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roccoparondi · 1 year ago

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Give Me Shelter, The Night Is Dark (Vampire!Michael Corleone x Reader)

Summary: Local superstition and a reclusive man offer you refuge when your parents grievously misstep in Sicily, putting your life in danger in more ways than one.

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. This incredibly self-indulgent gothic romance-esque idea came to me while I was half-asleep, and the time period is intentionally vague, but it’s not a modern setting (here's a little aesthetic tag for this fic). Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: Major canon divergence. Canon-typical violence. Emotional manipulation. Vampirism, including non-consensual blood drinking and compulsion (in the context of it being an ability vampires possess and can use on humans). Sexually explicit content involving elements of bloodplay. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

You couldn’t remember what had brought your family to the village of Corleone, only that your father had promised you and your mother an extravagant Sicilian vacation. Three days of beachside paradise in Mondello, eating fresh seafood cooked to perfection and entertaining the antics of handsome men with scars that stood out like bolts of lightning against their tanned skin were hardly enough to sate your voracious appetite for the weeks of bliss you were promised.

Despite your attempts at bargaining to stay in Palermo on your own, your mother refused, insisting she’d be better off throwing you into shark-infested waters than alone with the men who came calling to your hotel. Some days of travel through the breathtaking Sicilian countryside later, you and your parents arrived in Corleone, a village that appeared all but frozen in time, as if decades had passed it by with no one any the wiser.

To your dismay, you found the selection of eligible men to spend your time with far more limited than in Palermo. The working young men were too tired from their labor in the fields or their trades to engage in foolish antics with a vacationing foreigner. The rest were mafiosi, as you gathered from the veiled comments and numerous euphemisms the older villagers used.

These elderly became your companions during your stay in Corleone, talking wildly with their weathered hands over coffee or wine. Filomena, a woman of nearly eighty years and fluent in English, lived in the house next to the one your family was renting. Her husband Gianni only left the house if absolutely necessary, and she considered him a burdensome hermit. Each morning, she fetched you to accompany her into town. Some days, you’d do little else than sit outside of a cafe on the sleepy main street, eating and drinking and gossiping.

Your Sicilian improved immensely in the near month you kept up with their chatter. Those women always had their ears to the ground, as far as knowing more about your father’s business in Corleone than you did. The vacation he promised you was little more than a gesture of confidence toward Don Manusco, a man notoriously difficult to meet directly with. That your father achieved this naturally generated interest in the village, as no one knew of him. When pressed for more information about your own family’s line of work, you answered what you knew, that your father invested, mostly in stocks, but occasionally in new business ventures.

You were privy to little else, much to the disappointment of your companions, who moved onto other topics of discussion. One woman’s son sought work in Milan and within three months of getting hired at a factory, married a Northerner, much to her displeasure. In contrast, Filomena’s daughter was cloistered elsewhere in the countryside, preparing to take her vows and become a nun.

Their superstitions, however, intrigued you most of all. A curse and blessing existed for nearly every conceivable situation. The most striking tale they spun regarded an abandoned villa about a mile past the rental house. Foreboding and hostile, its faded facade peeking out from thorny vines, it was once the envy of the village. At one point in time, though no one could agree quite when, the Don of another family lived there. He took in a strange young man, reclusive yet polite, wandering the countryside with two armed shepherds as bodyguards. He married a local girl, but the marriage ended tragically soon after the wedding. In a sudden blaze of fire and betrayal, she was killed. The strange man vanished not long after, and anyone associated with the villa—including the old Don Tomassino—were soon found dead or had disappeared altogether. Thus, no one dared approach it for fear of the curse surely cast upon the place.

Some of the gruesome murders in the vicinity of the villa could have been attributed to the tradition of violence Don Manusco carried on following Don Tomassino’s death. It didn’t explain the livestock dying of unusual causes, an older woman interjected. Even the land surrounding it was cursed, and the local shepherds knew better than to let their flocks graze nearby, explaining the abnormally tall grass and overgrown foliage that surrounded the villa.

Yet another woman claimed to have seen a demon or ghost in the form of a man wandering the villa’s grounds at night. Of course, she didn’t get close enough to take a good look, instead uttering Hail Marys as she ran into the local church to take refuge until her husband found her some time later.

Your mind drifted to the villa sometimes, this forbidden and mysterious monument to grief and superstition that seemed to cast a longer shadow over the village than the mafiosos who ran it. Like Don Manusco, who your parents were joining for dinner one evening, and Filomena insisted you join her and Gianni instead of eating alone.

The scent of stewing summer tomatoes with garlic and mouth-watering spices invited you inside the house, its windows open for hopes of cool breezes moving through. Gianni offered you wine and a simple antipasto spread of cheese and oranges to snack on while Filomena cooked dinner. Despite his reclusiveness, he somehow knew that your father’s dinner with Don Manusco involved more business than a friendly visit, the final chance for your father to seal what he hoped would be a lucrative deal with the mafia boss.

Two hours later, you sat across from Filomena at the small wooden table in their kitchen, filling your plate with the delicious meal she prepared. You ate silence while Filomena spoke, bickering with Gianni every now and then. As the sun set over Corleone, unease crept over you, though you chose to attribute it to the heat of the day and eating too quickly.

Until a commotion erupted up the street, almost deafening as it approached, finally arriving outside of Filomena’s house. Frantic Sicilian shouting mingled with rapid pounding on the front door startled you into dropping your fork. Filomena and Gianni shared a worried glance before both getting up from the table to answer.

Wailing.

Screaming.

Arguing.

All you found yourself able to do was sit in confused silence. When they returned to the kitchen with a few other locals, panic truly set in.

“You have to leave!” Filomena cried, pulling you out of your seat by your arm.

“What’s going on?” you asked.

“Your father’s a fool–”

Gianni shook his head. “A dead fool–”

“Your father should have never brought you here if he were going to try to cheat Don Manusco!” an older woman said.

Another cursed. “Selfish bastard!”

“Go! As far from here as you can!” Filomena implored.

A hard push toward the back door was the extent of the help you’d receive from the villagers of Corleone.

Blood pounded in your ears, your heart beating in time with your feet against the uneven dirt path that nearly tripped you up in your desperate rush to the rental home. You opened the door, scrambling upstairs in a frantic half-crawl to reach your room.

You shoved clothes and essentials into a bag, hardly paying attention to what exactly you were packing, just knowing you couldn’t flee empty-handed and hope to rely on the goodwill of strangers.

In the kitchen, you grabbed what you could from the pantry and shoved everything into a wicker basket. With just that and your suitcase in hand, you clumsily ran across the uneven countryside roads, hoping to find somewhere to take shelter for the night. Every rustle of leaves and animal cry sent chills across your skin. Just when you felt hopeless for a place to hide, you saw the abandoned villa's high walls, overgrown with vines and bramble in the distance. Superstition be damned, it was better than dying at the hands of a mafioso.

The iron gate was closed, but not locked. You held your breath as you opened it, sending out silent thanks to the universe that it didn’t release some otherworldly screech and announce your presence. Hardly visible in the dead of night, the villa peeked out from beneath the plants that had overtaken it. Even from a distance, it appeared as if the building were hollowed out somehow. It remained your best bet.

Superstition offered you refuge, as masculine voices drifted above the villa’s high walls, the structure still sturdy despite the general state of disrepair.

“Should we go in?”

“You sound as much of a fool as that old man. That place is cursed. Even if she were in there, she'd be dead anyway.”

Their heavy, rushed footsteps against the rocky terrain fell silent after a few moments. You sighed in relief, allowing yourself to relax just the slightest bit. Until you glanced back at the villa again, a new sense of dread making your stomach turn at the prospect of having to go inside the place. While you didn’t believe all of the rumors you’d been told over the previous few weeks, being in its presence unsettled you.

Then again, feeling unsettled in an abandoned villa was preferable to whatever would happen if Don Manusco’s men got his hands on you.

After a moment of hesitation, you approached the shadowy building, hoping your luck wouldn’t run out when you got inside.

To your surprise, the interior wasn’t as poorly maintained as the exterior. The furniture betrayed the wealth of whoever lived there previously, though they’d seen better days. Dark wood scuffed or splintered. Dull fabrics that must have been rich violets or crimson upon their initial purchase.

You walked into the living room, freezing upon seeing lit candles around. Someone was living there after all.

“Hello? Is anyone–” you gasped upon seeing a man standing on the other side of the living room, partially obscured by shadows.

Even in the cover of darkness, his features rendered you speechless as he approached. Handsome seemed too pedestrian of a word to describe him. His raven hair fell across his forehead with a deceptive boyishness. Brown eyes, almost black as the night itself bore into your own. His skin wasn’t nearly as tan as the villagers you’d met, but you supposed someone who lived in such a place was wealthy enough to not have to partake in the grueling manual labor typical of the area, the strong Sicilian sun giving its residents a healthy glow which he lacked.

“What are you doing here?” he asked quietly.

“The men who were outside before—I think they’re going to kill me,” you said, panic overtaking your senses as his face remained unmoved by your explanation. “Please, I didn’t know anyone lived here.”

“Why do they want to kill you?”

“I think my father tried to cheat Don Manusco. I don’t know all of the details, but if they don’t want to kill me, then they’ll probably—“ Your voice caught in your throat.

“You can stay.”

“I’ll leave tomorrow and find a way to get back to Palermo.”

He shook his head. “You have a vendetta out against you now. Getting back to Palermo so soon will be nearly impossible, especially if Manusco has allies there.” He watched in unreadable silence as hopelessness ate away at your resolve. “You can stay,” he finally repeated. “Don’t leave the villa. Not during the day, and especially not at night. You’ll be safe.”

“Thank you. I owe you my life.” You offered him your name, as a courtesy and as collateral. More valuable than anything else you carried with you, he could use it to betray you for his own gain whenever he wished. You prayed it wouldn’t come to that.

“Michael Corleone,” he said.

“Like the village.”

He smiled the slightest bit, his dark eyes shining an almost betraying crimson in the moonlight. Ethereal. That was the right word for him. “Yes, like the village.”

Your host led you upstairs, helping you with your meager belongings despite your insistence you could handle your small suitcase and a basket of food, which you left on the console table in the foyer. The villa had certainly seen better days, its plaster walls cracked, crumbling in some places. You would’ve used caution going up the stairs if Michael hadn’t been so confident as he ascended them.

He paused at the top of the stairs, glancing at each of the doors along the hallway. After a few moments, he seemed to settle on one, leading you to a dark bedroom, full of odd shadows that made you pause. It seemed otherwise better taken care of than the rest of the villa you’d seen up to that point.

“It’s just me here. I’m afraid I’m not the best homemaker,” he half-joked in response to your hesitation to enter the room.

“No, I’m sorry. It’s nice. I can’t thank you enough, Michael.”

He nodded. “I have insomnia, so you’ll see more of me at night than during the day. The cellar stays locked, but you can have the run of the place otherwise.”

You bid each other good night.

When he shut the bedroom door behind you, you collapsed onto the bed and cried into your pillow, both from heartbreak and exhaustion, until you fell asleep.

The following morning, you awoke to fresh bug bites on your arm–inflamed and itchy, though perfectly in line with each other, oddly enough. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and you supposed you’d rather deal with mosquito bites than whatever Don Manusco and his soldiers had in mind for you.

True to his word, Michael was nowhere to be found when you went downstairs to eat a breakfast of bread and hard salami. Again, not ideal, but you’d make do with what you brought with you. For the rest of the day, you explored the villa, acquainting yourself with your new albeit temporary home.

You found yourself with little to do to pass the time. Venturing out onto the surrounding grounds of the villa was hardly an option, most of it so overgrown you couldn’t take a proper walk. There were a few books in the house, but often you found your mind drifting to your parents, what their fate looked like and what could await you if Don Manusco found out where you were hiding. By the time you’d finally see Michael around in the evenings, you’d force yourself to stay up as long as you could to be in his company. Soon, your schedule nearly matched his nocturnal one.

Over the following weeks, you got to know Michael. At times, you couldn’t help but stare at him, but sometimes it felt as though you couldn’t do much else if you tried. He was a gracious host for how you imposed on him, showing concern for the bug bites you tried to hide from him. A good thing he noticed, as he brought you a cup of tea, a deep maroon color that he explained was a natural remedy from the village for the discomfort you were experiencing. A common occurrence that you’d been fortunate enough to avoid since arriving in Corleone.

“You’re not from around here either,” you said one night. “I can tell from your accent.”

“I’m from New York, but my father was born here,” he explained. “My last name is a mistake from when he immigrated.”

“Do you miss it?”

He was silent for some time, lost in thought before answering with a soft, “Terribly.”

“But you can’t go back.”

“No, I’m very sick. I wouldn’t survive the trip.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, your curiosity getting the better of you when you asked, “What do you have?”

“What I have is incredibly rare, there’s no word for it. Sunlight puts me in excruciating pain, and my appetite is abnormal.”

“How long have you been sick for?”

“Years. More than you’d believe.”

“You know, everyone in the village thinks this place is cursed. If you just talked to them, then they’d understand what was going on and maybe be able to help.”

“I can’t be around people. It’s not safe for them.”

“I don’t understand,” you said. “Are you contagious?”

He hesitated. “Not how you’d think.”

“No matter what you have, it’s not good to be alone,” you argued.

“You’re here now.”

“Only until it’s safe for me to go to Palermo and leave Sicily.”

He shook his head. “You won’t be able to leave. Not when a man like Don Manusco has a vendetta out against you,” he said, his intense gaze boring into you. Your chest grew tighter as he spoke. “This villa is the only place you’ll ever be safe.”

“Michael, you’re scaring me.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just know what he did to your parents…he and men like him have done to many others on this island, too.” Your silence perturbed him. He grabbed your shoulders, squeezing them gently, though his eyes seemed to blaze with fury. “I’m keeping you safe here, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice nearly catching in your throat.

“Then what’s there to be afraid of?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s right, as long as you stay here.”

“I can’t stay forever.”

He hummed dismissively, not bothering to acknowledge your statement. You soon excused yourself to go to sleep, a sudden uneasiness settling in your stomach.

You awoke late into the afternoon the following day, judging by the amber sunlight that streamed through the broken shutters. Still, your limbs felt heavy, and your head pounded as if you’d hardly slept at all. A quick glance at your arm revealed twin bug bites on your wrist again, this time darker than the previous ones, leaving your skin tender to the touch.

Dizziness turned the room over when you sat up from the bed, and you nearly considered going back to sleep, if it weren’t for the hunger that ached in your bones.

