#than some of their later attempts to engage with those topics

[lostloveletters]

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.”

[lizhly-writes]

hi here's a continuation of this thing.

The Lords of Qiong Ding and Qing Jing hated each other.

This was a problem, as they were respectively the first and second-in-command of the entire sect, which meant issues in their relationship meant issues for, you know, the entire fucking sect. Apparently, their masters had engaged them in an attempt to solve this problem, which obviously didn't work. To this day, Qiong Ding Peak Lord and Qing Jing Peak Lord couldn't stay in the same room for even the time it took for an incense stick to burn without an argument. They could restrain themselves if they absolutely had to, presenting a relatively united front for other sects, but this was akin to trying to seal away active explosion talismans. Sooner or later, something was going to blow up!

The fights after these small periods of swallowing down their temper were legendary.

It was too bad that Cang Qiong didn't believe in divorce. What, breaking the engagement that your master set for you? Pshaw, that would be unfilial! It didn't matter if your marriage sucked, it was your duty to suffer for your sect!

But if they had to suffer for the sect, then reciprocally, the sect had to suffer for them, too. Shizun took Shang Qinghua to peak lord meetings sometimes, and Shang Qinghua had never felt as much like a child standing before parents who should have never gotten married as he did sitting near those two. And he wasn't even one of their disciples! Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu had to feel way more awkward about it, especially with their own engagement.

"Shizun and Shishu did originally agree on engaging myself and Shen-shidi," Yue Qingyuan said. "Shizun didn't like it, but he did say it would be better for the sect if I had a better relationship with Qing Jing than he did."

"Okay, but didn't marriage make them way worse," Shang Qinghua said, fascinated by this logic. "Shouldn't their experience have taught them that marriage is like... the death of the hopes of ever getting along or something?"

Yue Qingyuan shrugged. "I didn't see the need to argue the point."

Yeah okay, he probably wouldn't have. Arguing the point would've meant he'd be arguing for someone else to be engaged to his Xiao Jiu. Obviously unthinkable.

"There's no need to look at me like that," Yue Qingyuan said.

"I didn't say anything," Shang Qinhgua said.

"Of course not."

"In any case, the engagement between me and you...?"

"Shizun and Shishu got into an argument," Yue Qingyuan said, sounding very tired. "I don't fully recall what it was about. Their personalities, perhaps. And then the topic somehow led to the head disciples, some remarks on our respective characters, something about how unbearable it was being engaged to a Qiong Ding disciple, something about how unbearable it was being engaged to a Qing Jing disciple..."

"And now I'm engaged to you," Shang Qinghua said.

"And now you're engaged to me," Yue Qingyuan said. "Shizun told me that An Ding engagements are very peaceful, quiet, and not at all like being engaged to a disciple that Shishu must have corrupted with his vices and personality."

Wow, projection much???

[literaryvein-reblogs]

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.

[sucker4mafia]

━━━ '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.

[antianakin]

Am I the only one who just lost any and all love for newer Star Wars material due to Jedi hate ? Like- the only merch or show or even FANDOM topic I get involved in is clone wars stuff and MAYBE TBB. Like- why would I want the watch shows who attempt to rewritte canon and portray the very heroes of Star Wars as the bad guys ?

Why would I want to watch shows that assassinate characters left and right (looking at you, Ahsoka and Sabine) ? Why would I want to buy merch of characters who I not only NOT care about, but who also are used as meta mouthpieces for stupid Jedi hate ?

I think there's TONS of good newer Star Wars material, to be honest.

I loved the Kenobi show and it is arguably one of the most pro Jedi pieces of media to have existed since the Prequels films. Aside from one itty bitty somewhat awkward word choice in one line of one episode, there is absolutely NOTHING in that show that can be used to indict the Jedi or blame them for anything and it is arguably one of the only shows to really spend time MOURNING the Jedi and recognizing the horror of what was done to them. Rebels comes closest after this, but its structure makes it a little less visceral than the Kenobi show was to me.

I really adore Visions and I recognize that this is sort-of Star Wars adjacent more than anything else, but SO LITTLE truly understands what makes Star Wars compelling as a story and really hits on those primary themes the way that Visions does. There's SO MUCH Jedi content in Visions and I remember people complaining about how much Jedi content was in Visions and other people responding that if you were given free reign to just play in the Star Wars sandbox with near zero restrictions on what you could make with it, you would probably ALSO immediately go for the psychic space wizards with laser swords. Who WOULDN'T? Visions also just genuinely has some of the most engaging and heart-wrenching stories to come out of Star Wars in a LONG while and it does it in these beautifully animated 15 minute packages. It's such a gem and I am so glad to be alive at the same time as Visions.

Rogue One is older now, but both Rogue One and Andor, despite having zero actual Jedi in them, really hinge on the themes from the Prequel trilogy about the tragedy in the Star Wars universe, stepping up when no one else will, choosing to be selfless and compassionate for the greater good, etc. Faith and hope are MASSIVE themes within these two works and even though there aren't any space wizards, good or evil, in either story, they feel like some of the most pro Jedi things Star Wars has come out with in a while based on thematic messages ALONE.

The Mandalorian's first two seasons actually have this absolutely BEAUTIFUL story about the selfless sacrifice of one man as he gives up everything in order to help this child find his way back to the culture he'd been ripped from. Everything AFTER that regarding Grogu and Din's storyline is a piece of shit (it's not explicitly anti-Jedi or anything, but it undoes a lot of the things that made their story so compelling and beautiful), but the first two seasons are genuinely GOOD and very pro Jedi in a lot of ways despite the lack of many actual Jedi characters.

The Book of Boba Fett is a terrible show for a LOT of reasons, but shockingly none of them have anything to do with its treatment of the Jedi. If it ever ends up with a season two, I desperately hope they leave Mace Windu's name the fuck out of it, but at this point it is a pretty Jedi neutral show if you're willing to deal with the rest of its bullshit.

Rebels is also somewhat older now, and it has a few lines here and there that are a tad more Jedi critical, but it is by and large VERY Jedi positive and does also follow a lot of the themes of selflessness and sacrifice that go along with being a Jedi. It also has themes of mercy and patience and facing your fears in Sabine's storyline that got entirely thrown away in her later storyline. Just thought that was worth pointing out. For reasons.

