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furinana · 4 months ago

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The origins of Dagda and what gets adapted into SMTIVA

Colonization, religious syncretism and famine all play roles in this unusual representation.

1) Who are the Tuatha Dé Danann?

There was a series of invasions of Ireland by a succession of peoples, the fifth of whom was the people known as the Tuatha Dé Danann.

They faced opposition from their enemies, the Fomorians, led by Balor of the Evil Eye. Balor was eventually slain by Lugh.

With the arrival of the Gaels, the Tuatha Dé Danann retired underground and eventually became the fairy people of later myth and legend.

A quick overview to situate those unfamiliarized but their tales aren't the subject of this post.

2) Who is Dagda?

Dagda is the chief of the Tuatha Dé Danann, portrayed as a large bearded man in father-figure and druid roles. He is often described as an ideal of masculine excellence (although with a comical tone). He had many mates among female Irish figures.

Dagda possess items that gave him advantage over the Fomorians:

→ A magic club of dual nature: its end could kill nine men in one blow but with the handle he could return the slain to life → A shirt of protection from sickness → A cloak of shape-shifting → A magic harp not only able to command people, but also the seasons → And last, a cauldron which never runs empty. Through these, Dagda becomes able to control life and death, the weather and crops, as well as time and the seasons.

3) Humans or deities?

In truth... The lore of Tuatha Dé Danann being descended from a previous wave of inhabitants of Ireland comes from euhemerized accounts. In non-euhemerized accounts, they are descended from Danu, the mother goddess (lit. "Peoples of the Goddess Danu").

The medieval writers who wrote about the Tuatha Dé Danann were Christians. They described them as neutral angels who sided neither with God nor Lucifer and were punished by being forced to dwell on the Earth. Due to the hesitance in calling them by ‘gods’, they were often stripped of this title and instead lessened as simply ‘humans who had become highly skilled in magic’.

Medieval sources depicted Dagda as “a king of Ireland for eighty years, until turning it over and being killed in battle against the Fomorians”; however, this was an obvious attempt to rationalize his divine nature. Not only Dagda is a leader of gods, it’s not in the exact same sense of a king either.

Thus, it’s fair to assume an intended contrast between the “diminished human form” Dagda depicted in the obviously Christian-biased surviving sources and SMTIVA’s “deity-like” Dagda that doesn’t make use of numerous tools to in order to have the means to display unique powers.

4) The Celtic Otherworld

In Irish mythology, Tír na nÓg ('Land of the Young') is one of the names for the Celtic Otherworld (or part of it).

It’s an island paradise and supernatural realm of everlasting youth, beauty, health, abundance and joy, where times also moves differently. Besides deities, it’s also a realm for the dead.

Left: "Land of the Ever Young" (Arthur Rackham) in Irish Fairy Tales (1920). Right: the DLC location Dagda takes you for grinding macca, EXP or items

Means of entry

It exists either in parallel alongside our own, or as a heavenly land beyond the sea or under the earth. Despite its elusiveness, various mythical heroes—such as Cú Chulainn and Fionn —visit it either through chance or after being invited by one of its residents. They often reach it by entering ancient burial mounds or caves, or by going under water or across the western sea.

Sometimes, mortals suddenly find themselves in the Otherworld with the appearance of a magic mist, supernatural beings or unusual animals.

Tech Duinn

In Irish myth, there is another otherworldly realm called Tech Duinn ("House of Donn" or "House of the Dark One"). It was believed that the souls of the dead traveled to Tech Duinn; perhaps to remain there forever, or perhaps before reaching their final destination in the Otherworld, or before being reincarnated.

"Who is the Dark One?", you might wonder.

5) Donn, The Irish God of Death

If you’re familiar with ancient Mediterranean polytheistic religions, you might notice that Donn (the Dark one) shares “death god” similarities with Hades and Pluto.

"One is struck here by the resemblance to the Greek lore of Pluto and the ferrying of souls across the river Styx. The similarity may be explained as a common ancient tradition concerning the dead which had come down to both Greek and Celts but… it seems more sensible to regard it as having originated in general Greek influence. Since the emphasis in these death-beliefs was on the imagery of the west, it is not surprising that the lore was further extended to the westernmost island of Celtdom, Ireland itself.” The Sacred Isle: Belief and Religion in Pre-Christian Ireland (1999)

Donn is responsible for guiding souls from the land of the living to the land of the dead.

Donn’s island, Tech Duinn, is in reality little more than a rock (now known as Bull Rock) situated off the coast of the Beara peninsula. But for centuries that rock inspired fear in the minds of the ancient Irish.

