#is it bad that this was the most defining show of my childhood?

[local-lamppost]

Code Lyoko is one of those shows where you step away for a bit, it comes back to you, and you think “it wasn’t actually that intense. I’m just misremembering, how I felt when I last saw it as a kid that’s all.” 

Then you watch it.

And no, no actually, I remembered correctly. They almost drove into a nuclear power plant, a military laser as pointed at them, they team up with the big bad to rob the government, the man characters have a near death experience every day, it’s very much implied that deaths on Lyoko is very similar to the real thing, literal men in black came after Aelita’s family, William lost months of his life, Jeremy was torturing himself to keep his friends safe on the other side of the screen, Odd almost drowned, Yumi and Ulrich were nearly boiled alive.

Also, you remember how hard the intro goes.

[lalunanymph]

୨୧ zayne loses control of his evol and hurts you in more ways than one

✧.* warnings:- fem!reader, established relationships (zayne x reader), nightmares, minor depictions of PTSD, mentions of blood, mentions of injuries, ANGST, breakups, hurt and comfort, jealousy, slight xavier x reader, unresolved emotions, reader and zayne are bad at communicating with each other, mentions of foods, hospitals, medication, suggestive content, language, explosions, zayne is kinda soggy and pathetic in this one, canon typical injuries, reader is in a coma, talks of surgeries, makeup sex, size kink, oral sex, girl on top, petnames (little on, my aurora, my love, darling), overprotective tendencies, possessive bf!zayne

✧.* strap in slüts (affectionate) we have 15k+ of zayne angst let's go

If someone had asked you what Zayne’s deepest fear was, you might’ve told them it was a botched surgery, or wilted carrots in his fried rice.

It’s not as if your childhood-friend-turned-lover walked around with his fears stapled on his forehead; Zayne was a private guy, and even after months of dating, you were still trying to get used to his moods and needs.

However, oblivious to you, Zayne’s fear was entirely apparent.

Time and time again, he showed you the truth��without words or fanfare—whenever he scolded you for being clumsy on the field or forgetting to eat the entire day.

Zayne was afraid of you getting hurt. 

And he was afraid of hurting you. 

The bags under your eyes have gotten worse.

A week had gone by since you had slept a full five hours, schedule packed to the brim after a deathly Wanderer attack at the train station left seven injured and five more dead. 

Zayne wasn't faring well, either. His days were consumed with operation after operation; more broken and injured people filling the intensive care units till Akso Hospital had to transfer them to their sister hospital, Mariso.

The Association had issued out a full city warning for Hunters to patrol the streets from dawn to dusk. All your colleagues were burnt out, praying for this harsh season to end so they could return back home; back to normality.

In your shared household, the nightmare was on a constant loop.

For days on end, you and Zayne were fleeting shadows passing each other—the most contact being whispered good mornings or good nights, depending on the time, and once, his touch on your lower back when he gently nudged you away from the door so he could rush out for another surgery.

Things were catastrophic, to put it mildly. 

And it didn’t help that your insomnia and his nightmares were back. 

Staring up at the ceiling, you almost didn’t hear the bedroom door opening until you noticed his broad shoulders outlined in the dim darkness.

“Hey.”

Zayne’s voice is laced with exhaustion, and wordlessly, you open your arms for him.

He’s colder to the touch than you remember, a sign of his Evol losing its composure after days of insurmountable stress and adrenaline spikes.

He’s silent, holding you tightly to his chest. You smell the hospital standard bleach and anesthetic off his work clothes, feel the stuttering of his heart underneath your spread palm. 

“When will it end?” 

His voice, quiet and in a timbre you know and love, vibrates against your cheek. 

“I don’t know,” you reply to him truthfully, bleakly. “I’ve been asking myself that same question since this all started.”

There’s a whistling wind outside the windows, rattling the wooden panes. You close your eyes, trying to put aside the mental image of a Wanderer’s snarl and how similar it sounded to the rushing breeze.

“You should go to sleep,” he touches your face, strokes the back of his knuckles down your cheek. “I’ll go take a shower.”

“Can I come with you?” 

He huffed a laugh. “Of course. If I am correct to assume, you would be doing your skincare twice tonight. Would that not tire you out? Other than this inquiry, please. Be my guest.”

You chuckle slowly, and sit up, watching him undress. Lashes of scars on his defined torso, the sinews of muscles and sharp edges all stack up to create the man you missed with your entire soul.

Zayne fights back a smirk when he feels your arms around him, face tucked into the back of his neck.

“I missed you,” you breathed. “Feels like it’s been years.”

“Only a few days,” he corrects softly. Without sparing another minute, he turns, gathers you in his arms.

You spend the next few minutes showering with him, tracing the water trickling down his defined traps, obliques and abs with your wandering eyes. Lathering up bath soap and going over the spots of your body you had forgotten to scrub in your tired fugue, you discreetly watched him wash his hair, lost in his own thoughts. 

Zayne’s beautiful green eyes flicker to the present when he feels you sneakily coming up behind him, and he almost groans like a virgin teenager at the sensation of your soft tits pressed against his back.

He stays still when your wandering hands trace down his stomach, over his pelvis where his hips tick the second he feels your tiny hands wrap around his cock.

“What’re you doing?” he asks, trying to sound gruff, but it came out breathless instead.

“Showing my boyfriend how much I miss him,” you hum. 

Zayne bites on his lower lip, glad that he was facing the shower wall when you decided to play with him in such a risque way. 

“What a little vixen,” he groans, voice dropping an octave deeper; a baritone timbre which sends shivers up your spine. “It’s amusing. If I had any suspicions, I think you’re trying to get me riled up so that I would lose control.”

His observation was apt, as usual.

“You’re correct,” you brush your lips across a scar over his right shoulder. “So, should I give you a medal, Dr. Zayne? Or, a trophy for getting it right?” 

He breaks your hold on him, and you’re breathless, thinking he is going to reject you when he pulls you into his embrace. Your back meets the tiled walls, and his large hands grab fistfuls of your ass, hitching you up high enough so your legs can wrap around his slim waist.

“All of that is useless,” Zayne whispers huskily against your lips, and you swore your heart was about to double in size and burst out of your chest at his next words. “The only recognition and reward I need is your sweet little pussy, my Aurora. May I know if I can treat her well tonight?”

He didn’t even need to ask; you would serve your cunt on a silver platter for Zayne, no questions asked or needed.

“Yes,” you breathe, twining your fingers through his dark locks and tugging his face closer to yours. “You may, Dr. Zayne.”

His nightmares always started the same.

A dimly lit room. Chocolate wrappers on the bare, wooden floor. Loud explosions outside. And somehow, there was always a broken mirror somewhere in his periphery.

Zayne dreads (no, perhaps, it’s too mild a word)—he absolutely fears—what comes next. 

There’s a little boy, no older than seven who looks at him hopefully. Zayne always ignores him, preferring to watch a blinking red dot on his screen. 

He’s different here; dressed sharply in a dark trench coat, expression like a blank slate. Nothing at all like his focused, calm self in the present. And yet, Zayne recognizes him like how someone might recognize the back of their hand even under a different light. 

The man before him was him… but not exactly him. 

He’s been dreaming of this Zayne for a long time—ever since he turned twelve. 

And right now, he was about to see the extent of this alternate Zayne’s power. 

He can predict what comes next; the stretch of skin on the boy’s face snarling, broken bones sounding in the small room. The shard of ice through his heart which eventually ends his life. 

But, this time, the boy’s cries are different. They’re higher pitched. 

Feminine, almost.

Zayne’s heart races, his movements in the dream sluggish.

Zayne! Her voice reverberates, and he recognizes it. Zayne, please! Don’t hurt me anymore! Save me. Help me. You’re a doctor, Zayne. Not this. Never this. Please. Don’t hurt me—

The boy’s face disappears, replaced by one he knew all too well. His features morphed right into yours, and Zayne desperately lunges at the dark ice piercing your chest, fighting to get it out.

It would never move, no matter how hard he tugged on it or how much he willed his power to make it melt. You were dying with every wasted second, breathing growing ragged.

Zayne, Zayne… you never stopped calling out for him.

Zayne, help me. How could you hurt me like this? Zayne… Zayne…

A burst of light explodes behind his closed eyes. Someone is shaking him awake, the cadence of her voice familiar and sweet.

“... Zayne? Hey. Hey. It’s a bad dream. Zayne, you’re fine. Ssh, you’re fine.”

Her warm hands find his cheeks, pulling him right into her embrace. His face buries into neck, and he shudders, inhaling the sweet scent of strawberries from her hair.

“Zayne, you’re so cold,” you murmur into the darkness of the room. “You’re shivering.”

He was; huge tremors which rocked him from his very core. He feels the familiar tingle on his skin, the web of ice which encases his hands.

Before he can gather enough lucidity and control to push you away, it all explodes in one fell swoop.

Ice shoots out, hitting the ceiling, piercing through the wooden bedframe. 

“Zayne—!”

Your scream of pain rips through the night, and he frantically sits up, finding a huge shard piercing through your forearm. 

“No,” he whispers, fevered. “No, no.” 

His hands are stained with blood—your blood—as he tries to help you. But, the shard wouldn’t budge. 

“Zayne,” you hiccup, moaning lowly. “Shit… H-hurts…”

Nightmares become reality when it finally slams into him what he has done. 

“Hospital,” he mutters hoarsely. “We need a hospital.”

“Zayne—”

“Don’t argue with me,” there’s a feral note in his tone, a harsh reprimand which makes you flinch back. 

“Now, grit your teeth and bear the pain for a little while, Y/N. I am taking you straight to the emergency room.”

You felt like you were floating on auto-pilot. 

Colors and shapes melded into one strange blob the longer you sat in the examination room. After a few excruciating minutes of the ER’s doctor trying to get all the shards of hardened ice out of your arm, you were stitched up and given a heavy dose of painkillers, enough to knock out a horse.

But, you resolutely stayed awake, afraid that if you closed your eyes, something bad would happen.

Immediately once the minor surgery on your arm had concluded, Zayne had disappeared from your side, and you assumed he was downstairs by the general admission—filling up your details. He had stayed with you long enough for the extraction, giving you his hand to hold, though he remained tight-lipped and pale throughout the entire ordeal.

You wanted to see him again, even if it was for a few minutes. 

When the curtain parted, you looked up, expecting to find a pair of emerald green eyes, but were greeted with a pair of worried purple ones, instead.

“Hey, Pipsqueak. Zayne called me the second you got in. Grandma couldn’t come because she wasn’t feeling too well.” Caleb shifted the drapes aside, slowly stepping into your ward. He sat down on the chair by your bedside, the bags under his eyes heavy though his smile still held a teasing quality you were familiar with.

“Caleb?” you winced at how rough your voice sounded, reaching for the water bottle by your bedside. He beat you to it, grabbing the plastic bottle and tipping your head up, helping you drink.

Once your throat wasn’t drier than the desert, you sat up, the woozy sensation exacerbated from your sudden motion. 

“Hey,” he whispered, rushing to steady you. “Slow down. You’re injured, Pipsqueak.” He rearranged you back onto the bed, expression pinched. “What happened? Zayne sounded frantic on the phone and that’s something new. Always thought he could disable a ticking time bomb with how unruffled he is.” 

Despite poking fun at his childhood friend, it didn’t bring a smile onto your face. Caleb ditched his sunny disposition, becoming serious. 

“Y/N, are you okay? You’re acting strange. Did… did Zayne hurt you?”

Immediately, you whipped your head towards him, eyes wide. “N-no! Of course, not. Why would you think that?” You struggle to speak past the drugs making you slur. “He… he didn’t hurt me. Brought me to the hospital. I tripped.” 

A lame conclusion. Caleb’s eyes narrow, and he’s about to ask you again, when a familiar voice interrupts.

“She needs to rest. I thought I told you to come by in the morning?”

Zayne’s frosty glare sets off Caleb’s strained smile. Your childhood best friend's nostrils flare, and the whites of his teeth shine like the edge of a knife when he stands up to greet Akso Hospital’s best surgeon. 

“You made it sound like she was dying so of course I came as fast as I could.” Casting his amethyst eyes to yours, Caleb’s feral smile softens. “You’re right. I can see she needs some rest. Let’s go—” He clasps a hand on Zayne’s shoulder, and you don’t have to be on the receiving end to know Caleb was using his Evol to tighten his grip on your boyfriend. 

“You and I have a lot to discuss.”

Zayne grimaces, and you shoot him an apologetic smile.

Caleb turns to you with a cheery wave. You mouth don’t kill him and he rolls his eyes.

I’ll try not to, he mouths back.

Then, the curtains droop close and you settle back on the hard pillow, freefalling into a dreamless sleep.

Something was off the second you woke up.

Firstly, Zayne wasn’t with you again. 

It was Caleb’s dark bedhead which greeted you, his face inches from your arm, eyes closed and breathing steady.

You lean up, wincing when you felt your stitches pulling. 

“Hey,” you whisper, touching your best friend's broad shoulder. “Caleb? Why’re you still here?”

He groans, groggily opening his eyes. “M-morning, Pipsqueak,” he staggers through a yawn. “What time is it?” 

“I don’t know,” you whisper, feeling a huge migraine clustering behind your eyes. “Ugh, where’s Zayne?” 

At the mention of your boyfriend, Caleb blinks, wide awake now. “Ah. He told me he had some emergency surgeries lined up. He’s probably working.”

Oh. You fall into a disquiet, staring at the swathing white blankets. That uneasy feeling was back again.

“Did he say when he would be done?” 

“I don’t know,” Caleb confessed. “But, you have his schedule, so I think you’d know better than me, Pipsqueak.”

Right. Zayne was your boyfriend. Caleb would barely know the guy if it wasn’t for your insistence in the both of them meeting up once a month for dinner with Grandma.

Swallowing your disappointment down, you plaster on a bright smile. “Are you up for some coffee today? You’re always complaining about the ones at the Academy.”

Caleb smiles, and leans forward to ruffle your hair. “Y’know, if this was a normal day, I would totally take you up on your offer,” he becomes serious now. “But, you’re still healing, Pipsqueak. And caffeine is bad. Let me call the nurse to check on you first, okay?”

You nod, watching his broad back disappear out into the halls. 

Fidgeting, you touch your bandaged arm, recalling the clammy silence last night as Zayne drove to Akso Hospital; his jaw tense and eyes steadfastly not meeting yours.

He’s probably angry at himself, you reasoned. Zayne always was harder on himself than anybody else, and the guilt could be eating him alive. 

Feeling slightly reassured that nothing bad would happen, you lean back against the pillows again, closing your eyes.

You fell back asleep the second Caleb reappeared with the nurse; both of them politely closing the door and giving you some time to rest, your best friend’s eyes lingering right on your exhausted expression.

“Goodnight, Pipsqueak,” he whispers into the still air which was permeated with your steady breathing. “See you later.”

That night, you woke up to an icy cold hand in yours.

Fluttering your lashes, you find Zayne with his eyes closed and head bent forward, one hand in yours and the other braced on his forehead.

“Zayne?” 

He thaws from his uneasy doze, woozy emerald eyes widening slightly at your relieved expression.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers the second he finds his voice. “I lost control. I… I hurt you.” That last part was spat out, as if he was firmly disgusted with his lack of composure. “It was dangerous of me to even be next to you. I was aware of my nightmares and my Evol has been unstable as of late. I put you in harm’s way and I am forever sorry for doing so, my Aurora.”

His lips were cool on the back of your hand, those brilliant eyes fogged over with an unfathomable expression.

“Zayne… it’s okay.”

They flare back to life, this time electrified with an untamed emotion. “Okay?” he says slowly, like he couldn’t believe his sins were absolved that easily. “I’ve hurt you and all you can say is ‘okay’? Y/N, please. Be reasonable.” 

You open your mouth to counter his harsh words, but his hand had already detangled from yours. Zayne stood up, the look on his face awfully cold and distant.

“I don’t think this will work out.”

What? You wanted to voice out, but your words were stuck behind the lump in your throat. “Zayne…” 

You reached out for him, but all you felt was cold air where his warmth once stood. He had backed away, expression closed off and frigid. Shame and hurt filled you, threatening to pour out from your eyes.

He couldn’t bear to look at you, those emerald eyes latched to a water stain on the ceiling as if it was more interesting than the girl whose heart he was breaking right in front of him.

“What do you mean by that?” you demand, though it sounds like a plea in your thick voice. “Zayne, it was a mistake. A one-time thing. Don’t make it bigger than what it is. Please. Let’s talk this out—”

“No,” he stood to his full height, looking at you down the line of his nose. “It’s not something we can talk about. You’re better off without me, and I, you. I will drop your things off at your apartment the moment I get off work. Goodbye, Y/N.”

Hot pain sliced through your soul, leaving a gash where he once stood.

“No,” you murmured, though you were speaking to the thin air. Zayne had already turned and left. “Zayne? Zayne! Come back, we can talk it out—”

You tried to stand and run after him, but your body was weakened from the medication and lack of movement. Stumbling back, you sat on the edge of your bed, fisting the sheets and fighting back the urge to scream at him to come back. There was nothing you could do except watch the broadness of his back leave, disappearing down the hall and around the corner.

Easy. How easy it was for him to break things off like this.

Like you didn’t even matter.

You hang your head forward, the misting tears in your eyes pooling onto your lash line. You had no idea how long you stayed like this; frozen, immobile. Waiting for him to come back.

The curtains opened again, and you expected Zayne to be there with a change of heart. But, when you saw it was Caleb instead, carrying a box of doughnuts and his signature easy going smile, you couldn’t help the pang of disappointment coruscating on your trembling lips.

He sensed something was wrong the second you didn’t greet him, and he was right when he sat beside you and you broke down into tears.

Sorry, you gasped in between sobs. I’m so sorry. I’m usually stronger than this. 

Caleb didn’t push you or demand you tell him the reason why you were crying. He held you close instead, patting your head. When you wouldn’t stop sobbing, he rubbed your back, telling you in his low, reassuring voice that you were going to be okay.

He never did find out why you were crying, and neither did you voluntarily supply any information. 

But, when he took you home the next day and found your things neatly packaged in boxes waiting by the front door, it wasn’t hard to put two and two together.

Zayne…?

You flinched when Caleb mentioned his name.

For a single second, neither of you said anything.

Caleb exhaled noisily, gripping your shoulder and pulling you into his one-arm hug. “I’m going to kill him for what he did to you.”

“No need,” you surprised him and yourself by how emotionless you sounded; nothing but exhaustion and resignation in your tone.

“It wouldn't be worth it—not at all.”

For days after that, you threw yourself back into your work.