TBB is also fairly Jedi neutral, but its treatment of the clones is basically the clone version of being anti Jedi, so I'm not sure it's actually any better. It just traded hating on the Jedi to hating on the clones, and I find that just as distasteful.

I can't really speak to things like comics and novels much since I don't tend to consume them really. I've read a few of the adult novels in the High Republic Phase I and the first one was genuinely very good, but there were some relatively heavy-handed Jedi critical themes within the third book of Phase I (The Fallen Star) that put me off of it a little. I haven't continued into Phase II or III at all, so I have no idea if those themes got continued in later books. I've heard generally good things about the Padawan book, I think.

The Cal Kestis video games, Fallen Order and Survivor, also have their small Jedi critical moments, but much like Rebels, it has these massive overarching themes and messages about compassion and selflessness and sacrifice and facing your fears and mercy. They are immensely Jedi positive in a lot of ways and I really enjoyed both of them.

So out of everything I have seen (and know about) the only stuff that's truly heinously and insultingly anti-Jedi is the Ahsoka show, the Acolyte, and Tales of the Jedi. Three shows and like 30% of one book. Out of a list of like ten different shows and one film and some books and video games. It's not even really HALF of the content we've been getting recently.

A lot of people talk about the Disney era like it's ruined Star Wars, or like nothing it releases has ever been good. But it just straight up isn't true. It's a little insulting to all of the genuinely wonderful work that is being done by all of these other creators to just brush aside everything that's been coming out recently as awful and bad because some of the MOST recent things have been pretty explicitly hateful towards the Jedi. It's not fun that we had the Ahsoka show immediately followed by the Bad Batch followed by the Acolyte. I hate that, too, it feels like we're on this neverending shitshow of stories explicitly aimed at hating a group of characters for no obvious good reason. But I don't think that the last 6 months or so of bullshit should overshadow some of the really beautiful stories we HAVE gotten within the last several years.

If you feel like things are getting difficult, maybe do a "good Star Wars" marathon of sorts. Watch the Prequels, followed by the Kenobi show, then Andor, then Rebels, then Rogue One, then the Original trilogy. This one long beautiful story of people stepping up to fight against selfishness and greed and darkness no matter what.

Or go rewatch Visions or read some of your favorite fanfics and remember all the things about Star Wars that are just universally cool and compelling across the world. Hell, you can try writing something of your own! Anything! A lot of my AU concepts stemmed from spite and really helped me feel a little bit better about Star Wars when it sometimes felt like I was just surrounded by the parts of it I liked the least. Go buy yourself a cool t-shirt or some fun jewelry. Find some pretty stickers and put it on a water bottle or an enamel pin to put on a canvas tote bag or a corkboard.

Curating your fandom experience goes beyond just the internet. There's a reason I am boycotting the Acolyte and it isn't because I think Disney or its creators are going to care at all. I'm doing it for ME, because I had such a shitty time watching the Ahsoka show and it made me so miserable each week that I seriously think I will be better off just leaving it the hell alone and just absorbing whatever ends up crossing my dash from a distance. I only participate in Star Wars fandom servers that I feel safe in and only really get into discussions with personal friends who I know well. If participating in Star Wars fandom is making you sad, maybe take a step back or find a way to create your own corner of fandom that feels better. Ignore the damn Ahsoka show, pretend it never existed. Ignore the Acolyte. Ignore Tales of the Jedi. Ignore Filoni-related bullshit. Focus on the parts you DO like, or give yourself the space to remember why you liked it in the first place.

[daja-the-hypnokitten]

Consent Culture: What it is and isn’t

In some of the hypnokink discord spaces I’m in, I’ve noticed a worrying trend. People saying other folk can’t talk about a specific topic, or use certain words, etc, because they “didn’t consent to that.” It’s a weaponization of consent culture to force *purity* culture, often, and I’m really tired of seeing the culture I fought so hard to help establish be used to silence folk just trying to talk about things they enjoy!

So. Let’s all have a little chat about what consent culture is and means, what it isn’t, and what any given individual’s responsibilities are in a consent culture.

Being in a consent culture means not *doing things* to other people without their consent; touch, sharing information about them, in my community’s context hypnotizing them or using/attempting to use triggers on them… things like that. It also includes giving people space where they can feel comfortable disagreeing, saying ‘no’ to requests, and so on. Respecting other people’s boundaries, and not always demanding their time and energy. It involves making a good faith effort to respect not only the letter of the rules, but the *spirit* of the rules in a space, as well.

It is not, however, shutting down anything that causes anyone in the space discomfort. We’re all adults here, as this is a kink space. As adults, we SHOULD be able to handle a little discomfort. And if something is truly upsetting to you? You can ask something like “hey, can we change the topic,” of course, but if the others don’t want to? Or, if, say, you’re in a public play space and someone is doing a scene you don’t like? That’s when the rule of two feet comes in.

For those who are unfamiliar with the rule/law of two feet, it’s a concept taken from a meeting style called “open spaces” - and loosely what unconferences are based around.

A businessman named Harrison Owen, involved in spaces that promote this philosophy, sums it up thusly:

“Briefly stated, this law says that every individual has two feet, and must be prepared to use them. Responsibility for a successful outcome in any Open Space Event resides with exactly one person—each participant. Individuals can make a difference and must make a difference. If that is not true in a given situation, they, and they alone, must take responsibility to use their two feet, and move to a new place where they can make a difference.”

What does that mean in kink spaces? Well, it’s less about productivity/making a difference, and more about finding the right comfort level. Is a class covering topics that you don’t enjoy? Or is the demo a bit more graphic than you’d like to see? Step out (whether for a moment or the rest of the class) and get some air, going back in later if you want to see if they’ve moved to something you find more comfortable. People talking about a kink that you find squicky or that triggers negative emotions? Walk away for a bit, or stop reading the channel. On places like here, on tumblr, mute a tag/word. Let people enjoy the thing and rejoin them when the topic changes.

Because that’s your responsibility in a consent culture - advocating for your own comfort *in a way that lets people enjoy the things they enjoy.* Sometimes that means you miss out on time with people you like, yes. But it’s better than making people dislike you because you keep telling them that they can’t engage with something they enjoy!