You ventured down into the kitchen, relieved to find a pot of tea sitting out. You didn’t even bother reheating it, though the consistency was odd, thicker in its room temperature state. The texture didn’t deter you, as the more you drank, the better you felt, your dizziness and aches gone as the tea overflowed from the corners of your mouth and dripped down your chin, insatiable until there was nothing left. Wiping off your face, you went back up to your room and fell back asleep.

A knock on the door woke you up in the pitch black some hours later. You lit the candle on your bedside table before getting up to answer. You knew it was Michael, concerned about why you hadn’t joined him yet.

Just as you got up to answer, he opened the door, letting himself into your room–except it wasn’t your room. It was his, and you supposed he could enter whenever he wanted.

Frozen in place by his gaze alone, you stood still and silent as he approached, demeanor darker and more intense as his presence filled the room, as if his essence somehow intermixed with each breath you took. A citrusy sweetness with a bloodcurdling undercurrent of violence filled your lungs. Despite this, you felt no fear, but rather anticipation when he finally reached out and caressed your cheek, his hand freezing against your warm skin.

“Michael,” you whispered.

“Don’t fight me, sweetheart.”

And you couldn’t. Not even if you tried. His eyes took in your face with a softness that betrayed his fondness for you. His lips pressed against yours, a chaste kiss to start, but it proved to be insufficient for him, as he claimed your mouth with the fervor of a man long starved for affection. His desire for you tangible as you kissed him back, allowing his hands to roam your body above your nightgown until his fingers brushed your thighs, pushing the hem up to your hips.

He laid you back on the bed, ridding you of your panties and slipping his fingers between your folds. “Tell me how it feels,” he said, his lips against your skin. “Tell me everything.”

Before then, you would have died rather than admit it to him, but at his urging, the dam broke. Of course your thoughts of him weren’t always innocent. Some nights, when you were sure he was elsewhere, you touched yourself to the thought of him. The confession slipped from your mouth so quickly that shame couldn’t catch you, not when Michael pushed his fingers inside you, the heel of his palm rubbing against your clit, denying you any sensation but absolute pleasure.

“I’ve wanted you since I first saw you,” he whispered, pressing desperate kisses into your neck. “You have no idea how hard it’s been for me not to–”

Your whine interrupted his train of thought, and a knife-sharp pain jolted through you when he sunk his teeth into your throat, breaking the fragile skin. His fingers curled inside you, a moan clawing its way out of you as you came, ecstasy pulsing through your limbs in waves that threatened to drown you in it. Spots clouded your vision and breath evaded you, the poignant scent of copper mixed with your sex made your head spin.

“Michael, I–” You passed out, though you awoke later, curled up next to him, your body sore and more fatigued than ever. You winced when you tried to move your head, a dull ache coming from your neck. “What did you do?” you mumbled.

“Sweetheart?”

“To my neck.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, petting your hair. “I got carried away. I haven’t felt this way in a long time.”

“Me either,” you admitted.

He smiled, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. From then on, he was ravenous, and like a woman possessed, you gave in to him every time. Nights with him blurred together as thoughts of escaping Sicily and the danger that waited for you outside of the villa walls were almost nonexistent.

Some time later, though you’d largely stopped keeping track of the days by then, you realized your food supply was running low. Michael would go out at night and get some for you if you asked, though he never revealed where exactly he went. Still unsure of your safety from Don Manusco, you figured the farm up the road would be a good place to swipe some fruit from the orchard and anything else they might have lying around and not exactly miss.

The sun felt especially harsh when you went outside. Each step brought about unimaginable fatigue that made your bones ache. You hardly made it halfway to the farm before you had to rest beneath a large tree’s shade to rest your tired limbs and eyes.

“Excuse me, miss? Are you okay?”

You jolted awake, surrounded by a handful of elderly villagers from around the countryside. You recognized at least one of the older women as one of your old cafe companions in Corleone.

“I’m fine.”

The woman in question squinted at you. “Where do I know you from?”

“We’ve never met before,” you said, voice tight with panic. “I have to go. Goodbye.” You forced yourself up, using what little strength you had to return to the villa, ignoring their calls for you to wait. Exhaustion swept over you by the time you made it inside, promptly collapsing in the foyer. They had recognized you, and surely they had seen you retreat into the villa and were on their way to let Don Manusco know of your whereabouts. They’d be foolish not to with the price on your head.

Michael was nowhere to be found, and you worried that by the time you finally saw him that night, it’d be too late to tell him what transpired. Tears rolled down your cheeks as fear and guilt crept up on you. Your carelessness had put Michael in danger, too.

With no way of knowing how long it’d be until word got back to Manusco, you considered the layout of the villa, which you knew like the back of your hand, and the best place to hide if he or his men intruded in search of you.

In hindsight, the kitchen cupboard was a more obvious choice for a hiding spot, but it was the most your fatigued brain could come up with while you were panicked.

Your instincts had been right, though. The inevitable intrusion did come.

The voices that echoed through the foyer were the same ones from the night you first arrived in the villa. You kept a hand over your mouth, the other with an iron grip around the kitchen knife.

“Come on, Don Manusco isn’t angry with you. He just wants to talk,” one of the men called out.

“It’s a misunderstanding,” the other added. “He knows you didn’t have anything to do with your father’s schemes.”

You couldn’t take a chance on whether or not they were telling the truth.

Footsteps approached, growing louder with each passing second. You readied yourself for attack, until you heard a blood-curdling scream rip through the night and you dropped the knife in shock.

With all of the foolishness of your father, you opened the cupboard door. Blood pooled around the man’s head, a look of terror etched into his face, betraying his final thoughts. Your gaze lifted, and you stumbled backward, unable to comprehend the gruesome sight before you. If you hadn’t been watching Michael with your own eyes, you would have assumed an animal attack was responsible for the carnage at your feet. What more, after the initial shock wore off, an almost physical pull drew you to the spilled blood.

The villagers had been right. It wasn’t mere superstition, but reality, one more horrific than any of them could have fathomed. The unexplained murders, the livestock deaths, all by his hand. His illness a fabrication to conceal the true nature of his being, something unnatural that existed in the worlds between life and death with a hunger to match. He’d been feeding from you for weeks, allowing you to carry on believing lies. Of course you felt awful, constantly fatigued. You could only hazard a guess as to what was really in the tea you’d been drinking like a fiend.

You wished you could scream at yourself for your naivete, as if he’d help you out of the kindness of his heart and not expect something in return. Your willful ignorance of his odd behavior in exchange for refuge in the one place where you’d be safe from who you thought were the only men who wanted to harm you. But he saved you from Don Manusco and his men. He kept you alive. He could gain little from drawing out your death for so long. Unless…your eyes widened, and you looked at him in horror.

Michael spoke your name softly. “Do you understand now?”

“You–You’ve been making me like you.”

“I should have done it sooner. It’s the best way to keep you safe.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Would you have believed me?”

“I guess not.”

He cupped your face in his hands, “Things won’t be that different. We’ll be together. No one will be able to hurt you.”

“How–How much longer until I’m–”

“As soon as tonight, if you’ll let me.” Sensing your hesitation, he pressed a bloody kiss to your forehead. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you whispered, overwhelmed by the urge to trust him, to commit to an eternity of all-consuming, reclusive violence with him. “I want to be with you. I want to be like you.”

His hands drifted down to your neck, his fingers digging into your pulse as he leaned in, his teeth grazing the half-healed wound he’d inflicted all those nights before. “I knew you’d make the right choice.”

#the godfather #michael corleone #michael corleone x reader #the godfather x reader #michael corleone imagine #michael corleone fanfic #the godfather imagine #the godfather fanfic

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sucker4mafia · 8 months ago

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━━━ 'CHAPTER FIVE' [ETERNAL NIGHT]

SYNOPSIS ➢ everytime sunghoon uses his courage, he wont ever go out of his comfort zone for another century. according to his two friends, that is.

PAIRING ➢ poly!enhypen x male!reader, sim jaehyun x male! reader, park sunghoon x male!reader, yang jungwon x male!reader

AU ➢ strangers-to-lovers au! x enemies-to-lovers au! x vampire au!

CONTENT WARNING ➢ this chapter contains; some angst, mentions of sex, making-out, sensual sprinkles, mentions of blood-drinking, mentions of gore, blood, cannibalism [let me know if i missed any!]

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it was the next night, jaeyun fidgeted in his seat, his leg bouncing anxiously as he struggled to focus on the lesson. the teacher's words blurred together, his mind drifting to you. yesterday's events replayed in his mind – your fragile form, jungwon's unexpected gentleness, and the unsettling feeling that lingered.

"has anyone seen seungmin?" the teacher asked, scanning the room. the class fell silent. jaeyun's gaze wandered to the empty desk, seungmin's name etched on the plaque. a half-blood student, seungmin's absences had become frequent. rumors swirled, but jaeyun knew little about the boy.

his thoughts shifted back to you, concern gnawing at him. how were you faring after the ordeal? jungwon's words echoed in his mind: "you're weaker than us." yet, jaeyun saw strength in your vulnerability. the teacher's voice pulled him back to reality. "if anyone hears from seungmin, please let me know."

jaeyun's gaze drifted out the window, his mind wandering back to the black dahlias. those flowers had been a recurring topic, a fascination bordering on obsession for you. he recalled the day he took them, his intention not to hurt but to protect. the sigiled red ribbon, a subtle detail, revealed a darker truth.

the black dahlias, infused with an ancient potion, were designed to manipulate half-bloods. the pure-bloods' cunning trickery – using love as a tool for control. jaeyun's grip on his pencil tightened. he'd saved you from potential heartache, but at what cost? your trust, already fragile, now teetered on the brink. "jaeyun, pay attention," the teacher whispered, nodding toward the chalkboard. jaeyun's focus snapped back, but his thoughts lingered.

jaeyun's mind raced, driven by a growing sense of urgency. he had to uncover the truth behind the black dahlias. who had given them to you, and more importantly, why you?

a few hours later jaeyun strode down the hallway, his long legs devouring the distance. he bypassed clusters of students, his focus fixed on reaching his dorm. as he climbed the stairs, pure-bloods called out, waving and attempting to ensnare his attention. their flirtatious smiles and playful touches didn't deter jaeyun.

"hey, jaeyun, want to study together?" one asked, batting eyelashes.

"maybe later, i have stuff to take care of," jaeyun replied, his polite smile masking his impatience. he swiftly opened his dorm door, shutting it behind him with a soft click. the lock engaged, and he released a sigh of relief. alone at last. jaeyun leaned against the door, collecting his thoughts.

"class finished?" a deep, soft voice drifted through the room, prompting jaeyun to turn. he found sunghoon lounging on the window sill, bathed in the gentle moonlight streaming through the panes. sunghoon's relaxed posture and tranquil expression offered a calming contrast to jaeyun's turbulent thoughts.

"yeah, finally," jaeyun replied, shedding his tension as he approached his friend. jaeyun dropped his bag onto his desk, the thud breaking the silence. "hey, do you know where jungwon is?" he asked, his eyes locked on sunghoon.

sunghoon's gaze remained fixed on the moon, his expression serene. he slowly shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “haven't seen him since early night."

"i'm gonna find out how the flowers are being brought into the school, in the first place," jaeyun muttered to himself, fingers flying across his phone's screen. he sent a text to jungwon, arranging to meet outside by the fountain after his lecture. “if we dont come back with any type of evidence for my father, we’ll for sure be pulled out of here.” he muttered to himsef, worried.

glancing up, jaeyun expected sunghoon's response, but his friend remained lost in thought, staring at the moon. a peculiar expression clouded sunghoon's eyes, his gaze distant. "look, come with me," jaeyun coaxed, flashing a charming smile as he approached sunghoon. "i need all the help i can get, anyways.”

sunghoon turned, his eyes avoiding jaeyun's. his solemn expression sent a shiver down jaeyun's spine.

"don't worry so much. you’ve still got time," jaeyun said, concern seeping into his voice. sunghoon's silence was unsettling, his eyes still fixed on some invisible point. jaeyun's instincts screamed that something was off.

"sunghoon, come on," jaeyun pressed, his smile fading. slowly, sunghoon's gaze lifted, his eyes locking onto jaeyun's. for an instant, jaeyun saw a glimmer of something – fear, maybe, or warning. then, it vanished. "okay," sunghoon said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

sunghoon stood up slowly, his movements deliberate. jaeyun's smile returned, and he wrapped his arm around sunghoon's shoulders. "now thats what i like to hear," jaeyun said, his voice filled with relief. "i knew i could count on you." sunghoon didn't respond, but his tension eased slightly. his eyes still held a guarded look. jaeyun steered sunghoon toward the door, his arm remaining around his shoulders.

jaeyun approached lawrence, who dusted an ancient vase with meticulous care, his gnarled fingers tracing the intricate patterns etched into the porcelain. the soft glow of the west wing's candelabras cast a warm light on lawrence's weathered face, deepening the lines etched by years of service. "lawrence, sir," jaeyun said, his voice respectful, carrying above the soft creaking of the old wooden floorboards.

lawrence turned, his eyes warm behind wire-rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose. a faint smudge of dust marred his left cheekbone. "y-yes, young s-sire," he stuttered, his voice laced with a gentle humility.

jaeyun's gaze lingered on lawrence's worn hands, the skin roughened by years of labor. "how long have you worked at the academy, lawrence?" he asked, his curiosity genuine. lawrence's brow furrowed in concentration, his eyes drifting toward the faded tapestries adorning the walls. "t-ten... y-y-years, s-sire," he replied finally, the stutter more pronounced.

jaeyun nodded sympathetically. "do you know how the food comes in and out of the academy?" he pressed, his eyes locked onto lawrence's. lawrence's gaze darted toward the door, ensuring they were alone, before returning to jaeyun. "w-well, s-sire... f-food s-suppliers come through the east gate... every m-morning," he whispered.

jaeyun's mind began to spin connections. "what about other deliveries? packages, maybe?". lawrence's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of unease crossing his face. "o-occasionally... p-packages come in through the w-west gate... usually at d-d-daytime," he stammered.

sunghoon shifted behind jaeyun, his gaze sweeping the area for potential eavesdroppers lurking in the shadows. the candelabras cast eerie silhouettes on the walls. jaeyun's eyes locked onto lawrence's, his voice low. "do you know who handles those deliveries?" lawrence's stutter grew more pronounced, his voice barely above a whisper. "i-i think... it's... th-the headmaster's... p-personal staff."

jaeyun's jaw clenched, his determination solidifying. "thank you, lawrence. you've been incredibly helpful." lawrence smiled, relieved, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "y-you're w-welcome, s-sire." as jaeyun turned to leave, sunghoon fell into step beside him, their footsteps echoing through the deserted corridor.