The second Jenna called for volunteers for a dangerous mission, your hand would almost always shoot up. It didn’t matter how bad the fluctuations were or how big the threat was—your name was almost always on the list every single day. Even Xavier was starting to notice how impulsive you were becoming, though his worry was more subtle than the rest of your nagging colleagues (read: Tara).

“Wouldn’t your doctor boyfriend worry about you throwing yourself in such situations?” 

You fight back a wince, polishing the nozzle of your Hunter gun. Of course. None of your workmates knew the truth; they all still assumed you and Zayne were together.

“No, he wouldn’t,” you reply back mildly, eyeing the barrel down with a grimace. “He doesn’t care if I live or die.”

A gloved hand picks the gun from you, and you turn to find him frowning. Xavier’s pinched expression spoke volumes, though he didn’t ask any follow-up questions. 

Neither of you broke the silence, until you heard the gun clatter back down onto the floor accompanied by his tired sigh. 

“There are many, many stars in the night sky, Y/N,” he starts. You turn to him with a frown. 

Where is he going with this?

Xavier continues. “Even if one dies or explodes, another one will take its place. Don’t lose your light for a star who refuses to shine for you.”

Standing up, he extends a hand towards you.

“Since you’re not in the best of moods, I was thinking we could have some lamb hotpot tonight. What do you think? I’ll let you choose most of the ingredients.”

Though the idea of food sounded unappealing, you couldn’t help but smile at his attempts to cheer you up.

Taking his hand, you nod. 

“Sure. Can I also pick our second soup base?”

He huffed a laugh. “Why not, huh? You can hog most of the dipping sauce, too. I won’t complain.”

It was the first time in days since you had smiled, the expression foreign and almost painfully pulling your cheeks.

But, you do it anyway.

Despite his odd allegory, Xavier was right. 

Even if someone took their light away from you, it didn’t mean you had to stop yourself from shining again.

Zayne may have been the brightest star in your universe, but at the end of the day, you were the fucking sun.

And no one could take away your light without your permission, no matter how hard they tried.

Another long night at the ER, another cup of coffee.

Zayne puts down his glasses with a sigh, and hears his office phone beep. He barely has time to steel himself when the message comes through, urgent and demanding. 

“Dr. Zayne? It’s Dr. Lewis here. We have a code red down by Bloomshore Forest. Something about a fluctuation. Most of the injured are Hunters.”

His heart rate spikes and he immediately stands.

It’s been more than a week since he last saw you, and Zayne was almost at the end of his emotional tether. He had reacted poorly to the entire ordeal, and was now facing the repercussions of his hasty actions.

Nights were spent tossing and turning, his nightmares coming back at full force. Sometimes, he woke up and padded into the living room, trying to find respite on the couch where your old t-shirt still lay, smelling of you and his regrets. 

When he woke up, there was no one to greet him or kiss his cheek with her morning breath. No one who hummed in the shower while she got ready for work or left loud, theatrical smooches on his cheek before she rushed out of the door. 

There was no you in his life anymore.

Zayne was tired of shadow fighting with demons he couldn’t see.

Plain and simple—he missed you. 

And right now, he had to see if you were one of the injured; Zayne would never forgive himself if something happened to you and he couldn’t make amends. 

Rushing down the freeway, he passed by signs of destruction everywhere; torn up trees, fractured roads. Wanderers who left a trail of discord and mayhem wherever they went.

The flickering blue and red lights were what caught his attention, and he quickly disembarked from his car, hurrying to the thick of the commotion. Tents were set up, medical personnel running to and fro. 

Someone recognized him and handed him a pair of scrubs and gloves. Zayne immediately got to work the second Greyson approached him, gray in the face from fatigue.

“Dr. Zayne—”

“Give me a rundown, Dr. Greyson,” he mutters, hurrying to the closest tent. 

“Four injured and about ten with minor abrasions,” his assistant started, “We counted about two missing from the fray. A Mr. Xavier and… Miss Y/N.”

No. 

At the mention of your name, Zayne stopped in his tracks. 

Greyson looked apologetic, though for what, Zayne had no idea.

“When was her last contact?” he didn’t mean for his voice to rise, but it did, betraying his stress and fear over your whereabouts. 

“Two hours ago. A comm signal right in the middle of the N109 Zone.”

Zayne swore he felt his heart drop right into his boots. He gapes, opens his mouth and closes it, but no sound escapes.

“Dr. Zayne?” 

Greyson was waiting for his response. Zayne had to react, fast. 

“Set up the operation room for the four injured and get me a line with the closest hospital for blood transfusions. We need as many supplies as we can get our hands on. Has the Association been notified of their two missing Hunters—?” 

Before Zayne could finish his sentence, a commotion stirs at the fringes of the forest. 

Several people yell, and he looks up in time to find a limping figure supporting someone else. 

Your silhouette solidifies in the half light, dirt and blood caked on your face and limbs. Greyson gasps as well, muttering oh thank goodness. 

A nurse with a blanket rushes over to you and a fair-headed man whom he assumes is Xavier, wrapping the both of you in the thick fabric. 

Greyson doesn’t notice how his attention has waned, locked right on your smiling yet exhausted face. “We’re establishing a line with Mariso’s hospital down the block—hey, Dr. Zayne?” 

He zeroes in back on his assistant with a firm nod. “Do it, then. And keep me updated on the progress.”

There’s a pause.

“Aren’t you going to speak to her?” Greyson asks, curiosity lingering at the thought of why his superior wasn’t going to greet his girlfriend. Zayne takes one last look at you, and he drops his gaze. 

“No. I do not want to overwhelm her before her evaluations.” Straightening, he nods. “Let’s proceed with the different evals and prep. Line up the next surgery for hour 2045.”

There would be no time to let his heart take the lead. 

He had to focus on the task at hand.

Greyson’s expression fades in and out of focus. Zayne notices that Xavier has his hands on your face, inspecting a nasty cut on your cheek.

How easy it was for you to replace him…

“Hour 2045, surgery #1 is confirmed, Dr. Zayne.”

He tears his gaze away from you and nods; ignoring the hollow pang in his chest. 

“Let’s get it started, then.”

You didn’t expect to see Zayne in the distance when you returned back from a near death experience. 

A part of you wonders if your mind is playing tricks on you; if the adrenaline has you seeing things your tired brain can’t catch up with.

But, there he stands. Forlorn yet imposing. Expression a blank sleet. 

You swear he looks over in your direction, but when you look up, he’s walking away with a colleague, head bent low and eyes firmly on his tablet. 

How easy it is for him to walk away from me. 

“Hey.” Xavier brings you back to the present with a small smile and a cup of coffee in one hand. “No cream and three spoonfuls of sugar. Just like how you prefer it.”

You crack a smile, accepting the cup. “Are you sure you didn’t burn it this time?”

He chuckles, taking the spot next to you. “I told the nurse she had to make it and not me, so I wasn’t involved in the process whatsoever.” Your hunting partner blows steam off the cup, pursing his lips to sip on the dark liquid.

“Mhm. See? Sweeter than my burnt coffee.”

You follow suit and take a sip, nodding in agreement. “You’re right. It does taste better.”

Xavier follows your line of sight when he realizes you’re quieter than usual. His azure eyes land on the surgery tent in the distance where a few figures were milling around. 

“Are you worried for Tara?” 

You grip your cup tighter, fighting back a wave of self-loathing at what you had done.

“If I hadn’t asked her to accompany me near the fringe, none of this would’ve happened.” Your shoulders slump forward, and you feel Xavier shifting closer. “It’s all my fault, Xav. I could’ve gotten her killed.”

At the realization, tears prick your eyes. His arm hovers in your periphery and you sniff, imperceptibly nodding.

He wraps you in his one-sided embrace, holding your face close to his shoulder. “You couldn’t have known a protofield of that size would open. It’s not your fault.”

You thought back to Tara’s scared cries; how she dove head first to the ground to dodge the energy surges of that Berserk Wanderer.

The both of you would’ve perished if Xavier hadn’t stepped in at the last minute, breaking the field and swooping in to save you two.

“I need to apologize to her when she’s done,” you mumble softly, “I can’t get that mental image of her hurt out of my mind.”

As you spoke, someone familiar approached you. Blonde hair, blue eyes and a tight smile, Akso Hospital’s Dr. Greyson beckoned you over with a wave.

You shrugged Xavier’s arm off you and stood up, confusion clearly in your gaze.

“Hello! Miss Y/N, right? Dr. Zayne’s girlfriend? I need you to sign here as a witness for Miss Tara since her family is out of state.”

He procured a document and a pen. You took them mutely, unsure if it was rude to correct him on your updated status in Zayne’s life. But, figuring that it would be best not to trauma dump on a stranger, you sign your name on the dotted line without much resistance.

“Wonderful. Thank you. Dr. Zayne will step out and see you in a bit once he has some free time. In any case, please stay here and do not wander back for anymore Wanderers. We can’t have anymore of Linkon’s brightest Hunters hurt!”

Chipper and happy like he wasn’t in the middle of a dire situation, Greyson left you and Xavier alone.

“Nice guy.”

“Hmm,” you sit back down next to him, resting your head on his shoulder. “Zayne’s colleague. Older than him but a sweet one. I used to bribe him with fried chicken to get Zayne’s…” your breathing hitched, and you clear your throat. “... work schedule.”

Xavier’s body stiffens underneath your cheek and you immediately retract yourself away from him. “Sorry,” you mumble, unsure what had gotten into you; how you could’ve let yourself get this comfortable with your fellow Hunter of all people.

But, he shakes his head, patting his shoulder. “You can rest here if you want. I know you’re tired. I am, too.”

Cautiously, you lean your head back on his shoulder, eyes closing.

Xavier’s cheek gently rests on your head, and you hear him exhale tiredly. “I’m dead on my feet.”

“Mhm hmm,” you mumble, fighting the exhaustion caking heavily on your lids. “I could close my eyes and sleep for days.”

“That sounds like a wonderful time.”

The both of you take a second to rest, trying to recenter yourselves back to the reality of being safe and sound away from those terrifying Wanderers. 

You hear someone approaching, gravel crunching underneath a pair of boots.

“Y/N?” 

His soft voice fringes on your consciousness, and your eyes flutter open.

Zayne stands before you, tall and intimidating. There was no spark in his lustreless green eyes which flickered towards the dozing man by your side and then back to yours. You suddenly feel cold all over, like shards of ice were prickling underneath your skin.

It doesn’t matter what it looks like to him, you glance at Xavier and pat his shoulder, trying to get him to wake up. Zayne and I are long over. 

“I need to run a checkup on you. Hunter Association’s orders. Can you follow me, please?” 

Xavier stirs the second you nod, and releases you from the swathes of blankets. A clash of azure blue meeting clear green; both men staring each other down while you shifted awkwardly from foot to foot.

“Make sure she’s all right,” Xavier says in a soft voice, though you don’t miss the steel underneath it.

Zayne nods, and turns around. Barely even looking back to see if you were following him.

Wordlessly, you limp after his broad back, consciously touching your face and trying to smooth your hair down.

Inside the tent, Greyson smiles and leaves you two alone for the first time in days.

There’s a makeshift desk and a chair beside it. An examination bed that had been hastily drawn open stands, forlorn and waiting.

You take a seat by the desk, hands laced onto your lap and eyes on the dirt-packed floor. 

“Are you alright?” 

You don’t delude yourself into thinking there was a hint of concern in his tone. Zayne was just being your primary care physician at this moment—nothing more than his appointed role in your life.

But, wasn't there a time when he was more than this? 

You shake off those thoughts, giving him one-worded answers. 

“Yes.”

He drags the chair by the desk and sits on it, unfurling a binder and picking up a pen. It clicks loudly in the silence, exacerbating how alone you two were with each other.

“Any dizziness? Loss of hearing?” 

You shake your head. “No, Dr. Zayne. I feel fine.”

“Please look at me in the face. I am trying to give you an evaluation for your Association’s report and I need to make sure you meet the health standard.”

Exasperation mingled with professional arrogance laced his tone. You bristled, but did as you were told, lifting your face to meet his eyes.

Those green orbs were galaxies you could get lost in. Swallowing hard, you repeat what you had said, this time in a forceful tone. “I feel fine, Dr. Zayne.”

You make sure to emphasize on his title, not wanting to appear weak in front of him.

How you had cried for nights on end when he wouldn’t return your calls or messages and now here he was—feeling more like a stranger day by day.

You promised yourself you wouldn't be that stupid, brokenhearted girl anymore. This would be the last time you let Zayne play with your resolve and mind.

He picked up a flashlight, beckoning you closer. Cool fingers touched your face, and you nearly flinched when the bright beam permeated your irises. 

“My apologies,” he mumbled, and you thought he meant the intrusive medical checkup when his next words catch you by surprise. “I didn’t have time to answer your calls or messages. I was busy cleaning up after last week’s attack. Please, forgive me.”

He whispers that last part and your mind blanks.

You don’t know what to say, or how to react. So, you settle for silence.

Zayne frowns, clicks off the flashlight. He writes down his findings and brings out his stethoscope. 

The cool circle touches your pulse point, your chest. He closes his eyes, listens to your heart.

“It’s beating faster than usual,” he mumbles, removing eartips and going back to his report. “Any fatigue? Dizziness? Perhaps vertigo hitting you when you least expect it?”

You shake your head. “I’m fine, Dr. Zayne. I told you.” Sighing, you plaster your eyes back to the ground to avoid his piercing stare. “I don’t think you should waste your time on me. There are other patients who need your expertise—starting with Tara. But, thank you for seeing me, anyway.”

He doesn’t get a chance to dismiss you before you’re standing up and walking out of the tent with your head hung low.

Zayne doesn’t call you back, and neither do you turn around to give him one last look, like you always do before you leave his office.

Meters of silence and unsaid words stretch between the both of you; coldness replacing once fond memories.

The flap of the tent falls close and a forlorn wind whistles through the air, ruffling the papers on his desk.

Zayne tears his eyes off your form, ignores how his heart squeezes when he sees you returning back to Xavier’s side. 

The other man smiles at you, and the look on your face is far from detached. Warm and inviting, Zayne can’t recall when was the last time you looked at him like that.

Shit.

Never one to be steeped in regret, Zayne finds himself wishing he could turn back the hands of time; change his actions the second after he had lost control of his Evol.

Not only had he injured you, but he had left you behind like so many others did before. 

That was the one thing he promised your Grandma that day he dropped by for lunch: I will protect her with everything I have, ma’am. I will never leave her alone for long.

And this was the best he could give you? Broken promise after broken promise?

For the first time in his life, he feels like a failure; an idiot with nothing but a lofty title and his big-headed ego.

He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

Zayne grimaces, knowing how well you could hold a grudge if you wanted to. It looks like he has to temporarily play the role of the fool to get you back.

However, he relents and accepts his fate: this Herculean task of winning back your heart.

He would never say it out loud, but he admired your tenacity and determination; how you would always stick to your principles and never let yourself be swayed by a different current.

Reclaiming back your love wasn’t going to be an easy task. You would put him through the wringer—he was sure of that.

But, it’s what he deserves; what he could stomach and take after treating you so cruelly.

It was time to let the begging game begin. 

“... Tara, what the heck is all this?”

You had walked into work one day to a deluge of roses heaping onto your desk. Tara was halfway signing off the delivery man’s note with a gleeful smile, before she turns and offloads the last huge bouquet into your arms.

“Looks like someone’s ex-boyfriend misses her.”

She winks and skips away, leaving you floundering with at least six bouquets of blood red roses swarming around your desk.

You flush with embarrassment when Jenna walks in, her expression one of open curiosity at the sight of all those flowers.

“Looks like you have a secret admirer,” your boss muses. “Or, someone’s boyfriend has done something really wrong. Wild shot—I’m leaning more towards the former.”

It was no secret you were dating Dr. Zayne, but to have it so brazenly rubbed into everyone’s faces was making you cringe from head to toe.

“I’m so sorry, Jenna,” you blurt. “I’ll toss this all out. Don’t want bees in anyone’s hair.”

You chuckle nervously when she gives you a look.

“Oh, don’t be silly. Just hand them to the gardener downstairs. I’m sure she’ll know what to do with them. Such pretty flowers would be wasted in the trash.”

Nodding, you pick up every single bouquet, struggling to not drop one on your way out of the office. Tara sits smugly behind her desk, not even offering to help; wanting to see how far your pettiness could take you.

“Good… morning?”

You peek past the crest of roses to find Xavier’s scrunched nose and confused expression examining the blooms in your arms.

“Morning,” you mutter hastily.

He drops his bag and plucks two bouquets from your arms.

“Are we throwing a party? Or, did someone from our department get engaged?”

You feel like you could spontaneously combust, steeling yourself to reply to his innocent question.

“These are… for me. I think.”

Xavier pauses mid-stride, glancing at you through lowered, ash blonde lashes.

“Oh. Are they from Zayne?”

You pretend not to feel your heart soar in your ribcage at the mention of his name, preferring to plaster on an irritated glare.

“I hope not. That wouldn’t make any sense.”

Xavier doesn’t prod anymore, and neither do you offer to keep the conversation rolling.

He helps you duly dispose of the roses, the gardener’s toothy smile a small consolation for saddling her with this many blooms.

Once you get back to your desk, you pick up your phone and bring up Zayne’s name, finger hovering over the call button.

But, you change your mind at the last minute and click on the chat bubble option.

Please don’t tell me you robbed an entire florist to send me those roses.

Send.

Instantly, a chat bubble appears, his reply coming faster than you expected. 

Your accusation is inaccurate. I did, in fact, leave the old man a huge tip for procuring those roses in record time. You’re welcome.

Brows knitted together, you fight back the urge to roll your eyes.

I don’t want them. Please, don’t waste your time or effort on me anymore. It’s not worth it. 

The bubble appears again. Then, it disappears. Reappears.

You wait on the other end with baited breath. Never did a pair of ellipses make your chest hurt this painfully; wildly thrumming heart caught in your throat.

Your tone suggests I am far from forgiven for what I did. If that is the case, would you like to join me for dinner at The Promenade tonight? I recall you adore their chestnut ice-cream. I can pick you up from your apartment. I would very much like to make amends, Y/N. 

Clear and dry cut. Zayne was putting all his cards on the table for you to pick apart and prod.

You switch your screen off, unable to formulate a response.

The memory of how coldly he had treated you resurfaces; the cruel blankness on his face. The ease in which he left you like a man who had done it many, many times before.

Tightening your hands into fists, you fight back a fresh wave of tears which threaten to take you under.

Someone clears their throat, and you snap back to the present, blinking hard and pretending you had something in your eye.

Bless his heart, Xavier willfully ignores your lapse of control; he gives you a small smile, gesturing towards the pantry. “They… just brought in some new instant noodle flavors. I was going to make a cup. Do you want some?”

