolling your eyes. “But, for the millionth time, I am serious about this. And you need to get serious about it. Here, enjoy your coffee, sweetheart.” 

He slid your cup towards you, stood, and left before you could tell him off for calling you that again. You were rattled and frustrated and couldn’t stop thinking about the rest of your life.  

You couldn’t stop thinking about it that day or that week or even into the next week. You saw your boyfriend three times and had sex that you couldn’t enjoy because you couldn’t stop thinking about it.  

It was the last time, with him pounding away inside you, that he finally noticed. 

“Hey, y/n.”  

He slowed, but didn’t stop.  

“Where have you gone? I feel like you’re not there.” 

You dragged your eyes back into focus, onto him. 

“Do you think you’ll ever like it?” 

He frowned, confused, and came to a stop, resting his weight on you a little. 

“Like what? What are you talking about?” 

“Oral.”  

He groaned and you knew, even though you couldn’t see his face as he rested his forehead on your clavicle, that he was rolling his eyes. 

“Do we have to talk about this again? I feel like this is all we ever talk about and I don’t know what you want me to say.” 

“I want you to give me a reason! Tell me why you won’t do it!” 

He rolled away, slipping out of you, and sat up and you pushed yourself upright next to him. He had never really given you an answer, other than that he ‘just doesn’t like it’ and you thought this little pause might be him finally deciding to tell you. 

“Tell me why it matters so much!” he countered and your hope deflated. “I get you off, don’t I? It’s not like I’m selfish. Why do you need me to do it so badly?” 

“Because I like it! Because I do things for you! Because... Because it makes me feel bad that you don’t.” 

“Oh I make you feel bad? All this time I spend trying to make you feel good-” 

“I don’t! I don’t feel good! I don’t feel good because you make me feel like there must be something wrong with me! No one else has ever had a problem with it-” 

“Now who’s making who feel bad? If everyone else you’ve fucked likes it so much, why don’t you just go and ask them to do it?” 

“What?” 

“Well, if they all love doing it so much and you need it so fucking desperately, why not ask them?” 

“Are you serious right now?” 

His jaw dropped as if you’d just hit him. 

“Of course I’m not fucking serious! Are you joking? You’re my fucking girlfriend! As if I would let you do that! I don’t understand why you can’t just be happy with what we have.” 

He was standing and putting his feet back into his boxers and trousers. You didn’t want him to leave. Because you wanted him to stay and change his mind. You wanted him to suddenly turn around and say, actually, I was wrong, please allow me to go down on you for hours and hours... You knew he wouldn’t. 

He sat down on the edge of the bed and took your hand. 

“Do you love me?” 

At that moment, no, you truly didn’t. It took all your strength to look him in the eye and answer. 

“Yes, of course.” 

He kissed you and told you the same and then he told you to get some rest and sleep on it and that things would look better in the morning.  

You had had this argument enough times to know that it wouldn’t. Things would look the same in the morning. In actual fact, they looked worse.  

You still couldn’t get Taehyung’s words out of your mind, any of them. The idea of anyone worshipping you was faintly absurd, a rhetorical flourish you’re sure he didn’t mean literally, but he seemed so sincere and, well, they didn’t say he had a magical dick for nothing.  

You called Tara.  

“Ok, I need you to be really real with me and also to not ever tell anyone I asked you this.” 

“Oh my god, the intrigue... Go on.” 

“Just exactly how good is Taehyung in bed?” 

She cackled loudly down the phone and then sighed, suddenly wistful. 

“Still, by far, the best I have ever had. I still miss him.” 

“Ok, but I don’t know how good the other people you’ve slept with are. I need like, some objective measure-” 

“Why? Are you planning to sleep with him?” 

“No! God no! I just don’t believe that what people say about him can be true, so I’m … I don’t know... checking...” 

Her responding hum sounded unconvinced. 

“Well, he once made me come for like, two straight minutes. I thought I was going to die and I could barely walk the next day; every muscle in my body was sore.” 

“Is that... good?” 

“YES! I meant it when I said you shouldn’t turn him down if he ever offers. I have never had as many orgasms in one night as when I was with him. He just... He fucking loves it and he loves you when he’s fucking you. He kind of takes it almost weirdly seriously? But like, in a good way. I don’t know. It’s hard to describe. I may have been drunk at the bar that time, but I honestly could still cry about how much I miss fucking him.”  

“Jesus.” 

“Not even he can help me, y/n.”  

“Ok, well, thanks. I guess.” 

“Did that help? I seriously think you should fuck him; I promise I won’t even be jealous because it is truly something I think everyone should get to experience at least once.”  

“I am not sure that’s a normal thing to say about someone.” 

“Taehyung is not normal.”  

* * *  

Two days. It was two days before you snapped. You took a deep breath, pressed call, and held the phone to your ear. 

“Hello?” 

“Do you want to eat me out?” 

You could hear choking at the other end and a muffled ‘hold on’. You held on. 

“Sorry, what the fuck did you just ask me?”  

“I said, do you want to eat me out?” 

“Is this a hypothetical question? Because you know I have already made the offer.”  

“So you do want to eat me out?” 

“Again, is this hypothetical or are you asking me over right now?” 

Another deep breath. 

“I’m asking you over right now.” 

“Give me your address.” 

You paced up and down your living room, anxious, impatient. The sheets on the bed were clean; you’d showered and then done it again for no real reason other than an irrational fear of him thinking you were dirty; you hesitated over whether or not to light candles – it felt like too much, too romantic but would also mean you could turn out the lights, keep it dark... You were just about to find the matches again when there was a knock at the door.  

“Hi.” 

“Hello.” 

His grin was wide as he stepped over the threshold but it did nothing to put you at ease.  

“Do you want a drink or something?” you asked as you made your way to the kitchen. 

“Whatever you want. I am at your service.” 

He bowed, thrusting an arm elaborately to the side, his head dipping low as he bent deeply from the hips.  

“Please don’t be weird. Don’t make this weird.” 

“What’s weird about it? Like I said, what’s a little oral between friends? Platonic pussy eating, that’s all it is.” 

“I said don’t be weird! Why do you have to put it like that?” 

“Well, what is it if not that? I assume you don’t suddenly want to date me.” 

“God, no-” 

He raised his eyebrows at you, questioning, demanding. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Sorry.” 

He shrugged. 

“It’s alright. I know you still think we’re not friends, but, just so you know, I wouldn’t do this for just anyone.” 

“Oh, wouldn’t you?” 

“No, I wouldn’t.” 

He was suddenly close to you, a little too close. He looked down at you, and you expected to look up and see that arrogant smirk, the quirked eyebrow that he thought was so sexy, but he’s just smiling, sweet, cute.  

“I’m glad you called, though. Glad you’ve finally seen the light and ditched Dickless-” 

“I haven’t. We’re still together.” 

His eyebrows shot up, his mouth a little ‘o’ of surprise. 

“You haven’t? And yet here I am... I thought you were a good girl.” 

“Shut up, Taehyung. Stop trying to flirt with me.”  

You moved away from him, towards the fridge, and got out a bottle of wine, more for something to do than anything else. You poured two glasses and held one out to him.  

“How do you expect me to go down on you if you won’t even let me flirt with you a little?” 

“You don’t have to flirt with me if I’ve already agreed to it. There’s no need.” 

“That’s what you think flirting is? Just a way to get into somebody’s bed? That is not what flirting is for – well, not the only thing.” 

He considered you carefully over his wine glass and you could feel yourself blushing all over; he kept his gaze steady, his face betraying nothing, and then he held his hand out to you. You didn’t take it but you moved closer to him, just close enough that he could reach out and grab you by the waist, pulling you up against him.  