"find out anything?" sunghoon whispered, his voice carried away by the drafts whispering through the west wing. jaeyun nodded. "lawrence mentioned deliveries through the west gate at night. might be our lead." sunghoon's eyes narrowed. "i see." jaeyun and sunghoon lingered by the fountain, its gentle gurgle a soothing backdrop to their quiet conversation. classmates passed by, some casting admiring glances or whispering to each other. jaeyun's eyes scanned the courtyard, ensuring they weren't overheard.

suddenly, jungwon materialized beside them, his steady breathing evident. he'd utilized his supernatural speed to traverse the courtyard swiftly. jaeyun's expression turned stern. "jungwon, what were you thinking?" he whispered harshly. "you know we cant draw attention like that." as if their mere existence were not attention already.

"i've discovered something," jungwon said, his brief statement piquing jaeyun's curiosity.

jaeyun rose from his seat, a look of excitement on his face. "well so did i," he revealed, a hint of pride in his voice. "turns out that the headmaster's staff has the authority to place orders on behalf of the academy during the daytime, while the rest of us are asleep." jaeyun's eyes sparkled with satisfaction, clearly pleased with himself for unearthing such valuable information. his smile grew wider as he awaited jungwon's response, eager to share more details about his findings.

"yes, i'm aware," jungwon replied, his concise response causing jaeyun's enthusiastic smile to falter. "you knew..?" jaeyun started to ask, but jungwon cut him off, eager to share his own discovery.

"the potions used on the flowers are sourced from one location," jungwon began, "but what's odd is that none of the packages bear the name of the person placing the order." jungwon concluded his revelation by displaying a photo of the packages on his phone.

sunghoon, seated nearby with a book in hand, looked up at jungwon and jaeyun with curiosity. "how?" he asked, his gaze lingering on the image on jungwon's phone, his brow furrowed in interest.

"i had access to one of the headmaster's staff members' dormitories and found a package hidden underneath her bed," jungwon elaborated, his voice matter-of-fact. "using my speed, i left swiftly and didnt catch any eyes." as he spoke, he tucked his phone into his blazer's inner pocket. jaeyun's expression transformed from curiosity to astonishment, his eyes widening in awe of jungwon's resourcefulness and cunning. he stared, momentarily speechless, struggling to reconcile the depth of jungwon's intelligence with his understated demeanor. sunghoon, still seated with his book, raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the boldness and precision of jungwon's actions.

"what's our next move?" jaeyun asked, shoving his hands into his pockets. "now that we know the staff's involved, we need to determine how the students are obtaining these potions," jungwon replied, his gaze drifting toward the dormitory building.

"sounds like a plan," jaeyun agreed, turning to sunghoon. "shall we head out?" he said, giving sunghoon's arm a friendly pat. however, sunghoon's response was subdued. he gazed down at the ground near jungwon's feet, his voice low and measured. "i think i'll head back." jungwon's expression turned concerned. "are you sure?" he asked.

sunghoon nodded slowly, closing his book and rising from his seat. "i'll text you later. we can grab dinner," jaeyun suggested, his smile unwavering. sunghoon nodded again, a faint, polite smile on his lips before he turned to leave, his departure casting a subtle shadow of uncertainty over the group.

sunghoon navigated the corridor, his footsteps echoing off the polished floors. he clutched his book tightly under his arm, lost in thought. as he turned a corner, he encountered a cluster of teachers on their lunch break, their lively chatter filling the air. "only a few days until white day," one teacher exclaimed. "i heard the students are planning something special."

"i'm looking forward to seeing what they come up with," another teacher replied, smiling. "it's always a lovely celebration." sunghoon bowed politely as he passed by, but his mind wasn't on the upcoming holiday. his thoughts lingered on the mysterious potions and jungwon's daring discovery.

as he continued through the winding corridors, the moon's silvery glow followed him, visible through the open windows. its steady presence felt almost oppressive, as if it was monitoring his every move. sunghoon couldn't shake the feeling that the moon was mocking him, its gentle light illuminating the shadows within himself. he quickened his pace, the sound of his footsteps mingling with the distant chatter of students and staff. the corridors seemed to stretch on endlessly, each window framing the moon like a constant reminder of his own unease.

sunghoon's solitude was shattered when a sudden shove sent him stumbling forward. his book and glasses slipped from his grasp, clattering to the floor. "aw, devil! sorry 'bout that," a familiar voice drawled. sunghoon turned to face hyunwoo, whose bright smile and southern accent belied the abruptness of his gesture. hyunwoo chuckled, bending to retrieve the fallen book. “hey, youre uh.. one of them new pure-bloods, arent you?” he asks but sunghoon just gives a curt nod in response while grabbing his glasses off of the floor. “sunghoon.” was all he said. “the names hyunwoo lee.” he dusted off sunghoons shoulders playfully.

"so, you into astrology then?" hyunwoo asked, handing the book back to him. "this looks like some heavy stuff – moon phases, star alignments... sounds like you're tryin' to predict the future or somethin'." sunghoon shrugged, adjusting his glasses. "just interested, that's all," he replied, his tone neutral. hyunwoo's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "you know, i've always found it fascinating too. maybe we can discuss it sometime? pure-bloods should stick together, ya know?" sunghoon nodded noncommittally, tucking the book under his arm. "maybe."

hyunwoo clapped him on the back. "great! i'll hold you to that. see you around!" with a wave, hyunwoo strode off, leaving sunghoon to ponder the unexpected encounter. sunghoon resumed his walk, book securely under his arm, but his departure was halted by the sound of familiar voices. "got any white day plans, guys?" someone asked.

hyunwoo's friends shared a knowing chuckle. "we all know who hyunwoo's got plans with," one of them said, their tone playful. the group erupted into laughter. "you mean with that hottie, y/n?" another voice chimed in. sunghoon's footsteps faltered. his heart skipped a beat as he froze, his back still turned to the group.

y/n? the name echoed in his mind, stirring a mix of emotions. curiosity, surprise, and a hint of unease swirled within him. sunghoon's gaze drifted over his shoulder, his eyes instinctively searching for hyunwoo's reaction. hyunwoo's cackle was prominent as he looked away, chuckling charmingly. "shut up, guys," he said with a laugh.

sunghoon hesitated, grabbing his phone from his pocket. his fingers hovering over jungwon's contact on his phone. he almost pressed the call button, but something held him back. instead, he gazed back at hyunwoo and his friends, now disappearing into the crowd. a spark of determination ignited within him. sunghoon slipped his phone into his pocket and swiftly turned around, lengthening his stride to catch up with hyunwoo who had walked away from his friends now. "hyunwoo," sunghoon called out, his voice calm and even.

hyunwoo turned, a hint of surprise on his face. "sunghoon! what's up?" sunghoon fell into step beside hyunwoo, his eyes locked on the latter's profile. "think i’ll..take you up on that offer. so white day plans..?" he asked, attempting nonchalance. hyunwoo's smile faltered for a moment before he recovered. "yeah... just the usual stuff." sunghoon's gaze wavered. "with..y/n?" hyunwoo's eyes darted around, as if searching for an escape route. "how did you...?"

sunghoon's expression remained awkwardly nuetral. "i overheard your friends." hyunwoo's face turned back into an eager one, and he cleared his throat. "yeah... him and i are... sort of going steady."

hyunwoo's grin widened mischievously, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "sorry, i'm just ready ya know? i keep thinking about tasting a half-blood for the first time," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. sunghoon's confusion deepened, his brow furrowing. "tasting a half-blood?" he repeated, feeling a growing sense of unease.

hyunwoo chuckled, his laughter low and throaty. "come on, sunghoon. you know what i mean," he said, his tone implying a shared secret. sunghoon shook his head, feeling lost and increasingly uncomfortable. "no, i don't," he admitted, his voice measured. hyunwoo's laughter grew louder, echoing through the corridor. "all pure-bloods do it. it's a rite of passage," he explained, as if it was common knowledge.

sunghoon's frown intensified, his mind racing with possibilities. what could hyunwoo possibly mean by 'tasting'? the word conjured images of food, but the context seemed far more sinister. “'tasting'?" sunghoon pressed, his voice firm but laced with concern. hyunwoo's amusement began to fade, replaced by a hint of surprise. "you really don't know?" he asked, his tone incredulous.

sunghoon's silence spoke volumes. he felt like he was missing a crucial piece of information, something everyone else seemed to understand. hyunwoo leaned in, his voice lowering to a whisper. "maybe it's better you don't know. yet," he said, his words dripping with mystery.

"alright, sunghoon, i've gotta head to my dorm," hyunwoo said, his tone casual. "but come by later, when everyone's asleep. i'll show you how the boys here have real fun." sunghoon's unease deepened, unsure what hyunwoo's plans entailed.

"i'll think about it," sunghoon replied, trying to sound noncommittal. hyunwoo's grin returned. "don't think, just do," he said, patting sunghoon on the back. with a salute, hyunwoo jogged toward one end of the hallway, disappearing around the corner.

sunghoon watched him go, his mind reeling. what had he just gotten himself into? as he stood there, lost in thought, the corridor seemed to darken, shadows deepening. the air thickened with an ominous energy. shaking off the feeling, sunghoon headed toward his own dorm, his heart heavy with foreboding.

sunghoon swiftly slammed the door to his dorm shut, the sound echoing through the silence as he secured the lock. seeking solace, he strode over to his coffin, its dark wood a sanctuary from the words he had just exchanged.

with a resolute motion, he lowered the heavy lid, enveloping himself in darkness. settling into stillness, his hands rested on his chest as he closed his eyes, focusing on the steady rhythm of his breath. the words hyunwoo had spoken continued to sear his mind, igniting a firestorm of anger and unease. the mere thought of being intimate with a half-blood, or even sampling their blood, was utterly horrorifying.

as he lay there, the weight of his emotions slowly began to dissipate, replaced by a sense of calm determination. in the quiet, dark space, sunghoon regained control, his breathing slowing as his thoughts clarified.

"his name is hyunwoo?" jungwon asked, crossing his arms over his chest, his muscles tensing beneath his uniform. sunghoon nodded silently, his gaze drifting back to the window, where the carefree laughter of students outside formed a stark contrast to the tension within. jungwon's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, his hand rising to cup his chin. "and he instructed you to meet him at his dorm tonight?" he pressed, seeking clarification. sunghoon's nod was curt, his attention still fixed outside.

jake intervened, his hands gesturing emphatically. "you know what needs to happen, right? he's gotta go!" his declaration was laced with conviction.

jungwon's sigh was immediate, a mixture of frustration and resignation. sunghoon's head snapped towards jake, confusion etched on his face. "w-what?" he stammered, his voice laced with uncertainty.

sunghoon sprang to his feet, shaking his head vigorously in denial. "no, just... you guys go," he suggested, his voice laced with unease. jaeyun approached sunghoon, his hands grasping his shoulders firmly. "sunghoon, listen, hyunwoo specifically invited you, not jungwon or me. that means he trusts you enough to share his secret," jaeyun reasoned, his eyes locked onto sunghoon's.

sunghoon's face contorted in distress. "i... i can't..." his words faltered, trapped in his throat. nearby, jungwon continued pacing, lost in thought. suddenly, he stopped and began shedding his formal attire, exchanging it for comfortable clothes. his movements were fluid and deliberate, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within.

"come on, man, don't let fear dictate this," jaeyun urged softly, his grip on sunghoon's shoulders tightening. "we need to know what hyunwoo's planning, and you're our only link." sunghoon's eyes darted to jungwon, who now wore a pair of sleek sweatpants and a fitted t-shirt, his expression introspective.

jungwon turned to sunghoon, his gaze piercing, yet silent. without a word, he strode over to his coffin, its dark wood a sanctuary from the unspoken tensions. settling into its depths, he announced, "i'm going to rest for a bit." the casket's lid closed with a soft thud, enveloping jungwon in darkness. jaeyun and sunghoon exchanged uneasy glances, their eyes lingering on the sealed coffin. they both craved jungwon's guidance, but he had retreated, shutting himself off from their concerns. jaeyun's brow furrowed, frustration etched on his face. "what's going on with him?" he whispered, seeking sunghoon's insight.

sunghoon shook his head, equally perplexed. "don't know," he murmured, his gaze still fixed on the coffin.

jaeyun leaned in, his voice taking on a persuasive tone. "come on, sunghoon, i’ll stay on call with you the whole time. you’l be fine. i’ll be listening in, and if anything even slightly off happens, i’ll be there in a flash. well, more like jungwon would be there in a flash.." sunghoon hesitated, clearly tempted by jaeyun’s words. "but what if—"

"no what-ifs," jaeyun interrupted, his confidence growing. "you’ll be safe, and we'll get this done. trust me." sunghoon took a deep breath, weighing his options. the silence between them stretched out until finally, he nodded. "alright... i’ll do it."

jaeyun’s face lit up with a triumphant smile. "that’s the spirit! i’ll dial the number and get you connected. just put your phone connection to your earbuds, and i’ll be with you every step of the way." with a mix of excitement and trepidation, sunghoon pulled out his phone and dialed the number jaeyun provided. as the call connected, jaeyun’s voice became a steady presence in his ear.

sunghoon takes a deep breath, feeling jaeyun's words echo in his mind. he slowly raises his trembling hand to knock on the door, his heart racing with anticipation. his palms are sweaty, and he can't help but wonder what hyunwoo's reaction will be. will he be happy to see him? or will he be annoyed at the sudden visit?

as he hesitates, jaeyun's voice comes through the earbud again, "come on, sunghoon, you got this. just knock already!" sunghoon's lips curve between his teeth, feeling a bit more at ease knowing his friend is rooting for him.

with newfound determination, sunghoon raps his knuckles against the door, the sound echoing through the quiet hallway. he steps back, fidgeting with his jacket hem, waiting for hyunwoo to answer.

moments tick by, and sunghoon's anxiety starts to creep back in. what if hyunwoo's not alone? what if he's busy? what if...?

the door swung open, revealing hyunwoo lounging in flowy black attire that accentuated his physique. his tousled blonde hair framed his face, exuding a effortlessly chic vibe. hyunwoo’s eyes sparkled as he spotted sunghoon, and he swiftly enveloped him in a warm hug. sunghoon stiffened, his arms remaining at his sides as hyunwoo’s enthusiasm washed over him.