You plaster on a fake smile, nodding. Suddenly, your stomach rumbles, and he exhales a laugh at the well-timed interjection.  

“Noted. The beef broth one?”

“Sounds good.”

“Roger that,” he turns on his heel, and you don’t know what possessed you to call him back. He turns, waiting for you to speak.

“What’re you doing tonight?” you blurt, and he pauses, tilting his head to the side.

“Not much. I have this movie I really want to watch. Why? Wanderer hunting?”

Knowing it was your favorite thing to do to let off some steam, he waits for you to formulate your response.

“No. I need to inspect something. At that forest again. Something about the fluctuation pattern those few nights ago… Something doesn’t add up.”

Xavier considers it, shifting from one foot to another. “And if we do find it? What, then?”

“We come back here and fill in the team,” you mutter. “And we can finally match the fluctuation pattern to Onichynus’ fabricated Protofield. It would give us a clue to their plans.”

Despite his reservations at letting you delve deeper into this conspiracy theory, Xavier had a hunch that if he didn’t follow you, you were bound to do it on your own.

Whatever happened between you and Zayne must’ve driven you down this frenzied yet determined path; choosing to prioritize your job over the feelings you haven’t sorted out yet.

And who was Xavier to complain? If he had a few more moments to spend with you, he would take it, no matter the motivation.

“Sure,” he shrugs. “I’ll meet you tonight at the Fringe. 8 o’clock.”

You nod, casting your eyes back to your phone’s dull screen. Zayne’s text message taunts you, and you sensed there would be hell to pay for ignoring him.

But, you turn off those thoughts and focus on your desktop, sorting out your emails and mission debriefs.

There were more urgent things on your plate that needed your focus than an indecisive ex-boyfriend.

The biggest storm of your life was on the horizon, and you were so sure that come tonight, you would finally get the answers you needed.

The tapping of his fingers on the table resounds like a metronome in this quiet restaurant.

Zayne picks up his cup of water, brings it to his lips and pauses. Setting it back down, he glances at his watch for what feels like the 178th time in an hour. A bouquet of fresh jasmines lie on his lap, and he thinks they might be wilting by the second for every minute you don’t show up.

Though it was unlike him to jump to conclusions, Zayne held a small flicker of hope that you would change your mind and see him tonight—despite how his text to you remains unanswered.

Someone clears their throat, knocking him out of his reverie.

“Sir, may I bring you some appetizers while you wait?” 

The waiter’s smile is thin, and behind his sincere question, Zayne senses the pity shining in his eyes.

It bothers him, somehow, that people would feel sorry for him. 

If anything, he thinks they should mind their own business; not jump to conclusions.

He heaves in a deep breath and shakes his head. “No. Please, get me the bill. I apologize for taking up your time.” 

The waiter nods and disappears back to the kitchen—presumably to gossip to his colleagues about a random lonely man he had to serve tonight who was stood up by his date.

Somewhere to his right, a table full of young women were eyeing him, whispering behind their manicured hands. But, he pays them no attention, signing the bill and standing up, clutching the bouquet of flowers by his side.

Zayne steps out of the restaurant, and notices the darkening sky roiling above. 

It was going to rain tonight and he hoped that wherever you are, you would have an umbrella on hand. He wouldn’t want you to get sick, and was about to pull out his phone and remind you when he stops short at a message flashing across his screen.

She’s hurt.

Dr. Greyson’s chat bubble appears, and then pauses. It starts typing again, and Zayne holds his breath, suddenly feeling uneasy all over.

Your girlfriend. You need to come to the hospital now.

He barely wastes anytime, rushing right to his car. Zayne guns it down the highway, straight for the hospital, no thought in his mind besides worrying for your safety. When he arrives, it was like that night he met you near the Forest; a nurse was hurrying into the ER, someone was yelling for more bags of blood, and there, in the fray, was Xavier, broad sword strapped to his back.

“What happened?”

Zayne feels his heart in his throat when Xavier turns to him, grim in the face.

“A calculated attack… an explosion.”

“Explosion?” The surgeon feels like his head is about to combust. A vein throbs in his temple and he narrows his eyes. “What caused it? Is she okay?”

“I’m trying to find out, too,” Xavier mumbles back. “Besides, it was my fault. You don't have to worry anymore after what you did to her.”

Frost sparks on his fingertips, and Zayne tries to control his temper; willing his Evol to stay in line.

It wouldn’t be wise to lash out at Xavier; it would do nothing but make you madder at him.

“Which surgery room is she in? I can help resuscitate her if necessary.”

The Hunter opens his mouth, but it's Dr. Greyson who interjects. “Dr. Zayne, she’s in Operation Theatre 2. Awaiting anesthesia.” 

Zayne turns on his heel, leaving Xavier alone with his silent judgement.

“I need a full body evaluation on the patient to determine the exact location of overpressures and debris. Keep the defibrillator on standby. What category is the blast coded as?”

“Tertiary, Dr. Zayne.”

He swore under his breath, wincing. The same blunt force injuries that would traumatize a person who was involved in a car crash, fall, or collapsing building. 

What did you get yourself into, Y/N? 

Zayne has no time to ruminate; he has to save your life.

A hand on his shoulder stops him. Greyson’s heavy eyes permeate through his soul, rooting him to the spot. For a single second, the fatherly concern shining in his gaze reminded him of another elderly doctor; one who was forever lost in Mount Eternal. “Are you sure you can do this, Dr. Zayne? Are you well enough to take on this task?”

The implicit concern was clear.

This is your girlfriend we’re talking about. Can you handle trying to bring her back from the brink of death?

Zayne nods, bracing himself for another long night.

“I will try to undertake this with everything I have, Dr. Greyson.” 

He stops, correcting himself. “I have to undertake this with everything I have, Dr. Greyson. I believe I do not have a choice.”

Suspended. Floating.

Trapped.

It was completely dark where you were, no light but a flickering blue ember in the distance. Reaching out to it, you found it dancing just out of your reach; taunting you with even more confusion. 

You had no idea how you came to be here or what happened that led you to this strange place. 

In this limbo, time neither exists nor moves forward. 

You were just here. Just being.

Hours must’ve passed. Or, was it days?

You felt a softness wrap around you. Once or twice, you thought you remembered the feel of someone’s lips on your forehead. The shape of a hand whose fingers intertwined with yours. A whiff of a familiar cologne you couldn’t quite place.

It was dark where you were, but you were never alone.

Someone was always beside you. Talking to you. Drawing you closer and closer to that blue flame.

“... I’m sorry…”

You caught that word a lot.

Sorry. 

Sorry. 

But, for what?

Who was that voice apologizing to? 

And what had they done wrong?

You would never know the answer. Except, one day, it appears before you, shining like a periwinkle blue sky opening to a new world.

The blue flame glows brighter, almost encompassing you. 

Please… I’m scared… 

You tried to scream, tried to push back.

But, it grew bigger and brighter. About to swallow you whole.

Was this how a new star was born? Did they see an unbearably bright light before they were engulfed in the flames of being? 

Were you a star right now?

The flames hurt—fuck, they were lapping at your hands. Your arms. Your flesh turns a sickly pale blue, about to drop off your bones.

But, you don’t fight back this time. The burn feels almost sacrificial. Sacred.

Like a ritual you had to push through to see the other side.

So, you gritted your teeth and dug your heels in the ground; staying absolutely still. Letting the embers flicker at your feet, caress your sides and hair.

“... she’s waking up!”

“... quick… nurse!” 

“Zayne… she’s back…”

There’s a commotion in the distance. You feel like you’re about to orbit another universe, your space ship drifting and attempting to dock with this strange planet’s gravity system. 

The bright light pierces through your sticky lids, and you feel askew, like you could fall off this new planet’s axis anytime.

A familiar sharp scent permeates your nose, and you groan, the sound low and groggy.

“Ssh, don’t be scared.” His voice is familiar, a low timber which sounds exactly like home. “I’ve got you. Come back when it feels safe for you.”

Despite your hesitation, you drift back into the abyss, feeling the warmest brush of lips on your forehead again.

You want to reach out to that bright light, hold it in the middle of your palm. Fighting hard now, you wade past the molasses of your sluggish mind, forcing one eyelid to pry open. And then, another.

Finally, you blink, slow and unhurried. Swiveling your head to the side, it felt like you were in slow motion, every action delayed by three seconds.

The word was entirely made up of a blur. It was all too white. Too loud.

Someone cradles your face, and your world tilts. You find yourself sitting up slightly, a familiar face you knew and loved swimming into view.

His bright green eyes solidify, and you make a sound in the back of your throat.

“It’s alright,” he whispers, full of reassurance and relief. “It’s quite alright, my Aurora. You’re safe now. Safe here.”

“Z… Zay… Zayne?” 

You force your tongue to cooperate; it feels like a clumsy eel in your mouth, twisting and turning in a slippery mess. Moans and low grunts emitted from the back of your throat, and you wince with every word you struggle (and fail) to enunciate.

“Ssh,” he mumbles, and you feel something circular and hard slipping in between your lips. “It’s water. You have to drink it from the straw. Do you remember how to sip?”

The motion comes back after a few tries, and you hesitantly imbibe the cooling liquid. 

“Good girl,” he whispers, patting your head gently. 

You struggle to pin your eyes on him, wondering what type of lights were shining above for him to appear so bedazzlingly in front of you.

The room is empty, and it’s only him here with you. Outside, the world was pitch black, but here, you feel like every beam was dancing in Zayne’s eyes; the relief in them washing over you, calming your spiking heart rate.

“You’ve been in a coma for three days, Y/N,” he informs in a low whisper, sitting beside you. Taking your hand, he presses it to his lips, kissing each knuckle reverently. “I don’t want to push you, but you need to rest. You suffered quite the blast from that attack.”

It all came back to you in an instant: Xavier’s wide, azure eyes, the flash of golden light. Searing pain and an impenetrable darkness.

You start to shake, and Zayne notices, immediately bringing another blanket from your bedside shelf and wrapping you in it. When that doesn't work, he twines his arms around you, pulling you to his chest. Ever so tender, he cradles your body, gently rocking you from side to side like you were a terrified child.

“It’s alright. It’s alright. You’re alright. It is normal to feel shocked after what happened. But, you’re safe, my Aurora. I have made sure of that.”

You paw at his shirt, fighting to roll the words off your tongue; remembering the unanswered text message and your instant regret when you realized far too late during your failed mission that you had basically told him not to care for you anymore.

“S… Sorry…”

“Please,” he says in a soft, tired voice. “No more apologizing. Don’t ever apologize, Y/N. It was never your fault.”

Zayne tilts your head up, his eyes soft and warm in the dark blue expanse of this hospital room. His thumb grazes your cheek, your jaw and lower lip. 

“You should rest,” he murmurs, smiling when you start to pout. “Alright, my love? I am right here. I will keep you safe.” Leaning forward, he presses the softest kiss to your forehead, its warmth achingly familiar.

“I love you. Please—rest.” 

You close your eyes, inhaling his comforting scent. Nodding off, the last thing you felt was his lips in your hair, his soft whisper of, “I am so sorry for how I treated you” dissipating into the recesses of your subconscious.

Once more, you succumb to the darkness, but this time, you do so with open arms.

“Bedrest and lots of fluids,” Dr. Carol says sternly, much to your chagrin. 

Her salt and pepper eyebrows shoot up, daring you to fight back. You stay silent, staring at your lap glumly. 

The day is much too nice to be bound in bed; sun streaming in through the frosted glass windows, cherry blossoms dotting the sill and bird song fills the air—the heart of winter thawing right into a dazzling spring. 

Zayne is beside you, holding onto your purse while the doctor gives her diagnosis, trying hard not to smirk at your crestfallen expression. 

“I will write a note to the Hunters Association to give you a month off. Lay off the dangerous missions, wandering into closed off zones, and getting yourself into trouble.”

She signs the paper with a flourish, tears it, and hands it to Zayne. Not even giving you a chance to protest. 

“Thank you for the diagnosis, Dr. Carol,” your boyfriend says with a curt nod, pocketing the strip.

She returns his gesture, pushing her rimmed glasses up her blunt nose. “You take care of her, Dr. Zayne. Keep her out of trouble.”

Zayne helps you stand, letting you lean against his arm for support. “Oh, believe me. This little Hunter will be very well rested before she’s finally allowed back onto the field.”

You fume next to him, though with your warming cheeks, Zayne thinks you look a lot like an adorably pissed chipmunk. Before the door closes, you remember to politely give a small bow to Dr. Carol, despite how you were livid at her treating you like a wayward child. 

“Don’t pout,” he murmurs, poking your side as you both tread down the narrow hallway. You flinch, glare deepening. 

“What am I going to do for one month? Sit around and collect dust? Zayne, you have to speak to her. I can’t stay at home all the time,” your tone goes whiny, and he musters a quick chuckle.

“Darling, you know I can’t just interfere with another doctor’s advice. Besides, I wholeheartedly agree with the decided diagnosis.”

Warm sunlight spills across your cheeks; you take mincing steps, still getting used to walking after a full week of rotting on the hospital bed. But, Zayne is patient with you, holding onto your arm while he keeps you steady, matching his pace to yours.

He continues. “You’ve been overworking yourself since we took a break. You need to rest before your body shuts down.”

At the reminder of the separation you both endured, you made a face. “Maybe I should’ve stayed broken up with you for a little while longer to find my answers…”

“And risk throwing yourself headfirst into more conspiracy theories like a pig-headed fool? Be grateful we were given another chance,” he retorts without missing a beat. “You would be severely injured if I weren’t here to give you a voice of reason.”

You quieten, watching a cherry blossom break off a tall branch and float to the ground. 

Zayne notices your silence, and nudges you. Glancing at him, you see a shadow of a smile etched on his lips. 

“I know you must miss the outside. How about we come to an agreement? Take your medication, get loads of rest, and I’ll bring you out every evening to see the cherry blossoms. Would this be more suitable for a ‘punishment’, my Aurora?”

Your heart skips a beat; you’ve missed hearing your favorite term of endearment from him.

“Okay,” you murmur, considerably happier. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” Holding out your pinky right in his face, Zayne chuckles again, but indulges you, wrapping his smallest finger with yours.

“It is a deal,” his voice is softer, fringed with amusement and tenderness. 

Zayne is a man of extremes; rarely meeting you in the middle.

When Dr. Carol had advised against strenuous activities for at least a week while your body heals, she didn’t take into account that Zayne would refuse to even touch you in any way other than as a caregiver.

He would fix your meals, help you around the house, and even tenderly bathe you if you so much as breathed a request for it.

But, he would never—in any circumstances—take it further.

How long has it been since we’ve last been together?

You fidget in your seat, staring out a window. 

Far too long, the answer comes back to you like a nefarious whisper. You should do something about it.

And you do have a plan. Granted, it’s half-baked and needs a dash of liquid courage to work, but nevertheless, it was a plan. 

Zayne would be home in exactly an hour, and that was the bulk of time needed for you to get ready.

You washed your hair, brushed your teeth, did your skincare and makeup; there was an attempt to style your locks but you gave up halfway only to let it air dry while you slipped on some silky lingerie. It was his favorite set—black and lacy with a sheer mesh covering the cups that left little to the imagination.

Catching your lower lip in between your teeth, you try to rearrange yourself on the sofa, chest out and hoping your lipgloss hadn’t faded yet; squirming to position your limbs so that it didn’t look like you were a splayed starfish.

The door unlocks, and you hold your breath, a big grin fighting to break through your expression.

Zayne blinks the second he notices you, his doctor's coat bundled up in one arm and the other hand holding his briefcase.

“... Hello?”

You sit up, hoping to God you were at least seductive when you cross your legs, giving him a sweet smile.

“Hello, doctor. Welcome home.”

Those gorgeous green eyes flit to your chest, and his jaw ticks under your scrutiny.

You expect him to at least compliment you, or ask what you were doing in bewilderment. Not say—

“You are going to catch a cold if you keep this up.”

Before you can react, he sets down his briefcase and wraps you in his coat, drawing you to his side.

“Zayne—” you mumble, dismayed. He keeps you tightly to his chest, like you were going to disintegrate without his support anytime soon. “Zayne!” You fight free from his grasp, giving him an exasperated glare.

“Hello? Here I am trying to seduce you, and you just mother henned me!” Pressing your palms flush to his broad pecs, you push him back firmly—exasperatedly. “This is so embarrassing!” 

Petering off into a whine, you huff and cross your arms. Missing how his eyes darken ever so slightly at the sight of the skimpy fabric stretching across your tight nipples.

Taking in a deep breath, Zayne fights the urge to throw you over his shoulder and give your ass a firm squeeze (or smack, seeing as how his self-control was steadily declining). You were making it so hard to keep his composure under lock and key. He channels that frustration into a huge sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

“You are single-handedly the most infuriating woman I know on this planet.”

Without warning, he nudges you back, until you’re flush with a wall. He leans forward, and you hold your breath, feeling his eyelashes flutter against your jaw.

“You know other women?” 

He can’t fight back an exhaled laugh at your petulant words. “No. Of course, not. None of them can compare to you, my Aurora.”

His minty cool breath fans across the sensitive strip of your neck, drawing goosebumps down your arms. 

“You are so infuriating,” he noses the length of your jaw, breathing you in. The heat emanating from his broad chest is overwhelming; it makes you dizzy with lust, thighs squeezing together to alleviate the tension throbbing in between them. 

“A menace… you’re impossible to deal with.”

His large, veiny hands grip the fleshy domes of your ass, squeezing them heartily. “Haven’t had you in so long.” Longing coats his every husky exhale. “I miss you so much… but, you aren’t at your peak health, my love. I do not want to hurt you again.”

Zayne’s dizzying warmth distances away from you and you actually cry out softly, grappling onto his shoulders to keep him in place. He gasps, low and taken aback, hips clipping into yours.

“No, please…” you feel your face burning up; never were you this desperate to feel him. “I need you, Zayne. I really, really need you.”

His groan reverberates in his chest, sounding like it came straight from his tortured soul. “You’re going to kill me.”

“Please,” you whimper. “I need you.”

Strong hands lift you up, pin you right to the wall. 

Zayne doesn’t give you any time to breathe. His mouth is on yours, ravenously drinking your moans and mewls. 

For a man whose Evol is ice, his hands run ridiculously warm; grabbing at any flesh he can find purchase on—your thighs, ass, breasts—squeezing them firmly. 

Fuck, you gasp into his mouth. Oh… Zayne… 

The room spins, nothing but the sound of your blood rushing through your ears filling your mind.

He sucks on your bottom lip, desperately rutting his hips into yours. You feel him growing harder against your thigh, straining behind his slacks.

Boldly, your tinier hand rests on his bulge. 

Naughty girl, he rasps. You’re asking for trouble now, little one.