"[...] three red horsemen appear as an omen of death, and they announce: ‘We ride the horses of toothless Donn from the tumuli, although we are alive we are dead!’ Donn is here a personification of the elders buried in the tumuli, which illustrates the physical aspect of funerary practice." The Sacred Isle: Belief and Religion in Pre-Christian Ireland (1999)

Myth vs Pseudohistory

A purely mythological figure, Donn the death god would later become conflated with the quasi-legendary Donn son of Milesius.

“Medieval Irish texts describe the ‘belief of the heathen’ to the effect that souls go there to Donn, and in the pseudo-history Donn is euhemerised as one of the leaders of the Gaelic people when they came to Ireland. We read of this pseudo-historical Donn, however, that he was not destined to reach the shore of Ireland, but was drowned near the rock which bears his name.”

The Gaelic people are also known as the Milesians, namesake of Donn’s dad Milesius. The Milesians were the final invaders/settlers of ancient Ireland. They were the ones who defeated the Tuatha Dé Danann and sent them underground to their tumuli in the euhemerised version.

Donn was an important Milesian military commander and the eldest of Milesius’ eight sons. He seemed like a character fated for a heroic life, yet in every account of Donn’s deeds during the Milesian invasion of Ireland, he was doomed to fall off to his death in the sea in the island and intermixed his tradition to that of death god Donn.

Pre-Celtic roots

On a following note, some historians suggested that Donn might be actually an iteration of Bilé, Irish god of death who originated in ancient Gaul. Bilé, in turn, is the Gaelic iteration of a much older Celtic god who is often referred to as Bel or Belinos in the Brythonic tradition. He is the namesake of the Celtic feast day Beltane, which was—and among some groups, still is—celebrated on May Eve and May 1st.

In some Irish texts, Bilé is euhemerized as the father of the aforementioned Milesius. Therefore, Bilé is the quasi-historical father of Milesius, making him Donn’s grandfather, and clearly establishing Bilé as the original, more senior Celtic god of death.

"Mistifying" enemy nations

Bilé and the rest of the Gaels who invaded Ireland are described as coming “from Hades.” On a different note, the god of death Bilé is described as also being the source of human life:

The Mythology Of The British Islands: And Introduction to the Celtic Myth, Legend, Poetry, and Romance (1905)

And as shown earlier by what we discussed about Tír na nÓg, the Celts didn't consider the Land of the Dead as being a punishing and oppressive place like hell.

“In Celtic belief the underworld was probably a fertile region and a place of light, nor were its gods harmful and evil.” The Religion of the Ancient Celts (1911)

Totally the same, right? Left: Hortus Deliciarum - 12th century Hell (Herrad von Landsberg) Right: "They rode up to a stately palace" (Stephen Reid)

Are you realizing where this is going?

6) Donn = Bilé = Dagda

"Irish god of the dead whose abode is at Tech Duinn (House of Donn) which is placed on an island off the south-west of Ireland. The house is the assembly place of the dead before they begin their journey to the Otherworld. In modern folklore Donn is associated with shipwrecks and sea storms and sometimes equated with the Dagda and Bilé." A Dictionary of Irish Mythology (1987)

We've reached full circle with our representative always being at the boundary between the world of the dead and the world of the living even under different names and locations.

Also, among Dagda's many names, two are relevant both on this discussion and for his SMTIVA portrayal:

-> An Dagda -> Dagda Donn "The Good God" "Dark Dagda"

While 'good' isn't particularly regarding his own morality, the same source mentions that Dagda is charitable, hence the title can be accurate in an altruistic sense as well.

Meanwhile, the possible (combined, even) reasons behind Dagda being called "Donn (Dark)"...

a) Due to having a dun tunic and a dark cloak b) Due to the death and ancestral god Donn (aka Bilé) originally being a form of Dagda thus being the original dark reflection of Dagda c) "Donn Dagda" being also... "Lord Dagda".

On a similar note, both Dagda and Donn have also been likened to the Germanic god Odin regarding shared motifs and, as pointed out by their dynamic in SMTIVA, Celtic cultures are the ancestors of Germanic people.

This is also emphasized by many of Dagda's other names:

Eochu Ollathair "Horse Great-Father"--generally taken as his "true" name

Fer Benn "man of the peaks" or "horned/pronged man"; could be a poetic reference to lightning, or could indicate a now-lost idea of the Dagda being horned, a not-uncommon feature in British and Gaulish iconography.

Cerrce It may derrive from *perkw "striker", i.e. lightning

Dagda (n)dur/Dagdai duir "harsh/stern" Dagda, but duir also may refer to the oak dair; the association of duir and dair also appears in the ogham tracts. Comparing the Dagda to an oak would also lend credence to the interpretation of him as a thunder god.