“Just so we’re clear,” he began, his voice low, his eyes pointedly fixed on yours. “If we do this and you don’t break up with Dickless, I will consider it a failure.” 

You didn’t know what you felt. What would make this a success? What would make it a failure? Did you want it to be good? So good you ended your relationship? Or did you want it to be disappointing, maybe literally anticlimactic, so that you could stay with him and not feel like you were missing out? You had absolutely no idea. You didn’t even really know why you were doing it. Was it a good idea? What had possessed you? All you knew was that it had to be done. Now or never. For once and for all.  

He placed his wine glass on the counter and slipped his fingers underneath the hem of your shirt, his fingers just lightly grazing your skin. Your stomach twisted and you squirmed out of his grasp. 

“What are you doing?” you asked, trying to stop your heart racing.  

“What are you doing? Did you or did you not invite me over so I could go down on you?” 

“Well, yes, I did, but that doesn’t mean all of... All of that.” 

You heard him chuckle behind you and you turned slightly, just enough that you could see him run his hands through his hair and roll his eyes, the boxy grin back on his face.  

“Y’know, I’m starting to think that maybe you are the problem. At least a little bit.” 

When you didn’t move and didn’t respond, he sighed again, lightly exasperated. 

“Come here,” he commanded softly, holding his hands out to you. When you didn’t move, he walked towards you instead. He took your face in his hands and made you look at him. “Do you trust me?” 

When you didn’t answer, he shook your head lightly side to side.  

“I don’t mean like, trust me with your family secrets, trust me to take care of your pets while you’re on holiday. I mean... Do you think I’m going to hurt you?” 

You shook your head and he moved his face even closer.  

“Do you think I’m going to do something you don’t want?” 

You shook your head and he lightly pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

“Do you think I’m going to make you do something you don’t want?” 

You shook your head and he kissed your other cheek. 

“So, do you trust me?” 

You nodded, dumb with anticipation and tension, shocked at the way your body was responding to this, just this: he hadn’t even kissed you on the mouth but you were trembling, warm, wet.  

“Ok, then,” he whispered and he moved his hands down your body, then back up on the inside of your clothes. His hands were cold and you shivered against him, closing your eyes. 

“Look at me.”  

Your eyes flicked back to him and he kissed your lips, just barely, still looking you in the eye, and a whimper caught in your throat. He closed his eyes and pulled you closer, his lips pressing against yours now. He removed a hand from your waist and gently pressed his thumb against your chin, opening your mouth to allow his tongue inside. His kiss was warm and sweet with wine; his tongue was soft against yours, slow as he licked into your mouth and retreated. You chased after his mouth when his lips left yours and you could feel him smile as he let you close the distance and kiss him again. He ran his tongue along your bottom lip and sucked it gently, a barely perceptible pressure that made your knees tremble. 

You could feel all the heat rushing through your blood, flowering on the surface of your skin in warm blooms as you let yourself relax. All the tension you were holding melted away, evaporating on your skin, leaving you soft and pliant. A deep, dark want blossomed in you, its petals unfurling in your core, arousal first like dew drops, then like a sudden summer downpour buffeting the pale heads of roses. You had thought this would be quick, frantic with need, with guilt, with anxiety, but all of that was held at bay by the gentle way that Taehyung ran his tongue over yours, ran his hands over your body, held you just close enough that you could feel him against you but not so close you felt trapped.  

He moved from your mouth and placed kisses on your temple, your ear, your jaw. As he sucked kisses down your neck, you were so distracted that you didn’t notice him unclasp your bra, only aware when he rubbed his thumbs over your nipples, already hard. He moaned against your skin, his teeth sinking into your flesh as he pulled your hips against his. You gasped, both at the bite, and at the feeling of him, stiffening, growing against you. He ran his tongue over the indentations in your neck and you shivered.  

“Can I take your clothes off?”  

His voice was raspy and low in your ear as he tugged at the bottom of your shirt. You sighed a yes and looked into his eyes as his fingers worked on the buttons of your blouse. His eyes were soft, liquid, the light glinting off them in gold and honey. He took his time, each button slow, his eyes never leaving yours. He nudged your nose with his, licked your bottom lip, sank his teeth into it, sucked it into his mouth.  

He pushed your shirt off your shoulders and let it fall to the floor, then he pulled the straps of your bra down and it fell, too. He finally dropped his gaze and took in the sight of your naked torso, nipples taut, goosebumps spreading over the swell of your breasts as he gently took them in his hands, massaging, squeezing your nipples between his fingers. He hummed quietly.  

“Shall we go to the bedroom now?” 

You couldn’t speak, only nodded, and walked backwards until your legs hit your bed, then you let him lay you down. 

“Can I take this off?” he asked again, holding the edge of your skirt. Again, you nodded and he pulled gently, the fabric almost burning against your legs as it dragged. He kissed your feet and you squirmed. 

“Ticklish?” He grinned and licked the sole of your left foot from heel to toe with the tip of his tongue as you squealed.  

“Yes, I am!” you gasped. He chuckled and relented, trailing soft, wet kisses up your legs. You held your breath as he licked at your inner thighs, anticipating him at your core.  

But he wasn’t there. He slipped his hands underneath at the hips and lifted the fabric so he could lick the crease of your leg and then pulled it down so he could kiss across the waistband from hip bone to hip bone, but he didn’t touch you. Your heart was racing in your chest now; what was he waiting for?  

He hummed against your skin and moved above you, his hands on either side of your chest. He looked at you, almost quizzical for a second, and then that look faded into a smile that – had it been anyone else – you might’ve called adoring. He lowered his face to yours and kissed you. 

“Relax, y/n. I can feel your heart beating from here.”  

Resting his full weight on one hand, he placed the other between your breasts, atop your sternum, your heart pushing back, thumping against your ribs.  

“But aren’t you gonna...?”  

He kissed you again, forceful this time, leaving you breathless as he pulled away. 

“Yes, I am. But we’re doing it my way, ok? Just relax; I’m going to take good care of you.” 

He shuffled downwards, lips everywhere on his path down your neck, across your chest. You whined when he took your nipple in his mouth, your back arching into him as he sealed his teeth around it, his tongue lapping at your tightened bud. 

Everything was so slow. You felt like a frog in a pan; you hadn’t really noticed it building, this huge, hungry desire, but now you were drowning in it, burning, melting. It enveloped you, held you, suspended, cushioned in its warmth but needled by its intensity. It sent its buds out from your centre to your extremities, your fingers and toes tingling, your body trembling, your breath catching in your throat. Flowers of want blooming all over you, petals falling from Taehyung’s lips, soft and sweet and warm.  

You let out a long, shaky whine when he finally locked his fingers around your underwear and tugged them down, his hands sliding against your legs as he pulled them all the way off.  

“Taehyung,” you whispered as he pushed your legs apart, crawling back towards you.  

“Yes?” 

You didn’t know what to say. You knew there was something, something inside you that you wanted to tell him, but you couldn’t find the words. Everything was obscured by the veil of your greed, your craven yearning for him. You wanted his mouth on you so badly, wanted to be wanted. You remembered what he said about worship and a sudden panic sliced through you with painful clarity. 

“I-… What if it is me? What if there’s something wrong with me?”  

He pressed a soft kiss against your inner thigh and then loomed over you.  

“It’s not you, I promise.”  

He rested his forehead against yours, your noses pressed together, his hand on your cheek. 

“You’re perfect. Perfect, you hear me? If you’ve changed your mind about this, that’s ok-” 

“No, god no,” you answered quickly, immediately, absolutely sure that you wanted this, your nails digging into his arms. “Please...” 