A shiver runs up your spine which has nothing to do with his now colder hands running down your sides.

His Evol drops the temperature around the room, a faint glow of blue ice coating his fingertips. He runs those freezing pads down your exposed skin, catching right on the tops of your breasts. Your pelvis. Inner thighs.

You cry out when he teases your mound through the lace with those cold fingers, back arching wantonly.

“I want to see this pussy beg for me,” he murmurs. “I want to see her drip.”

Slowly, like you were a present he was leisurely unwrapping, Zayne pushes down your bra straps, until the cups are barely clinging to your heaving tits. He presses loving kisses down the strip of your throat, stopping shy of your areolas. 

Stop teasing me, you whine, and his warm breath caresses your nipples as he exhales a laugh. 

I can’t… I’m having too much fun, my Aurora. 

He licks and sucks on them until they’re dripping with his spit, achy and tender to the touch. While he loves on your nipples, one hand slips in between your thighs, finding your twitching center.

Zayne eases the seat of your panties out of the way, and you bite down on a whimper when the cool air brushes your swollen clit and damp folds.

“So wet,” he murmurs. One finger drags through the slick mess, finding your clit and rubbing circles on it tenderly. 

Proving he was more man than robot like how you always teased him, Zayne slides to his knees and looks up at you with pure devotion.

I’m going to eat you out right now, my Aurora, he whispers. Is that alright with you?

Fuck, yes. You almost scream. He didn’t need to even ask; you were begging for it. His tongue, friction, anything—you swore you were about to die from the anticipation. 

Hitching your right leg over his shoulder, he eyes your pussy with a dark look, one which makes you think of a predator cornering his prey. 

She’s so pretty, he muses. I wonder if she’s missed me at all.

“Yes,” you breathe into the darkening living room. The blinds are still wide open, streetlights staining his apartment floor a warm, orange glow.

She’s missed you so much, Zayne. 

The sight of his pink tongue flitting out to touch the corners of his lips, the perfect arch of his cupid’s bow running against the slinky lace, almost makes you explode.

Prying your panties crotch to the side with his teeth, Zayne breathes in your scent, his perfect nose pressed right to your glistening cunt.

“Good,” he mumbles to himself. “Because I’ve missed her like crazy, too.”

His tongue running through your folds catches you by surprise, your cry rebounding across the room.

If it weren’t for his strong grip around your thighs and waist, you would’ve melted to the floor like a snow draft on a hot summer’s day. Zayne held you up as he ate you out; lips and tongue giving you the sweetest friction you had been dreaming of.

You’re so worked up, he breathes in between sinful licks. Zayne mouths your clit, tongue sliding through your folds like he was made for this. There’s nothing but the wet sounds of his mouth on you; his tongue flattens, and you drag your clit over it, hips twitching, getting yourself off.

His cock twitches and he knows he would be the one to swallow his own words; how he wants to get you dripping when he’s the one leaking in his pants like a horny teenager.

Fuck, fuck, Zayne mumbles, peppering kisses on your inner thighs. He bites on the plush flesh, loving how you tense and squeal.

His teeth grazes the sensitive flesh, making you flinch. You’re so responsive, it’s making him heady.

Deep groans well from his broad chest, and you swell with pride. Only you had the power to make the reserved, stoic, measured Zayne go crazy on your taste. 

And he duly gives you the credit you deserve.

“You drive me insane,” he mumbles, lips brushing your skin. 

It’s intimate—how he’s looking at you. Those thick, black lashes that frame his perfect emerald eyes lowering; lust pooling in their depths. 

Zayne’s lips are puffy, coated with your juices. There’s a light pink dusting on the high of his cheeks. 

“Are you alright?” he mumbles softly, running those large hands you love up and down your thighs.

You nod, teeth catching on your lower lip. “Zayne,” softly, you voice your need. “Can you please fuck me?” 

How polite. He fights back a smirk, lowering your right leg back to the ground, giving your inner thigh a soft kiss.

He stands back to his full height, towering over you. His sheer size makes your heart quicken, and your back presses flush to the wall, anticipation right in your throat.

But, he’s gentle, as he always is, when he takes your hands, pressing them to his chest.

“Undress me first, my Aurora.”

A stern command wrapped in silk—I won’t touch you until you show me how much you want it.

Your shaky hands move to his shirt, tugging on it until those pesky white buttons loosen. Scars line his chest and pecs, each of them a road your tongue, lips and fingers have explored. Down his stacked torso, more of those white indents make a home on his skin, and you briefly touch them, grazing your fingers on the happy trail leading right to his defined ‘V’. 

The buckle of his belt goes next. You slip it off, working on his slacks and underwear. Zayne silently watches, not giving a reaction. He loves this part; how you huff and warmth surges on your cheeks—hating how much of a tease he was.

But, you’re always an obedient little thing for him. 

You would do as he said, knowing the rewards that lie behind these slight humiliations.

He shrugs his shirt and pants off, and you’re already on him.

Fumbling in the cocooning darkness, your lips paint over his collarbone and neck, right to his jaw. Zayne leans down, kisses you fully on your mouth as he lifts you back into his arms.

Swiftly, your legs wrap around his narrow waist, and he brings you straight to the couch; too impatient for the bedroom.

Your back meets the soft surface, a cushion haphazardly arranged underneath your head so you didn’t have to strain your neck. 

The mastermind has thought of it all. Your musings were cut short when he unhooks your bra, a deft, fluid motion with little to no fumbling. A surgeon’s hands surely were the steadiest.

But, they trembled lightly when he plucked at the band of your thong, gently tugging it down your thighs. 

Beautiful, he whispers, half to himself. 

Zayne, please. You twine your fingers in his hair, tugging his face closer to yours. Feeling his warm breath on your lips. Don’t keep me waiting. 

Hold on, beautiful. Zayne slots himself in between your legs, letting them rest around his waist. He grips your left thigh, hooking it on his shoulder and turns his head slightly to give your plush calf a kiss. His cock catches your attention, fully hard and glistening with pre-cum. Like his physique, it was girthy and thicker; imposing and intimidating. 

Will it fit inside of me after so long…? 

A bead of his excitement pearls on his tip, rolling down the impressive shaft. You smear it across his tip with your thumb, not missing how he shivered.

“I’ll go slow, darling,” he mumbles, locking your fingers with his, drawing your hands above your head and keeping it there with one hand. “Tell me if it hurts, alright?”

He kisses you fully on your parted mouth, drinking in your hitched gasp. I love you, my Aurora. 

Giving his cock a few strokes, he lines it right to your drooling hole, dragging his tip through your folds to prime you up. 

The thickness of him breaches past your tight opening, and you cry out, back arching. Zayne shushes you, focused on not splitting you open too fast. 

Shit, you’re tight, he hisses. I may not be able to hold myself back, my Aurora.

You shake your head, glossy eyes making something in his chest twinge. Don’t—let me feel you entirely, Zayne. 

“Almost,” he mumbles, and you feel the glorious stretch; how it burns in the best way. 

The sounds falling from your mouth were much too lewd, easily heard past the thin walls; though at this rate, you didn’t care who would complain.

He breathes hard, sweat bulleting down his forehead. Finally, with one push, he’s fully sheathed inside of you.

The both of you groan in relief, his forehead knocking softly into yours. He lets go of your hands, letting them wound around his broad shoulders.

You bury your face in his neck as he starts to move, tentatively rolling his hips to get you used to him again. 

“Taking me so well even after so long,” he breathes hard. “You’re always so perfect for me, aren’t you, my Aurora?” 

Mhm, your slurry moan brushes his heated ears. 

Falling apart. He was dissolving for you faster than snow under the sun. 

“I can feel your pretty pussy fluttering around me.” He brushes his lips across your cheeks and nose, those gorgeous heavy lidded emerald eyes sending jolts down your spine. “You really wanted this.”

You can’t do anything but moan for him, pleasure unfurling across your body like a cresting tidal wave. 

His hips clipping heavily into yours, the dense sensation of his cock filling you up over and over again, coarse pubic hair catching on your clit—all of it were slowly edging you towards the biggest release of your life.

He fucks you slower this time, wanting to draw out the moment. 

Weeks of separation and anxiety were condensed within this singular moment; thick gasps flowing from his mouth into yours and back again, filling the air with an unbearable tension.

I love you, he repeats again, figuratively and literally drilling his devotion into your lax body. I love you so much, my Aurora. 

My Aurora. Mine. 

His.

Zayne’s possessiveness leaves you reeling, overwhelming your senses. He was right, as he always was; you belonged to him, body, heart and soul. Every beat of your heart, every trembling breath—it was all his.

Only he could fuck you this good; this deep. Only he could make you tremble from such an onslaught of emotion and sensation. 

His thumb slips into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue; your lips hollowing around it, sucking on his digit like you would his cock. 

Good girl, he rumbles, removing his thumb and replacing it with his index and middle finger. So good for me—you’re my sweet little girl, aren’t you? 

Yours, you mewl, mouth and voice thick with his digits. All yours, Zayne.

The pressure builds—reaching a fever pitch. All of it piles up; heady breaths, sloppy thrusts, his moans and groans slurred into your hair. 

He moves his mouth to your throat; sharp sting of his teeth blends with his murmured praises. But, you can’t focus on anything beyond his cock pumping inside of you, the mess he’s fucking out of you. It smells like sex in this room; musky and heady. 

The couch is shaking, clawed feet dragging across the floor. Somewhere in your foggy mind, it registers that his downstairs elderly neighbor would surely be storming up to confront him. But, no distractions exist when you’re in the circle of his arms. 

He probably wouldn’t even hear her knock over your keening moans.

Something about Dr. Zayne—the meticulous, righteous Dr. Zayne—ignoring someone’s distress because he was too busy fucking you, makes the taut string of your impending orgasm snap. 

Good girl, he whispers; groans when he feels your nails stab into his shoulders. Doing so good for me. Generous hands grip your ass, lifting your back slightly off the sofa. Can you give me another one? 

His selflessness would be the death of you. Zayne hadn’t even cum once—too focused on your needs.

Your head lolls back, feathery moans tainting the air with pure sin. Your thighs spread further, taking him deeper.

“Zayne��”

“My Aurora?” 

He groans softly when you glide your tongue over the shell of his ear, breathily moaning, “Can you please cum for me?”

Strong shivers wrack his body; his sharp mind drawing a blank.

“Please,” you mouth his pulse point, drawing your hands back to his hair to give his dark locks a tug. “Give it to me, please… wanna feel you all hot and pulsing inside of me.”

Fuck, he bites your shoulder, thrusts growing sloppier. Fuck, fuck—

He’s been holding back on you; not wanting to hurt you when you wanted it to hurt. 

You wanted the heat, the overwhelming need. Whining, you whimper please, please, please, over and over again. 

Give me your cum, Daddy. 

That does it. Zayne grits his teeth, a lusty groan of pain and ecstasy brushing against your neck. His cum fills you up steadily, first in spurts, then a fulfilling warmth which coats your walls, drawing deeper into your body with every pulsing contraction; a mini release set off by his own.

He slumps over you, skin growing cooler to the touch. You glide your fingertips over his sharp shoulder blades, feeling frost coating your fingers. They melt instantly at your touch, leaving your skin damp with both sweat and the residue of his Evol. 

Zayne shudders, rubbing his cheek against your jaw and neck like a sated beast.

You twitch your hips, and he pulls out slightly; the fullness of him unplugging and dribbling down to join the mess of both your releases onto the couch. 

He stays deep inside of you, lips tangled with yours; the both of you unable to let the other go.

“Are you alright?” he asks into the afterglow. You squirm a little, feeling his softening cock twitch. 

“Mhm hmm,” you flash him a satisfied smile and he fights back a chuckle. You wiggle your butt, biting on your bottom lip. “I love how full I feel of you right now.”

Zayne squeezes your hips, an exasperated and exhausted smirk gracing his perfect mouth. “Little minx.”

He holds your cheek, smoothes his thumb over your lower lip.

“You do know how much you mean to me, don’t you?”

His face is hazy, eyes soft and full of love in the faint light. 

You rest your palm on the back of his hand, melting into his warmth with your eyes half closed and a small smile lifting the corners of your lips.

“Perhaps.” 

You don’t give him time to recover from your quip, flipping him over, both of you still connected from base to tip. 

Zayne doesn’t think he’s ever seen such raw beauty held in one person before; how your skin glowed in the muted orange glow, pretty eyes filled with a passionate ruin.

“But, if you let me take care of you this time, Dr. Zayne, I might be inclined to believe so.”

His hands span across your lower back, smoothing down your hips.

“Anything,” he mumbles hoarsely, an accessory to your seduction. “Do anything you want to me, my Aurora.”

You mumble his name, honeyed with devotion and lust.

And Zayne doesn’t care how many times fate would push you two away; like the tide to the sea, he would always come back for you. 

As many times as it would take. For as long as he could.

“I love you, Zayne,” you whisper, tinier palms pressed to his chest; taking your turn to fuck him.

And he knows you would do it again, too; go through it one more time for him. It was the nature of your love—a push and pull as old as the sea tides. 

But this time—most definitely—he makes a firm vow that it would be the very last time you were taken away from him.

— it is safe to say i am insane over this man i fear. reblogs and feedback are appreciated !!

©️ all works belong to lalunaymph. do not copy, repost, translate or share across any other platform

[punksocks]

Astrology Observations No.26

(Just based on my opinions, only take what resonates)

-Aquarius mars can denote a career around trends, tech, and social media. It can also denote your career taking off during times of social progress or spearheading social progress. (John Boyega’s career took off when he became the face of a much more diverse Star Wars, and a lot of his most celebrated roles have a social consciousness to them, pretty great if I do say so myself)

-Virgo venus gets the reputation of being picky in relationships (and they are) but I feel like Sagittarius Venus can be more fickle. Virgo Venus natives have a set of standards and attributes they’re looking for, but Sagittarius Venus natives will put you on a pedestal then knock you off of it when you do something they don’t like.

-Underdeveloped Gemini Venus will ghost you in the middle of a crisis (man Pisces Venus too, but they may feel bad about it lol)

-When it comes to a sense of justice, I feel as though (developed) Scorpio moons give everyone a run for their money

-I feel like Aquarius in big 3 (sun, moon, rising) can often find themselves being forced to be humanitarian/being made to work toward the greater good in some situations (to lend others money, to take care of friends/family, to befriend someone lonely, etc.) I feel like these placements often can be forced to give more of themselves than they are comfortable with (developed ones will often find a great sense of joy in connecting with others through care though)

-On the other hand I feel like Leo in the big 3 can find themselves being forced to pay attention to themselves/become the center of attention (elevated at a job for their hard work, given unexpected attention for a talent, etc.) With Leo placements I notice that in their home life or childhood they may not receive the attention they need, but early on they get attention from outsiders. So they end up going through this arch of getting more comfortable with their sense of self and being in the spotlight.

-Aries placements can often be the first in their family to do something (go to college, start a business, etc) without more long term oriented placements things like businesses may not last though

-Virgo/Gemini/3rd/6th house placements and having an absolute weakness for stationary lol (I have a 3rd house Stellium and I have to force myself not to buy a sketchbook or notebook every time I’m out, with a 40% success rate lol)

-I always expect Libra placements (especially sun/Asc/Venus/mars) to have a very blonde/fair/delicate features naturally but a lot of Libras have this gothic look, like raven hair ivory skin classic beauty (and a lot of PoC I follow with Libra placements can be much darker skinned, which is also a beautifully classic look)

-I think Jupiter and Saturn count towards your personality, but since they’re slower moving planets I view them as the bridge between the asc/sun/moon/mercury/Venus/mars placements that really directly define your personality and the generational planets that show up in traits across people in your age range (but effect everyone differently because of house placements and aspects)

-Do a lot of people get sick during Scorpio season? Or is it just me ?? (During the last week of Scorpio season like 6 people I knew got sick at the same time and I had a medical thing, wtf it’s uncanny)

-I think Neptune in Capricorn is a big reason that depression became such a focal point for younger millennials and elder gen z- well that and late stage capitalism but yknow. (Capricorns being prone to depression, and Neptune ruling over mental illness)

-You may show more of the traits of the sign in your 12th house when inebriated (like sun in 12th may be more outgoing when they drink, moon in 12th may be more introverted/emotional, mercury in 12th may be more chatty and inquisitive, Venus in 12th may be more charming/romantic, mars in 12th may be more aggressive/antagonistic/s*xual)

-Mars in 12th/Pisces mars may find that unresolved tension sits on their subconscious and makes it hard for them to do other tasks

-Cancer over the houses can show where you feel at home (cancer in the 4th is super loyal to their family/mother, cancer in the 7th means you feel at home with a nurturing partner, cancer in the 9th means you feel at home abroad and traveling and with other communities or with religion, cancer in 11th means you feel super at home with your friends.)

[mawidixon]

Saying "I missed you" won't express how I was dying inside

Daryl x fem!pregnant!reader

One-shot

Genre: Angst, fluff at the end

Warnings: Twd violence, swearing, pregnancy stuff,

Setting: Season 7 - Hilltop

Summary: After Daryl was taken by the Saviors, your life became much more difficult. However, you had a little reminder of him growing inside your womb.

A/N: This is my first one-shot. I did my best, but I'm not sure what to think about it. I hope you like it! Have a nice day! Sorry for any mistakes if there are any.

@mawi22 I don't want my work to be modified, copied, or any of this kind of stuff without my consent!!!

Your situation was rather of the ‘surprise’ kind of pregnancy that most women would not have been expecting to happen to them any time soon. At first, you could only feel the element of fear as you tried to think of how Daryl would respond to this new development that you never saw coming. It was troubling in your heart, for you understood well that he had his qualms about having a baby at this stage in life. There lies the grey area of a personal experience of a man who could not escape the dark memories of his childhood to become a responsible father and provider; the fear of making the same mistakes and reproducing the same patterns that define bad parenting. The commitment that a child would bring was too heavy for him to bear at this time in his life as he saw it as a mountain he would have to climb. This was the feeling you had when you were carrying this secret within you, a feeling of conflict within the self, torn between protecting him from the truth and the truth within your senses and conscience. However, with time, the silence became unbearable and you got to a stage that one could not continue suppressing the truth anymore regardless the fact that it created a feeling of awkwardness. The desire of getting closer and creating a fair partnership could not remain unanswered anymore, so it is, you had to face this sensitive concern with bravery and openness.

As time went by, Daryl's feelings for the unborn child grew stronger. Despite his initial fears, the anxiety that had plagued him over the past few months began to fade. He had always been cautious, but now, a new kind of tenderness emerged. When you were cuddling on the couch, he would often place his rough, calloused hand on your belly, rubbing it gently as if he could already feel the connection to his child. Daryl's efforts to prepare for the baby were evident. Every time he came back from a run, his backpack would be filled with baby clothes, toys, and little trinkets he thought might be useful. His eyes would light up with a mix of pride and excitement as he showed you his finds, his voice tinged with a rare softness as he explained why he chose each item.