But back to the "Good Dagda" and "Dark Dagda" discussion.... What if SMTIVA took these two titles as two separate selves?

Donn Dagda -> Original dark reflection of Dagda -> The Ancestor Dagda from his Pre-Celtic era -> The "Old Dagda" that Nanashi fights against in Bonds while allies with in Massacre -> Immutable part of himself

An Dagda -> His heroic Tuatha Dé Danann self -> More aligned to how he's written in biased sources -> The "Entity created by Danu" that Nanashi allies with in Bonds -> Continuously reborn as long as Danu exists

Notice Danu's choice of wording. "My wish" Donn starts belonging to Danu as a Tuatha Dé Danann (Person of Danu) "good king" "good god" Donn was forced into a "personified" role over simply being nature itself. "forbidden magic" Danu is being self-aware about her true "pagan" origins, as she serves humans as both Tuatha Dé Danann and as Black Maria.

7) Effects of Christianity on Irish folklore

When Christianity was first brought in Ireland during the 5th century by missionaries, they were not able to replace the pre-existing beliefs in the Celtic societies. However, Irish folklore did not remain untouched.

As we mentioned earlier, the fairy folk, who were previously perceived as Gods, became merely magical and of much lesser importance, thus adapted to enforce Christian ideals.

All in all, the current Irish folklore shows a strong absorption of Christianity, including its lesson of morality and spiritual beliefs.

Most of these manuscripts were created by Christian monks, who may well have been torn between a desire to record their native culture and hostility to pagan beliefs.

The Tuatha De Danann were known to come from the heavens, but that may be from scribes not knowing how to execute their origin. So the scribes borrowed from past religions like the Greek, Roman, and Eastern myth to create an origin story.

Earth was also thought to be a woman at the time, so this was thought to be a metaphorical birth.

The uncertainty of Danu's origins

Danu has no surviving myths or legends associated with her in any of the primary Irish texts.

Danu is a hypothesised entity whose sole attestation is in the genitive in the name of the Tuatha dé Danann, which may mean 'the peoples of the goddess Danu' in Old Irish.

In Cormac’s Glossary from the 9th century, the goddess Anu is stated as the mother of the gods. Some scholars suggest that Danu was a conflation of Anu and is the same goddess.

in which case Danu could be a contraction of *di[a] Anu ("goddess Anu"). Also cognates with Dana

Left: Mother Earth image, Atalanta Fugiens Right: The Paps of Danu, a pair of breast-shaped mountains in County Kerry, Ireland.

Some later Victorian folklorists attempted to ascribe certain attributes to Danu, such as association with motherhood and agricultural prosperity due to a "general Mother Earth concept".

"Danu herself probably represented the earth and its fruitfulness, and one might compare her with the Greek Demeter. All the other gods are, at least by title, her children." Squire (1905)

As shown by the flimsy lore attempts regarding Danu, whether medieval Irish literature provides reliable evidence of oral tradition remains a matter for debate. This is indicated in SMTIV&A by how fragile and dependent on biased Christian sources her existence is.

"Nativist" claims have been challenged by "revisionist" scholars who believe that much of the literature was created, often in imitation of the epics of classical literature that came with Latin learning, such as the Illiad. They also argue that the materials depicted in the stories generally date closer to those of the time of their composition (such as bows and chariots) than to those of the distant past.

The Mythological Cycle, which comprised stories of the former gods and origins of the Irish (including the Tuatha Dé Danann), is the least well preserved of the four cycles thus many manuscript sources that could have been what later myth writers based on may have been since disappeared, leading to Tuatha Dé Danann eventually becoming forgotten in the current era.

English colonization

During the 16th century, the English conquest overthrew the traditional political and religious autonomy of the country.

The Great famine of the 1840s, and the deaths and emigration it brought, weakened a still enduring Gaelic culture, especially within the rural proletariat, which was at the time the most traditional social grouping.

In the state of things, with depopulation the most terrific which any country ever experienced, [...] together with the rapid decay of our Irish bardic annals, the vestige of Pagan rites, and the relics of fairy charms were preserved, - can superstition, or if superstitious belief, can superstitious practices continue to exist? - William Wilde

Moreover, global migration has helped overcoming special spatial barriers making it easier for cultures to merge into one another.

All those events have led to a massive decline of native learned Gaelic traditions and Irish language, and with Irish tradition being mainly an oral tradition, this has led to a loss of identity and historical continuity.