He kissed you, slow, even slower than before, and he lowered his body down on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress. It’s only then that you realised he was still fully dressed. And you were completely naked beneath him, so exposed and so vulnerable. You pushed him back, a light palm against his chest, and he looked at you, frowning. 

“What’s wrong?”  

You looked at his eyes, somehow both shining and dark at the same time; his pouty mouth just barely open; his hips pressing into yours; his erection hot and hard against you, almost exactly where it needed to be, so you could just tip your hips and rub yourself on him, feel the friction you were desperate for. He looked at you so openly and it wasn’t like you expected it to be at all. None of it was. You thought he would be arrogant, cocksure, swaggering; you thought he would be rough, wild, frenetic; you thought it was all bluster and machismo, that he’d keep calling you ‘baby’ and asking how you liked it and trying to make you scream. You hadn’t even really believed that he would get you there. Whether due to you or to him, you had thought it probably wouldn’t happen. Your boyfriend had made you too self-conscious; Taehyung wouldn’t put the effort in or wouldn’t know what to do.  

But it wasn’t like that at all. He looked at you questioningly, searchingly, like he actually cared. And he had moved so slowly, so patiently; he was rock-hard against you, but hadn’t even mentioned it. He hadn’t even taken his clothes off. This was the first time he’d even really pressed his hips against you so you could feel him. You closed your eyes and tried to control your breathing, tried to feel yourself in your body. You could feel the ghost of his breath over your face, his hand curled around your shoulder, fingers dancing lightly over your skin. There was the weight of his body, the warmth of it. You wanted to feel his skin in yours. 

“Take your clothes off,” you whispered, opening your eyes to look at him.  

He grinned and sat back on his knees, unbuttoning his shirt. You reached out to unzip his trousers but he batted your hand away. He unzipped them himself and stood to step out of them.  

“Better?” he asked, already making his way back to you, but shook your head. 

“No. Everything.”  

His eyebrows raised just a hair and he paused, considering you. 

“You know this is not about me, right?” 

“I know. I just want to see you.”  

He nodded slowly and hooked his thumbs into boxers, sliding them down and stepping out. His dick was wet with pre-cum and you couldn’t believe he could be so hard when you hadn’t even touched him, when he had barely touched you. He knelt at the end of the bed and grabbed your ankles, slowly pulling you down, down, down, until you were just barely still lying on it, your feet touching the floor until he spread your thighs to the side, as wide as they could go.  

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” he asked, his words muffled as he kissed your thigh. 

“Yes, fuck. Yes, Taehyung. Please.”  

He was still slow. Slow as he pressed kisses against your lips, on your mound, back out to the crease of your hip, your thighs. You whined when he ran his fingers through your folds, hearing the slick of your arousal as he dragged up to your clit and down again, as he opened you up. He pressed a kiss to your clit and you jumped, swallowing hard, trying to catch your breath as he opened his lips and sucked. He laved over your clit with the soft, flat pad of his tongue and you sighed, having forgotten this feeling. 

“Talk to me,” he said softly, sprinkling kisses across your legs, your mound, your lips. “Tell me what works for you, what doesn’t.”  

But you couldn’t speak. You moaned and mewled and whimpered, but no words would come. You were swept away on a wave of pleasure, not in the room anymore, but somewhere else, somewhere nothing else existed – just you and Taehyung and this bed. You wanted to tell him yes, like that, more, yes, please, please, please, but the air was tight in your lungs, stuck in your throat, whipped away as it left your mouth in a strangled whine. 

He moaned loudly as he licked over your slit, drinking you in.  

“Y/n.” 

His breath was warm, brushing against your flushed skin. 

“You taste so good, y/n. I fucking knew you would.”  

He moved his mouth away again, biting down on the soft flesh of your inner thigh as he slipped first one and then two fingers into your wet heat. You whined, greedy, needy, grinding your hips, trying to feel some friction back on your clit. Taehyung hummed against your skin and you felt his lips stretch into a smile.  

“Don’t hold back, y/n. I love the way you sound.”  

And you didn’t. You let yourself go, let yourself fall into it, abandoned yourself to him. With his fingers still inside you and his mouth back, sealed against your clit, his tongue alternately flicking hard circles around it, then licking softly over it, you felt your body shuddering to its climax. You expected him to stop as your walls clenched hard on his fingers, to stop when your legs clamped over his ears, to stop when you writhed beneath him, fully overwhelmed as wave after wave swamped you with pleasure.  

But he didn’t. He thrummed his fingers hard against your front wall, not letting you squeeze them out. He kept his mouth on you, your slick and his spit mixing as you came, gushing around him. When you finally cried out, cursing him, calling his name, he slowed, but he still didn’t stop, and you felt your whole body convulse under him. With a flash of clarity, you remembered what Tara had said, and you couldn’t believe it, knew you couldn’t take it, knew this would kill you if it went on any longer.  

But it did. And you didn’t die. You felt yourself floating, your limbs weightless, your head dizzy as you climbed to your second peak, your, soft, weak body tightening, pulling in all directions at once, your skin burning, your heart like a hummingbird’s, blood roaring in your ears like the waves of the ocean. Your hands twisted in the bedsheets as you came, the noises you were making nothing short of animal.  

When you flopped, spent, melting into the mattress, you pushed your fingers through Taehyung’s hair and tugged, your body screaming with over-stimulation, your bed and thighs soaked. You could hardly see; nothing but flashing lights in front of you, stars shining and twinkling on your ceiling, swirling, disappearing and reappearing like a kaleidoscope.  

“Taehyung,” you panted, weak and quiet. “Stop.” 

He was immediately still, those wide, open eyes looking up at you. You whimpered as he pulled his fingers from you and you fell, slithering like a slinky from the bed and into his arms. He held you tight, pushed your hair from your face and kissed your forehead. 

“You ok?” 

You looked up at him, blinking hard to stop your vision swimming. He was shiny and sticky all around his mouth, all over his chin. Those deep, autumn eyes all dark now, swirling black, glazed and penetrating. You summoned what strength you could and crashed your lips against him. You could taste yourself on him and you knew he was right. You weren’t the problem. It wasn’t you. And it certainly wasn’t this.  

“Fuck me, please,” you asked, taking his face between your palms. “Please, Taehyung.”  

He started shaking his head, his lip bitten between his teeth. 

“That’s not what- you don’t have to- we don’t have to do that.” 

“I want to. I want to. Please.” 

You twisted in his lap so you were straddling him, his cock leaking against you between your bodies.  

“If you want to,” you added. “I... Only if you want to.” 

He laughed, deep-throated and rich – you could feel it rumble in his chest.  

“Oh I absolutely want to but this is... Are you sure you want to? I mean... You are still with Dickless and this-” 

“Don’t fucking talk about him. I don’t want to think about him. Please, Taehyung.” You pressed another kiss against his lips, insistent, urgent. “I want you. I just want you.”  

He moaned against your mouth, his arms encircling your waist, his tongue encroaching. Then he rolled and lay you down, the carpet surprisingly soft against your skin.  

“I just,” he said, his mouth wandering all over you, slowly making his way down. “I just want one more taste. Please.”  

He looked at you, waiting. He licked his lips and held the bottom one tight in his teeth. You could see him swallow hard, his breathing deep and heavy. You nodded and dropped your head back, keening as he licked through your folds, humming against your clit, smacking his lips as he raised himself back on his hands and knees.  

“I told you you were fucking perfect.”  

You moved backwards, out from underneath his arms and gave yourself carpet burn on your knees as you shuffled to the bedside table, rifling for the box of condoms you kept there. You grabbed the whole thing, crawled back to Taehyung and emptied it onto the floor. He laughed again. 

“Sweetheart, even for me, that is truly ambitious.” 

“Shut up.” 

