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hybeboyenthusisast · 8 months

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Tease

Genre: Smut, Fluff

Rating: 18+

Synopsis: Lee Heeseung always flirted with you and teased you at work. You never could get him to take you on a date, though. At least the elevator is a good matchmaker.

Warnings: sexy teasing coworker hee, pussy eating, elevator sex, fingering, degradation, praise, nicknames, choking, let me know if i missed anything!

WC: 2.2k

This is basically smut with a bit of plot <3

main masterlist

Never did you imagine you would find yourself stuck in an elevator, being fucked mercilessly by Lee Heeseung. No matter how much attention he gave you, this kind of attention was unexpected, but so so welcome.

Your flirty co-worker was always teasing you, making little comments that could be taken one way or the other. Always sounding innocent, but the way his eyes would darken when he said certain things... you had honestly started to believe you had been imagining things.

When he first started working with you, you had been the one to show him around the office, introduce him to others, get him all set up. His first two weeks were spent under your supervision, though really this just meant you were babysitting someone who was perfectly capable. He had picked up on the job faster than most, but he also was more hardworking and serious about the job than most others were.

He had impressed you with his dedication and focus, and for the first few months, you merely interacted when the job called for it. Until the day he asked you to go out for a drink with him. You had so desperately wanted to say yes, but you were in the middle of undertaking extra work so one of your coworkers could have an easier time managing coming back to work after maternity leave. Heeseung may have been disappointed when you tried to schedule a drink for another night, but his expression gave nothing away. He merely agreed to find another time.

Another time, however, never came around. Months had passed, and Heeseung never tried to set up another date, and seemed to avoid the topic when you tried to bring it up. He so very easily caught you off guard, making you shut your mouth as a bright red blush settled over your cheeks at his comments. His comments and little teasing remarks could vary from overexaggeratedly moaning at the taste of his coffee, his eyes trained on yours the whole time, to whispering in your ear "delicious" as he sucked on a lollipop. He was so innocent and so, not at the same time.

Yet he never seemed to be interested in more than teasing you, not after you said no when he had asked you out. You truly thought he just used you for amusement, which was fine, until you had started teasing him back. Copying his own tricks, using them against him, and he would stutter and blush like a tomato. The back and forth began, and soon you would find yourself in your current position.

An ordinary day in the office became so much more when the power went out in the building, of course, while you were alone in the elevator with Heeseung. You weren't sure who had moved first, but as soon as the lights went out and the elevator stopped moving, you and Heeseung were kissing.

Not just kissing, all innocent and sweet, but rather intense and passionately. Your back was pressed against the cool, metal wall of the elevator as Heeseung pressed his body into yours. His head dipped down, yours tilted up, to make up for the height difference between the two of you. Your lips danced against each other's feverishly, desperately.

Heeseung tasted like cherry, probably from one of the lollipops he was always sucking on. His tongue poked out to swipe at your bottom lip as his hands gripped onto your thighs to lift you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your lips parting to let Heeseung's tongue meet yours. The full taste of the sweet and tart cherry flavoring on his tongue had you moaning in his mouth.

You were running out of air; probably literally, in the elevator, but really, as you were kissing and kissing. Heeseung's lips chased yours, wanting more and more of you. You laughed lightly at his antics, moving your head to suck on the side of his exposed neck. Thank god he wasn't wearing one of his usual turtlenecks. Heeseung groaned, and you felt a twitch between your legs. Heeseung began grinding his hips into yours, and there was no missing the feeling of his hard cock straining against his slacks.

One hand in his hair, the other pushing his shirt collar from his skin, you were leaving behind a trail of marks on his neck. Sure, you were at work, and sure, these marks probably would be seen, but you didn't care, and neither did Heeseung.

The heat of your bodies was heating up the whole, unairconditioned elevator. It was kind of uncomfortable and sticky, but were you going to stop? No. If anything, the heat just made you want even more of him. As you pulled away from his neck, which was blossoming red from your sucking and kissing, Heeseung moved one of his hands to wrap around your throat, pinning your head to the wall as the other hand firmly removed your legs from his waist, so he could pin you against the wall with his whole weight.