One night, you pretended to be asleep, curious about the whispers coming from his side of the bed. You peeked through half-closed eyes to see Daryl leaning close to your belly, his lips barely an inch away from your skin. He was talking to the baby, his voice low and gentle, filled with promises and dreams for the future. It was a side of him you rarely saw, vulnerable and hopeful, and it made your heart swell with love. However, Daryl's protectiveness sometimes bordered on overbearing. He couldn't stand to see you doing any kind of unnecessary work. Whether it was lifting a box or bending down to pick something up, he would swoop in, insisting that you rest and let him handle it. At times, it was endearing, but often it left you feeling frustrated. You appreciated his concern, but you also craved a bit of independence.

"Darlin', you shouldn't be doing that," he'd say, gently taking a task out of your hands. You'd sigh, sometimes rolling your eyes, but deep down, you knew it came from a place of love and fear of losing you both. Despite the occasional annoyance, you found comfort in his unwavering dedication. Daryl had faced so many dangers in his life, but none seemed to shake him as much as the prospect of fatherhood. And in his own way, he was already proving to be a devoted and loving partner, ready to protect and cherish his growing family.

...

That was until Negan and his people took Daryl. The day everything changed, you were at the Hilltop, just weeks away from your due date. The anticipation of meeting your baby was mingled with the joy of Daryl’s newfound tenderness and protectiveness. It was supposed to be a time of hope and new beginnings. You were resting in one of the rooms when the commotion outside caught your attention. Peeking through the window, you saw a group of people rushing towards the main gate. Your heart sank as you recognized Sasha and Maggie, both with tears streaming down their faces. You hurried out, your swollen belly making every step a little more difficult.

Sasha spotted you immediately and ran over, her face a mix of grief and urgency. "Daryl… they took Daryl, and killed Abraham and Glenn." she said, her voice breaking. For a moment, her words didn’t register. The world seemed to tilt, and you had to steady yourself against a nearby wall.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and before you knew it, you were crying uncontrollably. Your sobs echoed through the courtyard, a raw expression of the fear and despair gripping your heart. Everything had been perfect, or as perfect as it could be in this world. You were about to start a family with the man you loved, and now… now, he was gone. Each moment that passed without Daryl felt like an eternity. The fear that he might be dead gnawed at you, a constant, unbearable weight. You clutched your belly, feeling the baby move inside you, a bittersweet reminder of the life you had hoped to share with Daryl.

The Hilltop community tried to offer support, but nothing could quell the storm of emotions inside you. The world that had seemed so promising just a few hours ago now felt dark and uncertain. All you could do was cling to the hope that the love of your life was still out there, fighting to come back to you and the child he had already come to love so deeply.

It was another day without Daryl. Each morning, you woke with a glimmer of hope that he might somehow return, only to be crushed by the reality that he was still out there, somewhere, in the clutches of the Saviors.

As you sat in the room you once shared with him, your eyes wandered to the baby items scattered around, each one a testament to Daryl's growing excitement about becoming a father. Tiny clothes, soft blankets, and the little toys he had brought back from his runs—each piece carried a memory of happier times. You remembered the day you and Daryl decided to keep the baby’s gender a surprise. It had been a moment filled with laughter and love, a rare lightness in your often perilous lives. He had said about teaching the baby to hunt and fix motorcycles. The memory brought a bittersweet smile to your face, followed quickly by a pang of sorrow. Now, with Daryl gone and no certainty of his fate, the need to know the baby’s gender became overwhelming. It felt like a way to hold onto him, to make the waiting a little more bearable. Perhaps knowing would bring some comfort, some sense of connection to him amidst the chaos.

You made your way to the Hilltop’s infirmary, your heart heavy but resolute. As the doctor performed the ultrasound, you held your breath, tears threatening to spill over. The sound of the baby’s heartbeat filled the room, strong and steady, a small beacon of hope in the darkness.

“It’s a boy,” the doctor announced with a gentle smile, and the tears you had been holding back finally flowed freely. You clutched your belly, imagining a little boy with Daryl’s piercing blue eyes, his determined spirit, and his fierce love. The knowledge that you were carrying a son gave you a renewed sense of purpose. You whispered to your belly, promising Daryl that you would stay strong, that you would protect their child with everything you had. The thought of a little boy who would grow up to be a hundred percent version of his father brought a sliver of light to your heart.

Each kick and movement from your baby boy was a reminder of the love you shared with Daryl, a love that had created this new life. Despite the uncertainty and fear, you held onto the hope that one day, Daryl would return, and you would introduce him to his son. Until then, you would keep fighting, for both of them.

...

Thirty minutes had passed, and you were in the kitchen, preparing something to eat. The rhythmic chopping of vegetables was almost soothing, a temporary distraction from the gnawing worry that had settled in your chest. Maggie was sitting beside the table, her expression a mix of concern and frustration.

“You should really let me do this,” Maggie insisted for the tenth time, her voice firm yet gentle. “You’re in the late stage of pregnancy. You need to rest.” You sighed, pausing for a moment to look at her. “Maggie, I’m fine.”

Maggie opened her mouth to argue again, but the sound of the gate to the Hilltop cracking open interrupted her. Her head snapped towards the window, eyes wide with curiosity and a hint of hope. She quickly got up, moving to the stove to turn off the gas. "Hey, what’s going on?” you asked, a mix of confusion and worry in your voice.

Maggie turned to you, her face lit up with a sudden, intense emotion. “Daryl came back!” Her voice trembled with joy and disbelief. For a moment, you stood there frozen, the words echoing in your mind. Daryl came back. The knife slipped from your hand, clattering onto the counter as you felt your heart race with a mixture of hope and fear.

You hurried towards the door, following Maggie. As you reached the courtyard, the sight that met your eyes took your breath away. There, amidst the gathering crowd, was Daryl. His clothes were worn and dirty, his face marked by exhaustion and pain, but he was there. He was alive.

Daryl looked up, and his eyes met yours. For a moment, everything else faded away. You rushed towards him, your hands instinctively moving to your belly, feeling the life inside you kicking in response to your racing heart.

“Daryl!” you cried, your voice breaking with emotion. He moved towards you, his steps quickening as he saw you. In an instant, he was there, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close. You buried your face in his chest, sobbing with relief.

“'m here,” he whispered, his voice rough but filled with love. “’m here, an' 'm not goin' anywhere.” You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your hands cupping his face. “I was so scared,” you admitted, your voice shaking. “I didn’t know if you were...” He just wiped away your tears in response.

In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of his embrace and the sound of his heartbeat, the world felt right again. You held onto him, promising yourself that you would never let go.

To your surprise, tears began to stream down Daryl’s face too. The strong man you knew, who rarely showed any signs of weakness, was now falling apart before your very eyes. He got on his knees and cupped your distended belly with his calloused hands, running his fingers over your skin softly, which brought tears to your eyes. "How is my little one?" he said with happiness and the tenderness of a father. He smiled at you and the weariness in his eyes was replaced by hope. “He’s okay,” you responded, not even realizing that you were saying it out loud. As for Daryl, his eyes opened wide in shock. “He?” he repeated, coming to the realization. It suddenly dawned on you that you had let it slip. You had planned to surprise him but in the heat of the moment, you blurted it out. “I’m sorry. .. Yes, I shouldn’t have—”Before you could finish, Daryl’s face softened. He slowly stood up, reaching out to cup your face gently. He said softly, “Nothin' to apologize for.”

"I love you"

"I love ya too"

[nevermeyers]

Yeah, I know I said I'd keep quiet about it because I plan on ignoring the ending. I've done it plenty of times, even with books I consider my favorites. "Oh this book is so good, it's one of my faves... How does it end? I don't remember." I'm going to do that with jjk because I've done it more times. Anyways.

Seriously, where's the character development? Why dedicate an entire chapter to showing how much criticism affects you and making excuses for your narrative instead of fixing it? Gege could have written about the characters and their problems, their worries, their evolution even while talking about how the politics of jujutsu world are changing rn.

What are Nobara's thoughts right now? There could have been an entire chapter dedicated to her character to fill in the gaps and finish defining her, what about her mother? How does she feel about her childhood friends? What are her plans now?

What about Megumi? Yeah, seeing him laugh was therapeutic, but honestly his character hasn't had the development/ending I expected. The timeskip was weird, his acting is literally the same as the beginning of the manga. It feels like I'm reading the same person who appeared in chapter one and not a traumatized boy who is learning to live. Where is Itadori teaching him that it's actually worth moving on? Where's the whole PTSD thing I'm sure he has? (fuck megumi haters btw fuck them, and fuck the way they victim blamed a kid). What are his thoughts about Gojo? About Sukuna?

Yuuji... Our mc. I was expecting to see him mourning Choso, mourning Gojo. But no, apparently it's more important to explain that there was a secret society (lmao) than to have him show respect and tears for those people he loved. His family, who he never got to spend time with, and his sensei, who decided not to execute him and who taught him almost everything he knows. I wanted to see him taking his friends to the movies to see some B-movie horror instead of going through the horror of watching characters insult him and tell him that it's better if he were dead.

And yes, I know there are two chapters left and some of the things I mention here might appear, but we've already wasted our time with one chapter, that's many pages. There won't be time to fix whatever is this. I feel bad :/

Now, one of the things that bothers me the most is that there are characters that were implied to be dead and now suddenly appear alive. I thought this was about letting the new generations create a fair world, but no. Do you know which character bothers me the most? Mei Mei. No, I'm not against someone writing sa/csa in fiction as long as it's not romanticized (I accept the unreliable narrator because that happens a lot irl and it's sad). The thing is that Mei Mei literally embodies the values ​​of the jujutsu world. In the jujutsu clans there was everything, sexism, abuse, neglect and most likely incest since (at least that's how I see it) they are like the monarchies of the Middle Ages. Mei Mei is the embodiment of all those rotten values ​​that Gojo hated, that the new generations are destined to eradicate. Seriously. What is she doing alive? Take her out rn. Gojo didn't die for this.

I read someone saying that maybe the point of this chapter isn't to break the cycle, but to repeat it. I have to say that I'm a big fan of that trope! It reminds me that humans repeat the same mistakes, but even if that were the point I think it wouldn't be well written.

There came a point in the story where both options: love is worthless and love is worth it were acceptable by the end of the manga. This is the ending where love is worth it, but why hasn't anything changed? The characters we saw in 269 are almost exactly the same we saw in chapter number one.

If this is a story about how love is worth it, accept the consequences and write characters who, thanks to love, move forward and build a new world instead of neutralizing any kind of development

[novlr]

Hi, how do you write a healthy sibling relationship?

I have a really bad one and I want my characters to get along, but still fight sometimes

Any help would be great

Sibling relationships are the first and often the most enduring bonds we form in life. They shape our identities, define our roles in the family, and teach us how to love, fight, forgive, and grow alongside another person.

For writers, capturing the intricacies of sibling dynamics can infuse stories with authenticity, depth, and emotional resonance that keeps readers turning pages. Here are some tips for how to write healthy sibling relationships:

Make them unique characters

Establish each sibling’s unique personality and role.

Give each sibling their own distinct personality, interests, strengths, and flaws.

Show how their personalities complement and contrast with each other.

Establish the roles and dynamics between the siblings (leader, peacemaker, rebel, etc.).

Avoid stereotypes and allow the siblings’ personalities to evolve over time.

Develop each sibling’s unique voice and communication style.

Give them contrasting but complementary skills and strengths.

Develop their relationship over time

Show how the siblings’ relationship strengthens as they grow up and go through life changes. Maybe they grow apart for a while but then reconnect later in life.

Give their relationship a story arc, showing how their bond matures and changes over the course of the story.

Explore how the siblings navigate major life events together, like the birth of a new sibling, a family move, losing a loved one, or a parent’s divorce.

Depict milestones and rites of passage where the siblings support or challenge each other, like learning to drive, graduating high school, starting college or a career.

Show how the siblings’ communication and conflict resolution skills improve (or deteriorate) over time. Perhaps they learn to express their feelings more openly, fight more fairly, or establish healthier boundaries as they mature.

Give them shared history and inside jokes

Build strong backstories into their characters with shared childhood experiences.

Show them laughing over inside jokes and funny memories only they understand.

Use shared history to show their bond, even when they’re fighting.

Have the siblings reference shared childhood possessions or special objects like a beloved stuffed animal they both cherished or a secret hideout only they knew about.

Show the siblings using a private language, code words, or shared vocabulary that only they understand.

Have them reminisce about funny or embarrassing childhood stories.

Let them learn from each other

Show the siblings teaching each other important life lessons.

Have them learn from each other’s mistakes and successes.

Show how the siblings challenge each other to step outside their comfort zones and try new things.

Depict moments where the siblings offer each other wise advice or a fresh perspective on a problem, demonstrating how well they understand and support one another.

Show how the siblings inspire each other to pursue their passions and dreams.

Depict the siblings’ learning to appreciate their differences and see them as strengths

Show unwavering loyalty and love

Depict the siblings standing up for each other in the face of adversity or conflict. They have each other’s backs, no matter what.

Portray the siblings making sacrifices for each other’s happiness or well-being.

Show the siblings being there for each other during tough times, like heartbreak, illness, or failure. Highlight how they offer comfort, encouragement, and unconditional support.

Illustrate the siblings’ fierce protectiveness of each other. Show them defending each other against bullies, naysayers, or anyone who threatens their bond.

Depict the siblings forgiving each other after arguments or misunderstandings. Show how their love helps them overcome hurt feelings and find understanding.

Portray the siblings expressing their love and appreciation for each other through both big gestures and small, everyday acts of kindness.

[da-janela-lateral]

Aaaaa I wish I could make some art to accompany this post, but I can't do so in the moment and I really want to express my "post-epilogue Mob and Tsubomi friendship" thoughts. LONG text below.

They start talking some time after Confession Arc, but their bond actually begins after Tsubomi moves from Seasoning City. She enjoys having someone to tell her how things are going on her hometown, as she didn't keep in touch with all of her school friends and misses how life was in Seasoning. This helped her to get more used to this drastic change on routine.

It was... awkward on the start. Mob had to process that Tsubomi was nothing like the perfect concept that lived on his head, besides the fact that she was upset by people idealizing her (its not nice to know you're part of the problem). Tsubomi on the other hand needed to shut down her slight suspicion built with the experience of bad rejection aftermaths and trust in Mob's intentions. After all, he was her good childhood friend

It doesn't take much for them to get over this, though. Mob comes to care a lot for the real Tsubomi and makes an active effort to know her better. This flawed, human Tsubomi was different, but she was a dear person to him and so it wasn't an issue. Tsubomi is relieved to see Mob's desire to become her friend was genuine (and feels a little bad for doubting). She was glad to get back in touch with him after so such a long time and got impressed with how much he had matured without her noticing. In a way, she also used to see him as that little boy from years ago...

They talk to each other by phone almost daily, speaking of how was their day and sending random stuff. If anything happens, they sure would inform the other.

Mob discovers she likes the yellow cat plush and keeps showing her cats he saw. Tsubomi tries to read some of his favorite manga to understand what he is talking about.

Tsubomi got overwhelmed with how much her school life changed in her new city. She was very happy to not being treated as a deity, but also wasn't used to being a common student. Mob helps her to become adjusted to a normal life and stop wearing the mask she was forced to use in Salt Mid. He understands how weird it is like to be your own vulnerable, true self next to others.

In exchange, Tsubomi's experience proves to be very valuable when Mob gets more attention from his peers and has to face social situations he never participated of before. Parties are stressing. She too recognizes he is still learning to express himself and is happy to see how he opens up with her.

Althought Tsubomi learns to be more authentic over time, she still struggles with demanding too much of herself. She panicked after thinking she didn't do good in her exams, and Mob spends an hour explaining that she isn't special and how its bad to expect she'll be flawless all the time. Besides that, her skills shouldn't define her worth as a person, as she is much more than her results. Tsubomi remembers this.

Mob often asks for Tsubomi's opinion. Sure, Reigen is still his go-to for advice, but some topics are more comfortable to talk with someone his age. Mob really values Tsubomi's confident honesty and her practical, direct solutions. He also feels safe talking with her because he knows that despite being blunt, she wouldn't say anything to hurt him.

They visit each other occasionally when they're on high school! The train rides are quite long, though, so most times it's more practical to invite more people and have a sleepover. Mob and Tsubomi's respective friends know the other pretty well.

[aspd-culture]

Welcome back. You’re very informative.

I’m very confused about how numerous people, from you, to other antisocial people speaking from their experiences (some of which I learned are actually friends) to prosocial researchers of ASPD say that antisocial people see relationships as transactional. It’s not weird that you guys see it that way, it’s more like “and prosocials… don’t???” Because I’m certain I’m prosocial. I’m neurodivergent, sure, but no signs of ASPD. So, how do most prosocial people typically view relationships if they’re not transactional?

So I find prosocials and pwASPD both tend to think “but doesn’t everybody” when we hear this - it’s a super undescriptive term - but we’re thinking different things define something as transactional. We also see the reason for that transaction to be different.

From a prosocial generally, they’ll mean “I only want to be around people that ‘don’t drain my energy’, that don’t just take take take, that we mutually enjoy the friendship/relationship and want to be around each other”. That’s kinda their definition of getting something out of it, and they want everyone to get something out of it. If they’re draining you, they want you to be free of it so you can be happy, and the transactions involved can be purely emotional/vibes. The reason they feel this way is a desire for positive and enjoyable social connection; the consequence for an uneven/bad/missing transaction is discomfort and wasting their time in negative experiences and generally feeling bad in association with that person.

PwASPD see those transactions very very literally. There’s no vibes nor emotions in the transactions, those are either a reaction to the transaction or a bonus. We mean that we are getting something tangible or practical out of it. Rides, help with things we can’t or don’t want to do alone, sex, maybe even the social relief from the annoyance of “why don’t you ever talk to anyone?” coming from all sides. We also don’t always care if it’s even on the other person’s end. If they’re ok driving me everywhere/if they do it and don’t say or show they’re uncomfortable, then I will assume they are fine with that piece of the transaction. If I’m taking more than I’m giving and they seem chill with that then I’ll accept it. However, I won’t give them *nothing* and that’s because of our reason for transactions - it’s dangerous otherwise. First off, I have shit I need I can’t get myself as much as it sucks, so I need to be around people. But if we need something from them, what we learned in our childhoods is that we don’t get that for free. There’s always something over your head. A lot of pwASPD had friends or caregivers that would hold favors or even *basic, legally-mandated caregiving* over our heads as though we didn’t deserve it. Often our value was determined as a child by what we provided, and since children can’t provide much, we were worthless and not deserving of good treatment.