Also? Because it bears calling out, though it’s a bit tangential here? Disgust is not and never will be a gauge of immorality or unethical behaviour. Plenty of people are disgusted by the concept of rape play - but that doesn’t mean that consenting adults engaging in rape play are acting unethically. Some things are both disgusting AND unethical, of course - actual rape, for example! - but if your main reason for saying something is immoral or unethical is “it makes me uncomfortable” or “I find it disgusting”? Probe harder and consider that your aversion may just be distaste, and it isn’t a moral judgement.

Bystander consent is a different topic for another day, mostly, but I do want to note - it tends to come into play when the Rule of 2 Feet doesn’t really work, such as in places of business where employees cannot walk away.

I also want to take a moment to discuss the distinction between consent and having boundaries.

Consent is about things being done to or by you; boundaries are about other people’s actions that are not directly involving you.

So “don’t pull my hair” is a consent line. “Don’t talk about X around me or I’ll stop interacting with you” is a boundary.

“Don’t talk about X around me” without a consequence is just a rule, and outside of power exchange dynamics where the ability to give rules is negotiated? Rules in relationships typically just breed resentment.  But also, if you disagree with a boundary someone is trying to draw for you, and you’re willing to bear the consequences? That *is not* a consent violation. That isn’t what consent is for. Having said that, a violation is a violation - whether a violation of boundaries or of consent - and either can hurt just as much as the other.

And claiming otherwise? Is weaponizing consent culture to manipulate people, whether intentionally or not. And we all need to do better than that.

[teyamskxawng]

In Heat [VII]

Lo'ak Sully x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

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

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

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

WC: 12.2k

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

*4 months later*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But his words only fueled your rage. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Need you too,” he rasped out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But, despite it all, he didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was so much more than just physical contact.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Can I say it again?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

end

Taglist <3:

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

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

[windmaedchen-oceanhorn]

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.

[misscammiedawn]

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.

[decarbry]

hey,, what’s up friends, I bring you... a literal summary of the Yabureme story up until around war arc events. obviously this is spoilery so if you don’t want to know what happens until the relevant comic pages come out don’t expand the post! this is just for people who don’t mind spoilers. also keep in mind that this is a summary so I kind of just. word-vomited. it’s... weird? short and sweet but not in some places. a literal mess. I put 0 effort into writing good and some sections are more wordy than others because I've thought them through for longer and have them more solidified. also things are subject to CHANGE between this and the actual comic pages so read with a grain of salt. the major events are probably gonna remain the same though. things might get inserted or removed. idk. also it’s LONG I’m so sorry. enj... oy ?? ?

Aizawa has been taken. Midnight and Nezu attempt to comfort Mic; there are no leads, but the faculty have already started working schedules out to help search, which reassures him. Though he is desperate to join the search, Nezu refuses to give his blessings until he knows Mic won’t act rashly. Mic hosts the Sports Fest in an attempt to ground himself and find unity with the students.

Hidden away, Garaki has begun his work on Aizawa. The injuries are bad; though Garaki is an accomplished and varied medical professional, he can’t do what Recovery Girl can, so Aizawa is merely stabilized and the bio-engineering in later dev stages will be relied on to do the heavy lifting. Aizawa suffers 2 days and nights of infusions (one for each new quirk) and barely powers through an intense fever on the last night. The capsule is the final and longest stage to allow the quirks to take hold and the body to heal. All for One is a regular voice in the background during the entire process, though those visits stop after an incident in the capsule in which Erasure activated for a solid ten seconds and strikes everyone in the room before going inert again.

Time passes with no news. Mic is becoming frustrated and less willing to listen to reason. Classes 1-A and 1-B attend their summer camp with Vlad and various other heroes that have substituted since Aizawa’s absence. Bakugou is kidnapped by the League in an attempt to recruit. Though the topic is raised, Shigaraki refuses to do more than tease Bakugou about his missing teacher, as well as use him as a bargaining chip. We still have yet to see him since his abduction. The mission to rescue Bakugou begins.

All Might engages in combat with AFO at Kamino. His weakened form is exposed to the world and he musters up his strength for the last strike. Instead, OFA fails, and all heroes present immediately know why. Edge Shot rushes to interrupt Erasure while Endeavor attempts to reach All Might. Neither get there in time and All Might takes a blow straight through his chest. Endeavor takes over the fight against a wounded AFO and Edge Shot engages in battle with Yabureme. Edge Shot is killed and Endeavor manages to subdue AFO.

Hours after the battle ends, Kurogiri searches for Yabureme, who has not reappeared as he was meant to. He finds Yabureme badly injured and hiding after his fight with Edge Shot and warps him back to where the League has taken up to recover. Shigaraki only knew that AFO had plans for Aizawa, not that Yabureme was to be a gift for him, but Kurogiri informs him of this. Shigaraki is unimpressed considering Yabureme’s wounds after only a single fight, but he’s going through some stuff, so he has license to be a bratty child for a night. Once Kurogiri hears from Garaki, he takes Yabureme to be patched up. Later he’s returned to the League, who as a whole are unsure about what to do next now that AFO is captured.

While everyone else is appalled to hear rumors that the supposed-missing Eraser Head was present at Kamino and had a hand in assisting the villains, Mic suddenly has a new fire lit under him. He breaks away from UA and strikes out on his own, against the pleas of friends such as Midnight. He manages to track the League’s movements after much work and finally sees Yabureme for the first time… but is unable to reach or speak to him as his quirk is erased during their escape.

Class 1-A witnessed Mic depart and, with the help of other pros, manage to convince Mic to let them help in catching Yabureme. He is very resistant to putting them in danger but relents with the alliance of Midnight and Gran Torino. During a previous sighting it was noted that Yabureme’s movements slowed and stiffened the more eyes were open on his body, so a plan is hatched to surround Yabureme with as many enemy quirks as possible in order to stun him.

Yabureme is located. He’s alone, which is odd, but not wanting to miss their chance, the operation is launched. Surrounded by what he believes are hostile enemies, Yabureme opens enough eyes to erase the quirks of every student, stunning himself. A short battle ensues; Kaminari is injured but proves instrumental in the discovery of a weakness in the Nomu: that an electrical current will force all of his eyes to close and subsequentially interrupt Erasure. Mic, Gran Torino, Midnight, and Class 1-A succeed in capturing Yabureme.