You fell back, your chest still heaving, your limbs still trembling, as he tore one open and rolled it down his length. He paused, his dick in his hand, held at your waiting entrance and he looked at you. 

“For god’s sake, Taehyung, don’t ask me if I’m sure. Please just please just fuckin- ahh...” 

He didn’t wait for you to finish. He plunged into your soft, wet cunt and moaned. 

“Fuck. Please tell me that feels good.” 

“It feels fucking incredible.”  

He grabbed at the backs of your thighs and lifted, pushing them up and out, keeping hold of them as he began to move. Smooth and fluid, his hips rolled. Your cunt, wet and soft and sweet, held him tight, moulded to his cock, your walls fluttering around him. Heat radiated from your centre, a fire burning there, flames licking up your body. You were so sensitive, close again almost immediately, whimpering with every thrust.  

You grabbed at him, pulling him down, your hand around his neck to bring him closer and closer ’til you could kiss him. Your tongues tangled and the adjusted angle made you moan straight into his mouth. You could still taste the wine, still taste yourself on him and with a shock of remembrance, you whined. This was what you loved; this was what you had been missing. The proof of the pudding: your arousal all over his face made you hot with a sudden rush. Your boyfriend could never be enough. Because it wasn’t just about you and your desire; it was about his, too. And he didn’t have it, not like this. Not like Taehyung. The strangled moans and gutteral groans escaping his throat, the rumble in his chest as he breathed ragged and uneven made you shaky with feeling. Feeling wanted in your entirety. Wanted in your animal mess. Wanted from head to toe. Inside and out. No holds barred. 

“Taehyung.” 

“Fuck, y/n, yeah? Tell me- tell me...”  

He kissed your lips and your cheek, his hand skirting your body and grabbing at your thigh, pushing further, holding tighter, his thrusts faster now, harder, his pelvis tantalisingly close to your clit. You put a hand down between you, circling slowly, your third orgasm bubbling through your veins.  

“You feel so good,” you breathed. “Fuck, so, so-… ah... shit.”  

Already there, your toes curling, Taehyung hissing, cursing as you squeezed him tight inside you, pleasure blazed through you like a forest fire, every inch of you alight and burning, sparking, fireworks bursting all over you, inside you, filling your vision with dizzying colour. Taehyung was gasping, stuttering, his fingers digging into you, his teeth biting hard. 

“Come, Taehyung,” you whispered to him, your voice wobbling, shaking like the rest of you.  

“I w-wanna-” he stammered. “I wa- wan-” 

“No, just come. For me.” 

You brought your mouth to his, pulling his bottom lip with your teeth, sucking gently. 

“Oh, fuck.”  

He juddered, thrusting hard as he let himself go, gave himself to you, gave in. He let himself flop against you for a moment, just a moment, and then he pushed himself up on his hands, looking down at where you bodies met, still together. He rolled his hips one last time and you mewled, over-sensitive, overwraught. He grinned and pulled back, turning away from you as he took off and disposed of the condom.  

He crawled back to you and pulled you onto your side so you were facing each other. He knocked a leg between yours and traced the curve of your body; you shivered, even his hands feeling like fire against you. He kissed you, once, and then again, and then a third time.  

“You’re perfect,” he said, barely moving his mouth far enough from yours to speak, his words mumbled, muffled. “You’re fucking perfect. You understand?”  

You couldn’t look him in the eye, suddenly self-conscious, suddenly so embarrassed at what you had done. Embarrassed that you had needed this, needed him to tell you that, needed him to show you that you could be wanted how you wanted to be wanted, desired in the way you wanted, fucked like you wanted. You felt small and silly and stupid. That you had cheated on your boyfriend with the most promiscuous man on the planet just because you felt insecure. You shivered, but it wasn’t pleasure this time. You were suddenly cold and tired. Exhausted. Choked with emotions you didn’t want to admit.  

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” he said, softly, his lips against your hair now. “You ok?”  

“I don’t know.” 

Your voice was little more than a hoarse whisper, hardly audible beneath the thumping of your heart. 

“Talk to me...” 

“I feel so stupid.” 

“Why?”  

You had to think it through, carefully, how to say it, how to express it. 

“Because... I needed this. I didn’t know that I-… I-” 

You crumbled, dissolved into tears, embarrassing you further. You wanted to be swallowed whole, to sink into the ground, to dessicate and turn to dust. You couldn’t speak, shame dousing you, drowning you, your hitching, heaving breath barely enough. He let you cry and you were grateful for his patience... again. 

“You w-want me,” you said eventually, your voice thick, choked.  

“Yeah.” 

“You want me and h-he doesn’t. And I- I want to be w-wanted. I'm so... Am I undesirable?” 

“Categorically, demonstrably, absolutely not.” 

“Then why doesn’t he want me?” 

Taehyung held you tighter, pulled you closer, kissed the top of your head and stroked your back.  

“This is why I’ve been telling you to leave him, love. You shouldn’t feel like this. I’m sure he does want you, but if he can’t want you in the way that you want, in a way that makes you feel good, feel desirable, and cherished, and loved, then he shouldn’t have you.”  

He pulled back, holding your face to his, wiping your tears with his thumbs.  

“I want you. Believe me, I want you. I’ve just had you and I want you all over again. You should believe that; you deserve that. Don’t let him break you down. Don’t let him do this to you.”  

Your bottom lip wobbled as your eyes filled with tears again and he placed his thumb over it and his lips over that. He swiped his thumb across your mouth and kissed you as slowly as he had the very first time, his lips so soft, his mouth so sweet.  

“If you don’t believe me,” he said, his lips just ghosting over yours, his breath washing over your face. “I will happily show you again and again and again just how desirable you are. Just how perfect you are. It’s not hyperbole; you’re fucking perfect to me. I’ll show you.”  

And he did. 

Not just that night or the one after that or the one after that. He showed you repeatedly again and again until you started to believe it. Until you realised that you didn’t need him to show you anymore, just wanted him to. Just wanted him.  

You broke up with your boyfriend two weeks later. It was horrible and he was surprisingly vicious and you were surprisingly upset. But you knew you were right to do it and wished you had just done it earlier.  

y/n: I broke up with him. 

Taehyung: FINALLY 

Taehyung: Guess this means you don’t need me anymore... 

y/n: I didn’t say that. 

y/n: Come over? 

Taehyung: On my way 

[waynewifey]

aporia — b.w

part one : dear mr. wayne

part two: aftermath

part three: aporia

epilogue

sumary: aporia suggests “an impasse”, a knot or an inherent contradiction found in any text, an insuperable deadlock, or “double bind” of incompatible or contradictory meanings which are “undecidable”. [reference]

pairing: battinson/bruce wayne x reader

genre: drama & romance

warnings: mental health struggle, miscarriage, car crash, a lot of internal dialogue

word count: 2k

A/N: the more i write, the more i put myself in this story. i feel like this ‘you’ is so complex i can’t help but try to explain her further. part four will be bruce’s perspective on all of this + an epilogue. i’m so grateful for the amazing feedback given on the last two parts and for the new followers, thank you so so much. i hope you enjoy this. (also this gif??? HELLO???)

GOTHAM. USA.

— bargaining.

the uncomfortable silence makes you want to scream. she told you that was a normal reaction and they couldn't get rid of those moments, they were essential for your self reflection. the problem was being alone with your thoughts, even for just one minute. they keep deciding you won't recover any time soon. everyone keeps holding you like a cracked vase. even negligence was better than being put under the microscope.

"i don't know what you want me to say" you respond, your gaze anxiously shuffling between the objects in the room. the woman's eyes, however, don't ever leave your face. she holds that journal like a scientist analysing a mutation. like you're some weird thing.