This is part of the reason (TW non-descriptive CSA mention, skip to the next paragraph if you want) that people thought ASPD was directly correlated with CSA for a long time - many cases of long term CSA come from either “I’ll give you x/do x for you if you help me with this” or worse, doing something first then saying “but I gave you X!/did X for you! I wouldn’t have if I knew you’d act like this”, often call us selfish if we tried to say no and maybe get aggressive or forceful after, and that is an easy lead-in to our view of interactions.

So a lot of us see it that if we want to be safe/know we can continue to get what we need, we HAVE to be giving them something. If you claim you like being around me “just to be around me” or worse that you’re willing to do something for me “just because I want to”, that’s not safe. You want something from me and I’ll give it to you - just tell me what it is. If you’re not telling me, that means it’s not good or you’re just gonna decide later that I’m selfish. You might hurt me to get what you want and justify it with this. Take something from my side so we’re even, because even means safe. Even means I get access to what I need and you get access to what you need - so now we’re both using this relationship/friendship/etc for something and you wouldn’t wanna mess that up by putting me in danger any more than I’d want to mess it up by putting you in danger.

Of course, not every prosocial sees it the first way and not every pwASPD had those experiences and/or sees it that way. But that’s what I’ve found to be common. If you see “they make me happy” as what your or their end of the transaction is, it’s definitely a prosocial response, maybe with the exception of thinking of it as “getting their brain to dopamine/oxytocin” vs caring how they’re actually feeling. If not, if you need it to be practical, that’s definitely transactional.

It’s important to note this is personal relationships with no practical consequences to ending the relationship - most people see relationships (platonic) with coworkers or managers as transactional and that’s a way I usually explain it to prosocials (“do you deal with your boss bc you like them or bc they sign your check - and would your boss keep you hired if you didn’t do your job because you make them happy just by being there?”). But with a romantic or sexual partner, a friend, etc. this is not a typical view of relationships.

That said - you can *absolutely* not have ASPD and have transactional view of relationships. It’s not a 1:1 thing there; not everyone with ASPD has it and not every prosocial doesn’t. It’s just a really common piece of the puzzle that is this personality disorder.

Edit: ack I’m so sorry I forgot to add the csa tw tags they’re there now.

Plain text below the cut:

So I find prosocials and pwASPD both tend to think “but doesn’t everybody” when we hear this - it’s a super undescriptive term - but we’re thinking different things define something as transactional. We also see the reason for that transaction to be different.

From a prosocial generally, they’ll mean “I only want to be around people that ‘don’t drain my energy’, that don’t just take take take, that we mutually enjoy the friendship/relationship and want to be around each other”. That’s kinda their definition of getting something out of it, and they want everyone to get something out of it. If they’re draining you, they want you to be free of it so you can be happy, and the transactions involved can be purely emotional/vibes. The reason they feel this way is a desire for positive and enjoyable social connection; the consequence for an uneven/bad/missing transaction is discomfort and wasting their time in negative experiences and generally feeling bad in association with that person.

PwASPD see those transactions very very literally. There’s no vibes nor emotions in the transactions, those are either a reaction to the transaction or a bonus. We mean that we are getting something tangible or practical out of it. Rides, help with things we can’t or don’t want to do alone, sex, maybe even the social relief from the annoyance of “why don’t you ever talk to anyone?” coming from all sides. We also don’t always care if it’s even on the other person’s end. If they’re ok driving me everywhere/if they do it and don’t say or show they’re uncomfortable, then I will assume they are fine with that piece of the transaction. If I’m taking more than I’m giving and they seem chill with that then I’ll accept it. However, I won’t give them *nothing* and that’s because of our reason for transactions - it’s dangerous otherwise. First off, I have shit I need I can’t get myself as much as it sucks, so I need to be around people. But if we need something from them, what we learned in our childhoods is that we don’t get that for free. There’s always something over your head. A lot of pwASPD had friends or caregivers that would hold favors or even *basic, legally-mandated caregiving* over our heads as though we didn’t deserve it. Often our value was determined as a child by what we provided, and since children can’t provide much, we were worthless and not deserving of good treatment.

This is part of the reason (TW non-descriptive CSA mention, skip to the next paragraph if you want) that people thought ASPD was directly correlated with CSA for a long time - many cases of long term CSA come from either “I’ll give you x/do x for you if you help me with this” or worse, doing something first then saying “but I gave you X!/did X for you! I wouldn’t have if I knew you’d act like this”, often call us selfish if we tried to say no and maybe get aggressive or forceful after, and that is an easy lead-in to our view of interactions.

So a lot of us see it that if we want to be safe/know we can continue to get what we need, we HAVE to be giving them something. If you claim you like being around me “just to be around me” or worse that you’re willing to do something for me “just because I want to”, that’s not safe. You want something from me and I’ll give it to you - just tell me what it is. If you’re not telling me, that means it’s not good or you’re just gonna decide later that I’m selfish. You might hurt me to get what you want and justify it with this. Take something from my side so we’re even, because even means safe. Even means I get access to what I need and you get access to what you need - so now we’re both using this relationship/friendship/etc for something and you wouldn’t wanna mess that up by putting me in danger any more than I’d want to mess it up by putting you in danger.

Of course, not every prosocial sees it the first way and not every pwASPD had those experiences and/or sees it that way. But that’s what I’ve found to be common. If you see “they make me happy” as what your or their end of the transaction is, it’s definitely a prosocial response, maybe with the exception of thinking of it as “getting their brain to dopamine/oxytocin” vs caring how they’re actually feeling. If not, if you need it to be practical, that’s definitely transactional.

It’s important to note this is personal relationships with no practical consequences to ending the relationship - most people see relationships (platonic) with coworkers or managers as transactional and that’s a way I usually explain it to prosocials (“do you deal with your boss bc you like them or bc they sign your check - and would your boss keep you hired if you didn’t do your job because you make them happy just by being there?”). But with a romantic or sexual partner, a friend, etc. this is not a typical view of relationships.

That said - you can *absolutely* not have ASPD and have transactional view of relationships. It’s not a 1:1 thing there; not everyone with ASPD has it and not every prosocial doesn’t. It’s just a really common piece of the puzzle that is this personality disorder.

Edit: ack I’m so sorry I forgot to add the csa tw tags they’re there now.

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #56 – Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow by Gabrielle Zevin

At the start of the year, I set out to try and read more proper literature. Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow was not a book I had ever heard of, or by an author I knew anything at all about. But it was on my local bookstore's and local library’s staff pick lists, and has a bunch of awards, and I think showed up on some list of Goodreads recommendations. So 9 months later I finally worked down the list to it and went in totally unprepared and with zero expectations or preconceptions.

The book’s well-written and well-executed, but I can’t say it really worked for me. Or properly, it absolutely was working for the first two thirds or so, but by the end just felt like it lost a lot of the touches that had made it interesting and was just drowning in its own sentimentality.

The book follows Sam and Sadie, two Californian wunderkunds growing up in Los Angelos in the 1980s. They meet in a children’s hospital, where Sam is being treated for a foot the was nearly shattered in a car crash and Sadie is visiting her elder sister as she’s treated for cancer. The two of them instantly begin bonding over playing Super Mario Brothers and begin a friendship and a creative partnership that will - as they grow up and found an artistically and commercially successful video game studio in the late 90s – define the shape of both of their lives, no matter how turbulent and conflicted it at points becomes.

For reasons that probably boil down to the audiobooks my mother played on road trips as a child, I’ve always had a fondness for books that track the broad sweep of a life or lives, zooming out and stretching across the years and decades. So I actually digested this a decent bit more easily than I do a lot of modern litfic that I’ve tried. For the first few hundred pages, it all even holds together very well, bouncing around the timeline and providing childhood episodes and context as it's relevant and making the central relationships compelling and emotionally plausible. Unfortunately a couple of experiments in form (one worked for me, one really didn’t) eat up a lot of page count in the final act, and entirely kill the sense of flow and structure. Not at all helped by the narrative voice losing a lot of its charm and the story growing wholly predictable (and a bit saccharine) in the closing pages.

I say ‘central relationships’ and not ‘relationship’ because describing the book as being about the relationship between Sam and Sadie is just, basically false advertising? Marx – Sam’s college roommate, later Sadie’s boyfriend, the business manager of their video game studio - is for most of the book at least as important a character as the two leads. He’s a much less interesting character – entirely too much of a natural saint, compared to how very flawed and petty Sam and Sadie are both allowed to be – but he’s a key part of the dynamic and most of the book is properly about different permutations of the trio bouncing off of each other. No other character gets a tenth of the focus and exploration of those three, and are really more props for narrative and to incite development than anything else.

The book has (until the end, anyway) a strong narrative voice that I really enjoyed, but which also may have caused me to set my expectations entirely wrong for what the book was actually planning. The only way I can really describe it is that the book reads like one of those New Yorker longreads that are trying very hard to convince you they’re not just rubbernecking some fascinatingly dysfunctional relationships and personal drama among some semi-notable creative figures. Your Bad Art Friends and similar. Deeply opinionated and gossipy, but making a show of seeming detached and objective, always making asides written from the perspective of the modern day and quoting interviews from years later about events as they occur in the narrative. As someone who is a slightly guilty fan of exactly those kind of longreads, it did make for a very fun reading experience.

But it also made me get my hopes up. Which is to say, the early chapters make quite a few references to how latter in life Sam and Sadie wouldn’t be on speaking terms, and how ‘something’ happened at Unfair Games in 2005. I was looking forward to something some messy and newsworthy interpersonal drama of the kind that doesn’t leave either of them (or anyone) looking good. The falling out does occur, but in a way that’s mostly just piles of misunderstandings and a stubborn refusal to communicate from both of them. The company always stays ostensibly together, and things never get much worse than quietly cherished bitterness and a refusal to speak. Which feels very emotionally believable, as incredibly frustrating as it is. The dramatic rupture that happens in 2005, well-

The book’s use of violence always feels slightly unreal. It intrudes on the narrative in ways that, like, they are things that happen, but feel so exaggerated and on-the-nose they took me out of the reading experience, at least a bit. A woman jumps off her balcony to her death and happens to land right in front of a young Sam. His mother stops her car on an LA highway to avoid hitting a dog, and he asks her something that keeps her talking and not moving for the crucial moment before an SUV slams into them, killing her and permanently damaging his foot. And the great end-of-second-act rupture that occurs in 2005 is a pair of homophobic gunmen storming into their office and shooting Marx because their cozy MMO lets gay people get married. Any one would have been fine, but combined they make the illusion of violence as random and capricious wear a bit thin and the writerly artifice underneath a bit too clear, at least for me.

As far as period pieces go – the story isn’t nostalgia bait, but it isn’t not nostalgia bait, either? It’s a few years before my time, so I suppose I just don’t appreciate it properly – the experience of growing up in and living through the late ‘80s through 2000s is one the book cares deeply about replicating. It generally does an excellent job making things feel of-the-moment, if occasionally by having the narrative draw pretty heavy-handed comparisons to what would be different in the present. The aesthetics (fashion, public art and marketing, fads and consumer trends) are all there, and the characters experience them like people to whom they’re novel and trendy. (Personally I could have done with a bit less effort spent describing every single outfit, but if I had memories of what people actually looked like wearing them I might appreciate it more.) It does similar things with LA and (to a far lesser extent) Boston – every other place the book touches on feels vague and a bit unreal, but LA is rendered with a real sense of place and love for the city and it’s little eccentricities.

The area where the book is absolutely nostalgia-bait is video games, and the whole heroic era of rapid changes and improvements to the medium where new boundaries were being crossed every year and a handful of sufficiently talented and dedicated first-time devs could create something genuinely revolutionary. The book even manages the neat trick of making almost every fake game the protagonists create a) plausible for the era and technology and b) actually seem like something I would want to play (less so the Pioneerville MMO created in the final act, as with many things). But I do genuinely want to play Master of Revels quite badly.

The book does share a common failing with what feels like almost every period piece, where by complete coincidence the major characters all conveniently happen to be on the Right Side of History for every really major (that is, from the perspective of the present, character-defining) political issues. This is made a bit more irritating by the fact that despite all being quite radical on the issue of e.g. gay marriage (or just not being even slightly homophobic) from the vantage of the early Bush administration, none of Sadie, Sam or Marx ever even conceive of it as being political.

The book doesn’t conceive of itself as really having politics at all – but again, in the way of a New York Magazine feature where having certain sets of liberal convictions is just a matter of personal decency and morality. A certain unexpressed but present sexual conservativism, a view of class where Sam’s grandparents owning and running a successful restaurant counts as being from the wrong side of the tracks, hyper-conscious of race but without much to really say about it. You’re all familiar with the style, I’m sure.

Anyway yeah, not a bad book by any means, but one that lasted long enough and ended weakly enough to expend any real passion or affection I’d built up for it.

[raine-kai]

How Much Ace Loved Luffy (and so does Sabo, but this is mostly about Ace)

I have been suffering from the worst One Piece brainrot. Seriously, I cannot think about anything else without bring it back to One Piece, which is particularly unfortunate this month when my schedule is completely nuts.

(A few days ago, I was reading a scientific paper and I saw the word "doctrine" and went "omg Dr. Kureha??? Why is this paper mentioning One Piece?"—it's that bad.)

The thing I have been thinking about the most is Luffy's relationship with his brothers.

First off, I would like to say that I vehemently disagree with the take that Sabo is just Ace 2.0. While the relay of their stories can make them feel that way on an emotional level, exacerbated by Sabo succeeding Ace with the flame-flame fruit powers, I think Oda has done an excellent job showing that they are very distinct not only in personality, but in their relationships with Luffy.

Ace was always the first brother.

He's the one who knows Garp just as well as Luffy. He's the one introduced to Luffy through Garp. He's the one Luffy initially attaches himself to. He's the one who was there all through Luffy's childhood and adolescence, who can do a handstand on Luffy's head with no explanation, knowing that Luffy can hold him and knowing that Luffy will understand exactly what he is telling Luffy to do.

Ace was also always the most self-deprecating brother. When he was arrested, his first and only request was that nobody tell Luffy about it. When talking to Jinbei, he tells him that he would have worried Luffy couldn't live without him, but having seen his crew, he knows that Luffy will be okay.

When Luffy hears that Ace is in trouble, his first reaction is that Ace has his own adventures, and that Ace will be angry if he drops everything to chase after Ace. But when he is told that Ace is in Impel Down and his execution day is already scheduled, he drops everything, including reuniting with his crew, to sneak into the highest security prison in the world to try to break out his brother.

Meanwhile, Sabo is the kind brother.

If Ace was aware of how codependent Luffy was with him and tried to utilize tough love to push Luffy away, he's also always been the most inclined to bicker and trade mockery and insults with Luffy. Meanwhile, Sabo has always been more inclined to be concerned for Luffy, and use positive reinforcement to help Luffy improve. When Ace and Luffy were at odds, Sabo was often the mediator.

Sabo and Ace have known each other longer than either of them has known Luffy, but their relationship as brothers exists because of Luffy. As Sabo pointed out in his farewell letter to Ace, they never even defined what kind of brother they were (a thing that has more significance in Japanese, where big brother/younger brother are terms far more common than the neutral "kyoudai", which translates to elder-brother-younger-brother, and can often denote a non-blood relationship).

Luffy is their crybaby weakling baby brother, and they are both willing to throw everything aside if they are worried that Luffy might be in trouble. Not once in the story have Ace or Sabo showed up without stepping in to rescue Luffy somehow.

But today, the rescue that sticks in my brain is the most painful one of all: the death of Portgas D. Ace.

In a world full of people who exposit about the honor and dignity of a death with a back unmarked by scars, Ace dies with his back to Akainu, whose fist goes right through the tattoo proclaiming Ace's loyalty to Whitebeard.

Whitebeard's significance in Ace's life was huge.

With Ace's anger issues rooted in a childhood of being told he should never have existed, his arc is about learning that yes, he deserved to exist—he deserved to live.

And while Luffy's love, Luffy declaring how much he needed Ace, provided something of a salvation, some kind of purpose, it was not enough. Because Ace was trying to teach Luffy to be self-sufficient—was trying to help him to grow up into a man who wouldn't need Ace. Even at the very end, as he thanks Luffy for loving him, he describes himself with self-deprecation.

Being needed wasn't enough. Ace needed Whitebeard, because he needed a parent figure whom he could believe loved him, for whom he was enough. His relationship with Dadan was too utilitarian: he brought her food, and she let him stick around. His relationship with Garp was too marked with the conflict born of Garp's stated wish for Ace and Luffy to become marines. Whitebeard was the first person to embrace Ace exactly as he was and call him his son, and never expect him to be or do anything else.

Ace is genuinely surprised at the war that is waged to save his life.

Not only does he not expect Luffy to show up, he doesn't even expect Whitebeard to show up.

Regarding Whitebeard, Ace sees his actions as his own failure. He did not listen when Whitebeard told him to let Blackbeard go. His own failure to heed his father's cautionary words should not be cause for his father to wage war on the marine headquarters, he thinks.

But when Luffy turns up, Ace shouts at him—exactly as Luffy had predicted. He demands to know what Luffy thinks he's doing, weakling that he is. That Ace has his own adventures and his own pirate crew, and he doesn't need Luffy to come too.

"I'm your little brother," says Luffy in response, and I always start tearing up at that line, in manga or anime.

As far as Luffy is concerned, losing Ace is not an option.

And that one line is all it takes to make Ace back off. To remember that yes—Luffy is still his little brother, though they each have their own crews now.

The Marineford War is so full of moments where Luffy shows himself to be capable of so much more than anybody expected was possible.

But of course we all know how it ends. Luffy is the one to free Ace, but he's also the one who doesn't notice how vulnerable he is to the charging Akainu.

And Ace takes the blow intended for Luffy with his back—right in the tattoo declaring his alliance to Whitebeard.

I can't stop thinking about the significance of this.

All Ace had ever been searching for—family, belonging, purpose, acknowledgement that he was wanted—he got from Whitebeard, who was his parent in a way that nobody ever was, breaking through his insecurities about his parentage in a way that surely only got through to Ace because Whitebeard is someone who personally knew Roger. In a world without Luffy, Whitebeard and his crew would have been Ace's salvation.

But we don't live in that world. We don't know if Ace would have made it long enough to join Whitebeard in a world without Luffy.

What Ace tells us in the way that he shielded Luffy from Akainu was that Luffy was worth more to him than everything he got from Whitebeard and everyone on that crew. That he loved Luffy above and beyond all others.