Heeseung was breathing heavily, eyes hooded and darkened with need. His lips curled into a sickly sweet smile, enjoying how your chest heaved up and down with each of your heavy breaths. He gave an experimental squeeze on your throat, his smile widening as you moaned at the feeling. You couldn't help but rub your thighs together, desperate for some form of friction, as the gorgeous man in front of you was providing you with pleasure everywhere but where you needed it the most.

"Please touch me," you mewled, glancing down to your thighs in an attempt to get Heeseung's attention on your aching core. He all but growled, leaning in and pressing a hot kiss to your cheek, trailing to your ear. Biting your ear lobe, his hand on your throat released and joined his hand on your hips, pulling them into his own. Satisfied with the feeling of your body pressed between himself and the elevator wall, his hands began dancing further down your hips, your thighs.

He followed his hands, kneeling down in front of you, pressing his nose against your clothed core, subtly nudging your legs to widen and give him space to nuzzle into you. He breathed in your scent, a grin forming as his eyes locked with yours. His fingers danced along the insides of your thighs, enjoying how you shivered at his touch.

"Ask me, nicely, princess, and maybe I'll give you what you need," Heeseung's tone was sweet, but his smile was wicked. He knew you would do anything he asked, if it meant he would touch you.

You moaned as he untied the fabric sash around your waist that held up your skirt, his hands finally on your skin and not just fabric. "H-Heeseung, please. Will you please touch me? I'm so wet." Your skirt fell to the ground, no longer tied to your body. Heeseung grabbed your ass and pulled your hips forward, his tongue running over your panty-covered core. You really were wet, embarrassingly so, but Heeseung loved it.

You tasted so sweet already, and he wanted more. He pushed your panties to the side, throwing one of your legs over his shoulder, diving in to lap at your pussy. He wasted no time to eat you out like a man starved, lapping at your juices and prodding at your sopping hole with his tongue.

His thumb rubbed against your clit, and he groaned against you as he felt your body began to shake. "You're so fucking hot, baby. You taste so good, I'm gonna be eating this pussy every night," Heeseung's sultry words were muffled by your cunt, but you still heard every word that he said, causing another rush of heat to your core.

Two fingers joined his tongue as he worked to make you shake, make you fall apart. "Fuck, you're so good. Feels so good," you cried out, feeling your orgasm approaching. You had never felt this way before; no man had ever eaten you out or finger fucked you as good as he was. His fingers thrusted in and out of you as his lips suckled on your clit, and it wasn't long before you were reaching your high.

Heeseung gently coaxed you there, praising you. "Cum on my fingers, beautiful. You're doing so good for me."

His ministrations and his sweet words brought you right over the edge, your hands in his hair pulling him as close as possible to your cunt as you came on his fingers. His tongue lapped up all your juices that leaked out, groaning at your sweet taste. As your body shook, coming down from your high, Heeseung greedily slurped up the juices that coated your fingers.

You whimpered at the sight in front of you, this sex god drinking everything you gave him off his fingers. Your hole fluttered at the feeling of emptiness that the lack of his fingers now gave you, and you needed more. You needed him inside you.

Before Heeseung was even done licking at his fingers, you were pulling him up to press your lips to his in a searing kiss. Your tongues danced with each other, and you could taste yourself on his tongue. "Fuck me, Heeseung," you sighed against his lips. His hard cock twitched at your words, and he was already in motion before you could pull him in for another kiss.

His hands made such quick work of removing both your and his clothing, and you didn't even get the time to appreciate his body before he was maneuvering your now fully nude body onto your hands and knees. His hard tip brushed against your entrance, the action causing the both of you to moan. You were so, so wet, and Heeseung had no issues pushing into you.

His hands held your hips gently, guiding you backwards while he pushed forwards. He stretched you out so well, so deliciously. As he bottomed out, he groaned. "You're so - fuck - fucking tight, princess. I'm gonna fuck this pussy so well, gonna ruin you."

"Please," you pleaded, tears welling up in your eyes from how desperate you were becoming. You shook your hips a little, to try to encourage Heeseung to begin moving. "Ruin me, daddy."