Dagda's (briefly mentioned in-game) daughter

Brigid ('exalted one') is the daughter of Dagda and "the goddess whom poets adored". She is associated with wisdom, poetry, healing, smithing and domesticated animals.

The goddess Brigid was syncretized with the Christian saint of the same name. Medieval monks took the ancient figure and grafted her name and functions onto her Christian counterpart, Brigid of Kildare.

Saint Brigid shares many of the goddess's attributes and her feast day, February 1st, was originally a pagan festival called Imbolc, the first day of spring in Irish tradition.

Art mural depicting the duality of Brigid the pagan goddess and Brigid the saint.

As the more well-known goddess, and later saint, the legends of numerous "minor" goddesses with similar associations may have over time been incorporated into the symbology, worship and tales of Brigid, including Danu and Dagda's own.

This is subtly brought up in the request she makes for Flynn prior to SMTIVA: she requires the rescue of her (then absent) father's cauldron that could feed crowds of people and wait for the return of Danu, the "representative piece" of their group, in order to turn it back to its original state.

On a following note, Brigid's affectional and protective nature is distinctive as she not only began the custom of keening (traditional form of vocal lament for the dead in the Gaelic tradition) while mourning the death of her son but even her animals were said to cry out whenever plundering was committed in Ireland.

Which leads us to the final topic of this post...

8) Irish and the celebration of death

Long before the rise of Christianity, Celtic druids preached that the human soul was eternal thus in death, one simply moved into a different plane of existence (which is the Otherworld we mentioned earlier).

Irish myths also emphasized to us that the barriers between the land of the living and the Otherworld are not always solid, which is perfectly displayed in the festival Samhain:

They believed that on the last night of the old year (October 31st) the lord of death gathered together the souls of all those who had died in the passing year [...], to decree what forms they should inhabit for the next twelve months.

The Book of Hallowe’en (1919)

Brigid alongside Dagda are "personified" concepts that show the picture of how intimate the Irish's relationship with death is.

To quote Scottish journalist Kevin Toolis, you’d be hard-pressed to find a country other than Ireland “where the dying… the living, the bereaved and the dead still openly share the world and remain bound together in the Irish wake.”

The oppressive YHVH forced those whose existences contradicted his own to step down from being gods. The divided Danu wishes to "claim back her lost authority" while still respecting the will of people that interpret her as part of Judeo-Christian lore. Meanwhile, Dagda subverts both YHVH and Danu as desiring to go back to being nature itself rather than its personification that continues the cycle of human dependency on gods and viceversa.

Death begets life. And the most fertile soil is that which is rich with the remains of the once-living. Dagda, as the spiritual father to humankind, wishes to become 'fertile soil' for Nanashi and a new world of humans.

The Donn reflection of Dagda, which is linked to the mythological ancestor of the Gaels, is crucial to the circle of life itself.

#smtiva #shin megami tensei iv apocalypse #smt iva

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nilsavatar · 1 year ago

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DAY 18 - MIRROR SEX

Parings: Lo'ak x Fem!Metkayina

Genre/Warnings: NSFW/MDNI + 18, no use of Y/N, SMUT, ANGST, friends with benefits, hookups, enemies to lovers, revenge sex, anger sex, rough sex, mirror sex, P in V, cream pie, Lo'ak loves video games, they both have issues, both toxic. All characters are AGED-UP.

Word Count: 4,2k

Masterlist - Request a fic

One nice thing about having a human outpost near the village? Video games.

Lo’ak was compulsively pressing his thumbs and index fingers on the PlayStation controller. It was outdated and small in his hands, but the rich assortment of games to draw from was worth the effort. His fingers scanned the incessant succession of attacks, parries, and rolls he forced his PC to perform sequentially. Attack, dodge, attack, then roll, move away and heal, repeat again. His agitation and nervousness were directly proportional to the passage of time, which increasingly made him hold his breath and twist his guts in on themselves. The boss he was fighting with was really tough, he had been defeated countless times, but never, ever, did he give up. On the contrary, every time he started the boss-fight he felt more and more charged and willing, and finally, all his willpower was about to pay off. It was knocking that giant bearded knight hooded in red down this time. The tip of his tongue peeped out from his contracted lips in pure concentration, and his fingertips pressed ever more neurotically on the keys of the joystick, which he brought closer and closer to his chest as if the proximity helped to increase the force of the blows he was piercing Gael with. He squinted his eyes, thumbs aching from exertion — if he didn't get tendonitis this time, he would never get it — when a sharp sound distracted him.

Dammit, not now!

Undaunted he kept pressing X, circle, R1, dodge, now loaded shot. It was close. Very close indeed, but the trilling of the doorbell would not cease, becoming more and more insistent, in a harassing call that seemed to drill straight through his brain, until it stopped in a dazed knocking.