And he thanked Luffy (and Whitebeard and his crew) for loving him.

I'm sure there has been ample discourse on the significance of these things. I'm pretty sure I've read, if not participated in it. But having circled back here recently, I feel like I'm discovering the significance all anew.

Ace said thank you for loving me and not I love you because he saw more value in being loved than his own love. Surely it would have been more comforting to Luffy to hear that he was loved—but Ace is caught up in the idea that he is demonspawn, not worth existing, much less being loved.

With how much he talks about Luffy to everyone he meets, surely in a world where he did not have cause to question his existence, where he did not grow up knowing that the world wished him dead, he would have been happy to just exist with the brothers he loved. He would not have felt he needed to prove that he deserved to exist.

Meanwhile, though Luffy idealizes pirates from an earlier point in the story, their backstory shows us that Luffy's desire to grow stronger originates in learning how Sabo "died". And Ace supports this narrative that Luffy ought to grow stronger, more self-sufficient.

At Luffy's core is simply love: a desire to hold his loved ones close, to be strong enough to never lose them again.

But he lost Ace anyway.

And Ace just wanted Luffy to be safe—to go on without him. His only regret, he said, was that he wouldn't be around to see the end of Luffy's dream.

Ace, at his core, just wanted to be loved. And he had that, but was not able to accept it, to believe that he deserved it, until the very end.

And isn't that just heartbreaking?

I believe that it was Ace's spirit, realizing Sabo was still alive, who knocked the memory back into him, screaming at him what the hell has he been doing, go protect and support their baby brother.

I believe Ace still lives on in Luffy, who will never stop loving the brother who all but raised him.

But I need to cry about it anyway. Again.

[kandyzee]

Fiona gallagher and pretty privilege

I think fiona is a great example of how being an attractive white woman can really help shape the way people interpret or misinterpret people's actions, and I've never seen someone talk in depth about it before.

I think one of the main things that stand out to me regarding the way fiona looks is how she is so often boxed into the character type of "sad girl victim." What I mean by that is that people view her as this young woman corrupted by sadness. She's cursed by her environment, and everything she does is okay because of that. Fionas story is undeniably sad, but she isn't always the victim, and despite everything she's gone through, she can mess up. I don't think shameless allows for these kinda characters cause their faults are always portrayed so strongly. Typically, u see teen girls grouped in together, like cassie and effy from skins, Tracy from thirteen. Even a younger character like Debbie isn't as frequently put into this box. Debbie has a devastating story, too. They both have scenes crying and breaking down. Vees heartbreaking storylines of believing she was infertile or having to help her brother her whole childhood are never touched on. People don't see Vee as a 'sad girl victim.' And too me this is because, put simply, fionas pale skin and big puppy dog eyes look better next to lana del rey lyrics then the others do. Fionas sadness and struggle is romanced into something desirable. We see fiona be 'desired' sexually/romanticly many times throughout the show. I think there's something to be said about the way people's admiration for fionas physical body leads them to admire her mental state, even if it's inherently negative at times.

I'm not saying fiona is undeserving of sympathy or in any way trying to downplay her struggles just because she's white and more conventionally attractive. However, I do think it's these traits that make people disregard her wrongdoings where they wouldn't with other characters.

Again, using v and Debbie as examples, their parenting is scrutinised to a much higher degree than fionas, even though fiona is the one who makes the most mistakes. People will in the same breath crisis Debbie for leaving franny with Frank and defend fiona for leaving coke out for liam to find. Realistically, people should be firm on the belief that Debbie's action here isn't as bad. Franny has a fun day out with her grandad, and Liam almost dies. From what I've seen tho a large number of people don't have this opinion. Why does fiona get more grace ? Because she's more conventionally attractive than Debbie!! (Not saying Debbie isn't attractive) Fiona with her slim body, full lips, sharp jaw line are much easier to forgive than Debbie's rounder face, red hair and freckles. V gets called a 'bad mother' most when she is going through postpartum depression. She has an extremely valid reason to be distant with her children. Still, when fiona acts unkindly towards Debbie when she's pregnant, it's fi who gets more leeway. Both v and fiona are extremely attractive, so why does fiona get away with more ?? Because people sympathise more with the white women. Fionas pretty privilege is only intensified by the fact she has white privilege also.

I might make a part two on this cause I think I have more to say, but this is it for now. I had never really thought about this before a couple of weeks ago, so my opinion isn't as defined and solid as it normally is. Can u tell ??

[lightningant]

I've never seen characterizations of Tom and Harry the way yours is. I love how neurotic and messed up they both are -- they're *SO CUTE* too. <3 <3 <3

Tom is just so exhausted and cynical and Harry is a manic catastrophe with sooo many crossed wires and they're HILARIOUS. XD

And just so well written, I cannot tell you how distracted I was for at least a week after I read what you had for your fic -- I truly, truly admire your narration and dialogue and characterizations (I already said that but PLEASE I LOVE THEM SO **BAD** >O< ) Soooo funny and well made.

They're realistic! Tom and Harry are so messy and also normal people at the end of the day who make mistakes and aren't super cool all the time (really, they're utter dorks, and you TOTALLY show thatt) but also they're competent and scary and stubborn and you just have suchh a nice blend of their facets and I JUST....aghhh, I love itt.

Also I ADORE your designs -- I love how Tom is so sickly and neat (you said it best "Victorian child with tuberculosis" LMAO), and Harry is so IDK, he's just a Guy but in the most wonderful way -- I'm not actually good with words :,))))

I just love your art style in general, it's like, realistic yknow. You don't get rid of normal people "imperfections", they're a part of the design or enhance them -- I don't think the word imperfections is right, I just mean like, you don't exclude non-conventionally attractive aspects of bodies or facial expressions??? Idk, I'm trying here, I really am. Just, just, just I like it a lot and I wanna be like that toooooo >.<

IIIIIIII dunno if I have accurately gotten anything across or even given an actual good compliment in this entire thing but anyways you're very cool and awesome and also PLEASE forget that I said they were Babygirl I've never used that word before in my LIFEE and don't know if that was right at all -- if it was nevermind I meant it all and am so cool -- ANYWAYS bye :,)

I don't think I've succeeded in lessening my embarrassment but uhhhhh, I hope I've at least articulated myself better :,)))

Askbomb swag. Thank you, this message was so sweet :) I shall try to match energies.

One of the things I love most is that the kind of person who puts up pretensions is, innately, trying to hide something about themselves they find sub-par. Tom isn't just a scary and incredibly powerful domineering sigma male who is a master manipulator, he is a person who is actively attempting to turn himself into that man, and in my fic he is still a teenager and still tripping his way through that mental image he has of himself. The two worst ages to ever be are 15 and 20; fifteen, when you are ready to shed childhood but don't know what maturity looks like just yet, and 20, when you are ready to become your own person and achieve adulthood, picking your way across existence-defining beliefs. And his only friend for the past like, 7 months? has been his 16-year-old self who has the single-minded objective of looking cool and mature to his adult self. A hell of his own making.

Harry is also 20. He is one of those 'unusually mature for his age' kids and he has an inflated sense of his own righteousness and capability, despite being the actual one with the emotional range of a teaspoon (he just knows to keep it himself). There is no way Harry would detect he is having a manic fit, especially if he is having one that is triggered by his arrested feelings on Sirius. It's incredibly fun writing him perform this extremely risky and reality-altering plan and his plan was "idk, kill him?" and picking shit up off the ground whenever he sees it, the DADA position included. our hero.

Beautiful tragic terminally ill gothic prince / fit jock is really a match made in heaven aesthetically. Cannot get enough of it

Thank you for art compliment too ^_^ I used to lean more to anime fandoms so Harry Potter really let me stretch my legs on more 'normal people' facial features like big noses and soft chins and I'm glad it's clear how much fun I'm having doing that. Yay! Though one of the compliments I've always gotten that I've always been proud of is how distinct the way I draw expressions is.

No no...you're right. Tom is absolutely a babygirl. And Harry...well he was certainly Ginny's babygirl, and I'm sure a part of him is really itching to have someone put their hand on the small of his back 😔

[wixhing0nastar]

Abuse Narratives in RWBY: Yang Xiao Long Edition (Feat. Ruby Rose)

We've all witnessed and talked about Blake and Weiss being abuse survivors for years. Blake escaping from Adam and Weiss escaping from her father were both huge, impactful events that have shaped the narrative of the story in many ways.

Yang on the other hand has managed to fly mostly under the radar with the abuse she's suffered up to this point. Her jokey, happy-go-lucky facade tricking the audience just as well as it has her friends and family for years.

(Note: this is going to be a long post, so strap in. Also this is your warning I am not going to be holding back in my criticism of Tai, so if you don't want to see me go into detail about how exactly he abused Yang, I highly suggest turning back now).

TL:DR: Yang was neglected and parentified (aka: abused) as a child and that’s the root of a lot of the issues that she’s currently struggling with in Volume 9 and a large part of her healing is going to be centered around her relationship with Blake going forward.

Let's start by establishing what exactly I'm referring to when I say that Yang has been abused. Because while I'm certainly referring to her being neglected after Summer's death, I'm more so referring to the years of Parentification that was caused by said neglect (in addition to the verbal and emotional abuse hurled her way).

Let's start by defining what exactly Parentification is since it's where most of Yang's current problems stem from.

[Parentification is] a disturbance in the generational boundaries, such that evidence indicates a functional and/or emotional role reversal in which the child sacrifices his or her own needs for attention, comfort, and guidance in order to accommodate and care for the logistical and emotional needs of a parent and/or sibling. (Hooper, 2007b, p. 323)

Ruby establishes in Volume 9, Chapter 1 that Yang was the one who raised her. It's important to note that in the context of her saying that, she's telling Yang that Yang was the one responsible for her moral development as a kid.

Research has shown that the building blocks for morality are generally in place by the age of 4. However, "children need adults to help them at every stage of childhood to nurture these seeds into full development." (Harvard, Raising Caring, Respectful, Ethical Children, p. 1) With "childhood" commonly considered infancy to age 12.

Using this we can reasonably assume that Yang was Ruby's primary caretaker or at the very least co-parenting with Tai from the time of Summer's death to at least age 14 (when Ruby was 12)... which mind you, is already over a decade total and only three years before the show starts.

Now that we've got some of the science out of the way, let's start looking at the show itself to see just how bad the situation was.

Burning the Candle

This iconic scene actually paints a fairly horrifying picture of Yang and Ruby's early childhood when you start to break it down.

I waited for dad to leave the house.

Meaning that by that point, probably only a few months after Summer's death based on the timeline Yang establishes, Yang already knows Tai will reliably leave her and Ruby alone without supervision for extended periods of time in order to pull this off.

I must have walked for hours.

Meaning that it likely took several hours for someone to even notice they were missing in the first place. The fact Qrow knew exactly where they were indicates that Yang either left a note or clue about where they were headed and I'm willing to bet the only reason it took Yang that long to walk was because she was like two feet tall at the time (since Patch is like... a tiny island... which brings me to the next line...

A toddler asleep in the back of a wagon

Again, to clarify, Ruby was a toddler. Toddlers are between 1-3 years old... meaning this all happened when Yang was a maximum of (and likely, based on their physical appearances) 5 years old.

So to summarize, Tai was regularly leaving Yang, his five-year-old, home alone and in charge of her three-year-old sister... which would be horrifying to think about on its own but this is Remnant.

Which means that Tai was regularly leaving his grieving five-year-old at home alone when they didn't live inside a kingdom's border and there were known wild Grimm in the area... who are attracted to negative emotions.

Wow... I wonder why Yang felt the need to try to diffuse the tension with humor and keep everyone in high spirits all the time. It’s almost like it was a life or death situation growing up. (/s)

Anger, Fear, and Burn

Before jumping into the next big narrative piece, let’s talk a little bit about Yang’s semblance, Burn, and how it works. Because it’s important to establish before starting to dig into Volume 4.

Let’s start with how Ruby describes it:

Don't worry! With each hit she gets stronger, and she uses that energy to fight back! That's what makes her special.

Notice how Ruby doesn't mention anything about Yang needing to be angry to use her Semblance? In fact, while it’s unclear if this is entirely true, it has been stated previously that Yang’s powers come in part from her hair and no one has refuted that claim in like 8 years so it holds some weight.

Moreover, recent volumes have actually been hinting that Yang likely doesn't even need to use her anger to activate/maintain burn. And that she just does so out of habit more than anything.

Now, why exactly would someone intentionally limit themselves by tying their semblance into in emotion like that? Well, first let’s answer the question, why anger?

And well... anger is a secondary emotion.

A secondary emotion is an emotion fueled by other emotions... masking your feelings of sadness, hurt or grief with anger can be easier than experiencing the primary emotion.

And moreover,

The feelings that anger commonly masks include fear, anxiety, guilt, shame, embarrassment, betrayal, jealousy, sadness, hurt, and worry. (Alta Loma, Understanding Anger as a Secondary Emotion, Web, emphasis added).

Fear is, of course, a bit of a running theme in RWBY, there was a whole speech and song about it at the end of Volume 7, after all.

But more than that, there've been two people on two separate occasions who've called Yang out for being scared when she's posturing: Ren and Raven.

And while Ren was pointing out that she uses humor to try to deflect when she’s scared, when Raven said this to Yang she was absolutely outwardly angry... and Yang admits to being scared in the moment yet still standing there.

Also note that humor = friends/winning, anger = enemies/losing.

Which makes you wonder, what was happening growing up that made Yang instinctively react to fear of danger with anger and planting her feet instead of running away? For that let's go back to what we learned from Burning the Candle and the V5 short real quick.

We know there are living Grimm on Patch. Maybe not as many as elsewhere, but both times we are given glimpses into Yang and Ruby's childhood on Patch they are attacked by Grimm, which isn't a great sign.

How old do you think Yang was the first time she or Ruby had a bad day and attracted one of them on accident and she had to fight it off on her own (because she couldn't run, she had to protect Ruby)?

How many nights do you think Yang would spend reading Ruby stories and telling her dumb jokes to get her to laugh to try to make sure they weren't attacked? How often did Ruby have to force herself to be okay? For both their sake?

Volume 4

Now let's talk about Volume 4, aka: when Tai had the chance to step up and didn't.

Now right off the bat he's okay. There's nothing inherently wrong with him bringing her the arm and being excited at the thought because he doesn't know how she's going to react to it though it is a little weird he opened her mail without permission.

The rest of Yang's first V4 episode, however, makes it very clear both to us as the audience and Tai that Yang isn't doing okay... but Tai doesn't do anything to attempt to help her.

Which is why what happens in the next episode is kinda messed up.

Yang wakes up from a nightmare about losing her arm in a seriously traumatizing event and goes downstairs when she realizes there's a distraction people are over.

Then we get the fight and despite Yang laughing it off in the end... honestly Tai is being very condescending towards her, which Yang even points out. Like, someone made a slightly adult joke in front of her and he flies off the handle and starts a fight with her and starts making digs about her not being a real adult ready for the real world and let's just break that down before dealing with the actual problems in this episode.

Yang, as established, has been fulfilling the role of parent (while barely getting any parenting herself) for years. She's been fulfilling the role of an adult since she was 5! And at this point in the show she's also legally an adult. So not only is it condescending, it's also untrue.

Then we get this line.

I guess you lost some brain cells along with that arm.

Not only is this beyond callus, Yang is clearly actually upset by this.

And notably, she only treats it as a joke after Oobleck dropped his cup. AKA: after being reminded that they aren’t alone in the room.

(And remember, Yang uses humor as a coping mechanism).

And both Oobleck and Port can clearly tell that this wasn’t appropriate at all and immediately following that, they pointedly step in to ask Yang how she is doing with everything.

Which Tai has not done.

And Yang opens up to them! And she tells them that she’s still struggling and coming to terms with what happened to her. Which in turn causes Tai to finally talk to her about it, but he’s being pushy about her getting back out and “being her new normal” and even refers to her PTSD as moping when she just got done saying she’s still trying to process and recover.

And it’s again Port specifically who steps in and gives her some genuine advice without trying to push her her into anything she’s not ready for and then Oobleck joins in and they go out if their way to ham it up to make her laugh.

So overall, Tai’s being extremely dismissive of the trauma that she’s gone through and minimizing her feelings at every turn.

Which then leads to this scene...

Which is when Tai’s dismissiveness starts to make sense (and I’ll come back to this when I’m analyzing the last episode).

Let’s break it down. To start, Tai knows that Yang is going up to her room, they pointedly have her call out goodnight from upstairs so Tai knows where she is physically and what her intentions are.

Secondly, there’s no way that Tai doesn't know you can hear people talking from the front door from Yang’s room. He’s owned this house for like two decades minimum at this point.

So when Oobleck and Port ask after Ruby, there’s no way he should assume Yang won’t be able to hear everything he says. And he very much lays the burden of Ruby’s safety at Yang’s feet. He’s not going after her because he has to “look after some things.”

AKA: Yang.

And then she comes to him literally the next day wearing the new arm and wanting to train and he doesn't question her at all, even though 12 hours earlier Yang was very much not ready?

We then don’t see her at all for five episodes until we get the scene where she’s training with Tai and honestly, his advice is kinda horrible.

To start, even he says his advice is based on watching her Vytal Festival fights, meaning that everything is based on watching three matches.

He points out she uses her semblance to win every fight after the qualifiers (which is true), and Yang rightly points out that everyone uses their semblances to help them win. Then Tai says this:

Because not everyone else’s is basically a temper tantrum.

Not only is this very unlikely to be true, but even if Yang does need to rely on her anger to activate her semblance, calling it a temper tantrum isn’t accurate at all.

In fact, the way Yang uses her semblance takes a great deal of emotional regulation to pull off. She not only is able to make herself angry enough to use it at will, she’s also able to stop using it at will. Meaning Yang is capable of instantaneously switching from one emotion to another.

That’s not a temper tantrum, that’s someone with superb emotional control choosing what emotion to feel when it’s most appropriate.

Furthermore, the “what happens if you miss” comment is so ridiculous I don’t even know how to start other than saying we literally saw exactly what happens when Yang misses her first attempt in Volume 2! When her semblance is being revealed! And the answer is... she gets another shot.

And if they’re stronger... like not using the thing that makes her ridiculously powerful is certainly not going to help.

And honestly... Yang doesn’t do what Tai says. He says it’s useful in a bind but Yang doesn’t use her semblance only in emergencies from here on end. In fact, what she actually does is pick up some tricks from Pyrrha and she starts hiding her semblance from people!

And noticeably, Tai isn’t the one who tells Yang to fight smarter. That’s a line of thinking she develops on her own between the first and second times she faced Adam.