Too much of a threat for any normal prison containment, Yabureme is taken to Tartarus. They learn: about the nature of his engineering, that exhaustion has nearly killed him, that unlike every other Nomu contained so far he is not a corpse, and that three quirk factors were combined to create Yabureme. Erasure and Dupli-arms (or related) are confirmed, but the third is still being investigated. Because the third quirk is still unknown, containment is at a risk and a shock collar is placed to help mitigate any attempts at escape. The students are brought in to speak to him after everyone else, including Mic and Midnight, fail to get any response out of Yabureme. Unfortunately, the students are also unable to get through to him. Their failed efforts leave them dejected. Yabureme doesn’t speak a word the entire time he is inside Tartarus.

After a few days, the third quirk is activated by an unknown trigger. Yabureme and AFO escape Tartarus with the help of Kurogiri— the timing of the pieces prove that this was orchestrated from the beginning.

In the wake of the escape, Mic is told in secrecy that Yabureme has not removed the shock collar, probably because of its failsafes. It’s been tracked, and his location is known— a new operation is underway to recapture him. Mic rushes to get there first, finding Yabureme in solitude at an abandoned building, having split ways from the League temporarily to avoid getting them tracked while he tries to find a way to remove the collar himself. Mic and Yabureme have a tender moment, or so Mic thinks… but Yabureme slyly uses Mic’s obvious obsession with him to get the hero to take the collar off. Mic falls for it and Yabureme flees.

Though it seemed to be just manipulation, this kind interaction has left the first shred of uncertainty in Yabureme. He returns to the League and resumes his role in protecting Shigaraki and the others. A long period ensues where the League and the heroes play cat and mouse, Mic returning to society in order to accept help from friends and family rather than trying to go it alone as he had before.

Day after day, Yabureme’s doubts deepen as small things burrow into his mind: things like a song on the radio, a familiar black cat, names that he’s heard before. He can’t shake the face of the hero that spoke to him gently and had something warm in his eyes. He meets Eri, but seems to be merely a moment of warmth in her life before departing. Time passes.

The League grows frustrated with Mic, considering his constant interference as troublesome and annoying. Dabi sets a trap for Mic and attempts to kill him. Without any understanding of why, Yabureme takes the worst of the trap himself. He drags an unconscious Mic away from the inferno before collapsing with horrific burns across the right side of his body. Mic wakes in time to feel Yabureme’s heart stop, and in his anguish accidentally causes it to start again with the impact of Voice against the Nomu’s chest.

Mic manages to smuggle Yabureme to a hiding spot, containing him with the only thing available: simple metal handcuffs. Recovery Girl answers his call to the secluded site warily, unhappy that she is asked to keep such a dangerous secret. She stabilizes Yabureme and begins healing some of the burns, but considering his physical deterioration and exhaustion, can’t do much in one sitting.

When the Nomu wakes, Mic and Yabureme have their first real conversation, speaking mostly about the latter and how he’s feeling, what he’s thinking, and why Dabi, his supposed ally, would harm him so badly. He also points out that Yabureme could get out of the cuffs easily, and yet, for some reason, hasn’t.

On the second day, Recovery Girl returns, but so does a second guest: All Might. He is partially wheelchair-bound, the apparent repercussions of the wounds he took at Kamino. He expresses his unhappiness with this situation: Yabureme needs to be properly contained, not hooked to a chainlink fence with fragile metal handcuffs. Mic wants his blessing but plans to keep Yabureme here at least for a short while, highlighting the fact that he’s behaving more openly now than he ever did while in Tartarus. They notice Yabureme watching them and All Might speaks to the Nomu alone. He and Recovery Girl have agreed to give Mic a few days with Yabureme until his burns have been treated, but that he will be returned to Tartarus after that— and now that the third quirk is known, escape will not be possible a second time. He shares some belief that Mic is right that there is hope for Yabureme and that if anyone deserved a path back to normal, it was Shouta Aizawa. He urges the Nomu to try his hardest to remember anything he can.

In the ensuing days, Mic spends time conversing with Yabureme. Unlike the catatonic state he was in while at Tartarus, Yabureme is nervously conversational, answering questions and asking them on his own. He admits his confusion and doubts to Mic, and Mic learns that the whole reason Yabureme was unresponsive while at Tartarus was because of the lights and the intense head pain they cause, utterly decimating his senses and thoughts. He wasn’t shutting down because of his programming or a need to be disobedient— he simply could not function in those conditions.

The morning of the intake comes. Tsukauchi and numerous officers arrive to take Yabureme into custody. Mic attempts to keep everything smooth, warning Yabureme about their arrival and making sure that there aren’t too many men appearing at once. Yabureme nearly panics anyway at the sight of firearms, but is calmed when Mic holds his hands and gives encouragement. Yabureme is taken into custody without a struggle, though he shuts down when he’s led away from Mic.

Mic apologizes to Tsukauchi for hiding Yabureme, but is forgiven considering the relative ease of the capture. The detective promises to keep Mic with Yabureme as much as possible this time around, since his presence clearly helps. He also acknowledges Mic’s request for accommodating Yabureme’s aversion to the bright lights of the prison, especially with the confidence that it might help with getting information out of the Nomu. Yabureme’s shutdown reverses some when Mic reappears in the police transport to travel with him to Tartarus.

Yabureme and Mic arrive at Tartarus and the Nomu is immediately assaulted by the lights. He’s given relief in the form of a sedative. His wounds are checked over while he’s out: it’s discovered that his right eye took far too much damage from Dabi’s flames and must be removed before the dead material causes an infection, shock, or worse. The majority of the burn scars will be permanent because of the lack of proper immediate care in a supplied burn ward. Aside from a handful of new scars and wear and tear, nothing else is noted.

Yabureme startles awake, finding himself in a Tartarus cell with Mic at his bedside. The lights are dimmed rather than blindingly bright. Mic gives him the rundown of what happened, and proudly tells him that the hardest part, getting to the start line of his recovery, was over. He is questioned for the first time the day after waking, and though he is much more responsive to interrogation compared to his last stint in Tartarus, Yabureme still shies away from answering questions that would cause the League a disadvantage… though he is clearly conflicted.