"you’re here!" hyunwoo exclaimed, his voice tinged with excitement. "i knew you weren't like the rest. i told the guys, but they didn't believe me." a low chuckle rumbled in hyunwoo’s throat as he pulled sunghoon closer.

"come on in!" hyunwoo urged, releasing sunghoon from the hug. sunghoon’s gaze swept the empty space, his curiosity piqued. who were these "guys" hyunwoo mentioned? and what exactly had hyunwoo told them? sunghoon froze, his palms growing damp with anticipation, as he realized he was utterly alone. the silence was broken when hyunwoo approached the closet with deliberate calmness, gently sweeping aside the carefully arranged clothes that concealed a hidden entrance. the secret door, seamlessly integrated into the closet's design, slowly revealed itself, exuding an air of mystery and intrigue, as if crafted to remain forever undiscovered.

hyunwoo beckoned sunghoon closer with a casual wave, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he swung open the hefty door, its creaking hinges echoing through the stillness. "come on in, virgin," he teased, his chuckle low and playful, sending a ripple of unease through sunghoon's composed facade. sunghoon's hesitation was brief, quickly masked by a faint, strained smile, a futile attempt to conceal his growing apprehension.

beyond the door lay a scene that would forever sear itself into sunghoon's memory. a huge amount of tangled bodies, writhing and entwined, filled the space. boys, seemingly starved of affection, surrendered to unbridled passion. everywhere, lips locked, hips ground together, and clothes were shed with reckless abandon. couches, blankets, and pillows were scattered, creating intimate sanctuaries amidst the chaos. the dark, moody lighting, usually alluring to a vampire's senses, now felt oppressive, heightening sunghoon's unease.

his gaze darted wildly, drinking in the unwanted desire that permeated the air. his heart plunged, weighed down by discomfort, as he struggled to process the unbridled indulgence unfolding before him.

sunghoon remained oblivious as hyunwoo guided him deeper into the sprawling room, the door clicking shut behind them, enveloping them in an irresistible aura. the air reeked of unrelenting lust, intensifying as sunghoon's senses honed in on the half-bloods. their eyes gleamed with an otherworldly intensity, pupils dilating threefold, resembling entranced zombies.

each half-blood's gaze locked onto sunghoon, their irises shimmering like moonlit pools, drawing him in. the atmosphere pulsed with primal desire, sending shivers down sunghoon's spine as he struggled to comprehend the hypnotic scene.

the purebloods reclaimed their half-bloods' attention with ravishing kisses and bites, reigniting the moans that echoed through the room, sending sunghoon's pulse racing. hyunwoo's whisper caressed his ear, "i don't care what the bible says, this is actual heaven." his fangs gleamed in the dim light as he smiled.

nearby, entwined half-bloods broke apart, noticing sunghoon and hyunwoo. they strode over, their eyes burning with desire. a blonde boy with freckles approached sunghoon, his gaze smoldering with lust. "your mother's one of the women who built this sanctuary, isn't she?" he asked, tracing a finger along sunghoon's chest, sending a feeling in his gut.

sunghoon's heart skipped a beat as the blonde boy's finger lingered on his chest, his touch igniting a flutter in his stomach. he nodded, voice caught in his throat, as the boy's eyes sparkled with intrigue.

"i've heard stories," the boy whispered, his breath dancing across sunghoon's skin, "about the founders' bloodline." his gaze locked onto sunghoon's, intense curiosity burning within. hyunwoo chuckled, his fangs glinting mischievously. "seems you've piqued their interest, virgin." the half-bloods closed in, their faces tilted upward, eyes shining like stars in the dim light. sunghoon's senses reeled as their collective attention enveloped him, his heart pounding in anticipation.

meanwhile, jungwon and jaeyun exchanged weighted glances, their eyes locking in a flash of understanding. "you're an idiot for letting him go," jungwon snarled, his voice venomous, as jaeyun stumbled over his words. "well, i—" jungwon's speed ability erupted, sending papers swirling as he burst through the dorm door, his jacket billowing behind him. the air rippled with his fury. "jungwon, wait! you can't!" jaeyun yelled, sprinting after his friend, desperation edging his voice. "he's still in there!"

"you're so good-looking," the red-haired half-blood cooed, clinging to hyunwoo's waist, his gaze fixed on sunghoon. sunghoon's cheeks flushed as he averted his eyes, his gulp audible. the two half-bloods erupted into giggles at his bashful response.

"gentlemen, meet sunghoon," hyunwoo announced, his voice dripping with amusement. "a royal who's never indulged in a half-blood's charm." sunghoon's composure wavered; his virginity, once a non-issue, now felt like a vulnerability. the room's intoxicating atmosphere suffocated him. as the half-bloods exchanged stunned whispers, sunghoon edged backward.

"i think i should go," he stammered, clearing his throat. his shaggy hair veiled his eyes, and his glasses fogged, shielding him from the tempting scene.

the blonde half-blood pouted, his lip curling downward. "no, don't go! stay and hang out with us." his sentence ended with a tantalizing bite of his lip. sunghoon knew he had to resist; his reputation and mother's warnings echoed in his mind. hyunwoo and the redhead disappeared onto the couch, engulfed in passion.

as sunghoon turned to leave, a firm grip seized his hand. the blonde boy's eyes sparkled mischievously, his gaze treating sunghoon like a toy to be played with. "stay," the blonde whispered, his breath caressing sunghoon's ear, sending shivers down his spine. the blonde half-blood pouted, his lip curling downward. "no, don't go! stay and hang out with us." his sentence ended with a tantalizing bite of his lip. sunghoon knew he had to resist; his reputation and mother's warnings echoed in his mind. hyunwoo and the redhead disappeared onto the couch, engulfed in passion.

as sunghoon turned to leave, a firm grip seized his hand. the blonde boy's eyes sparkled mischievously, his gaze treating sunghoon like a toy to be played with. "stay," the blonde whispered, his breath caressing sunghoon's ear. sunghoon's instincts took hold, and he jerked his hand free with a low growl. his gut churned, as if a force within him stirred, eager to emerge and shield him from the blonde's invasive grasp.

sunghoon swiftly unlocked the door and escaped the room, slamming the heavy door shut behind him. he hadn't realized how much he'd sweated until that moment.

his heart pounded fiercely, threatening to burst through his chest and back. footsteps echoed, and sunghoon spun around, startled.

jungwon stood before him, a broken doorknob clutched in his hand, jaeyun panting behind him. "hey buddy, we're...here," jaeyun managed between breaths, hands on knees, exhaustion etched on his face. sunghoon's eyes widened, relief washing over him at the timely arrival of his friends.

jungwon's gaze narrowed, inspecting sunghoon's flushed face and damp skin. "what happened?" he demanded, his voice low and urgent. jaeyun straightened, curiosity sparking in his eyes. "did something go down?"

sunghoon swallowed hard, hesitating before speaking. "just...hyunwoo and those half-bloods. they were...different." jungwon's expression darkened, his grip on the doorknob tightening. "we're leaving. now." his command was low and everyone followed through with it. sunghoon nodded fervently, clutching his chest as if soothing his racing heart. he kept his head low, avoiding eye contact.

jaeyun's hand rested on sunghoon's damp back, offering comforting pats. "easy, man, we've got you," he whispered.

jungwon led the way, his protective gaze scanning their surroundings. the trio moved swiftly, leaving the unsettling encounter behind. as they walked, jaeyun's calming touch and jungwon's reassuring presence slowly steadied sunghoon's frayed nerves. sunghoon's voice barely rose above a whisper. "...they smelled different too." his brow furrowed, concern etched on his face. "smelt like..some kind of.. perfume." jaeyun's pats slowed, his expression thoughtful. jungwon's pace remained steady, his eyes scanning ahead.

"vital-drunk," jungwon stated, his tone matter-of-fact. sunghoon's head jerked up, comprehension dawning. "oh," he breathed, pieces clicking into place. jaeyun nodded sympathetically. "yeah, that's what it looks like." jungwon's gaze flicked to sunghoon. "you okay?" sunghoon nodded, still processing. "think so..”

meanwhile, in the dorm room, you slumbered peacefully within your coffin, lulled by medication's soothing embrace. across the room, woonggi sprawled on his stomach, feet swaying lazily behind him. his gaze scrolled through eternalgram, the social hub exclusive to eternal academy students. woonggi's fingers danced across the screen, scrolling through eternalgram's endless feed, where eternal academy's students shared moments from their lives.

he paused, admiring shirtless selfies of chiseled torsos, winking boys with captivating smiles and charming poses. a thumbs-up gesture indicated his approval, accompanied by an occasional smile or chuckle. but one photo halted his scroll.

woonggi's face contorted in distaste. "ew, that's not his color," he said, referencing the boy's bold, clashing outfit. he shook his head, disappointed in the fashion choice. woonggi's gaze drifted from his screen, locking onto your serene form within the coffin, bathed in soft, silver light.

his expression softened, replaced by deep concern and heartfelt compassion, as he ensured your slumber was peaceful. he watched your chest rise and fall gently, a soothing rhythm. woonggi's heart ached, witnessing his dear friend rendered vulnerable, usually vibrant and radiant. determination etched on his face; he vowed to stand by you, through every trial.

"i'm not leaving your side," he whispered, commitment shining in his eyes. the room filled with an unspoken promise: unity and unwavering support. woonggi returned to eternalgram, scrolling mechanically, though his mind remained fixed on you. he checked your vitals, ensuring the medication worked its calming magic.

as you slumbered, your subconscious mind embarked on a vivid journey. you found yourself strolling through a serene forest, bathed in warm sunlight filtering through lush foliage. unusually, your skin remained calm and unaffected, defying its typical sensitivity to solar rays.

curiosity piqued, you glanced down at your hands, discovering you wore only crisp white pajama pants and a lightweight, long-sleeved white top. the simplicity of your attire contrasted beautifully with the vibrant surroundings.

a subtle instinct prompted you to gaze upward, and your eyes locked onto a figure hastily concealing himself behind a tree. the fleeting glance sparked recognition, yet his identity remained elusive. his black hair was styled upwards, revealing his forehead, and his piercing eyes seemed to see right through you, holding secrets and stories untold. interested, you took a step forward, but intuition cautioned patience, so you paused, waiting.

the mysterious figure peeked again, his gaze lingering, boring into your soul with an air of familiarity, yet unknown. time suspended as you stood frozen, lost in this captivating stare, surrounded by rustling leaves, soft sunlight filtering through, and anticipation hanging in the air.

despite the mysterious figure's unsettling demeanor, you felt no fear, only wonder. his tilted head and furrowed brows sparked a mirrored response from you, as if connected by an unseen thread. suddenly, a chilling breeze swept behind you, rustling your clothes. you turned slowly, and two piercing crystal blue eyes emerged from the bushes, belonging to a majestic black wolf. its snarl exposed hunger and desperation, and it began charging towards you with ravenous intent.

in a flash, a hand grasped your waist, pulling you to safety. your vision darkened, and your echoing gasp resonated through the air, the only sound in the abrupt silence.

who was he again? memory seemed to fade as well.

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literaryvein-reblogs · 8 months ago

Note

Writing a suicidal protagonist, but not depressed.

I'm going through a bit of a rough patch at the moment so I'm trying to put it into my writing. Do you have any advice for writing this? I mean, I suppose I already have the experience, but writing tips are always welcomed.

(I really hope this doe)sn't come across as trauma dumpy, I'm not seeking any irl advice. I suppose I just see it as an objective reality of many that doesn't necessarily need to invoke things such as comfort or anything, y'know?)

I'm glad you're trying to put such personal experiences into your writing.

Since I don't know much about your specific protagonist, in addition to incorporating your own experiences, I'll provide you with some writing notes on suicidal behaviour that you can refer to in order to make your writing more realistic or true to life (and you're right, literature on such real and sensitive topics doesn't always need to invoke comfort, or provide a lesson of sorts to the reader. Because simply depicting the realities of many people is enough - or more than enough - and is very important, even if it makes people uncomfortable... because it IS not a comfortable topic). Needless to say, each person has varying experiences.

Attitudes toward suicide have varied throughout history and vary considerably among different cultures.

The ancient Greeks considered suicide an offense against the state, whereas the Romans believed that suicide could be a noble way to die.

The view of suicide as a sin prevailed in Western societies for hundreds of years.

Only since the later decades of the 20th century did suicide cease to be considered a criminal act.

Suicidal Behavior - term used for individuals who have engaged in potentially self-injurious behavior with at least some intent to die as a result of the act. Evidence of intent to end one’s life can be explicit or inferred from the behavior or circumstances. A suicide attempt may or may not result in actual self-injury.

Levels of Suicidal Behavior

completed suicide

suicide attempts that are potentially fatal

suicide gestures—behaviors that are not necessarily lethal but are a cry for help or attention, such as superficially cutting one’s wrists

suicide gambles—attempts in which people gamble that their lives will be saved through intervention, such as a fatal but slow-acting drug overdose

suicide equivalents—behaviors that invoke responses similar to those seen with suicide, such as a teenager running away from home as an indirect call for help

suicidal ideation or thinking about suicide, which can range from nonspecific thoughts that life is not worth living to specific suicide planning

Mental illness is a major risk factor for suicide.

More than 90% of Americans who commit suicide have been diagnosed with a psychiatric illness and/or have problems with substance abuse, especially alcohol, opiates, and cocaine.

Schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and borderline and certain other personality disorders are risk factors.

People are at particularly high risk for suicide during the first week following discharge from a psychiatric facility.

Other suicide risk factors include individuals who:

are victimized by bullying

are isolated from other people and community

have a family history of suicide

have a history of attempted suicide

have a history of childhood abuse or family violence

have had traumatic experiences

have experienced stressful events, such as separation or divorce, job loss, or death of a spouse

have a chronic or progressively debilitating disease or condition; chronic, severe, or intractable pain; or loss of mobility or independence

have access to a firearm

are victims of alcohol or substance abuse, which weakens impulse control

have low total serum cholesterol

reside at a higher altitude, possibly due to altitude-related metabolic stress in individuals with mood disorders

are involved with the criminal justice system, or are incarcerated (especially during the first hours or week of imprisonment)

have sleep problems and disorders

are impulsive

have been exposed to suicidal behavior in others, including family members, peers, or friends (especially among adolescents) or celebrities, which is referred to as contagion

take certain medications

live in low-income households or in poverty

are unmarried

are lesbian/gay/bisexual/transgender (LGBT)

CAUSES. Suicide results from combinations of factors specific to each individual.