What the fuck, she's going to kick down the door!

He had already figured out who it was, there was only one person who knew that when he was locked there, there was no other way to get him out. He got up from the couch huffing, and threw the controller between the cushions. His revenge against Gael had gone to hell and, stifling a few expletives, went to open the door, already ready to welcome his sister through his piqued tongue. But the outburst died in the bud as soon as he saw her face flooded with tears that gushed from her lower eyelids like waterfalls. He stared at her taken aback; he had never seen his little sister so upset. Usually, it was laughter that unmolded her face, not tears.

“Tuk…”

At the sound of her name, the girl threw herself on his lean chest, clutching his shoulders, and cried. Among the sobs, he recognized one sentence, "I am ugly. Ugly and weird." “Wait,” he pulled her inside the room, escorting her in the direction of the sofa, "Let's not talk on the door, sit down.” He then walked to the kitchen, where he retrieved a large glass of water and handed it to her as he took a seat at her side. Tuk looked at him for only one excruciating instant, before setting her sad, hard, candy-gloss eyes on the glass, clenched between trembling hands, but it was enough to chill him like a gunshot with a silencer. You don't hear the shot and by the time you realize it, it's too late, the bullet has already pierced your flesh and reached your heart.

“What happened?” She hesitated before spitting between her teeth, “Mawoë.” Lo'ak sighed, “What did he do this time?” “He said I'm weird,” she repeated bitterly, “That my kuru (neural queue) is repulsive.”

Big brother rested his elbows on his knees, gathering his head between his palms, raven braids covered his ice-cold irises. He took his time before replying; he didn't want to come across as too brusque or insensitive, not when his beloved little sister was shattered in front of him. It wasn’t so often that Tuk, like Neteyam, was targeted for her hybrid origins. Unlike him and Kiri, they did not have such obvious human traits. Although the avatars were produced to be virtually identical to the Na'vi, they had distinctive features inherited from the human genome. The most obvious were eyebrows, a firmer musculature, smaller eyes, a more pronounced nasal septum, and, of course, the infamous five digits on each hand and foot. Lo'ak owned most of these. But there was another, much more difficult to detect that was common to all four Sully siblings and that brought out into the open even those two for whom Eywa seemed to have had a keen eye.

The position of the queue.

The queue of an avatar starts at the base of the skull, whereas a Na'vi queue starts at the top of it. Although noticing it was not immediate, its conformation necessarily involved readjusting traditional hairstyles, which on them did not open up where they normally would. In a way, he was impressed that a child noticed, but the act of bullying was inexcusable. Not that he was surprised. The Metkayina had proved to be intolerant and closed-minded from the start, and this kid was the younger brother of one of Ao'nung's friends, one of those who had dragged him at the Three Brothers.

“We were playing when he picked up my tswin (queue, braid) and said it sucked. Everyone else started laughing at me, saying it was the aliens' tswin.” Her big yellow eyes filled with salty drips again, breaking her voice as her grip tightened on her glass. Lo'ak clenched his fists in anger and clenched his jaw. The urge to swoop out of the lab and smash someone's face becoming more impelling with every second. It was the reaction he would have for anyone, but to make Tuk Tuk cry like that was truly unforgivable. Evidently the famous Forest Boys vs. Fish Lips fistfight had not been enough; they needed a reminder.

He laid a hand on her shoulder, conciliating, and drew her close to him, letting Tuk rest his head in the crook of his neck, where she released a deep sigh, broken by the now exhausted weeping. “Everything will work out, I'll take care of it.” A final sob gave way to a weak laugh. The little girl guessed perfectly what her brother meant, but she simply nodded, snuggling closer to him, barely rubbing her index finger and thumb on the pendant he wore around his neck, “Will you let me play?” He puffed out a smile: his sister was back. “All right, but you should get Mom to clean you up. You're dirty with sand.” All perky the little girl rushed to the door, “Get ready to lose!”

He dropped sitting on the bed in the adjoining room, huffing in distress as he untied the band he wore on his left arm, which slid down to the floor as if it had a will of its own. He huffed a second time, stooping to the floor to pick it up, but his noisy breathing turned into a tremor the instant two tapering hands clutched at his chest, eagerly smoothing his entire torso from his pecs to the edge of his loincloth. The confusion and surprise vanished from his face at the exact moment when one of the hands seeped into the fabric, in a clear attempt to reach the manly part scarcely concealed by it.