"you should say whatever you feel like saying." that's what she always answers. dr. quinn was extremely stoic, even for a therapist. you still liked her, though, because her pragmatic approach helped you shift your point of view and see yourself from an outside perspective, which made you want to help yourself. after weeks of feeling extra irritable, still trying to forgive your husband for lying to you, you realised maybe everything was too much for you to handle by yourself. you wanted to go back to the real world but before that, you had to do this. a quick chat with your psychiatrist and he gave you the contact to harley quinn.

"i think i've been way too mean to bruce" your confession has her nodding, like that observation had been made sessions before and she was waiting for you to realise that. "he's been so supportive and helpful, but sometimes words just fly out of my mouth and i don't even mean them"

"do you think it's easier to blame him than to come to terms with what actually happened?" you can't answer, because this was all you've asked yourself lately. you were a coward, hiding behind his suffering to prevent confronting yours. it's easy to curse him, to reject him, but it's not what you want to do. lately it feels like you don't have any control over your emotions and actions. you thought maybe if you pushed away the last person that still cared for you, you could disappear in your loneliness and finally stop hurting. "y/n you've been through something terrible. the kind of thing we never think it's gonna happen to us. i know it doesn't feel real, but you have to face it that it is. the thing about trauma... you have to keep living with it. you have to keep going, because it doesn't go away. but this is your life and you don't get to stay on standby. you hurt the people you love because it's better than hurting yourself. you told me you feel bad about it, so why won't you change?"

why won't you? you don't even know where to start. it felt comfortable living in sorrow forever. horrible, but comfortable. again, it was in fact easier to blame him than to accept this was reality. but he's right outside, been waiting for you for two hours, as he has done twice a week for over a month. you weren't being fair to him. he didn't deserve this. dr. quinn sees the defeat in your eyes and sighs in a mission accomplished type of breath.

"think about this, okay? we'll talk on friday." you nod, as if you weren't already overthinking it.

bruce sees you before listening to you. he's created the habit to stay in the waiting room with headphones in, blasting loud music. he didn't want you to feel like he was prying on you. he also didn't want to listen anything you had to say about him. you had the right to be mad at him, given everything that had happened. he knew you didn't mean it when you bomb dropped the word 'divorce' every now and then. it would take you some time to get back to normal and he wouldn't rush you.

you walk to the car quietly and get into the driver's seat. he agreed to let you drive to and from therapy. the office was actually in dr. quinn's house, a little bit on the country side of the city, if you could call it that. it was a 50 minute drive with no traffic, roads empty enough for you to drift off in you thoughts. he watches you drive, eyes brightening up a little more everyday. he realised that trying to shield you from the world wasn't going to work out. you need to learn how to be on your own. he needs to learn how to care for you while away.

"i'm sorry," you caught him off guard, observing the curves of your face. he frowns at the unexplained sentence. you glance at him but look back at the road. "for the way i've been acting. for pushing you away. for being too complicated. i know you're trying to help… thank you for staying."

"darling, of course. for better or for worse, remember? i'm never leaving you. we're getting through this, together. and don't you worry about me, i'll be okay when you are too, alright? you're doing great, i can see how much you're working towards it." he holds out a hand for you and you take it, intertwining your fingers. his calloused palms are softer now, courtesy of the months without batman-ing. they still embrace yours entirely and warm the cold tips of your fingers.

"i love you" the sweetness of that feeling dominates your tastebuds and it's almost like the day you started dating. that innocent type of love that consist of the pure enjoyment of each others company. however, your attempt to savour the moment is ruined by a shape in your peripheral eyesight.

"i love you too" bruce's voice is muffled by the anxious thoughts taking over your mind. the panic starts to overflow. he notices your body getting stiff and the wheel looking loose on your hand. your breathing lost it's rhythm to creaking gasps. there's something wrong. your eyes are frozen in a vehicle. he's seen this van before. maybe not this one, but an identical one, in a security camera tape in court. it looks exactly like the one that took you. "baby, hey, hey. i'm right here." you don't pay any mind to the man beside you. you can't, not when your instincts are telling you to run. not when you can feel the gun getting knocked on your head over and over again. bruce is saying something. the tears are blurring your sight. this is too much.

he's calling you screaming at this point, tears are rolling down your cheeks and you still haven't looked away from the van. there's a bump coming up, the car is dangerously fast and you're not driving at all. he goes for the wheel but isn't quick enough. the tires wiggle, going in their own direction. the car changes lanes, getting in the wrong way of the street. another car is coming and the impact isn't light. your head is thrown forwards, the airbag covering your face. the windshield shatters and little pieces of glass get stuck in your hair. the crash isn't too bad, you're both still awake and only the front has been smashed. but you get out hyperventilating, falling onto the ground and weeping.

bruce gets out as well, only a scratch on the forehead. he has to kneel on the dirt to hold you up. for a while, he doesn't say anything. the other driver is standing, phone in the ear. he's also fine. the cars were the only damage. two other drivers stop by, offering help. you wish he could help you, but it seems as if there's something inherently wrong with you.

— depression.

the weeks following the accident were harsh. it took a while to get you believing in recovery again. you still weren't sure. somehow there was press at the site, so pictures of you crying next to a car crash made it to the papers. there's minor commentary online about you faking it for your husbands popularity. most of the netizens feel desperately sorry for you and have painted you to be their new princess diana, the comparison seems wild to you.

you only go online every three days or so, because you can't resist the urge to know what bruce hasn't been telling you. jokes on you, he's actually been a lot more transparent lately. you agreed that the batman would show up to the sentence of edward nashton, to pressure the jury with his presence. it worked and the criminal got life without parole. the lawyers said that your public presence impacted on his trial, as 20 years was the standard. you were just glad he wouldn't do that to anybody else ever again. the case got national and your family from outside the state, that you not-so-kindly kept in the dark, started making contact, victimising you all over again.

but things were getting better, gradually. it had been almost a year and it felt like that chapter of your life was finally being finished. you were trying to get your life back, including your driver's license. it was suspended for a while after the accident, so now you had to submit a bunch of medical records to prove that you were mentally fine to drive again. that's how you found yourself in bruce's home office, searching everywhere for your documents. you could've asked him where he put it, but he had just fallen asleep in the living room and you didn't want to disturb him.

in one of the desk's drawers, you find a folder with the local hospital logo on it. you open it, shuffling through the papers you've seen before. only one stands out, with "ob/gyn" on the top of the sheet. you wonder if there's anything helpful there. your eyes start reading the words one by one, listing the examinations they've done on you. the subject changes abruptly.

the ultrasound analysis reports the miscarriage of an unknown pregnancy to the patient's spouse.

you feel like you're about to throw up. the world starts spinning as you force yourself to continue to read.

the fetus was estimated to be in the development stage of the beginning of the second trimester. the miscarriage was most likely a result of several mechanical trauma. dilation and curettage was performed with the patient in a medically induced coma.

you try to remember to breathe in and breathe out just like dr. quinn taught you. you expect the tears but they don't come out. the panic doesn't come. it's suddenly so quiet. it's not like a hole has been punched through your chest, it's like you have no chest at all. it's like you don't even exist. you somehow sit down, your body does. you feel as if it's moving on it's own and you're just watching from afar. your thoughts sound so distant, so irrelevant. you can only think of the baby that had once been inside of you and you didn't even realised. you didn't have the time to love him. you've had him there, right there, the thing you wanted the most in the world and he was taken from you. everything was taken from you.

if a tree falls on a forest, and there's no one around to hear, does it still make a sound? it felt like your fall was silent.