Studies have found a connection between genetic factors and suicide.

Some suicides appear to be impulsive acts, whereas others follow a major life event or crisis. However, the most common trigger is the pain and desperation of a mental illness, often unrecognized and untreated depression or bipolar disorder.

A complex of illnesses involving changes in the brain, depression is very common in the general population. People in recovery programs are often at particular risk.

Many people with depression develop anxiety disorders, which can further contribute to suicidal thoughts or behaviors.

Depression is particularly dangerous when the individual is emerging from the darkest depths of the disease and has the energy to act upon suicidal impulses.

Suicidal depression is not always obvious. For example, some depressed men appear irritable or angry rather than depressed. ‘‘IS PATH WARM?’’ is a mnemonic for signs of suicidal behavior:

I—ideation

S—substance abuse

P—purposelessness

A—anxiety

T—trapped

H—hopelessness

W—withdrawal

A—anger

R—restlessness

M—mood changes

Other signs of suicidal intentions are:

isolation or withdrawal

emotional distancing

lack of family or friends

distraction, seeming to be in one’s own world

lacking any sense of humor

dwelling on the past, especially losses and failures

feelings of hopelessness and helplessness

preoccupation with death

You can refer to a mental status review used by clinicians to guide you in describing your character. This includes:

appearance—the patient’s clothing, personal hygiene, and any physical evidence of self-harm

affect—expression, emotion, and intonation when describing plans for self-destructive behavior

thoughts—suicide command hallucinations (usually auditory); delusions about the benefits of suicide, such as thoughts that relatives will be better off after the person dies; and obsession with suicide

homicidal potential

judgment, insight, and intellect

orientation and memory, including signs of delirium or dementia

The need for suicide intervention is assessed by the following:

ideation—whether the patient has thoughts of self-harm

plans—the more specific the suicide plan, the greater the risk

purpose—what the patient believes will be achieved by suicide

potential for homicide

NOTE: The clinician will also evaluate risk factors as described above.

Most people give clear warnings of their suicidal thoughts; however, those around them may not recognize the significance or may not know how to respond. People who are concerned that a family member or friend is at risk for suicide should do the following:

educate themselves about warning signs and risk factors

identify healthcare professionals who know the person and can help

call 911 or the local emergency number if the person seems to be at immediate risk

Factors that lower the risk of adult suicide include:

a significant friendship network outside of the workplace

a stable marriage

a close-knit extended family

religious faith and practice, especially religions that value life and discourage suicide

a strong interest in or commitment to a project or cause that encourages social interaction and cohesion

One of the "Conditions for Further Study" in the DSM (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders) is Suicidal Behavior Disorder (SBD). This is NOT an official diagnosis yet, but research is ongoing. I'll include here a few proposed criteria and potential diagnostic features, just for reference purposes:

A suicide attempt is a self-initiated sequence of behaviors by an individual who, at the time of initiation, expected that the set of actions would lead to his or her own death. (The “time of initiation” is the time when a behavior took place that involved applying the method.)

Determining the degree of intent can be challenging. Individuals might not acknowledge intent, especially in situations where doing so could result in hospitalization or cause distress to loved ones.

Markers of risk include:

degree of planning, including selection of a time and place to minimize rescue or interruption;

the individual’s mental state at the time of the behavior, with acute agitation being especially concerning;

recent discharge from inpatient care; or

recent discontinuation of a mood stabilizer such as lithium or an antipsychotic such as clozapine in the case of schizophrenia.

Examples of environmental “triggers” include:

recently learning of a potentially fatal medical diagnosis such as cancer,

experiencing the sudden and unexpected loss of a close relative or partner,

loss of employment, or

displacement from housing.

Conversely, features such as talking to others about future events or preparedness to sign a contract for safety are less reliable indicators.

Again, the above excerpt is for a proposed criteria and potential diagnostic features for SBD (not yet an official diagnosis).

I'll include here a few interesting studies on SBD. Some researchers aren't for it. Most are discussing the current lack of data and research on it. 1 2 3 4

Also I think I misunderstood your request when I first read your message. I thought you wanted to write a suicidal protagonist but they're not depressed. But just in case, here are a couple of articles exploring suicidal ideation in non-depressed individuals. I would recommend looking into the qualitative findings as this could help writers if this is the topic you want to write about. 1 2

Lastly, since this is quite a sensitive topic, it is advisable for you to keep in mind conscious language, particularly when you're planning to share your writing with a wider audience and when publishing. Editors and publishers also frequently advise to get a sensitivity reader. Because while you might have the best of intentions, if you’re dealing with serious issues that real people deal with, it would be a good idea to do some research or get a sensitivity reader. Or both. Here's an excerpt from that previous post:

Words have power. Where and to what degree that power has an impact will inevitably depend on who the reader is. Words can drive a story forward and compel the reader to turn the page. Or they can disengage readers, even hurt them, and compel them to, at best, reject the novel; and at worst, review it negatively. Doing the awareness work prior to publication can help to prevent this while at the same time improving knowledge and craft.

Sources: 1 2

Hope this helps. And thank you for writing about such an important topic.

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milkteaarttime · 7 months ago

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Latte's New Hair!

Just a little short fic i whipped up of Latte's reason for growing her hair.

Thanks to @moosch for letting me reference Nameless!

The mundane clicks and clacks of the keyboard and mouse fill the med bay's rare silence. Latte is finishing her 12-hour shift with some charting, entering the necessary interventions she had completed, editing their charts, and updating wound dressing changes or evaluation results. Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she softly sang. She typed up her handover notes while waiting for the oncoming shift nurse’s arrival to give them handover reports.

Two soldiers assisting a fellow private with a sprained ankle slowly strolled a few meters behind her. The trio of men sauntered toward the med bay exit. Their conversation turned from their favourite nurses to what kind of girls the men were into. Latte attempted to feign ignorance, not wanting to hear the juvenile locker room talk from the young men. But she did roll her eyes with mild disapproval, unknown to the three, who continued their callous topic.

“Ohh Yeah, she's niceee. Called me ‘hun’ and ‘sweetie’ when she checked my shit.” the injured soldier proclaims as he describes his enjoyment in being called pet names by an older female nurse.

“The blonde?”

“Yeah, man! With nice long hair, I like that in a gal.” the first affirms.

“I getcha. I like 'em with long hair too.” the third soldier finally spoke up.

“Short hair doesn't do it for me, it's too… Dude-like?”

“Ehh, it's okay, but long is forreal better. Those high ponies or whatever they call it? Something for me to grab,” the second one crudely pronounces. The men laugh in agreement.

Latte’s face turns from a frown to worry as the soldiers chat. She reaches up, touching the layered, frayed ends of her hair—until the first one speaks again.

“Wait, nah, it depends on the style for me. A bob? Sure. Maybe even a neat pixie. I just really don't like those messy, shaggy, scattered types.” He shakes his head,

“Looks like it’s burnt, uneven as fuck.”

Latte freezes at the statement of disdain for messy hair layers. She takes out her phone and taps open the front camera. Using her phone as a camera, she turns her head at varying angles, observing her hair. It was roughly cut to get hair out of her face and for easy washing. It could be better, but it's okay. Right? It is better than looking burnt off. Right??

“Wait, guys. Shh! Look!” the third guy suddenly pipes up, pointing at Latte’s back when he notices her nearby. Latte hears them but pretends not to see, not wanting to engage with the men.

“Oh yeah, wouldn't be into that–”

“No, dude, that's LT Walker’s girl. Shut up.” He cuts off his friend curtly, panic evident in his tone. But it seems like his friend is a tad denser.

“Doesn't Hesh also like longer hair?”

“I don't know, but she sometimes bakes treats for us when we get out here… And I’m not about to risk pissing off the Lieutenant! Let's skedaddle before she hears us.”

The men shuffle out as fast as possible while helping their limping friend, leaving Latte to her thoughts.

She stares into her mirror that night, rubbing and twirling a lock of her messy hair between her fingers. Fluffing out the layers and analyzing the shape of her wolf cut. Her last cut was around a couple of months ago, and with her hair growing so fast, another trim was due. The layers are currently down to her shoulder blades, just a little longer, and she can tie it up.

After much contemplation and consideration, she sighs. She puts the thinning scissors back into their cover and steps into the shower. Opting to keep growing it.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few months later, Hesh stepped out of the shower and walked to his room. He greeted Nameless as he passed her in the hallway, watching her enter Keegan’s room before slipping into his room where Latte sat. She was visiting him for the night. While he rubbed the towel on his head, drying the water droplets off his scalp, he eyed Latte’s silhouette from the back. Observing her in casual civilian clothing after work and tapping her pencil as she sat deep in thought, working through the practice exam questions. Walking up behind her, he leaned down to kiss the top of her head and gently smoothed her ponytail, whistling, impressed at the speed of the hair growth.

“Oh hey, I didn't realize it’s long enough to be put up now.” He pointed out, feeling the texture of her silky black tresses.

“Any reason for the change?”

Latte smiled warmly at Hesh and looked up from her license upgrade prep, the conversation she had overheard from those immature soldiers resurfacing in her mind. She chuckled and waved the thought away,

“Just trying something new, nothing else to it.”

#call of duty #cod ghosts #call of duty ghosts #david hesh walker #lattewong #keegan p russ #milkteaoc #milkteafanfic #milkteaillust #cod ghosts oc: Latte Wong #cod ghosts oc: nameless #keegan x nameless #hesh x latte

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sparklingcarer · 3 days ago

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Hi. I'm sorry I haven't addressed things sooner, I have really been struggling with my mental health recently.

I am still not done with a bigger post and still unsure if it will happen, but I still have some things I should say sooner than later. I might reiterate some of this in the larger post.

A big issue of mine with the new doc is how it assumes the worst at all times (and makes a lot of heavy and incorrect assumptions throughout by doing so), rather than simply using the evidence to present the facts. It insists that everything was done intentionally and maliciously regardless of if the evidence supports it. It also just comes to a lot of clearly incorrect conclusions. Thankfully, I feel the evidence is so well documented that it often speaks for itself. There are many points where the evidence contradicts the text, for example, the evidence provided shows that many of Kittycorn's associates are innocent of the very accusations the text makes against them. I think better of those people now than I did before the new doc dropped thanks to the clearer evidence. If you read the new doc while taking all the text with the largest grain of salt you can find, you'll likely get a clearer understanding of the situation. Speaking of, I feel that the failure of the text to remain objective highlights that certain less important parts of the doc are entirely suspect, such as the section about freakycare fans. This section effectively says "Yes, we engaged in stalking, but they did it first!" Why should anyone believe that when you've already lied so much? There isn't evidence to support this particular claim in the doc, so it's hard to take at face value.

I also feel like the context of the first callout, and Kittycorn's response to it, is grossly misrepresented. I’d like to use a metaphor: “If Jeff owes you $100, it’s okay to ask for it, but not right after he got hit by a car and is bleeding on the ground. You probably shouldn’t even ask while he's in the hospital. You let him recover first.” Kittycorn very recently went through multiple traumatic experiences. She had her privacy deeply violated and had one of the most sensitive topics of her life exposed out of context for strangers to judge. She received a significant amount of hate, harassment, and death threats, which ties into and is amplified by the previous experience. Kit had her livelihood and work of 8 years collapse, not even just losing popularity but also having the story leaked. Even just one of these would be traumatizing, and it was all three at once. Kittycorn is already a conflict-averse person as-is and there was no way that she would have been able to reasonably address this under the circumstances. This was only further exacerbated both by the fact that between the two callouts, victim’s voices were largely drowned out by petty arguments about what coping methods are valid, and the fact that Kittycorn had to get her information second-hand due to being driven away and did not ever directly read tumblr after the first callout, so it’s not reasonable to expect that Kittycorn even knew about any allegations early on besides the anti/proship stuff. The doc tries to present this as an intentional ignoring on Kittycorn's part rather than the indirect consequences of trying to survive through harassment and stalking.

I am not saying that Kittycorn did nothing wrong. I do believe that the more serious allegations are made out to be worse than they are, and the less serious allegations have little substance to them and are attempts to give credence to the author's bias. I think the way Kittycorn has been treated is disgusting and inappropriate even if every allegation were completely true and I didn't support kit as a result. If you already feel the same way the author does, you need to temper this bias in order to understand what really happened.

#sparklecare #sparklecare hospital

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misscammiedawn · 1 year ago

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DID Representation in The Incredible Hulk (Part 2)

Continuing on from Part 1 in which I explained the background of the Banner System I wanted to discuss the marriage between Bruce Banner and Betty Talbot Ross-Banner and break down relationships between systems and singlets.

This is a topic that is tackled often in media and one that could be its own topic of focus within DID representation.

Some may have a complicated love triangle where a singlet is in love with two members of a system or have dynamics where members of a system love different partners and even stories involving introjects of loved ones who are treated as living memories.

The romance tropes and "split personality" tropes really do go hand in hand and for the most part those stories are not what I would consider DID representation as the trope exists to facilitate the story. The drama is often sourced from at least one party in the situation not understanding or consenting to the dynamics of the plurality at play or a member of a system attempting to actively sabotage the relationship.

Where I would start considering it moving out of trope territory and into representation territory is when the condition is treated as part of the reality of being in a relationship and something which has to be navigated as surely as any other life circumstance.

Today I'm going to talk about the romance in Hulk comics. Particularly surrounding the relationship between Joe Fixit and Betty Ross.

Since the very first issues in 1962 Betty Ross has known the man she was in love with was both Bruce Banner and Hulk. Bruce's DID may have been a curveball thrown at her down the line, as mentioned in part 1 it was not codified until the mid-80s, but it was never a secret. In the previous part of this essay I noted that Bruce did not have the strength within himself to accept his condition and he was emotionally distant and ran away from the people who loved him.

Bruce has the option of not dealing with his condition. Betty does not.

Hulk is a rare comic where it shows a hyperbolic reality of engaging in a relationship with someone who has a dissociative disorder. Betty and Banner do not have a good marriage. They show a lot of red flags, some more worrying than others. But they deal with those issues and thus they display them on the page well enough to have a conversation about it.

And that's why I wanted to highlight it.