These words sent Heeseung into an automatic overdrive, his hips pistoling into yours at such a speed that you screamed from the intense and sudden pleasure. Your arms failed at holding you up, your front half falling on the floor, your cheek pressed against the floor.

Heeseung growled, leaning forward to wrap a hand around your throat, using this to pull you up against his body as he thrusted in and out of you at a brutal pace. You cried out as he squeezed your throat ever so slightly.

"I can feel you tightening around me, sweetheart," Heeseung grunted, biting your shoulder. "You like letting me fuck you like this, huh? Fucking you like a slut. My slut."

"Yes! Yes! I'm your slut, fuck me!" You screamed, your voice hoarse from all the noises Heeseung pulled out from you. Heeseung groaned against your shoulder, peppering kisses along it as he rolled his hips into yours. The hand on your throat left to grab at your hair, pushing you forward so you were again pressed against the floor as he fucked you.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as he began fingering at your clit, determined to get you to cum around his cock. The sudden added pleasure made you cry out, doing exactly what he desired and cumming so fast, you couldn't even tell him.

He let out a loud groan at the feeling of your walls fluttering and squeezing him so tight as you came, his hips stuttering as he came as well. "Fuck," He panted as his movements slowly came to a halt.

You whimpered as he pulled out of you, rolling over so you could see the man who just fucked the life out of you. He smiled gently at you, leaning down to press a kiss to the tip of your nose. He helped you stand, his arms steady against your shaky frame.

Neither of you said anything as you both got dressed, the heat in the elevator slowly dissipating. It was when you were fully dressed, breathing normally, that you locked eyes with Heeseung. You cracked a smile, wrapping your arms around him and standing on your tip toes to press a kiss to his lips. He kissed you back tenderly, one hand cupping your cheek as his other arm pulled you closer.

It was during this sweet, post-sex kiss that the power in the elevator turned back on, and you remembered...

Fuck. You were still at work. And your make-up was definitely ruined, your neck covered in hickeys too. You gave Heeseung a panicked look, finding him looking at you with the same expression.

"I'm feeling sick and I need to go home for the day... how are you feeling?" Heeseung gave you a small smirk, raising an eyebrow as he hoped you would understand what he was suggesting.

You winked at him, pressing a kiss to his cheek before you stepped away from him. "I think I need to go home too."

He chuckled, leaning down to whisper in your ear, "You're going home with me. I'm not done with you, baby."

#hybeboyenthusiast #enhypen drabble #enhypen #enhypen reactions #enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #lee heeseung #lee heesung x reader #heeseung #heeseung smut #heeseung hard hours #heeseung hard thoughts

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literary-illuminati · 3 months

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2024 Book Review #5 – The Tusks of Extinction by Ray Nayler

I read Nayler’s The Mountain in the Sea last year and, despite thinking it was ultimately kind of a noble failure, liked it more than enough to give his new novella a try. It didn’t hurt that the premise as described in the marketing copy sounded incredible. I can’t quite say it was worth it, but that’s really only because this novella barely cost less than the 500-page doorstopper I picked up at the same time and I need to consider economies here – it absolutely lived up to the promise of its premise.

The book is set a century and change into the future, when a de-extinction initiative has gotten funding from the Russian government to resurrect the Siberian mammoth – or, at least, splice together a chimera that’s close-enough and birth it from african elephant surrogate mothers – to begin the process of restoring the prehistoric taiga as a carbon sink. The problem: there’s no one on earth left who knows how wild mammoth are supposed to, like, live- the only surviving elephants have been living in captivity for generations. Plop the ressurectees in the wilderness and they’ll just be very confused and anxious until they starve. The solution: the technology to capture a perfect image of a human mind is quite old, and due to winning some prestigious international award our protagonist – an obsessive partisan of elephant conservation – was basically forced to have her mind copied and put in storage a few months before she was killed by poachers.