So begins Yabureme’s long road back to someone he didn’t know he used to be. Mic becomes the only foothold of stability Yabureme has, finding that his physical reassurances such as hugs and hand-holding are intensely grounding. The second time he is questioned, he holds Mic’s encouragement in his mind, and manages to talk shortly about some of the Leagues’ hideouts.

He still has doubts about all of this Shouta Aizawa stuff, but Mic works him through stories of his past gently and at a slow pace. The first bit of information that helps Yabureme see that the possibility exists of a connection between himself and this other person is a story Mic tells about Aizawa feeding cats on the street; Yabureme shyly, but excitedly, admits that he does that a lot too. After this, things begin to come more swiftly. Mic brings him his wedding ring, and Yabureme asks to hold Mic’s as well, and remembers the sensation of them clicking against one another in his hand.

With Mic’s help, and the help of a therapist that meets with him daily, more and more begins to come back. Even memories he reclaims are left blurry and dull, but once the flood gate opens, it doesn’t close, and Yabureme’s progress quickens the harder he works. When his memories begin to focus on Class 1-A, he asks to see them. Plenty is still missing, but he apologizes for the things he did to them, focusing on Kaminari and the wounds inflicted during his first capture. He wants to work for their forgiveness, but doesn’t expect it. Midoriya mentions that he seems a lot more like his old self, which fills Yabureme with a hidden relief and encouragement.

Time passes. Yabureme continues to work hard at getting back to himself, and the image of Shouta Aizawa gets more clear by the day. His old mannerisms begin returning in small amounts: rolling his eyes at stupid things Mic says, muttering about things that annoy him. When he gets a surprise visitor, both Mic and Yabureme are surprised to find Kaminari requesting advice for a hitch in his hero training. As Yabureme converses with Kaminari in an observation room, Mic and Tsukauchi watch, and both are amazed to see the clearest image of Aizawa they’ve seen since before his abduction. Mic takes the opportunity to ask about a road that leads outside of Tartarus and, though Tsukauchi doesn’t shut it down, he admits there are many concerns— specifically regarding hidden triggers that might still exist inside Yabureme’s mind. An idea is floated: bring someone in with a voice-copying quirk, and see what happens when Yabureme is faced with orders from Shigaraki or All for One.

Yabureme (Aizawa? Yabuzawa by this point?) agrees to the experiment, though he is clearly discomforted by the idea, unsure of how he mind be effected. The experiment begins. Yabuzawa is secured heavily just in case, but he is clearly determined, if nervous. The voice-copying quirk speaks in Shigaraki’s voice first, ordering him to turn his head to one side. Yabuzawa doesn’t seem to have a problem disobeying, but when the speaker doubles down and becomes hostile about his refusing to obey an order, Yabuzawa spirals and has a panic attack. All for One’s voice cuts in with an order that is obeyed immediately, and Mic is only able to snap him out of it with a slap to the face. The results are clear: Shigaraki’s orders can be ignored with enough work, but AFO’s orders seem unquestionable. Yabuzawa is frustrated by his own perceived failure in the experiment, understandably upset that despite all of the progress he’s made, they still hold some power over him.

Time passes. Yabuzawa improves with his response to Shigaraki’s voice, though still shaken after being faced with it, can do so without panicking. AFO’s orders seem unbreakable. Mic once again breaks the topic of getting him out of Tartarus, and after some debate, it’s agreed that the UA students and the hero efforts (and Yabuzawa himself) would benefit more with Aizawa back in the world. By this time the unknown of the League and AFO and the PLA have long been poisoning society’s trust in heroes; Erasure can’t be hidden away in a bunker with tensions growing by the day.

Mic is permitted to confine him to their apartment under police guard for increasingly longer periods of time, regular check-ins and evaluations, and lots of rules. Yabuzawa isn’t permitted to be alone with anyone aside from Mic, and when outside of the building must cover his neck, arms, and hands. Finally, the shock collar is back as a last resort. If you read this whole thing you’re a certified #1 Yabureme fan sorry I don’t make the rules

[vwritesaus]

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!!

[cathodic-clairvoyant]

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

[orbmanson7]

Alexithymia please?

Writing Logan angst ficlets based on any word or phrase sent in to my ask box!

(went long again, put it under a read more)

--

Often, learning came easy to him. Even if he wasn't all that interested in the topic, the knowledge still seemed to soak in after enough time reading and observing and trying it out. Studying and research were second nature to him, always knowing the best routine to follow in order to learn something new effectively and thoroughly.

Most of what he learned had its use, the most important of which was filed away for later reference to be used in any future discussion, debate, or decision. The others valued his knowledge, asking for it quite often, really.

Well, perhaps less often lately, but they still asked.

Which is probably why it was for the best that they never asked him about emotions, whether they be his own, the others', or Thomas'.

He wished he could understand and know more, but something about the abstract and ever-changing nature of emotions made them difficult to truly pin down. It wasn't something as simple as to have rigid guidelines, but it's not like Logan needed it to be simple. Complex constructs didn't typically trouble him, but emotions existed in this separate plane of understanding that eluded him. He couldn't seem to reach it, to see what others found so easy to see, to experience once what others seemed to experience frequently.

Perhaps that meant something was wrong with him. He certainly hoped not.

But it was undeniable that he appeared to be barred from learning and understanding emotions much at all.

He had tried to understand. So many times, he had tried. But after so many times of having thought he had found the answer, the trick, the right clue he was meant to look for all along, he'd only ever be proven irrevocably wrong.

"Honest? Logan, I was kidding."

"I wasn't upset! Why would you think that?!"

"Did you really believe I'd be excited to hear about something so stupid?"

"That should have been obvious, idiot! Of course I'm angry about it!"

The guides he attempted to make for himself to follow never seemed to work properly. Something was always missing or misinterpreted, leaving him with a completely wrong conclusion time and time again.

Just as he thought he saw the sign of one emotion, he'd try to engage and point it out, only to be told he'd guessed incorrectly.

No amount of research ever fixed the issue. So many articles relied on the reader recognizing and understanding their own emotional states in order to realize the same of those around them. How was he meant to reflect on his own experience when he had none?

It left him stuck at square one, always somehow interpreting emotions incorrectly or, worst of all, failing to notice them entirely.