“Tuk could be back any minute,” he chided in a gasp, blocking the hand with his palm, a gesture that only worsened the effect the girl was already having on him. The bulge between his legs was a glaring demonstration. His breathing became heavier as her delicate hands returned to caress his chest, while her lips lapped softly at the sensitive epidermis of his earlobe, where she whispered persuasively, “So? You've been playing for hours, completely ignoring me.”

From what pulpit, he would have liked to retort, but instead he replied, “You jumped on me as soon as I got here. Isn't that enough for you?” “I can never get enough of your cock,” she emphasized, wrapping his hard member with an eagerness that caused him to gasp and shudder down his spine. Only her touch could make him react like that.

You can do without me, though, can't you?

As much as Lula'ni's attentions were appreciated, if not coveted at this juncture, Lo'ak could not let go as usual. Not after Tuk's words; the pain that twisted her cute little face, and the feeling of helplessness still so vivid. They take hold of your being as if it were your own blood that drags them along the pathways that nourish the whole organism; oxygen that preserves and destroys life. For Mawoë was not only brother to that idiot who followed Ao'nung everywhere like a licker, he was also brother to the girl who was now pumping him at a slow and deadly pace, waiting for him to succumb to his own weaknesses.

Ironic, isn't it?

But after all, that was why their little game had begun. Lo'ak had seduced and deflowered her out of spite, to take some sort of revenge — he had failed with Tsireya, so why not try his luck with the sister of asshole No. 2? Lula’ni on the other hand... He couldn’t tell why she had been playing along; it was rather obvious that she was not naive enough not to see his real intentions masquerading as flirtation. It was probably because of his appearance, so unusual for a Na'vi, his outcast, alien aura. Out of curiosity and transgression. Enough to let that game go on until now and evolve into an odd friendship.

The young woman instantly sensed the disturbance and, understanding and sweet, she interrupted her warm advances, cupping his face between her fingers and forcing him to look at her. "Lo'ak, what's wrong?" His golden orbs were lost in the vast, calm waters that were her irises, but he found no peace in them, only lies and the terrible, vivid knowledge that he had wasted his time with her. How could such welcoming eyes, kissed by the kindness of a river, belong to such a cruel woman?

Beautiful on the outside, rotten on the inside.

Over the months she had only become better at making a pretty face. At least she used to show herself for what she really was and that was one of the reasons why, no matter how infuriating it was, she had always attracted him. Lula'ni felt no fear or remorse at being herself. She mocked him, at the time, for that very appearance that had driven her into his arms and impaled her on his cock. It was precisely her doggedness that made him question the motivation behind her inexplicable interest in tormenting him. To call it 'torment' was a bit much, but she loved to poke him, as if to nick him, to make him feel as small as an insect to be squashed. But Lo'ak was no insignificant bug. He was a wasp ready to sting. In fact, he never wasted any time in penetrating her soft, well-groomed skin, make it purple with its venomous forked tongue.

Oh, how it infuriated her at first; it was a sight! Fury that gradually faded into respect, into a continuous provocation aimed at teasing a reaction that had now become her drug. She liked the way he stood up to her, liked the painful stabs to her self-esteem. It brought them closer and closer. So much so that one day, hidden behind a palm tree, the sting found its way into the girl's battered heart, thanks to a sudden wet and messy kiss that later turned into a stolen virginity on the beach on a festival night. Lula'ni could make up all the lies she wanted, but he knew he was the first to take possession of that amazing body. He wasn't sure if he was the only one to have had her after that, but he was certainly the only one to have loved her in spite of himself. That was why she always came back to him.

“Don't you feel like it?” she asked offended. Lo'ak rolled his eyes. As usual, her insecurities, steeped in selfishness and narcissism, took over. She paid no attention to the little girl he had mentioned earlier. He was tempted to kick her out of his bed, out of the lab and finally out of his life, because he had reached the end of his tether. He could no longer tolerate the egocentricity of the beautiful girl in front of him. Being a secret was no longer enough for him. It was time to make a choice: come out or go their separate ways. Too many opportunities to be happy with someone else he had given up for her, it was time for her to get the two in spades.

But not tonight.

Tonight the hangdog expression seeking reassurance and those curves, hidden by the sheets, still had the effect of clouding his brain, of making his blood drain all over to fill his substantial shaft like a sponge. And why not? Make her pay for how Mawoë had mistreated Tuk. An eye for an eye.