Immortal Hulk #48 (Al Ewing - 2021)

In this issue Betty and Joe have just had a passion fueled reunion that lead to them enjoying some private time in a hotel room. The circumstances are complicated but she had walked out on Bruce earlier in the story. Betty has been trying to show him the imperfections in herself (physically represented by her Red Harpy form) and Bruce has been refusing to engage with the "monster" in the place of his wife.

Gamma tends to make physical that which lays under the surface. When Bruce looks away from Red Harpy he is truly looking away from viewing his wife as anything other than perfect.

Towards the end of the Immortal Hulk storyline Betty returned to the plot and found that Bruce was still "hiding" from her so she got close to Joe instead and the two proceed to have an adult conversation about their broken marriage and just where Joe fits in with it.

We'll cover Immortal Hulk 48 in more detail a little more later. It's one of my favorite comics of all time.

But before I continue I want to point out Joe and Betty's disagreement on whether this is cheating or not. "You married Banner" "You're a part of him" to paraphrase.

Relationship dynamics with systems come in a variety of different shapes and sizes. In writing this essay I have no intention of stating any version is better or worse than another and I recognize that different circumstances have different needs.

Many of my friends who I know from support communities hold Joe's view. That individual alters have the agency to consent to be included in relationships with the system or not. Others hold Betty's view, that to be in love with the system is to be in love with every part of the person, regardless of whether they were present enough to consent at the time the relationship began.

I am in Betty's camp. Some of my closest friends with DID are in Joe's. There are other camps. But there is one thing that I have seen discussed in every single support group I've been part of and it's that members of the system dating outside of a monogamous relationship without explicit consent is and will always be cheating. Emphasis on communication and consent.

Incredible Hulk 376 (Peter David - 1990)

I am polyamorous and our system considers all of us in each relationship, even if we understand that this ideal is not exactly easily integrated into a relationship. I'll not peel back the curtain but there's a lot of inner and external management that goes into that conceit. One of our partners explicitly has a relationship with all 5 of us, our other partners have a relationship with "us" that is less concerned about individual dynamics and neither version of this scenario is preferred over the other. Every relationship is different. Even if one of those relationships contains 5. Like everything with being in treatment, it's about being flexible, understanding, compromising and accommodating.

As noted above, Joe does not consider himself to be Bruce and so he does not feel like he has to honor Bruce's marriage. In the 80s run when Joe gains his name and acts as a Las Vegas enforcer he has a romance with a young woman named Marlo Chandler. Regretfully she is not overtly mentioned in Immortal Hulk #48 though Betty does bring up that Joe had a whole life in Vegas that he had hidden away from her. Marlo was part of that life.

In the tail end of the Vegas arc of comics Betty returns to Bruce's life after thinking him dead for over 6 months. Marlo shows up and is surprised to see Bruce, someone she was told was Joe's brother. Joe and Marlo's relationship was formed while Bruce was dormant and after he returned the cover story was that Bruce Bancroft was Joe Fixit's brother. Joe does not consider himself to be Bruce and so does not honor his marriage. As you see in the above page, everyone else involved does not see it the same way.

A highlight from this era is a few issues earlier where Betty and Joe have their first adult discussion. It's an absolute classic comic and is directly referenced in Immortal Hulk #48. Betty and Joe have great energy together and trust one another, though Joe fears her as the system's attachment to her leaves them feeling vulnerable and lowers the walls between alters. It's a shame that this was 4 issues before the forced fusion. I'd have loved to have seen more interactions between the pair.

Incredible Hulk #373 (Peter David - 1990)

Sidenote that issue has my favorite Hulk cover of all time.

They don't have a lot of time together but Betty and Joe had great chemistry in these comics, especially when compared to how Bruce treats her. The following pages are both from the same issue:

Incredible Hulk #374 (Peter David - 1990)

Bruce does love Betty but he hates himself more than he loves her and she long has to deal with him putting up walls and keeping a distance. Where Banner fears the "monster" he becomes, in no canon does Betty ever fear any incarnation of Hulk.

She does however resent being coddled. Her father was overly protective of her because her mother died, her first husband, Glenn Talbot, was overly protective of her and now Bruce has picked up that sin. She hates being treated as helpless.

For sake of clarity and addressing the "early installment weirdness" I'll note that it wasn't until Byrne's run in the 80s that Betty gained a backbone. During the 80s period of comics Byrne and David codified her as a fierce and strong-willed woman and that characterization has remained with her ever since.

The reason Bruce is so temperamental about the woman he loves and why all the Hulk's, even Devil, are typically so good to her is...

Well...

Incredible Hulk #377 (Peter David - 1991)

I'll let that speak for itself.

The Vegas arc is not the only time that Bruce has seemingly died and been content to let his wife think he is deceased.

Bruce's emotional distance from Betty is another all too real depiction of traumatized adults who are not managing their symptoms. Trauma in all forms remains with a person and steers their behavior. In the extreme this can lead to phobias and mildly it can lead to avoidance.

Bruce is constantly driven to avoid pain. He is depressed, self-loathing and withdrawn and no matter how much he pulls away he is unable to secure for himself a sense of comfort and security. When he withdraws from his wife he is indulging in a maladaptive coping mechanism that tells him that he will be hurt if he gets closer to her.

A quote from Bruce in Immortal Hulk #14 "Betty... I know. I should have... called someone. But I--I wasn't ready. It's like I knew that in my gut. I couldn't face it. I've learned to trust feelings like that. They protect me."

Joe, who is emotionally removed from the source of their trauma, does not live in terror of the memories that haunt the rest of the system. Bruce may have repressed memories of his father's worst deeds (and the fact that he, himself, murdered the man) but he still feels the terror that is attached to love.

Devil overtly spells it out during the Immortal Hulk storyline by saying "Deep down inside. He's still that kid. A little kid who can't imagine love without pain." which is sadly an all too true reality for many suffering with DID. We don't need to be child alters to still be eternally living through events that happened decades ago.

In the Immortal Hulk storyline Bruce spent months estranged from her and when he got back to her she ended up caught in crossfire and died herself, only to awaken the gamma in her blood and be resurrected as Red Harpy.

There's a lot of Comics stuff there about Betty's mutate forms (Harpy and Red She-Hulk) and how gamma mutation is psychological in how it presents. All that is needed to be known is that Betty simmers with a silent fury. She has been treated as a trophy her entire life, protected and sheltered by her military general father, all but traded as a dowry to one of her father's loyal men, Glenn Talbot, and then long suffering as Bruce Banner's wife.

Even her Red She-Hulk form was forcibly taken away against her wishes by Bruce "for her own good".

Immortal Hulk #14 (Al Ewing - 2019)

For this reason after she is killed again, her latest gamma mutation draws out a feathered and fanged harpy, something she entirely identifies as with no shame, represented by her instant and intentional transformations between forms. Her catchphrase is "this is ME."

Bruce cannot accept this is the person he married. Joe actively admires and encourages her self-acceptance.

Here's a page where Bruce escapes from a conversation that he himself initiated because he cannot stand to face an imperfect version of Betty:

Immortal Hulk #22 (Al Ewing - 2019)

This all comes to a head when Betty approaches Joe and asks to speak to her husband and after switching out, Bruce feels cornered enough to lash out and demand to speak to his wife. Betty, realizing Bruce will never accept this side of her leaves.

Which brings us back to the hotel room after she reunites with Joe.

The argument breaks out when Betty scornfully notes that if Bruce objected to them being together then he should come out and say it himself, knowing full well that he will continue withdrawing and hiding from her.

Joe admits that Bruce isn't there because he's in hell. There's a very long and interesting explanation to that which is entirely literal.

But the point is that he allowed their reunion and passionate evening to persist without saying that. It clues Betty in to the fact that Joe may be better at hiding it and may be better at smooth talking than the system's host is but he is just as avoidant.

She does not take it well.

Immortal Hulk #48 (Al Ewing - 2021)

But here's the part that really solidifies these two as a pair of grown-ups.

Joe admits to his fuck-up, offers some additional vulnerability (Betty herself refuses to believe Joe is capable of vulnerability and lashes out at him for attempting to emotionally manipulate her) by confessing to his origins as a child's idea of a man.

The little bits of truth about the condition that spill out during this conversation truly show how much empathy Ewing put into depicting DID as accurately as he could for a comic about world breaking atomic beasts. "If I wanted to lie, I coulda said I didn't remember. We usually don't" and "I... we, All of us. The whole damn system... We're messed up" are lines which feel like they could come up during a conversation on these topics.

I cannot even tally the amount of guilt we feel in discussions where we know our brain should be retaining the information and that we want to remember and be clear but we can't. The hardest part is to not just lean on the condition as an excuse or out for many of the valid discussions that come up when navigating a relationship.

At the end of the day the only way to manage these troubled waters is with trust and communication, same as any other relationship.

Joe gives that a try, even.

Immortal Hulk #48 (Al Ewing - 2021)

DID is a hidden illness. It's denial disease. It is sourced from a level of emotional agony that is too present, too constant and too inescapable. It's why, until the age of the internet where ability to recognize symptoms without medical guidance due to knowledge and resources being widespread, the average age of diagnosis is 30 despite symptoms being prevalent from childhood.

Relationships with disordered systems are difficult. When an adult has a trauma response that causes them to dissociate, hide and reject sources of pain and conflict they will inevitably fail to communicate and cause additional friction in a relationship.

Joe here makes his absolute best attempt to bridge that gap. He accepts his failings. Admits fault and attempts to communicate with honesty and vulnerability.

I do not know where Banner/Ross' marriage will go in the future. There's a lot of hurt there. It won't be smoothed over with a single conversation. It won't be healed until Bruce is able to be present in the conversation.

But my heavens this is the most mature discussion I have ever seen on the topic in fiction. Bruce is the personification of the phrase "Hurt people hurt people.", he doesn't mean it. None of the system truly means it (well... sometimes they mean it. They have anger issues after all) but they want to try and be better. Joe does, anyway.

And the sad fact is that sometimes that can be too little, too late.

Betty leaves after the above page. A hopeful person can claim that she was summoned by Dr. Strange's magical call for champions but it doesn't matter. She decides she has seen everything the Banner System has to offer and needs some time for herself.

I look forward to seeing if we ever get a follow-up to this. It's been 2/3 years.

And that brings me to the end of this little detour.

I'll likely be back with more Hulk talk in the future. There are a lot of storylines to cover. But for now, thank you for reading my little squee on this particular comic book relationship. It means a great deal to me.

If you enjoyed my little ramble about DID representation please consider checking out my Media, Myself and I tag. Otherwise, thank you for reading.

Oh and buy Immortal Hulk. It's legitimately one of the best comic runs of all time.

#dawn posting #hulk #comics #bruce banner #betty ross #dissociative identity disorder #media myself and i #hulk posting #this is she #its mahvul baybe #gamma tag

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windmaedchen-oceanhorn · 10 months ago

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Knight of the Dark

It was something - 2

This chapter contains 2.300 words. We are also back to a more teeny rating, but the mature undertones remain.

"Lavi, the notebook?!" he exclaimed.

Her nod and continuous stare told him she had not only considered that.

"No way... you actually got it?"

She kept nodding. Valen turned around a little agitated to look at Lavinia and he settled on his left leg to sit. She seemed to relax from her personal memories a few moments ago and shifted around as well. Lavinia's explanation couldn't come fast enough.

"The thought of that notebook kept me awake at night. If it contained such sensitive information it wouldn't be easy to get and I suddenly felt on edge. I contemplated countless approaches and I feared nothing more than betraying my thoughts on this forbidden topic. I don't know how I had such luck, but it was less than two weeks later that I had the sudden chance to act. Although, luck is probably not the right word, given it all resulted in an even worse situation than before."

"How so?" he asked quicker than his memory worked. The Ashen Wastes, the assassination attempt on the road... his mind caught up in an instant and he waved his hand, giving Lavinia the sign to ignore his question.

"Well, as for how I got it: it is beyond me how easy it was. The General was present for a training demonstration conducted for an influential guest in the capital. The mood was light and he was happy to join the mingle and so he took off some of his armor and clothes. I think he did not believe I could possibly act the way I did, for he literally placed this notebook in my very hands to watch over. My mind was racing, as was my heart. This was all or nothing. The moment he was engaged in an exercise, I took to my heels. I didn't stop anywhere and particularly avoided my own flat or my mother's place. Instead, I wanted as much distance as possible as fast as possible. But when I moved down the southern main road towards the town gate, I bumped into a peddler ahead of me and he pushed me onto the cobblestones. It was Dura's divine protection that shielded me from certain death beneath the horses and carriages. I am not certain now that this was the General's work, but back then I was too nervous about everything to doubt that assumption. I just got back up and continued to run. I didn't stop until I had reached some tiny village in the early morning hours of the next day, where I fainted in front of their little church."

Valen crossed his arms and moaned deeply. He felt angry for a lot of reasons. That whole mess should not have happened in the first place.

"Since then... I have been running. To be honest, I am not sure I was thinking rationally. I was so afraid to be found at any time, too afraid to confide in anyone else and being alone, I just couldn't find a good way to deal with the situation. It's not as if I had been wanted dead before, so... ahahaha, I guess I just tried to get away as far as possible. I thought, that once I got far enough, I'd be having time to relax and consider my next steps. I haven't even been looking at the notebook at all for the first few days!"

Lavinia's helpless chuckle told Valen about the insurmountable stress she must have been through. He has been in stressful moments before where his life was in danger, but those were situational moments, usually self-instigated, that ended once the fight was over. He might have collected some enemies due to his line of work, but nothing as extraordinary, nothing to worry about as much as Lavina's case. Her fight was waiting to jump out of the blue, over and over again until she was dead. Being on high alert continuously like this was extremely distracting and exhausting.

If only he had known. He clenched his fist. There was no point in feeling frustrated about something in the past that he was not even aware of, but such an ideal is easier said than done.

"Were there people you could find shelter with?"

"Not really. I did spend many nights with the most wonderful and selfless strangers, though. After some time, I tried to get in touch with someone in the capital, as I wanted to know about the situation there. I learned that my flat had burned down in an accident - apparently - and that my disappearance was officially explained with an emergency mission and that I was in contact with the involved superiors. Unfortunately, with that response also came the first attempt on my life. I managed to survive, but the people I stayed with got involved and injured. So I hurried to leave and moved past Holistone towards the Ashen Wastes. Regrettably, I didn't happen to run into you. Instead... I ran into something else. Or rather, something else ran into me."

"Berial." SONYA noted from the side.

Lavinia looked up in surprise.

"How... do you know that?"