It made the more emotional discussion points of every debacle tiring to handle. The others would bicker and fight and Logan could only hope to keep up. He stuck to what he did know - the facts. If it seemed the others were going on too long with their emotional realizations, he tried to steer them back to the matter at hand with what he knew of the situation.

It wasn't often appreciated, but he knew it was necessary.

If there was one thing he understood about emotions, it was that they dragged issues out longer than necessary, making the simple complicated as well as a waste of time.

His sentiment on the matter was clearly not shared. More than once, another side had argued he was just as affected by such things, but Logan was certain by now that even if he was on occasion, it was never enough to become some unnecessary distraction in the middle of finding a resolution.

Did he feel emotions? Probably, but he would never let that get in the way of his duties.

It would be much easier if he didn't have them at all, and seeing how often emotions only worsened and devolved most situations, he preferred to implore he did not possess them. He needed to be taken seriously, and it didn't seem possible to take any of the others at their word when they appeared to be under some thrall of whichever emotion they had in that moment, so going without was his best option. Surely, someone had to be the voice of reason around here.

It's not as though he was missing out.

He just wished he could learn more about it. It was unfair to struggle to understand when Patton smiled but said he was hurting, or when Virgil yelled at him but wouldn't explain why, or Roman turned out to be lying in a way that was apparently different from acting.

Janus' little forced tutorial about different ways someone could lie had certainly been helpful, but that was also the day he realized that knowing a definition and seeing it in action were very different things.

He actually thought he'd finally made some progress with Remus lately, too, as he's always been so honest and upfront, but Logan could tell there was always something there behind his words that he couldn't quite grasp. When asked, there was no cohesive response, just an abrupt but expected change of subject.

He just couldn't receive the full picture when emotions were involved. He was thankful when someone was willing to just outright say what they felt or what they truly meant, but with this group (Thomas included), he found that the opportunity was rare.

At least there was the small grace in the others' reluctance to request his knowledge on the subject. Patton was absolutely more suited for the task anyway.

It didn't help to be considered unreliable, but the lack of emotions and emotional knowledge kept him focused on what Thomas truly needed. He could be reliable where it mattered.

It may have left him with fewer ways to engage in their discussions, with fewer chances to aid Thomas in the moment, but Logan was still able to do his job.

There wasn't anything wrong with him. He was still needed.

He was sure of that.

...though, he had been proven wrong quite a lot lately.

[themsource]

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."

[esotericfaery]

Mercury enters Capricorn & Venus enters Scorpio (December 2023) [Info. and Affirmations]

Dec. 1st, as Mercury (rx) leaves Sagittarius for Capricorn, we switch from feeling adventurous and playful, more into focus towards long term goals. We’re more practical, organized, a grounded into physical realism, and less fun-loving jokester. Humour changes from silliness to a more subtle form; sarcasm.

We’re also less likely to get caught up in pretension or inconsistent behaviour. Philosophy changes from exploring a wide range of topics or options, to the precision of what’s most essential. We get to the point, knowing our ambitions are best conquered most efficiently this way.

Watch out for ourselves and others, as cold, harsh behaviour is experienced. Not particularly expressive, Capricorn can be cautious, and may even seem guarded. We should attempt to not have tunnel vision, and to not allow cold behaviours.

For those who do any sort of teaching and guiding as work, we will enjoy this stable and focused energy. It’s great for getting tasks and projects finished faster, and better than when Mercury was in Sagittarius.

How effectively are we communicating both within and without? We’ll have time to work with dependable Capricorn, and figure it out.

We’ll also have a bit of a break from that energy, as Mercury hops back to Sagittarius on the 23rd, then surfs back into Capricorn on Jan. 14th. Mercury gets out the protest signs for Aquarius on Feb. 5th, around the time He finishes His rx exit shadow.

~

Dec. 4th, Venus leaves one of it’s home signs, Libra the balancer, for mysterious, unpredictable Scorpio. Venus will be there until She meets up with Sagittarius on Dec. 29th.

Passions flare like white water rapids, as the superficial just isn’t appealing, and anything mediocre is viewed with disdain.

Intensely unforgettable romance often happens when Venus is in Scorpio. Scorpio is either all in, or has no interest. You will lose the trust or devotion of someone with Scorpio prominent if you don’t speak clearly about your thoughts and emotions. This is an energy where it can be difficult to trust others, even with no tangible evidence that lack of trust is warranted. Even while Scorpio can be secretive in order to avoid vulnerability, any vague energy from loved ones can be perceived as feeling that person could be hiding something that is important to know. Don’t shut others out, and work consciously to not get shut out.

We can’t help but to have some level of suspicion towards at least some loved ones, though particularly towards those we don’t know well. At the same time, we become engaged in deep, even darker art and activities. Even the profoundly disturbing can have quite the appeal.

Whether dealing with a romantic situation, or anything else, channel in some of that cautious, stable Capricorn energy, as not only Mercury, but Pluto (obsession, domination, mutation, transformation, enterprise, construction) is in Capricorn. The Sun also enters Capricorn on Dec. 21st, amping up the goats energy.

~

Dec. 3rd-6th, Venus in Scorpio square Pluto in Capricorn (exact first day) - affirm: If I feel socially manipulated and like I want to be rude, I know I have to conform to what others are doing for now. I compromise and work on obstacles, knowing I can express myself later.

Dec. 7th-14th, Mercury in Capricorn sextile Venus in Scorpio (exact on 12th) - affirm: To maintain the peace, I smooth over feelings for now, knowing that after this transit, something more serious can be discussed.

Dec. 10th-12th, Venus in Scorpio opposition Jupiter in Taurus (precisely exact on the 10th) - affirm: If I’m sure to be gracious and tolerant, I know I can expand my social life elegantly. I’m careful to not overindulge or show off, as I have a good time. I’m careful to not overspend, be pretentious, or count on more than I could get in business or a social situation.

Dec. 19th-23rd Venus in Scorpio opposition Uranus in Taurus (exact on 21st) - affirm: If I meet someone unusual and alluring, I know not to count on anything long-term. Though others may be crass, I’m determined to be agreeable and can attain interest. I avoid being emotionally unstable, knowing this can cause disaster.

[davidmariottecomics]

Brandifying the "Geek", or How Funko Became the Band-Aid

Hello again! 