A violent spark ignites the automatic motor that animates his primal urges. He lifted her easily by her ass and pushed her onto the bed, who giggled in satisfaction as she positioned herself between his thighs, already ready to receive him. She loved being taken like this, almost violently; it was a poignant sensation of submission that drove her mad, made her feel irresistible. As if she was able to activate those animal instincts that so many people try to put to sleep. And partly that was so, but not entirely; in this instant it was the desire to return to her at least an ounce of the suffering she had given him that moved him. All this time she had been using him; it was time to return the favor. He wasn't going to love her tonight, no, he was just going to fuck her, and then have her spit out the truth and thrown Lula’ni away if necessary.

Lo'ak hastily shrugged off the tewng with one hand as he unceremoniously sucked a couple of phalangi and stepped past the sheets, not at all surprised to find no barrier garment between his fingers and her intimacy. “I'm already wet,” she whispered sensuously in his ear as she clung to his shoulders with her hands. He said nothing to this sentence, didn't even nod, just pushed himself all the way in, not caring about her moan of pain and the nails that dug into his flesh. She liked it that way, brutal. Beneficial at the moment, it allowed him to pour all his resentment directly into her. He plugged her mouth with his palm to quiet her obscene and embarrassing cries, “They'll hear you,” he scolded breathlessly. “Who cares,” she huffed between uncontrolled yowls. He clenched his fists, imprisoning part of the mattress cover, coming almost completely out of her and then penetrating her with even more energy than before, totally shocking her.

“What's the matter with you?” she asked overflowing with lust from both her high-pitched voice and her shiny, gem-round eyes. “You don't care,” he thrusted even harder, “You don't fucking care about anything or anyone besides yourself,” he quickened his pace, ignoring her rebukes. He wanted to finish as soon as possible; he was hating every single moment when her tight, enveloping walls suffocated his manhood. At one point he felt a searing heat take over his entire lower abdomen, giving rapid convulsions of obvious significance; he was on the edge, endurance included. It came out of her in the midst of ejaculation, soiling the young woman here and there, who grunted in dissatisfaction. She sat down with her back resting on the backrest, bringing the bedspread down to cover her nakedness as his eyes of icy fire pierced her from side to side.

“Have you lost your mind?” she asked hostilely. “How long do we have to go on like this?” “Mind to be clearer?” she taunted him sarcastically. “I got tired of this back-and-forth, Lula. You don't want to be with me, but you won't let me live my life. When I'm finally moving on here you reappear, screwing everything up!” “Stop yelling.” “Are you afraid someone will hear us fighting? To be heard getting fucked is neither hot nor cold to you though. In fact, you like it.” “Lo’ak.” “Leave,” he chuckled coldly. “What?” she blinked a few astonished times, squeezing herself into the sheets. “Are you deaf? Get the fuck out, I never want to see you again.” “It’s not funny.” “It’s over, Lula’ni. This...,” he pointed alternately at their chests, “...indefinite thing between us is over. I’m sick of it. Find yourself another fuck buddy.”

The Metkayina bowed her head on the blanket clutched to her chest and, in a whisper, asked, “What if I told you I didn’t want to be just bedfellows anymore?” “I wouldn’t believe it,” he spat, “To you I’ve always been just a skilled plaything between the sheets.” “N-no, that’s not—.” “Don’t add any more bullshit. I know way too well someone like me has nothing to do with someone like you. The whole clan hates me. Demon blood. Alien. That’s all they see. It would be a snub to your image, I get that. And I was okay with it at first; a friendship with benefits. After all, what else could I expect from you? Normally you wouldn’t even look at me.” “So you were with me just as a sort of payback.” I was with you 'cause I fell in love even with your malignancy, “You were with me just to comfort yourself, my feelings never mattered much to you. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice my interest in you.” “Y-yes, but—.” “But you don’t reciprocate and you took advantage of that. That’s all,” he concluded disappointedly, rising from the bed in his birthday suit. His back facing her as he looked out on the placid sea out the window, dominated by a red sunset, which gave the room that cozy warmth typical of the seaside. All around was calm and still, not a breath of wind shook the foliage of the few trees around there, as the first lights of the village were beginning to come alive. Awa’atlu for a small village on an islet was quite lively at night.

Lo’ak leaned against the window jamb with his right hand, arm outstretched to support himself, back hunched as if a cramp was bending him in two. The girl’s hand rested delicately on his deltoid, stroking it up, reaching the upper edge of his left shoulder blade, grazing its outline to his right one, and then slipping over his ribs, while her other hand smoothed his lats on the other side of his torso. Her fingers cautiously tickled his epidermis, going to place on his pectorals. Lo’ak felt himself being pulled backward, and in the process he felt her breasts adhere to his back and her lips rest on the center of his spine.