"I was there when he escaped the Rift. And then I was able to feel his hypogean magic on you when the attack on the road happened. He protected you, did he not?"

"You noticed that? ... Yes, he did"

Lavinia seemed taken aback by their knowledge about Berial. Her gaze then wandered around the room for the first time. Valen wondered what she was looking for and asked her about it.

"Berial... usually I can feel his presence, but here..."

"This is the Mystical House. Its entire structure is made possible due to my magic and it bars entry to anyone I do not explicitly invite here. I do expect the same rules apply to Hypogeans as for any other entity."

SONYA gently explained. Valen was already aware of that but he didn't think it would also apply to something as powerful as Hypogeans, or Celestials. Then again, he sometimes likened SONYA to Dura herself, an almighty goddess, so what could possibly be able to penetrate her defences?

"So he cannot find me here?" Lavinia asked weakly.

SONYA shook her head. "I think he can find you... he just won't be able to come here or reach out for you from the shadows."

"I see."

Then there was silence for a moment, Lavinia seemingly elsewhere in her thoughts. Valen observed her inward expression for a bit before interrupting her again. It was getting late.

"Did he find you in Holistone?" he asked.

"No. I had long left Holistone. I was in the Ashen Wastes, spending some time with a young Mauler clan, right by the mountains. Of course, I didn't fare well in that climate and their members ended up helping me. I considered that place far enough and for three weeks or so, I took a break there, helping them in return to hunt. Turns out, it wasn't far away after all. Enough Lightbearer travellers, particularly merchants, came through all the time, going to places further into Mauler territory. I know that even Solitaries move around in the Ashen Wastes but I ... guess I didn't give it enough thought."

She sighed and shrugged her shoulders. That's right, Valen thought. They did have colleagues over in Mauler and Wilder territories. While the different factions weren't currently engaging in war, there were tensions going on here and there and the Lightbearer Empire preferred to be able to respond immediately should there be concerning developments.

"Anyway... I was found a second time. Again I was surprised during the night and could hardly fight back. In fact, that should have been it. The woman's dagger found its place right here."  Lavinia placed her hand right over her chest, gently rubbing a spot with her fingers.

"I swear could feel the cold blade within my beating heart. But in that same instant, a burning hot feeling mingled with the cold of the dagger and my whole body turned so numb I was about to lose consciousness. In that state I still saw how this dark figure emerged from my chest, pouncing onto that woman and throwing her around like a puppet. At this moment, Soren finally joined the battle and tried to take a hit on Berial, but he disappeared as quickly as he came and ... I passed out."

"Soren?" SONYA leaned forward in interest.

"One of the Mauler warriors I spend time with. A very good young man."Lavinia elaborated. "A few days later Berial appeared to me again. He was intrigued by the darkness in my heart and offered me his help to feed from that power. I... I make no excuses. As I was running, frustration turned to hatred and my thoughts got poisoned with a desire for revenge and self-justice. Besides, he did not forget to mention that he saved me from death. All he wanted in return was a bit of 'entertainment' as he called it. When I pointed out to him that what we planned was my death sentence, he just cheered and said 'no risk, no fun'. But it did not really matter to me. I was stuck in this situation and now outside forces decided my course of action. So be it. I expect death one way or the other. It matters not to me, for my life is lost. I came back to the capital with only one desire: to kill the General, satisfying my sinful urges and fulfilling my debt to Berial. I never thought in my life, that I would meet you. Sir Valen... shining knight of the Heroic Order..."

Lavinia's voice gave up and she hid her face behind her hands. She pulled up her legs again and tried to stifle her sobs.

"It was so hard, knowing you would be there to see it all. If I hadn't been distracted by your memory, I would have been able to end it today."

"Hey--"

Valen reached out and tried to place his hand on her arm, but Lavinia instantly shook it off. He retreated with a faint sigh.

"I am very glad I have met you, Lavi. I just wish it had happened way sooner."

SONYA leaned forward and spoke after Valen.

"I think we can work this out. As long as you are here, you should be safe from Berial's direct approach. As for the situation with General Lorenzis and the Heroic Order, I suggest we try to get General Hogan involved. I have no doubt that he will try everything in his power to help you. He does not ignore injustice."

Valen nodded to her words. As the former leader of the Heroic Order, the General would know a lot about the command chains and the people involved and could certainly try to formulate a sensible plan for them to act on. Especially as they had good evidence to base their accusations on and start their investigations into the trafficking within the Order.

"Lavi, the notebook! Do you have it with you?"

She did not look up to him, still hiding in her sorrow, and just shook her head. Valen leaned over, closer to her.

"What do you mean? You don't have it? Where is it?"

Lavinia just shook her head again. Her response was barely audible.

"I don't have it any longer. I did not want it."

"Wait... what... Lavi. Please tell me you just hid it somewhere."

Valen couldn't believe she might have just thrown it away. This was the one piece of evidence that obviously held so much importance that the General sent assassins after her.

"No. It's gone."

There was a near irresistible urge to shake Lavinia violently. This was her one proof to actually substantiate her claims and she seriously told him that after all the effort to get it, the stress and pain to keep it, she now didn't have it anymore? Valen reached for his forehead trying to fathom her stupid actions. It took a moment before he managed to collect himself enough to talk.

"Lavinia... do you have any idea how vital that notebook is to you?"

"I gave it away. He will do what's right. It is out of my hands. And I will do what I intended."

"Who? Who's got it? Lavi!"

"No. It matters not. It matters not..."

Lavinia leaned even heavier into the cushions of the sofa, burying her face in the fabric. Her voice died down and was replaced by silent sobs and she no longer reacted to anything Valen said.

She wasn't going to tell him no matter how much he begged. SONYA eventually interrupted him gently. She came up to him, tucking on his pauldron.

"Come. Dolly's dinner is ready. Let's take a break. We are all here now, and we should rest."

Valen sighed heavily but he did agree. He felt exhausted and his mind needed some time to process all that he had heard. And Lavinia... she needed the rest more than him.

They did not discuss the topic any further that evening and agreed to deal with the situation tomorrow. Only light words were spoken. When SONYA offered her a room Lavinia declined. She ended up staying on the sofa and having eaten something and taken another drink of Dolly's soothing remedy, she soon fell asleep.

With his chin resting on his knee, he observed his friend for a little time. His thoughts wandered back and forth, from the past to the present and in between. Eventually, Valen decided to retreat as well and made his way to his room.

#afk journey #my art #afk valen #ocs #hcs #afk merlin

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vwritesaus · 2 years ago

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TSC WIP snippets pt. 2

pt. 1

as promised, here's pt. 2 of some more snippets from my wips—this time, from dear christopher and timeless!!! what i failed to mention in my last post is that yes, while i'm still writing, those chances to do so are few and far between bc work has seriously been kicking me in the arse :)

this is another long post, so all the goods hopefully are under the cut! hope you enjoy and please know that i appreciate your patience so much ♡

dear christopher

ch2:

‘Be quiet, the pair of you,’ Thomas hisses weakly. ‘You’re ridiculous—’ ‘But to be fair, Jamie, they need to be engaged first,’ Matthew tells his parabatai conversationally, as if he hasn’t just interrupted Thomas. ‘In which I fear Alastair will be the one to propose first lest our darling Thomas stammers himself into oblivion and hides behind a lady’s brise fan to save face!’ ‘That’s oddly specific, Math… and yet I can see it happening just as you describe,’ James muses while rubbing at his chin. ‘Alastair is sensible enough and good at keeping a neutral expression—and he’ll be able to keep calm should Thomas start crying in pure joy.’ ‘You’re awful!’ Thomas exclaims. He’s now utterly certain his face no longer resembles an apple, but rather a beetroot. ‘Both of you—absolutely awful!’ Undeterred by the insults, Matthew gazes seriously at Thomas.‘I’ll be honest with you, Tom,’ he says. ‘It still baffles me how the whole situation between you two occurred, but… oh, you silly sod, I’m happy for you.’ Thomas smiles shyly. ‘Thank you.’ ‘Even Alastair?’ James pipes up. Matthew scowls, though there is no heat behind it. ‘Yes, yes, even Carstairs,’ he moans, ‘the little bastard.’ ‘Hang on, easy,’ James says, ‘that’s Thomas’s future husband you’re slandering.’ ‘James!’ Thomas protests. ‘Stop it!’ ‘I shan’t, because the thought alone makes you happy, doesn’t it? And besides,’ James adds in a murmur, ‘we could all do with some happiness.’

ch3:

‘Whoever decides to be the owner of your heart, Thomas,’ Eugenia whispers, her tone serious, ‘I hope they’ll make you the happiest man alive.’ ‘A wish I also hold for you,’ Thomas tells her earnestly, ‘and not of the likes as those of Augustus bloody Pounceby. You deserve better.’ ‘Augustus was a moment of weakness. I know better than to seek out rats like him,’ Eugenia says heatedly, and then sighs. ‘I never thought he’d do such a thing—but then, I suppose, I have been wrong before. I should have seen it coming, really.’ ‘None of that was your fault, Genia. Don’t ever think that. He’s a smarmy little so-and-so with an ego, and if he ever comes within five feet of you, I’ll do what James did and throw him into the Thames.’ Despite the serious mood, Eugenia cackles heartily. ‘I don’t doubt that in the slightest, Tom.’ She sniffs loudly and adds with utmost seriousness, ‘But you needn’t worry, for I will not step out with another man for as long as I shall live. I’ll cater to my many cats once I acquire them, and will bother you and your beau until we’re all old and grey.’ ... ‘Tell me, mijo,’ Gideon starts. ‘How are you?’ Thomas cannot help the soft snort that leaves him. ‘Dear Papa, I hope this is not an attempt at small talk,’ he says cheekily. ‘You do know how I cannot partake in it, nor can you.’ Gideon laughs and shakes his head. ‘Not as such. I would say it’s more of an initiation into a deeper topic of conversation.’

ch4:

‘Thomas,’ she gasps. ‘Bach, I need Gabriel. I need—please—’ He doesn’t hesitate, getting to his feet in a rather ungainly fashion, and launches himself at the door frame. He yells for his uncle, propriety be damned, and doesn’t stop until he hears hurrying footsteps coming up the stairs. Gabriel flies into the room not even a minute later, his hair a mess and his eyes round in concern. His gaze glides to Thomas, alight with confusion, and Thomas merely glances over at Cecily by way of an explanation. It seems to be enough for he hears his uncle suck in a sharp breath and the softest rendition of his wife’s name passes his lips. At the sound, Cecily turns her head, and chokes back a sob when she sees her husband. She holds her arms out to him beseechingly, begging to be held, and her cheeks are streaked with fast-falling tears. ‘Gabriel… cariad—’ The rest of the sentence is pure Welsh, too fast and broken and indistinct for Thomas to understand a single phrase.

ch5:

‘Has anyone told you that you are perhaps a little too kind?’ ‘Only every third day,’ Thomas jests dryly, and Grace’s lips curve upwards a touch at that. His voice turns serious then, quiet, contemplative. ‘Look, I’m not here to fight, and I don’t want to fight. I’m not here to forgive you, either. That’s not my place. But today we remember Christopher. We… we tell him goodbye, and we do that together.’ There’s a moment’s pause in which they simply look at each other. Wind blows between them, ruffling the edges of Thomas’s coat and the hem of Grace’s dress. Smoke continues to curl from the stubby remains of the pyre, wispy and faint, like the aftermath of one of Christopher’s former explosions. ‘Together…’ Grace echoes softly. A single tear rolls down her cheek. She makes no move to wipe it away, much to Thomas’s surprise. After a second, Grace draws in a shuddering breath and lets it out slowly. ‘Thank you for the invitation,’ she says politely—a picture-perfect image of a well brought-up young lady; a very small piece of Thomas pangs in sympathy at that thought. ‘I accept it… for Christopher.’ Thomas nods. ‘For Christopher,’ he agrees.

timeless

ch2:

‘He’s… attractive, sure,’ she finishes lamely, ‘but to be fair, I don’t even know him!’ Alastair tacks on immediately. ‘Just attractive?’ Hating the evil edge to his smirk, Cordelia scowls. Prick! She sniffs. Two can play at that game. ‘What do you want me to say?’ Raising her voice to a higher, mocking pitch, she cries, ‘“Oh my god, he’s sooo hot, I wanna throw him against the wall and have my way with him”?’ Alastair’s face twists in displeasure. ‘Ew, no.’ ‘Then what?’ ‘All I’m saying is people have gone straight to Base Two without exchanging names,’ he declares matter-of-factly. ‘So you not even knowing him is a rather redundant argument you’re making for your defence.’ Cordelia gawks at him. ‘What, are you saying you and Charles…?’ ‘Absolutely not,’ Alastair rebuts. ‘I learnt his name first. I’m just saying that it happens. Therefore…’ He waves his hand in a way that says, rather bluntly, my previous statement still applies. … ‘He’s so funny,’ Cordelia says through a chuckle. ‘He was funny when I met him in person, too.’ ‘He can be, yeah,’ Lucie agrees with a good roll of her eyes. ‘But good god, he can be a moody, surly bastard sometimes. I’m telling you, Daisy, you’re lucky you’ve met him now. You did not want to know him two years ago.’ Cordelia’s expression turns startled. ‘Oh? Why do you say that?’ Lucie opens her mouth to answer but then quickly closes it. It’s not exactly her story to tell, let alone to someone James has only properly met once. But it’s not as though it’s a state secret… Everyone knows what happened and who James had been on the wrong side of sixteen… but even so… ‘You don’t have to tell me why,’ Cordelia says, drawing Lucie out of her own head. Clearly the conflict is bright as day on Lucie’s face. ‘No, it’s alright.’ Chewing on her bottom lip for a second, Lucie sighs and reveals in a low voice, ‘I won’t go into too much detail, but James had his heart broken really badly in high school. After that, he had a nasty streak. He went wild, and none of us knew what to do. It got so bad even Matthew threatened to stop being friends with him if he didn’t get his shit together, and they’ve been friends since we were all kids.’ ‘Oh, my god?’ ‘Hm… though to be fair, Matthew wasn’t much better. He kept getting into trouble with the teachers because of this and that. But in a way, I’m grateful to them both.’ She reaches across the table and grips Cordelia’s hand tightly. ‘Because if it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t have had the need to bury my nose in my books or the internet to take a mental break, and I certainly would not have gotten the chance to meet you.’ … Matthew purses his lips at the less than courteous message, thinking of all the possible responses he can send to preserve his honour so James doesn’t have to, as he has done many times before. But they all fly out of his head when both of Mina’s hands land on his calf with a loud smack. She smiles gummily up at him, and his heart melts at the sight. ‘Does Mina wanna go on an adventure?’ he asks her, already picking her up and pressing her close to his chest. His phone lays forgotten on the floor. ‘But how shall we get there? Hmm… Oh! I know. Are you ready?’ Mina blinks and then raucous, contagious giggles escape her as Matthew—holding her by her middle with both hands—directs her through the air as if she’s an aeroplane while making engine noises. Somewhere behind him, James laughs wholeheartedly and cries, ‘Up and away we go!’ The three of them fly through the Herondale-Carstairs household, James and Matthew providing commentary on all the fascinating sights to Pilot Mina, and Mina’s giggles become louder and louder. Mediocre dates, be damned.

tagging people who might be interested: @drunkonimagination @astriefer @ibrushmyteeth-donttellanyone @cant-think-of-anything @alastaircarstairsismybff @what-ho-christopher-put-in

let me know if you’d like to be added to or removed from the tag list!!