[astral-mariner]

Vegeta's Mother Headcanons/Backstory (with Lots of Saiyan Culture Worldbuilding)

As promised to @blueper-saiyan, here is the backstory I've made up for Vegeta's mom and some of the royal family! I've literally thought about writing a saiyan Game of Thrones style fic about how King Vegeta came to power and how Vegeta's mother became queen. If, after reading some of the backstory, such a fic sounds fun to read, I might write it someday. Let me know!

(This post came up as part of a wider discussion about saiyan cultural/religious differences. Read here if you're interested, but the post will only enhance this one, and you don't need to read it for the backstory to make sense.)

To begin with some general information about how royal succession functions: There are four nations on Vegeta-sei, each with their own lands and cultural identities. When the heir to the throne reaches an age equal to three cycles of Vegeta-sei's moon (25 Earth years, roughly), they are bound to one consort from each nation. These consorts are within one moon cycle of the heir's age and can be any sex; measured strength at birth/assigned social class determines who is selected. (Anyone, however, can challenge the selected consort for their right to be bound to the heir apparent. If the challenger defeats the one originally selected in a duel, the challenger then becomes the new consort.) The "wedding" itself takes place in the weeks leading up to the first nights of the full moon after the heir turns 25.

The role of royal consort is a political one as much as it is about producing heirs for the royal family. Indeed, the consorts are not always reproductively compatible with the heir apparent. (This plays into another web of headcanons I have: gender/sex isn't really a big deal in saiyan cultures; they care far more about class/strength, and even the way they speak reflects this. Saiyago refers to people by class and not by sex/gender; there are no gendered pronouns.) The consorts function, essentially, as representatives for their nations. They are the highest ranking nobles/elites of their respective countries. The position comes with considerable political power and influence. There are motives, then, for someone to want to become a royal consort even if they cannot produce children with the heir.

Obviously, though, producing royal children is one of the main purposes of a consort. Those that are reproductively compatible with the heir are expected to engage in the necessary activities. And the consort who provides the crown with the strongest child assumes the title of king/queen consort, granting both that consort and the nation they represent special privileges, power, and influence. So even if there are motives for someone to want to be a consort regardless of reproductive compatibility, compatible consorts are preferred most of the time, and incompatible ones are often challenged. (Or, alternatively, certain conniving nobles might manipulate power level/class archives to ensure the person they want is "chosen by the gods" to stand at the side of the crown. Lots of fun GoT style shit here.)

So this brings us to Vegeta's mother:

She was the strongest (still living) saiyan born in one of the four nations within an appropriate age range to the heir apparent. Specifically, she is from the nation of people who occupy a collection of islands near one of the planet's poles. As mentioned in the long post I linked, this nation centers Oozaru transformation in their cultural/spiritual consciousness as opposed to SSJ transformation. The primal beast vs. the Enlightened Warrior. People from her country speak of a special bond to the moon goddess because, due to their location at the pole, they experience seasonal polar night. Whole seasons of nothing but the moonlit sky, and alternatively, seasons where they are waiting for the goddess rule the sky again.

And because they center the more wild, primal, and impassioned transformation, they are at odds with the culture in the royal city and the (most populous and influential) nation that surrounds it that centers SSJ transformation which is, supposedly, passionless and enlightened (in the Eastern sense). The unique cultural practices, powers, and techniques the people from Vegeta's mother's lands boast are therefore looked upon with skepticism by most other saiyans. Most saiyans don't know what to do with this essentially foreign group of people from sparsely populated polar isles who have strange ways. Some of them are even rumored to sense ki without scouters. The most powerful of them can even dissolve the borders of their mind as happens under the moonlight so they can communicate to others without speaking, soul to soul. (It's mild telepathy, basically. Speaking with the mind, being able to share thoughts/dreams; very skilled people might even be able to read others' minds in a limited capacity.)

And Vegeta's mother is one of those exceptionally gifted saiyans from this country/culture. But nobody cares or finds out about this until later. Because...King Vegeta was not the original heir to whom she would've been betrothed. The saiyan who became King Vegeta was a weaker/lesser royal child. One of his sisters, however, was the crown princess. And she was batshit insane.

King Vegeta's sister was exceptionally cruel. Even for a saiyan. And she came from a long line of rulers who were almost as cruel and insane as she was. Her lineage, in fact, is part of the reason saiyans are infamous throughout the galaxy. She and other corrupt royals/elites don't fight because fighting is what saiyans do. They don't fight for the sake of itself. They fight to shed blood, to kill, to revel in others' pain, destruction, and misery. The sadism is the point, not the art and joy of fighting. And they don't kill in a cold, unattached way. They rape and pillage because they are consumed with bloodlust, they get off on hurting others, and they are strong enough that few can stop them.

(Another topic I could write a whole other long post about: There is certainly considerable disagreement among different saiyan cultures about what their "fighting nature" actually entails. Is it about the excellence in craft? Is it about spiritual enlightenment? Is it about feeling at one with the body, the opponent, and the universe? Or...is it about defeating and destroying your rival? Is it about being the strongest? Is it about pain and domination? There are competing narratives for what the Ideal Saiyan looks like and about how that saiyan would fight. For someone like King Vegeta's sister, she and most of her family lean more towards fighting-for-domination/bloodlust because power has gone to their heads and warped them into something monstrous.)

And (not yet) King Vegeta sees all of this, and because he's one of the weaker children of his family, he faces considerable abuse. Naturally, he tries to prove himself by showing exceptional cruelty of his own, waging wars and conquering planets... But he never actually wins the approval of his family or the rest of the elite class. He becomes somewhat estranged. He comes to resent and look down on his parents and his sister especially. He sees their monstrous ways and turns away from them not because he sees their actions as evil, but because he comes to see their hearts as impure. He listens to the words and warnings of religious extremists around the royal city's temples who condemn the nobility for their impassioned bloodlust where they should instead be cold and tranquil when they fight. He becomes a bit of a fanatic himself.

Then his sister reaches the age where she's to be bound to consorts. And the moon festival is approaching and therefore her "wedding." She doesn't treat the consorts chosen for her like the esteemed nobles they are, however. She captures them and tortures them publicly to put fear in the hearts of everyone in their countries. On the night of her "wedding," she makes a humiliating display of them in the royal city's moon temple. It's pretty obvious that, once the ceremony is performed, she's intending to rape her consorts and perhaps kill the ones who can't provide children for her. Vegeta's mother is one of these consorts.

Vegeta's father is fucking disgusted by all of this. His sister is doing something absolutely sacrilege. She's using power in the most impure way possible, and she's literally desecrating altars doing so. It sets him the fuck off. He's watching the beginnings of the "wedding ceremony," but it's the last straw. While everyone's caught up in what's happening, he comes to the front of the temple and blasts his sister straight through the heart before she can touch any of the consorts, killing her instantly. And he doesn't stop there. He goes positively feral and kills every single member of the royal family while everyone is too shocked or drunk/high to defeat him even though he's not the strongest based on power level alone.

Covered in the blood of the king, queen, and all of his siblings, Vegeta's father calls upon any "righteous" saiyan to purge the royal lands of corruption. Certain religious extremists are all too happy to oblige (the tailless ascetic order from the other post is certainly included here). They begin with powerful elite families known to be close to the crown, murdering their figureheads and heirs. And even some lower-class saiyans join in on the bloodshed. Many of them despise the royal family and the elite nobility for degrading and abusing them. (Some particularly wicked nobles make slaves of low-class saiyans, treating them like aliens/animals; some of them even take children from low-class families to slake their most despicable lusts. While might-makes-right may be pretty commonplace in saiyan culture, I think it's still extremely feasible that those who get the short end of that stick would come to acknowledge that power does not justify every action, and that, especially among low-class saiyans, things like rape and murder of other saiyans are seen as traumatic and wrong as well as shameful acts to commit most of the time.)