Last week, I was talking about comics job (in)security, particularly in light of the majority of Comixology staff being let go, and also touched on the continued migration of comic creators to Substack, despite some public problems that platform's had.

Discussing both of those things had me thinking about the safety of a default, which is going to be a lot of what we're talking about today, and we're going to be talking about that through the highs and lows of association with a brand. I'm not here to specifically call out or bash anyone's interests or even any big companies, so much as using this as a chance to talk about trends in the larger sphere of "nerd culture" that effect audience expectations and, often, the thought processes of creatives and creative companies--the parts that actually matter to people trying to make and tell stories.  

Why Brands Like Being Brands Starting at the most basic level, let's talk about what makes a brand and why they're important to this conversation. 

Take a look at your stuff. Chances are there's a lot within pretty easy reach that you call by a brand name, rather than a generic name. Band-Aid (bandages), Tupperware (plastic containers), Kleenex (tissues), whatever.

Or maybe you don't always refer to it by the brand name, but you make assumptions about it related to the brand: tablets are iPads, cell phones are iPhones, simple and cheap furniture's from IKEA, plastic building blocks are LEGOs, sodas are Coke, and sports drinks are Gatorade. That sort of thing.

Brands like being brands because when their name is commonly associated with a product, it's good for business. More name recognizability, easier market penetration. The more a brand exists in the cultural consciousness, the more self-sustaining it is, allowing for longer lifespans and more money. If a business is lucky, at some point they corner the market and either really or artificially box out their competition and become a default. We'll get more into this later on how creators engage with each other and their audience, but keep that in mind. The other key to having a "default" is it sets a sort of standard that people can judge against, but it may or may not actually speak to quality or reliability. 

Ready Player One

If you've been reading through my blog for a while, you'll know I've been slowly making my way through the Blank Check Podcast back catalog. I'm finishing up Spielberg right now and was just listening to the Ready Player One episode. And part of their discussion, which at this point is 5 years old anyway, is the change in the pop cultural landscape between the release of Ready Player One the book and RPO the movie. The book released in 2011. I really enjoyed it on my first read as a young man who liked older pop culture and was looking forward to this crazy idea that there could be a good Avengers movie on the way because outside of X-Men, team superhero movies were practically not a thing and even something so mainstream to me as a comic reader felt like a major crossing-over event in the wider public consciousness. But by the time RPO the movie came out, the Avengers were about to have an Infinity War with characters from a dozen other movies. The language of Cinematic Universes was well established. Star Wars was back and doing a new trilogy! And Hot Topics around the world had walls of little toy statues making every property imaginable a uniform little big-headed guy. 

There's a lot I could talk about in terms of how nostalgia plays into all of that or Warner Bros. multiple attempts at creating a "multiversal WB brand" between RPO, Space Jam 2, MultiVersus, Etc. But why I'm actually bringing it up is in the past little over a decade--and particularly over the past few years as the state of the world has necessitated changes to both shopping and media consumption habits--the brandification of "nerd culture" or "geek culture" or "collector culture" or whatever you want to call it has exploded as businesses have really tried to expand their brands to become pillars of the pop culture landscape. And I think that has started to influence not just the audience, but creators too. 

The Brands of Geekdom

If I go into my local Target, chances are I'll stop by the "Collector's Spot" or whatever they call it. It's a little section by the books, video games, and whatever remains of their movies & music, usually within eyesight of, but not part of, the toy aisles. It makes sense. According to a recent report, "kidults" or--checks the description--anyone 12 or older who enjoys toys (rolls eyes), make up roughly 1/4th of overall toy sales.  At my local Targets, at least, it always seems like an odd selection. There are usually some of Super7's ReAction Figures, but specifically ones where there isn't a space in the toy aisles for the rest of the line. Star Trek & TMNT & horror movie figures end up here while G.I. Joe and Transformers sit with their kind a few aisles away. Also there are Sanrio crossover plushies, NECA figures for TMNT and Gargoyles and horror characters, sometimes the Godzilla toys, and of course the wall of Funko Pops (which is different from, but very similar to, the Hot Topic wall of Pops mentioned above). If you have ever liked a property and wanted to see it made into a physical commodity, there's a Funko Pop for that (okay, looks like ALF only had a Wacky Wobbler from Funko, but still...). 

The reason I focus on Pops is A. They're all over the place. They have an amazing amount of market penetration and there are still stores that exist primarily as Pop retailers. B. Because they work with so many other licenses, they're a good gauge of what's actually catching on--when a Pop is a shelf-warmer, it is a SHELF-WARMER. If people didn't want Ready Player One Pops, you knew. C. Points A and B have made Pops, whether you like them or not, a cornerstone of the general perception of "things nerds like." And it's one that overlaps with the others more than almost anything else--I'd contend that the GoodSmile Company has a pretty robust catalog too, but with a key difference.

Pops reflect a general audience--sure nerds/geeks/collectors/etc may like them, but they're also something a grandma might buy for you because it's cheap, it's of a thing you like, and your grandma's heard of a Pop before. But something like GoodSmile, be it Nendoroids or Figmas or other lines of figures/statues, are not as uniform and not as accessible, even if they have a lot of variety. They tend to be sought out by people who have that interest, rather than distributed to be easily findable for anyone and everyone. 

The other cornerstones that I think are often looked at in modern "nerd culture" understandings include the Disney Trifecta (Disney/Pixar, Marvel, and Star Wars--less the latter, but how many of us have heard someone refer to an animated movie as a Disney movie, or a superhero movie as a Marvel movie, when the Disney Company had no involvement whatsoever), Pokemon, Studio Ghibli, Stranger Things, Dungeons & Dragons, and in some cases where people find themselves incapable of separating their interests from the damage done by the brands' creators, Rick & Morty and Harry Potter. While I may not cater to those last two and don't personally really like Stranger Things, I certainly enjoy stuff from the rest. I even own a few Funko Pops. So, again, I'm not trying to say these things are inherently bad or markers of a false "nerd" or whatever. I'm saying that they're common and because of that, they are getting to be viewed in that default status, which can set a very strange standard which changes how we interact with stories because of the brandification of pop culture.   

A Ranger, a Warrior, and a Bard Walk Into a Bar...