“Why are you still here?” He wanted to loosen her grip, tug her away, but he couldn’t; the dull ache he felt was too great. “Because I love you,” her mouth was so close to his skin that he shivered. “Stop fooling me.” “I’m not,” she lifted herself up on her toes and placed a kiss between his shoulders, “I love you. I’ve always loved you, but for too long I was attached to the ideal of the popular girl, to the image I had to maintain. I don’t need that anymore." He turned just enough to look over his shoulder lit by the faint blush of the dying sun; the light was so faint that it showed almost no color. “With you I'm happy, you are the only one who understands me and I want everyone to know we are made for each other.” He stared at her open-mouthed and she smiled with that sweet, sincere grimace that only with him had she allowed herself to show, moving to face him truly naked for the first time.

Lula’ni had emerged from the chrysalis, the pupa had become a butterfly.

“Can you forgive me for all the harm I have done to you, and to your family, with my stupidity? Will you start afresh with me?” The Omatikaya framed a hand at the height of their navels with a sly smile, “How do you do? I'm Lo’ak.” She laughed, with that crisp, slightly squeaky laugh that always infused him with warmth, “Lula’ni.” When their palms met, he drew her to him and then gathered her face with both hands, shaking out her silky hair, and kissed her slowly and softly, without that cupidity that used to queen their entwined tongues. Tonight, for the first time, he kissed Lula’ni as one kisses a bride, not a lover. And finally he smiled, resting his forehead on hers, as a couple of joyful tears watered his half-closed eyes, “At last you're mine.” “I’ve always been yours.”

Maybe it was from joy, maybe it was from their unclothed bodies brushing against each other, but Lo’ak felt something firm and substantial pull him toward her belly, who giggled with amusement and a hint of mischief. “Are you about to apologize for just now?” she asked, teasing his dick with a sharp fingernail from the base to the tip. Automatically his hands went to squeeze her rear, forcing her back to the center of the room, “I’m going to make you forget all the nights we were just friends.” Lula’ni arched an eyebrow, encircling his neck and caressing the hair on his nape, as she gave herself the momentum to let him take her in his arms and feel the urgency that pervaded her. “Let’s go to the bathroom,” she said defiantly.

He set her down on the shelf where the sink was embedded, stripping her of her chest cover as he greedily kissed her cleavage. The girl abandoned herself against the surface of the mirror, sighing the moment the laces of the tight loincloth unfastened with a snap, exposing her naked, hairless womanhood, moistened at his mere touch. “Come in,” she whispered in his ear, clinging to his neck; with her fingers twisted in his raven hair, she spread her thighs to make room for him. No need to have her repeat herself twice, because he penetrated her and her voice filled his hearing with guttural murmurs, cadenced by the rhythm of his lunges.

Suddenly, Lula’ni let herself slide down the shelf and his phallus capitulated inexorably out, during a stifled but overflowing ‘no’ of disapproval. With a wry grin plastered on her face, the girl turned around, leaning forward, putting her butt in plain view. The message was clear. He grabbed her by the side with one hand and with the other held his erection, which, after a couple of attempts, returned perfectly to its place. To feel so wrapped up and warm was wonderful. Lo’ak began thrusting again, and with each thrust, Lula’ni’s throat ripped with moans that were increasingly high-pitched, but also choked by the extreme proximity between vocal emissions.

This was their favorite position. And if merely having her in such a submissive pose already aroused him, the presence of the mirror, the sight of their bare bodies, their faces rouged by exertion and deformed by unbridled lust reflected back, so much went to his head that he lost what tiny shred of lucidity he preserved. Ferment that went hand in hand with the borderline absurd little games she played with her pelvic floor muscles, which widened and tightened to her liking and the cadence she wanted to give them, clamping them until they almost pushed him out and then sucked him in. And the attempt to control his orgasm went to hell as well; it poured out with such impetus that it surprised her in a final painful plunge, which made her cry out in pleasure, coming sitting upright.

Lo’ak slumped on his back exhausted, his forearms trembling with fatigue, anchored to the edge of the granite shelf. “You looked like a crazy pali’ (direhorse),” she breathed, “Amazing!” Lula’ni’s subtle laughter broke violently into one last high moan, and the ecstasy on her expression was so sublime it went to his head. Her back collided with a sticky clatter against his chest, and her fingernails crawled over the basin in a vain attempt to hold on to something, clouded by the frenzy. But the release was still far from over; it was creaming on him as if he were an icing cake.

For a nanosecond his sister’s face flew over his mind. Kissing his now-girlfriend, he cast a very brief glance at the door, as if he could look through it, and formulated a single thought.

Hope you’re not coming right now, Tuk. Sorry.

Special thanks to @pandoraslxnafor the prompt!

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