The nights of the full moon, then, become a massive fucking bloodbath. Vegeta's father and those loyal to him massacre pretty much half of the nobility. And he, naturally, assumes the throne after the moon festival is over. He is at once respected and feared. He maintains his religious fanaticism and imposes it on the nobility. In some ways, he is just as iron-fisted and cruel as his predecessors, but it has an entirely different flavor. He follows the laws to the letter, taking them very seriously and giving them intense spiritual weight. He strives to emulate the model of the SSJ Enlightened Warrior and considers it his calling as dictated by the gods because they appointed him king.

And while he's not morally "good" by any stretch, and his religion/philosophy definitely leads him to commit some truly heinous acts, he's nevertheless "better" in many ways than his sister or his parents. Nobles who, for example, would have before taken low-class children to abuse are instead punished severely and pay dearly for their "impurity." (It kind of makes sense that someone like King Vegeta who faced significant childhood abuse from his family would consider taking advantage of certain kinds of vulnerable people to be weak and shameful---a corruption of strength.) And while King Vegeta isn't necessarily loved by all low-class saiyans, he's probably more popular than many of his predecessors were. Yes, he still ships off weak children, he still enforces the strict caste system (perhaps even more strictly than those before him too), and he still conquers planets and seeks out powerful opponents to destroy, but he does it with a certain spiritual sincerity.

Then it becomes time for him to take consorts. He's in a pretty unique situation where he's already king before he's "married." After the murder of his sister on her "wedding night," he frees the consorts from their bondage and tells them they can return to their homelands until the gods call upon them to perform their duties. They are more than happy to get the fuck out of the royal city for a while, naturally. But when the next moon festival is approaching, those selected are asked to return. One or two of the consorts his sister would've "wed" had perhaps fallen in battle, but most of them are the same, including Vegeta's mother.

Vegeta's mother and her homeland had been happy, initially, that she hadn't been reproductively compatible with the original heir, King Vegeta's sister. The moon-worshiping people wanted as little to do with the royal city as possible so they could govern their own lands in relative isolation. Now, however, her position as consort carries with it an implicit obligation.

In the years leading up to the next moon festival, Vegeta's mother of course visits the royal city a number of times given that she's an important noble personality. But she doesn't spend most of her time there and only goes when absolutely necessary. She crosses paths with the king, naturally, but avoids him if she can. She remembers, however, the night where he, essentially, saved both her life and her honor (though this was not his primary reason for freeing her). Even so, she's been bracing for the king to go insane like his predecessors. Perhaps bracing herself for him to force himself on her in some way. She doesn't trust him. She doesn't trust anyone outside of her homeland.

But the king is strictly business with her even if he does watch her. She's mysterious; he hardly sees her. She doesn't look like many other people in the royal city. She has different manners, beliefs, and even speaks a different dialect of Saiyago (though she can code-switch and speak the standard royal city dialect as well). She has a small, very feminine frame despite having a very formidable power level. It makes her more terrifying in some ways---that her power comes to her effortlessly, that she doesn't need physical strength or size to wield as much might as she does. She is regarded as extremely beautiful and is compared even to depictions of the moon goddess. Her being from the moon-worshiping polar isles reinforces this connection as well; she has an air of pagan magic about her, and her beauty as well as her strange ways/fighting techniques have this spellbinding or bewitching quality to them in saiyan cultural consciousness.

And her beauty, mystery, and foreign background make her the subject of scorn among many nobles throughout the royal lands. They don't want a pagan queen. Especially since the nobles that remain are ones that are more in line with the religious fanaticism of King Vegeta. The king has very recently purged the nobility of corrupt heretics, people who gave themselves over to shameful bloodlust and made no attempt to purify their hearts and live up to the Saiyan Ideal. And the prospect of having someone who is all about losing yourself and becoming the wild Oozaru become their queen is threatening. Many assume, too, that King Vegeta simply won't favor Vegeta's mother for these political reasons and will instead produce heirs with his other consorts.

That doesn't stop King Vegeta from developing a huge fucking crush on her, though. She's drop-dead gorgeous and incredibly powerful. She doesn't fawn over him or try to win his favor. She steers clear of him, and when they do have to interact, she doesn't filter her foreign/pagan sensibilities whatsoever to be pleasing. She always approaches him as herself and comes off strong. She even outright opposes or argues with him when matters of governance/policy arise. She makes very clear that her people don't care for the traditional caste system or how children are measured for their power at birth. She reminds him that the strongest and most wise of her people can sense hidden abilities in others' souls that scouters can't capture with a mere number.

Ironically, though, Vegeta's mother approaching King Vegeta sincerely as herself makes him fall for her even harder. Those precious few times she sees him in the royal city become almost special occasions for him; he waits for her, he looks forward to seeing her even if he's out of touch with it. He relishes their philosophical debates. As someone who takes his "divine" calling very seriously, he admires her own spiritual passion and sincerity even though they disagree on some basic things and have very different ideas about what the Ideal Saiyan looks/fights like. He makes excuses to talk to her and spend time with her. He probably even constructs situations where he is forced to consider her political input. He desires her and feels that the gods gave their blessing for him to desire her by choosing her for him. She, however, rejects even the smallest advances very strongly. And he, nothing like his sister in this respect, does not punish her or pressure her to accept him. He carries on with his other royal duties.

As the moon festival and therefore the official royal "wedding" approaches, however, Vegeta's mother eventually refuses even to attend the ceremony. (Makes sense, after all---last time, an insane princess meant to torture, rape, and murder her.) Many elites encourage other people from the polar isles to challenge her, replacing her with someone who will not shirk their duties. Elites hostile to the moon-worshipers call for her capture and possible execution. King Vegeta, though, requests only that she attend the ceremony if no one will challenge her and vows that she may return to her homeland once it is over, and neither he nor anyone will touch her under pain of death. She eventually accepts this offer. Her limited interactions with the king have at least shown her that he is generally a man of his word, and she will be able to maintain her political influence over him while getting to stay in her homeland and not fear retribution.

The ceremony takes place and is a very somber affair. Think the most traditional, by-the-book royal wedding ever (just with more fighting because they are saiyans). Vegeta's mother returns to the polar isles the very night the ceremony is over, though, as the moon festival nights are sacred to her people, and she has no desire to spend them in the royal city. The king lets her go as promised. The other nations are happy to see her go, as the more time the king spends with his other consorts, the higher the likelihood that the consort that represents them becomes queen. The king does indeed spend the first few nights in the royal city as expected. But...he does something scandalous before the moon festival is over.

He goes to the polar isles. He participates in some of their festival activities (ritual Oozaru transformations, battles, hunts, and sacrifices). He frames it as a gesture of political good will, saying that he will be a king to all saiyans no matter their nation or favored gods/goddesses. He strives to live up to the example of his Super Saiyan ancestors and will seek strength and wisdom in whatever form the gods will reveal it to him. Even if it means listening to pagan moon-worshipers and hearing what they have to say, what knowledge and power they have to impart. He means it sincerely, but his gesture was obviously inspired by his preoccupation with Vegeta's mother.

He doesn't make any attempt to get close to her personally, but he does transform under the moon with her. And afterwards, when some time has passed and he asks her to come to the royal city, she accepts.

She tells herself it's in service to her nation. Not in many generations have they had the crown at their mercy like this. She knows she has the power to influence how saiyan life itself is ordered. She still may not want to give King Vegeta a child or become queen, but she does want to take advantage of the opportunity his favor affords her.