And then Tai takes credit for her “suddenly” getting better like she hadn’t successfully hit him so hard he needed to take a pause and the fight he did win was only because he attacked her when she was being vulnerable with him... her father who she’s of course not going to assume is going to attack her while she’s opening up to him... because she wouldn’t do that to Ruby.

And then we get to Yang’s last (real) episode of the volume when she’s setting out to get Ruby. Remember when I said Tai’s dismissiveness started to make sense and we’d come back to it? Well we’re back to it.

Note how Yang pointedly doesn’t tell Tai that she’s leaving, despite him having indicated to Port and Oobleck that the only reason he wasn’t also going after Ruby was because he was staying with Yang?

And how in the end he doesn’t leave with Yang to go find Ruby even though supposedly the only reason he hadn’t was because he wanted to make sure Yang was okay? And now Yang’s going after Ruby? Alone?

Paired with how pushy and condescending he was acting towards her in the other two Volume 4 episodes he was in, on top of having neglected and parentified her for at least a decade, this really reads as him wanting Yang to get better so he can shove her out the door to go after Ruby, and not him caring at all about her as a person.

(Which is why I really struggle to feel bad for him in his V8 scene... if he was so worried he could have been there).

Yang’s Actual Temper Tantrums

Let’s address these really quick before moving on to the final section. We’ve actually seen/heard of four different instances where Yang actually was having something resembling a temper tantrum while using her semblance.

I’m going to start with the Neon fight because it’s the easiest. But Neon as a character relies on knocking her opponents off balance by getting under their skin in a fight. She tries to make them angry and yes, it does work on Yang in this instance. But that’s Neon’s whole thing, in any other match up Yang would have been fine.

The other three times all had to do with her hair (namely, when Junior gets her hair in her trailer, when the ursa gets her hair in the Emerald Forest and... in V4 when Tai refers to her having a rough first haircut).

Going back to the bit about how Yang’s powers, in part, come from her hair and this actually makes a lot of sense in the context of Yang’s childhood. If she was regularly in charge of protecting Ruby and some of the finite power she did have as a kid was because of her hair, of course she gets freaked out by losing some... and we’ve already talked about Yang using anger as a mask for fear.

Bumbleby and Volume 9

So let’s talk about where we’re going now, because of all three of the abuse survivors in this show, Yang is the only one who hasn’t really been confronted with and forced to deal with it yet.

Because at the end of the day, being parentified and neglected for years has left Yang scared to open up emotionally and more than that, uncertain of her identity outside of being Ruby’s parent.

Because up to going to Beacon, that was basically Yang’s entire life. It’s entirely possible the only reason she went to Signal was to learn how to protect Ruby better all things considered.

Which is why the development between her and Blake is so important this volume. Yang desperately needs to be valued as something other a caretaker and protector and so far they’ve been emphasizing the fact that Blake loves Yang because she’s a goofy dork who makes her smile, not because she’s strong enough to level a mountain.

And while Blake’s relationship with Adam was abusive, unlike Yang, Blake does have a framework for health relationships thanks to Ghira and Kali and she’s worked through her own trauma from being abused romantically enough that she’s in a place emotionally to help Yang start working though hers. Starting by giving Yang a person she can trust not to leave who also isn’t and has never been dependent on her to muck up Yang’s healing process.

Because there’s a difference between someone choosing to stay and someone not having any other choice because they were/are dependent on you. And (absolutely no shade to Ruby here) she’s already had someone in the latter position choose to leave her anyways.

In Conclusion

Yang was abused as a child and into her late teens and is in desperate need of some type of unconditional love and affection that she doesn’t feel there are strings attached to in order to finally begin healing...

And therapy, but they’re a little low on that for the foreseeable future.

[whitebookposts]

*skitters towards your ask box autistically* do you have any teth headcanons :3

OH MY GOD I JUST REALIZED ITS BEEN A FEW WEEKS AND I STILL HAVEN'T ANSWERED THIS. I AM SO SORRY I LIVE IN SHAME EVERY SINGLE DAY.

Anyway, Teth! Our deeply beloved forest cryptid. I have to be honest, I don't have as many headcanons about her as I do about some of my other fave elders, which is a thing I should work to change because Teth is awesome. But here are some I do have for now:

CAAAAT I think my good buddy @krillking has already spoken about Teth having cat traits in his animal elder post, but yeah. While in my headcanons, the animal traits are less defined, Teth still very much has cat behavior, like her irises widening or narrowing like a cat's, and she likes to sleep in the sun (which is trouble because. Forest is 90 percent clouds and rain. Thankfully she has the yard behind her temple and the sunny forest segment, though due to the whole thing happening in the kingdom, she could visit those comfort places less and less :<) and most importantly - purring. Which she is a bit shy about, so she rarely does it. If you get to catch her purr, it means that she trusts you enough to do it next to you, though she will still be embarrassed if you mention it out loud. (Also do not leave her anywhere near fancy furniture she will try to rip it with her claws. Yes, lamed learned it the hard way.)

TRANSGENDAAAAAAAAA Idk how to explain it but Teth is just so transfem coded. Goes by both she\her and they\them. It just makes so much sense that I don't even need any proof to know that, she has told me this herself. Gotta give @dogedepan for this one though since I stole this idea from her (like many others. Can't help it Chi your headcanons are awesome)

BEEFCAKE Let's be real, TGC is a bunch of cowards for making her slim. How can you look at this woman, who is a blacksmith, and can catch a giant flying hammer with one arm like it's no big deal, and not think that they have some impressive muscle? If you draw Teth buff I am forever in your debt. PLEASE I WANT TO SEE MORE BUFF TETH ART PLEA-

BESTIE Teth and Ayin are literally fated besties, be they platonic or romantic. Even in early concept art, Ayin was described as "Teth's friend" and held the key to her realm, just showing the level of trust between them. Their realms also work with each other really well, with Ayin being the main supply for Teth's factories which is what allowed her realm to grow. I like to think of them being childhood best friends, and that they have been by each other's side through the good and the bad. Remember that headcanon about Teth enjoying sleeping in sunny places? Prairie is perfect for that, and if she decides to take a nap while visiting it is no rarity for her to choose Ayin as a bed for that (soft). I don't really see em as romantic because I already ship Teth with someone else, but as an aromantic person, it's important for me to show intimacy like that even between friendships. Ayin is always there to lend an ear to Teth, being there for her through her worst, and Teth is Ayin's "EXCUSE ME THEY ASKED FOR NO PICKLES". Although, if we go to the sadder territory, their friendship did suffer a falling out during the turbulent era of the kingdom, with Teth closing off from everyone, including Ayin, too caught in her work and darkstone production to meet the ever-growing demands, and that led to Ayin also drowning in work to keep up the light supply. That is not to mention the different world views about light creatures and how worthy they are of preservation.

CRYBABY I just like to think that despite appearing cold and serious, Teth is a very gentle soul underneath the hard facade she forced herself to create due to her position. But if you get to know her you will find a very soft, shy, and caring heart that makes it easy for her eyes to water, be it a happy or sad occasion, even if she is trying to hide it. She is also a pretty big introvert and starts getting nervous during events with big crowds, esp if they have to do a speech as an elder or something. This gentleness and softness hidden behind a cold surface is one of the things that attracted Priestess to her, which leads me to the next point:

LESBIANNNNNN You may know this already but I'm a big PriesTeth truther, which is the ship between Priestess (the original elder of the Valley from concept art, never made it to the final game but there is a pretty popular fanon that she is the mother of the twins) and Teth. Again, I was enlightened about this ship thanks to @dogedepan she is literally the CEO of this ship god bless. I know it's a bit silly to ship her with an elder who never even made it to canon, but I fell in love with the dynamic of the "serious and cold at first glance but soft and gentle on the inside x extroverted, energetic and mischievous but deeply caring and kind" that exists between them. Priestess was Teth's firework, the bright and colorful in the grey and cold of her life. Never had the elder of the Forest loved someone like she did this bright, giggly, and open girl who managed to always make Teth smile. And it hurt all the more when Priestess was lost. After the death of her partner, Teth closed off completely, lost in her work, just to not feel the pain because the grief was overwhelming. She couldn't make herself go to her backyard anymore, because it was the connection between Valley and her forest and where the two met most of the time, being there was just too painful. Some ancestors say that the rain became much more frequent after this loss.

Milf As I ship priesteth, I also headcanon that Teth is the other parent of Sah and Mekh. Unfortunately, their relationship is very rocky. Priestess died when the two were very young, and due to Teth being too lost in her grief, she simply couldn't care for them, causing the two to be raised by other elders (mainly Tsadi, who is their uncle) and kicked around from temple to temple until they were old enough to live on their own. This caused feelings of betrayal and neglect in the two, and it came to the point that they rarely acknowledged Teth as their other parent anymore. And she feels too guilty before them to try and get them back because she believes she deserves this for her mistakes. But perhaps not everything is lost, and some of this relationship can be salvaged if she finally gets brave enough to reach out.

WORSTIE She and Tsadi have a beef. That's it that's the headcanon. It's not anything serious, it's literally a "cat and dog" type of beef, the two can't even tell when it started, it's just that both will use any opportunity to roast each other. Why do I have this headcanon? Because it's funny.

INSANE SITUATIONSHIP Let's just say that the situationship between Teth and Nesting guide still left the latter one staring at her pictures every day for hours.

Hobbies Other than being a blacksmith, Teth enjoys all types of crafts, like sculpting from clay or woodworking. Girlie doesn't need any IKEA, she can make all the furniture herself (I mean, the Nesting guide had to learn this from someone)

Anddddd.... That's all for now! There's probably more headcanons but I can't remember them all rn. I hope these were written good enough and sorry for any grammar mistakes! AND SORRY FOR MAKING YOU WAIT SO LONG I PROMISE I DIDN'T IGNORE YOU DJHGDJGDJ Teth is best forest mama, and I really should put more thought into her, thank you for sending me this ask so i can brainstorm about this gal.

[duckiemimi]

cant wait for u to read yuuji’s chapter :( kind of made me tear up

i almost cried. this is probably my favorite chapter in jjk hands down. five year old yuuji played with slime in sandboxes, collected grasshoppers in meadows, and was in awe of how big horse heads are and he still is. tranquility and nostalgia permeate every panel. the domain's default location was an empty train station in what is now virtually a ghost town with lingering warmth. yuuji's domain isn't flashy or conceptually complex; it's his old town, it's his childhood home, it's what he believes defines his humanity. despite how serene and quiet it is, it's raw. unapologetically raw, just like how yuuji is.

right after showing sukuna around the soft underbelly of his memories, they finally sit to have the most anticipated talk of the series—the one about their clash of ideologies. one on one, face to face. i've slightly touched on the ambiguity of "good" and "bad," and how to frame it from a reader's perspective (click), and now we can finally use yuuji's monologue and sukuna's response as definitive anchors for a spectrum of beliefs, the fine yet strong line between protagonist and antagonist.

i loved yuuji's monologue. so much. so so much.

despite the bleakness of shinjuku showdown, the narrative leans towards a humanistic perspective and it seems we may be ending on that note, no matter how rushed it may come to be. i loved chapter 265. one of gege's best works, i'd say. pure magic.

[ultfreakme]

Jay, Jon, and Anger: Meta on emotional expression and how it's defined by who you are.

Had a really fun discussion on the Supertruth server about JayJon, Superfam, and their relationship with anger. So kind of summarizing it all here.

If you've noticed during SOKE(and pretty much every Jon appearance during/after the SOKE era), Jon is rarely afraid to show his vulnerabilities. He cries, he seeks comfort, and he is kind of bad at hiding his fear and sadness. Meanwhile, Jay is rarely emotional. You can count on one hand how many times Jay has shown emotional vulnerability.

But what Jon has refused to show, and what Jay often shows with an amount of honesty, is anger. As my friend @bonitacita said; they're two side of the same coin, hiding the things the other shows.

Jon Kent: Anger is inhumanity

Jon rarely lets himself feel anger. He gets impulsive, he gets close to it, but he never lets it linger. He doesn't even allow himself to be fully angry with his internal thoughts, always attaching caveats and forcing himself to slow down.

This is because Jon, first and foremost, is afraid of his powers and what he is. This has existed during his childhood and follows him till now, his fear and confusion about what he is and his place in the universe is what prompted him to take the trip with Jor-El. You can see the panic he feels when he's out of control in SOKE, and the tight leash he has on his powers. Jon's specialty isn't just lightning, it's precision. It's always been the strength he earned and honed for himself.

Jon's fear of himself stems from former experience, where he has been seen as a threat, a weapon, or just an abomination by others (Damian, Savior Tim, Manchester Black, Eradicator). Kryptonians are powerful, they can flip the world if they want to, but Jon is emphasized as a worse threat than the others because of his half-human and half-kryptonian biology. Even among the Kryptonians, he's a bit of a freak. His powers are potentially greater than Clark's and he has been constantly told he is going to blow one day, or he will be used by others like a weapon if he isn't careful enough(Manchester Black, and now Waller).

Jon inspires fear by merely existing. It was a thing he had to tackle with constantly in SOKE, framed as dangerous and a rogue agent. This perception only gets worse with things like the Blue Earth movement. It's been hammered into him over and over again that he is 1) extremely powerful 2) dangerous 3)capable of inspiring great fear.

Hell he's even seen a future where he loses control and just blows up Metropolis.

Jon has also witnessed first-hand, painfully, what an angry 'Superman' can make people feel because most of his formative years was ruled by this guy:

He also saw injustice!Clark, who let his personal emotions guide the way he did his superman-work and it led to INJUSTICE.

Anger= BAD. He suppresses his anger so much, it manifests as another freaking power. Right after these panels, Jon says "I feel it raging inside me, feel it taking hold, something I've been holding back"- And THIS is when the lightning comes out and he shouts out against Ultraman. This is Jon's biggest show of his rage (so far).

But in most instances, he pushes it down, that's his norm. He lets himself show his vulnerabilities because there is no danger attached to sadness or fear the way it is for anger. Tears are allowed because it's not going to make anyone fear him and he is given freedom to express there. But anger? Anger, he must control as tightly as his powers, no matter the cost because he cannot, and will not be the monster people keep wanting for him to be.

Jay Nakamura: Anger is power

Jay has never shown his emotions in a completely open manner. He always wears a mask to hide his vulnerabilities, using witty quips and sarcasm to get by. But most of all, he is angry. It's this silent, persistent anger he wields through the aforementioned sarcasm and dry humor.

He's jaded. Gamorra is a country that's been colonized for a large part of its history and he is one teenager against an international dictator and now, the US government. He comes off as a little callous, rude. His reporting on Bendix is often very pointed and sharp. He didn't really find a need to hope, the Superman brand of it, until Jon.

Jay is angry, but unlike Jon, his anger means nothing to others.

He doesn't have the power to take on his oppressors on his own, and he is very aware of this. Jay's plights, and the plights of his people, are simply not taken seriously on their own because without the power to back it up, Jay's rage cannot impact them.

This also becomes important because Jay's powers are honestly nothing to scoff at. He IS powerful in a way, he can stand his grounds against a kryptonian if he tried. But he is also a Gamorran, a guy from a country that's been exploited and controlled. Due to his identity as a Gamorran citizen, he will be looked down upon, questioned, labelled 'terrorist'. The world is primed to look down on him because of colonization, so the lack of acknowledgement of his struggles, his emotions and the power his anger can hold against people like Bendix and Waller, makes people dismiss Jay as a threat.

Jay does not have the inhibitions Jon does wrt power.

He's willing to get his hands a little dirty(he never admitted to exactly what he did with The Revolutionaries, but it was 100% shady, and he does not plan on apologizing for it). His anger is seen most prominently in SOKE when he's talking to Jon here:

This is one of the few times we see Jay's cool smirk change into genuine emotion, into anger. Unlike Jon, he lets it be and uses it as a tool in creating The Truth. He uses it to convince Jon and also point out that Jon's overstepping Gamorrans by taking charge on a struggle that wasn't his to take control on.

Additionally, Jay has NEVER shed a single goddamn tear on-page. Jon has cried like 5 times but Jay? Nope. This is because while anger isn't even acknowledged when it comes from the oppressed speaking out against their mistreatment and discrimination, sadness and tears and showcase of vulnerability is an immediate weakness. It's something to exploit.

Jay's already the underdog, he cannot afford to be weak. He can't have vulnerabilities because if he dares show them, it will be used against him. Bendix did this by using Sara, now Waller is doing it again by killing Sara and threatening Jon to get Jay(and vice versa tbh). Anything other than cool stoicism and control is an opening for others to attack.

He'll allow for people to think of him as a threat, an asshole perhaps, a snarky bastard, because at least there is power in being seen as dangerous. The funniest part is people like Bendix or Luthor dismiss Jay's anger- Bendix didn't even realize his regime was being toppled by Jay until the final few issues. His anger IS powerful all on its own, but unacknowledged until a person with privilege like Jon comes in(he's white, he's Superman's son, he's considered an American citizen). Jay set up all the dominoes, Jon just gave a push.

The meaning of anger

Anger means different things for different people. For Jon it is decidedly bad, for Jay it is helpful, and the meaning of it is defined, in the end, by who you are and what you choose to do with it.

We can see why Jon and Jay use it in the ways they do over here, kinda succinctly summarized by Clark and Lobo:

Clark has been raised to see anger as an ineffective form of expressing anything. He doesn't manage it, or deal with it. He pushes it down the way Jon does. It simmers on the surface for Clark, but he does not feel anything positive about experiencing it. Meanwhile Lobo, a Czarnian who lbr, has been treated poorly because he is Czarnian, says anger is something you should face. It's two people, without their worlds, discussing what anger means to them. One who has belonging, who fits into the perfect model of human privilege and currently has a proper support system and community. The other, a solo rider in space who looks and acts in ways considered crass, who does not have the support that Clark does.

It's considered irrational if you express anything with screaming and anger. Any argument you put forth is dismissed because anger from the marginalized like POC, the queer community, etc., is seen as 'tantrums'. These emotions are not considered valid. But when anger comes from a place of power and privilege, it is taken seriously. Which is why people like Clark and Jon think of anger as a bad thing, while it comes from a need to control their power, it is also a matter of privilege. Their distress is taken seriously.

Meanwhile Jay was raging and shouting to the world for YEARS, but Bendix took notice only when Jon angrily barged into his office. Jay's genuine distress was not taken seriously because he isn't privileged enough, He has to present Gamorra's situation with an objective calm. Hell even he does so, even if he does everything to climb into some level of power, he gets dismissed the second his identity is seen

To conclude:

For Jon, anger is what's going to make people see him as a monster. The world watches him with anticipation, always a little scared he's gonna lose control. He will suppress it, come what may.

For Jay, anger is one of the few things keeping him going. It means nothing to the people who look down on him, so who the fuck cares if he feels it? He'll use it.