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cathodic-clairvoyant · 1 year ago

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You are actually the only person I have seen say anything that makes sense regarding HDWR recently, thank you for your good takes. I love this manga, but it really feels like I’m not reading the same story as most people sometimes

I for the record think that there is a lot (in fact i'd say majority) of interesting discussion about hdwr, even now, (just the other day in the main tag i saw a post that i liked talking about tamaki as a character & her and miwa's relationship and despite the subreddit having a lot of silly posts lately i think a couple months ago around ch. 113's release there were a lot of good comments about MiwaSae and both of their development throughout the story and I think even now there's good discussion about ch. 119 and miwa and tamaki burried in the silly stuff) and in some sense like i feel like the current wave with ch. 119 was always going to happen, it's a very emotionally charged topic that we're seeing how much it hurt a character people tend to like so like i understand being upset by it and having strong opinions about it.

That all being said, the kind of discussion that tends to surround the story of "sae was unfair/toxic to miwa" "tamaki has always been manipulative" "yuria is unfair to sae" are baffling to me because I feel like to get anything out of this story- to not instantly just be frustrated with it- you have to interact with it a little bit on its terms and I think part of that is acknowledging that these characters are more complex than the simple one word "abusive/toxic/manipulative/innocent" labelling and have complex emotions and imperfect reasoning that cause them to make mistakes, be cruel to each other, and do the wrong things. This doesn't excuse the characters' actions but that's not what the story is interested in doing anyway.

And like, I don't think the story is for everyone, I don't think everyone has to want to interact with the story on those terms; which is why while i personally don't agree with the kind of people who say "i had to stop reading when miwa and sae broke up bc it was too sad/too frustrating" and the like, I can at least understand it as just the story has goals that reader doesn't want to engage with, which is completely understandable. Where it confuses me is getting so far through the story and still not choosing to interact with the story on its terms. What are you getting out of this story then??? Does viewing sae as toxic enhance the story for you? Is it a useful way in looking at the narrative?

Especially since I feel like tamifull has attempted to make these characters realistic almost to invite us the reader to examine both ourselves and our relationships as we read. Is How Do We Relationship a useful tool to to analyze yourself or your own relationships with if you flatten the characters into good and bad? Is that a lens you'd want to view your own relationships with? I don't think so. I feel like the only things it could lead to is "i wouldn't make that mistake because I'm not toxic." "i wouldn't find myself in this situation because me and my partner aren't like them." So like. What benefit does viewing these characters in this way give you? You clearly seem to agree with/like the goals of the story if you're still here 100+ chapters later so like. What are you getting out of this?

I dunno. Like i said, I do think there's still a lot of good discussion about hdwr. That's why I still lurk the subreddit and read posts in the main tag. It's just this specific genre of discussion i can't understand especially when it happens with like more recent chapters

#channel 3 #ask #anonymous #I'm not maintagging this one simply because i think it's less about hdwr itself and more just my own personal ramble #so i hope whoever asked this eventually finds it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯#anyway idk. to each their own i don't think it's super worth engaging with simply because once again to what end does this enhance the story #but i just don't think it's the most productive use of discussion space #not at the very least because i just straight up disagree with the contexts of when people say these things #i saw a comment once that said sae was unfair to miwa when she broke up with her #because sae shouldn't get to be upset with miwa about feeling like she doesn't love her when sae didn't seem to be trying on her end #but like a. sae's reasons for breaking up with miwa were multifaceted. sure she couldn't believe miwa loved her #but moreso it had to do with herself. not communicating with miwa not being honest with her and her fears and insecurities about being loved #and b. if you were insecure about being loved would you be happy in a relationship where your current girlfriend can't even say i love you #and who's most positive thing she's said about you is 'you accept me for who i am'? a nonspecific thing that could apply to so many people #possibly including the girl she's admitted she still has feelings for?#like I'm once again miwa fan numero uno but its baffling to me when people act like she had nothing to do with her and saes original breakup #it removes the agency that miwa had unfairly places blame solely on sae and worst of all #ITS BORING #anyway i really like this story and i enjoy reading other people's opinions about it #but like you said sometimes it's like I'm reading a different story than a lot of people #i think as we get past these next couple chapters the discussions will get back to being more productive

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read-alert · 3 months ago

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Star Trek: Volume 2 by Mike Johnson et al

This is a comic book set in the timeline of the reboot Star Trek movies. It includes a loose retelling of the original series episode Operation- Annihilate! and an original story in which a group of survivors from the destruction of Vulcan attempt revenge upon the Romulan Empire.

I liked this one more than the first volume; I think it makes much greater use of its alternate universe setting when retelling an original series story. I have mixed feelings about this version of Operation- Annihilate!, largely centered on the fact that it is disconcerting to completely remove the emotional climax of the original episode by having Spock experiment on himself alone, removing any opportunity for Bones to feel guilty about it. However, given that this version of Spock and Bones have a less strained relationship, I suppose a "Bones really does care" moment was unnecessary, and I really like what they replaced it with. I like that this series is engaging with Kirk's changed backstory and really look forward to seeing how it will eventually deal with The Conscious of the King, and I especially like the building plotline of Spock taking increased risks in the wake of the destruction of Vulcan. I'm not sure if Into Darkness had been released at this point, but it is a nice connecting thread between the two films and gives some much needed depth to the fact that this Spock experienced a genocide.

Speaking of that genocide though, while I like the ideas being played with in the original story where Vulcans attempt to avenge their planet, I don't think this medium has enough time to devote to the topic. I can believe Sarek could be driven to terrorism, but I don't think that this story has done the work to earn that and instead just wants it as a shocking reveal, which I think is evidenced by how quickly he is talked out of it. This could have been a fascinating story as a novel that could have really taken its time with it and explored the realities of terrorism and genocide, but two issues of a comic book simply can't do that. It also really rubbed me the wrong way that they referred to "The Vulcan Empire," especially since Kirk later makes a point to say that The Federation isn't an empire because they are built through peaceful cooperation rather than forced submission. Are we implying that that doesn't include Vulcan?

The Romulans themselves also exist more to make this plot work than to actually flesh out how the Romulan Empire would move forward in this world. To me one of the biggest questions aos leaves unanswered is how the destruction of Vulcan at the hands of a Romulan terrorist would affect the reunification process. Of course I don't expect that it would be easy or immediate, but to have the Romulan government say that their only regret is that they couldn't help Nero commit more genocide is just so ridiculously evil and completely ignores the connection between the societies. And while I would have still very much disliked it even if they had just left it at them being one-note villians, the fact that they walk back any sort of threat they pose to the main characters for the sake of wrapping things up at the end makes the entire story paper-thin and unbelievably shallow.

I still enjoyed reading this; it plays with ideas presented in aos for which I have wanted more explanation for years. I only wish I had known about these books earlier. However, I don't think the original story engages with those ideas in any meaningful way, and while the retellings of tos episode are fun, I'm kind of shocked this series was able to run as long as it did. It's all well and good for me now checking out collected editions from my library, but these absolutely would not have been worth the cost of reading as they were coming out. 3⭐️

#bookblr #dedicated review #star trek volume 2

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themsource · 2 years ago

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This is a Sans centered glimpse for my story Cupcake. Given some of the themes I don't recommend checking it out if you're sensitive to certain topics. While this post could be considered tame or mild, the main story certainly isn't so please do NOT force yourself to engage if that's a possibility.

For those that do follow the story and have an interest behind some of Sans' thought processes this is for you! I posted this in the comments on the fic (which is where I'll be posting them first and always in order to keep it all together) but I know not everyone reads those so I'm also sharing it here again. I hope this satisfies some curiosities as well as peaks them ^^

Takes place during Ch. 12 during the later half so spoilers warning.

Word Count: 1,251 Rating: M TWs: Mentions of Death/Murder, Foul Language, Awfulness

Sans isn’t a monster of pride. He never considered himself talented at any one particular thing or skilled enough to consider boasting of what he could or couldn’t do, even before the head wound.

Before everything went to literal hell.

However, he did like to think he was, at the very least, perceptive.

When Asgore was still around—standing tall and proud (albeit a little downtrodden) upon his throne, Sans did more than his fair share contributing to the kingdom. Aside from his many jobs and countless attempts at keeping up the moral of his fellow monsters just as his brother did, there was only one role Sans had been required to fill.

The Judge.

He had been the final line between salvation and the eradication of their world. A barrier against an unknown threat, an anomaly. Something that Asgore and Alphys both had been just as aware of as he had.

The three of them knew of what could happen, what could go so very wrong, even if they didn’t retain memories and only a very vivid, visceral, sense of deja vu (something that Sans hated, and even to this day hated all the more for how foggy his memory could get when hungered, how deranged and near paracusic he turned).

An anomaly could alter and erase time.

Erase them.

Together they concluded that this anomaly would have to be of human origins. The deja vu and the printouts from their machines only ever became sporadic when a human fell, and the rise of DT levels throughout the underground during their attempted passages correlated.

So Alphys set up the cameras: to watch.

Asgore wandered the kingdom: to hunt (before the guilt became too much and he hid away in his garden).

And Sans stood at the end of the hall: to guard.

Because he was so perceptive, he was to measure and compare DT to LV, to find the anomaly and weigh it as a threat, read its intentions all while allowing it to play ‘the game’ as it pleased. So long as it never stepped out of line.

Suffice to say all of that stopped mattering eventually. Became forgotten in the face of betrayal, death, and thirst.

But Sans had never stopped being The Judge.

He might’ve lost some of that sharpness that made him somewhat qualified for the job due to the famine, sure—frustratingly true to admit—but he still was able to read and deduce in a more than normal capacity.

Which is why as he glances down at your hunched shoulders he has to take a moment.

Sans has to physically stop himself from reacting at seeing how dim your soul is when a second before it had been shining that bright solar illumination that he always has to take a mental step back from in fear of how consuming it is.

Souls were naturally bright.

The magic, intentions, and emotions that composed them always gave them an ethereal glow that could flare vibrant depending on how high those emotions were stoked, or simmer down low if impacted in an ill received way that made the coloration and overall appearance look crystalline and faded.

Your soul however…

Flares the brightest that Sans has ever seen.

Especially when interacting with him. He wouldn’t deny it was a bit of an ego boost how strong your inner light would become simply because he held you during a show or smiled at you.

It was mesmerizing, really.

Enthralling.

To see how his dodge of kissing you has affected you so strikes him in a way he doesn’t expect.

Greed

Thirst

Hunger

Where was the light?

The longer Sans stares, caught between fulfilling his promise to Aliza—to be good, he promised to be good for her—and giving into the sudden, undeniable urge to return that glow to its former glory, his soul quakes.

There’s static, a glitching malformation appearing where once his perception used to hold the inner workings and dialogue of the soul. He hasn’t been able to see words in a long…long time.

And there’s only one; just as broken and scattered as he is.

* f ͬ ͣg ͥl ͤ

He struggles, tries to joke and reason with you, and all it does is make your soul darker and darker.

The word vanishes.

You tremble, as if afraid and about to break.

…And who was he really? Trying to pretend he doesn’t want to kiss you just as bad. Doesn’t want to take and feel that warmth behind your ribs that burns so wonderfully as if only for him. He’s already crossed lines, gotten so close to feeling it so many times but choosing instead to linger in the wisps of its fringes.

A hand on your shoulder, his teeth by your ear…

He’s technically already felt it once, when you’d been pulled close to his chest upon waking (from a rather dirty dream) and it’d stunned the embarrassment, shame, and anger right out of him. He’d felt a soul warm for him before, many times, enjoyed its heat. Compared to yours, they were nothing. Your soul scorched, was painful enough it turned to a deranged pleasure.

Sans has tried to forget.

But he doesn’t really want to.

Because on top of that you were smart, funny. Cute in a very endearing way with how you cluttered the table with literary texts and inquired about things in a genuine attempt to understand how something functioned. You were a thinker, an eager learner. Adorable in how you reminded him of Pap by asking for a bedtime story and bathed him in nostalgia as he read to you in colorful voices.

Sometimes…you made him forget who he was now.

Sometimes…you made him feel like how he used to be.

A darkness sits heavy in his ribs. That last thought isn’t true and he knows it. If he truly felt that way he wouldn’t be so much as stalling on how to handle this situation. He’d reject you, pat you on the head, and walk away.

He’d wait.

To see if that was even a possibility down the line and if he would still be interested.

Just as you’re still waiting now, shaking.

…so dim, so dark…

Fragile.

...waiting has only ever fucked him over.

He waited for the anomaly to make a move. He waited for Toriel to come to her senses and rule the kingdom again. He waited for Alphys and the others to try helping him find a solution to the CORE. He waited to kill until monsters started dusting left and right, until he feared even his brother would share their fate. He waited to eat until an alternative was found to human meat. He waited, and waited, for something, anybody.

He waited for seven goddamn years.

Sans’ soul goes rampant, begs to be fed.

Just one kiss, just a taste.

His promise to Aliza goes right out the proverbial window, forgotten just as is his morals.

He reasons: why should he subject you to the pain of waiting?

“...just one kiss, got it?"

The gradual build of your soul as it shines like a dying star before erupting into phantasmal wonder is enough that Sans feels floored, like his knees are about to give out as his soul pounds in his skull with the deadly beat of a hunter’s gait upon the forest floor.

It’s automatic how he returns your smile, outlined in the glow of your soul, with his own.

"k, let's go somewhere more private."

#undertale au #horrortale #sans/reader #Cupcake #My writing

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