She's there when Freeza and King Cold first contact the saiyans. It's obvious to anyone who was in direct contact with Freeza just how powerful he is, how much manipulative leverage he holds... But Vegeta's mother can sense something is deeply off about him and the entire situation. She's fully aware that Freeza will straight up destroy everyone if they don't enter his service. And she doesn't have the same delusional pride that the king does. She knows he's going to have to bend the knee if they mean to survive. It's because of her influence that King Vegeta doesn't enter a doomed war with Freeza at the start. She helps him acclimate the people to their new "alliance"---emphasizes better access to technology like scouters, healing tanks, ships, and incubation pods. She's a much better and more natural ruler than King Vegeta is, in fact. She brings a certain "humanity" (saiyanity?) to the role---it's about safeguarding the people and their way of life, not about proving that she personally is the strongest.

Naturally, this pivotal political role she plays brings her and King Vegeta closer together. She'd already been developing feelings for him slowly. She already knew he was different after he killed his entire family and spared her from their wickedness. And as she got to know him better, she really came to admire his own sincerity just as he admired hers. They are both deeply spiritual people even though they have different beliefs, and they have an understanding of each other. And the time they spent under the moonlight together was, after all, quite romantic even if saiyans don't really have "romance" the way humans do.

She admits to herself after a while that she's attracted to him. Sure, part of her definitely enjoys being queen in all but actual title. She enjoys how hopelessly this extremely powerful and austere man bends to her every whim and worships her as if she were actually the moon goddess herself and had indeed bewitched him like all the rumors say she has. Even against his better political judgment or his religious sensibilities. He can't help but revere and admire her. You know, saiyans having a thing for strong women.

She's the one who goes to him first. She tells herself initially that it's merely to consolidate her power, her hold on the king. He, of course, can't resist her and just completely fucking melts for her when she commands him to meet her in her bedchambers. But it's clear that it's neither about duty nor politics as they continue to be intimate. They are in love with each other. They connect on a soul level.

She eventually does become pregnant, though it is no guarantee that she will become queen even if she does provide the crown with a child. She would have to produce the strongest child to be crowned queen, after all, and sometimes which child is strongest does not become apparent until later. But...when Vegeta is born, he's leagues ahead of the other children that had been born already (he has a number of half-siblings). He's the strongest royal child born as far as the archives go back. It's unprecedented, but he's named heir to the throne immediately, and his mother assumes the title of queen at the same time he is named crown prince.

That Vegeta's mother bore him such a powerful son just makes King Vegeta fall that much more in love with her. He takes it as a sign, even, that the gods rewarded him for his piety. That he had done the right thing by murdering his entire family (as much as it still hurt to do, deep down, even if he'd never admit it). That perhaps his son was born so strong because the two sides of saiyan nature were for once at harmony with each other, the Oozaru and the Super Saiyan, just as he, descended from the Super Saiyans, learned to love and fight alongside his moon-worshiping consort. He dares to hope that maybe Prince Vegeta will become strong enough to overthrow Freeza and cast off the shame of servitude.

But there's trouble in paradise. The nobles from the other nations are absolutely appalled that the moon-worshiper from the tiny, pagan population of the polar isles has become queen. Many of them do actually think that she put the king under a spell to do her bidding. They don't like that her battle partner, Nappa, was originally low-class (but elevated once the queen came to the royal city---another cultural difference; it's not as taboo for nobles to have low-class partners in the polar isles because their caste sensibilities are not as strict). The fact that the king bent the knee to Freeza just makes things worse. He's weak. He'll lead them to ruin. He's easily manipulated. He listened to a sorceress instead of his own integrity and pride by submitting to Freeza where he should have instead gone to war and proven his strength as his ancestors did before him.

There's unrest among the lower-class saiyans too. Freeza ships them off to faraway planets for degrading assignments. He takes saiyan children to his planet, and they never return. They hate Freeza even if they are encouraged to be grateful for the battles and resources the Planet Trade affords them. They resent the royal family even if the prince is so strong that they can't help but be inspired.

Several elites challenge the queen to fight. She proves victorious each time, however. And this only infuriates her detractors and rivals even more. Eventually, there are plots to dispose of her via less than honorable means. There are assassination attempts. Those that are caught are of course tortured and executed. But...sadly, one of the attempts succeeds. The queen falls ill, and poison is suspected. She begins to deteriorate rapidly, but she doesn't die immediately. Her body resists the illness, and she lingers for a time even if she knows that, ultimately, her death will be inevitable and painful.

King Vegeta, understandably, goes on a fucking rampage. But there's a distraction. Freeza attends a tournament to decide who will become Prince Vegeta's battle partner, and he finds Prince Vegeta himself to be rather remarkable. Soon afterwards, he demands that King Vegeta send the prince to "visit" him on his home planet. He wants to take the prince in and mentor him as a mark of the "friendship" between Vegeta-sei and the Cold Empire.

The queen, however, does not want to give her son over to Freeza. She fucking knows how that will go down. She can feel it. Vegeta will be examined, experimented on, tortured, treated as a pet and a slave. She doubts that the SSJ legends are even real; she's of the opinion that it's just another interpretation of the Oozaru. So she's under no illusion that Vegeta will transform and save them all from Freeza at just the right moment. She knows he's just a little boy at the end of the day, however strong he is already.

Plus...she knows she's dying, and she doesn't want her son taken away from her. She doesn't want her last days to be spent knowing she gave him over to a monster. But at the same time...she also knows that, if Freeza doesn't take Vegeta, then it will put the entire planet in danger. She takes a page from the king's book and tells herself that she'll have to set her personal feelings aside to do what is rational even if it isn't quite right. So she requests only that the king doesn't let Freeza take Vegeta until after she's gone.

The king, meanwhile, is in fucking denial that she's dying at all. He doesn't want to believe it. He's caught up in his feelings about it. He's caught up, too, in the fear and dread their oh-so-tenuous relationship with Freeza is. He says he'll go to war with Freeza. That he won't let him take their son at all. But they both know that they have to. He copes with it by telling both himself and Vegeta that Freeza's "mentorship" and the opportunities his assignments will afford will make him stronger, will perhaps move him to transform when the time is right. The king doesn't explain to the child what he's really in for, just that he must be strong above all else. Vegeta's mother, though, probably tries to warn him in some capacity, as far as he is able to understand (he's about 4 Earth years old at this point).

Freeza, though, comes to collect Vegeta unannounced sooner than anyone expected. He is forcibly taken from his mother. She puts up a fight, but it's useless, and Vegeta ultimately goes to Freeza's home planet to begin his servitude. The queen dies soon afterwards, and when Vegeta returns to Vegeta-sei for the last time before the planet is destroyed, his mother is gone. He never got to see her again after the day he was taken away.

King Vegeta is consumed with grief and anger. He acts according to his worst impulses. Wages reckless wars, tortures people just to watch them suffer. It doesn't help that the person who was the actual political mastermind behind his regime (the queen) is gone. His rule is messy, and he becomes increasingly unhinged. He probably tries to make an incredibly stupid final stand. His actions certainly accelerate Freeza's plan to destroy him and the rest of the saiyans. And this is where all of this backstory catches up with where we meet young Vegeta in canon.

Anyway! There you have it, an epic backstory for Vegeta's mom and the royal family.

I made all of this up to be background stuff in my fic, but it's not just that. It's also there to show some of the internal conflicts going on in young Vegeta's character. He's caught between living up to the legends of his ancestors and his personal feelings just as his parents represent these two opposing interpretations of saiyan nature. He doesn't quite know how to reconcile these things within himself. His first years with Freeza, too, are colored by the loss of his mother and his father's becoming particularly strict and power-obsessed as a result of her death. This background story is in the fic is also there to tell the reader things about how saiyans conceptualize things like "romantic" relationships, what they consider beautiful. Besides all the stuff about religion, spirituality, and how saiyans construct morality, meaning, and enlightenment.

I hope this was fun to read!