The other part of why this is on my mind is that there's been a lot of conversation about Dungeons & Dragons recently. Most recently, they've reversed their position on becoming more restrictive of their open game license, and have committed to having D&D be under a form of creative commons license. And while I think that's the right decision, and am happy to have worked on a couple of D&D things in the past, I also found the conversation really interesting because I think in some ways, D&D has become an interchangeable term for some people with both tabletop role-playing and Fantasy in general. 

It makes sense, right? D&D's 5th edition is pretty popular as a game. It's got comics from IDW. There's an upcoming D&D movie. Plus, it's central to the premise of Stranger Things and is the game that like half of all podcasts play. This sort of brand rehabilitation--from the Satanic Panic era--has really built D&D into a powerhouse. Regardless of how many other tabletop RPGS there are, the controversy around the open game license inherently revolved around how many businesses and resources have been created specifically based off of and in interaction with D&D. 

And that's one of the kind of downsides to this, right? There is so much wrapped up in the understanding of what D&D is and what is and isn't allowed within it's framework. Beyond this one issue, Wizards of the Coast has been dealing with the ways in which the tropes of D&D have been harmful and how they can minimize some of that harm going forward. But because it has built into a "default" brand, it also means there's a lot of shorthand that comes to talking about setting up fantasy worlds that still uses some of the worse D&D tropes. Or, on the flip side, there are people pitching every property in the world as having a Fantasy version, but are specifically trying to get it tied to D&D for the name-recognition, regardless of whether or not what they actually would want to do with it works within that D&D framework.

Again, this is not me saying that I haven't had fun playing and working on D&D in my time. I have. It's more to say that sometimes I see conversations speculating how much fun it would be to put whatever franchise in a D&D world (often through the characters playing the game) that spends so much time figuring out the ways in which to incorporate those characters and their attributes into D&D, it kinda ignores that it isn't a story being pitched, or that it doesn't further the understandings of the characters at all. Which is fine in casual conversation, but I'm sure myself and other people in my type of roles have also had to have these types of conversations about the other "default" brands and the things that are made within their terms. The more the Marvel movie method becomes understood as superhero storytelling, the more complicated conversations about the nature of comics storytelling, particularly with first time and non-regular comics readers becomes, right? 

When the Default is Unsafe

That all gets us back to what I was talking about last week and my larger point about keeping an eye on these trends. Comixology became the default for digital comics retailer and now is going through being killed by their parent company and that's leaving an uncertain gap in the market, uncertainty in how digital comics will continue to be fostered and grow and become more accessible, and a lot of people out of jobs. Substack brings new people in for a number of reasons, but not the least of which is enough reputable people have taken to it that it's getting name recognition. 

Or, to look at it another way, I'm sure many of us unfortunately still use Twitter. Even with all the problems and the criminal owner, by virtue of being the default social media for years, it is where the majority of creators remain and their fans remain and our conversations as a community remain. And when we tried to diversify, it split too much. Not only did audiences not follow, it was hard to just find your friends and peers again. And that is unfortunate, but one of the considerations we make to keep in touch and the never-more-unified community together, even if we're all kinda still certain it'll all fall apart any day now. 

All of which is to say, I guess, be wary of what we look to as the default--in the larger pop culture landscape and the ways in which criticism of Marvel movies gets projected onto different types of storytelling or popularity is defined by Funkos or whatever to the styles you see other artists using and getting work with and the platforms we use to promote our work and engage with each other. Because while the default might be familiar, that doesn't mean it's the best representation of what could be. 

Next week: I dunno yet. We'll talk about something else.  

What I enjoyed this week: Blank Check (Podcast), Honkai Impact (Video game), House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski (Book), 17-21 by Tatsuki Fujimoto (Manga), Nope (Movie), Black Adam (Movie--No doubt, it was kind of a mess, but I'm a sucker for the JSA, so it was nice seeing my friends, I guess), Persona 4 Golden (Video game), Poker Face (TV show), The Savior's Book Cafe Story in Another World (Manga), Gundam: The Witch from Mercury (Anime), working on some wedding planning/registry stuff, bought a new mattress that should be here tomorrow (please buy stuff from Becca and me because we just spent a lot of money buying a new mattress). 

And for the sake of something fun, here's a roundup of the webcomics/comics I read digitally most weeks and when I read them: Nancy (daily), Gil Thorp (daily except Sundays), Lore Olympus (Sundays), Zatanna & the Ripper (Sundays), Batman: Wayne Family Adventures (Sundays), Vixen: NYC (Sundays), Skullgirls (Sundays), Aeonian Red (Sundays), Alfie (Wednesdays & Fridays--ADULTS ONLY), The Rock Cocks (Mondays & Fridays--ADULTS ONLY), Blissverse (Mondays--ADULTS ONLY), 1.1.23 (As I catch updates), and then my Shonen Jump block: Chainsaw Man (Tuesdays), Jujutsu Kaisen (Sundays), My Hero Academia (Sundays), Witch Watch (Sundays), Fabricant 100 (Sundays), Spy x Famiy (Sundays), and One-Punch Man (Sundays), with other stuff that updates less frequently sort of thrown in whenever I remember.     

New Releases this week (1/25/2022): Godzilla Rivals: Round One TPB (Didn't work on this, but plugging Zilla)

New releases next week (2/1/2022): Off week for my books!

Final Order Cutoff (1/30/2023): Godzilla Rivals: Mothra vs. Titanosaurus (Editor)

Announcements: Arizona Comic Book Arts Festival - 2/25! Less than a month away! It's a one day comic-focused event in Phoenix, AZ. Tickets are only $10. Attending artists include me, Becca (who once again is dropping some new stuff on their Patreon, see below), Mitch Gerads, Steve Rude, John Layman, Henry Barajas, Jay Fotos, Jeff Mariotte, Marcy Rockwell, John Yurcaba, Andrew MacLean, Alexis Zirrit, Meredith McClaren, James Owen, Ryan Cody, and many more! Come and see us! Becca'll have some very cool new merch, too!

Becca contributed to Aradia Beat, a Magical Girl Anthology Magazine! It's now on Kickstarter! It's both a tribute to 90s magical girl stories and part of a larger project about the overall preservation and mutual support of magical girl stories!

Pic of the Week: Caught the cats looking really goofy!