So the solution of who will raise and socialize these newly created mammoths is ‘the 100-year-old ghost of an elephant expert, after having her consciousness reincarnated in a mammoth’s body to lead the first herd as the most mature matriarch’. It works better than you’d expect, really, but as it turns out she has some rather strong opinions about poachers, and isn’t necessarily very understanding when the solution found to keep the project funded involves letting some oligarch spend a small country’s GDP on the chance to shoot a bull and take some trophies.

So this is a novella, and a fairly short one – it’s densely packed with ideas but the length and the constraints of narrative mean that they’re more evoked or presented than carefully considered. This mostly jumps out at me with how the book approaches wildlife conservation – a theme that was also one of the overriding concerns of Mountain where it was considered at much greater length. I actually think the shorter length might have done Nayler a service here, if only because it let him focus things on one specific episode and finish things with a more equivocal and ambiguous ending than the saccharine deux ex machina he felt compelled to resort to in Mountain.

The protection of wildlife is pretty clearly something he’s deeply invested in – even if he didn’t outright say so in the acknowledgements, it just about sings out from the pages of both books. Specifically, he’s pretty despairing about it – both books to a great extent turn around how you convince the world at large to allow these animals to live undisturbed when all the economic incentives point the other way, a question he seems quite acutely aware he lacks a good answer to.

Like everyone else whose parents had Jurassic Park on VHS growing up, I’ve always found the science of de-extinction intensely fascinating – especially as it becomes more and more plausible every day. This book wouldn’t have drawn my eye to nearly the degree it did if I don’t remember the exact feature article I’d bet real money inspired it about a group of scientists trying to do, well, exactly the same thing as the de-extinctionists do in the book (digital resurrection aside). The book actually examines the project with an eye to practicalities and logistics – and moreover, portrays it as at base a fundamentally heroic, noble undertaking as opposed to yet another morality tale about scientific hubris. So even disregarding everything else it had pretty much already won me over just with that.

The book’s portrayal of the future and technology more generally is broader and less carefully considered, but it still rang truer than the vast majority of sci fi does – which is, I suppose, another way of saying that it’s a weathered and weather-beaten world with new and better toys, but one still very fundamentally recognizable as our own, without any great revolutions or apocalyptic ruptures in the interim. Mosquito's got CRISPR’d into nonexistence and elephants were poached into extinction outside of captivity, children play with cybernetically controlled drones and the president of the Russian Federation may or may not be a digital ghost incarnated into a series of purpose-grown clones, but for all that it’s still the same shitty old earth. It’s rather charming, really.

#book review #the tusks of extinction #ray nayler #sff #cli fi

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womenaremypriority · 4 months

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I think the conversation around compensating women for motherhood is interesting because it’s really a lose-lose scenario either way. Because of the intense psychological, physical, and monetary burden of motherhood, as well as the fact it is very much labor, I can see it sounding like a good idea without much thought. There’s also the pay gap that results largely from women taking time off to care for children, which still puts us in a subordinate position to men. Of course the problem is that it gives women a financial incentive to have children, and may just serve as further pressure to have children. Allowing women complete reproductive anatomy is key to feminism and rewarding women for children isn’t compatible with that in my opinion. But we’re still left with the massive, massive toll motherhood can take. The only real solution is for pregnancy and motherhood to shift from a duty expected of women, making sure men are expected to be full parents as well as women, and overall broadening resources for people- aka “the village”. This isn’t a small undertaking but it is a vital feminist one.

#My post #even tho a part of me does worry that women will always be in a more vulnerable position due to potential of pregnancy #Sorry if this is obvious lmao #reproductive rights #abortion rights #radical feminism #radfem #radblr #feminism #feminist

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iwanthermidnightz · 9 months

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A week ago, Billboard magazine named “Speak Now (Taylor’s Version)” the No. 1 best-selling album of the week, making Taylor Swift the female artist with the most No. 1 albums since the magazine began releasing album charts in 1956. Besting the previous holder of this title (Barbra Streisand), Swift is now tied for most No. 1 albums with Drake at 12 and outperformed only by Jay-Z (14) and the Beatles (19).

This chart dominance is clearly an impressive achievement. But what makes it stand out even more is that three of those 12 are rereleases of earlier No. 1 albums deliberately engineered to sound as much like the original versions as possible. While each reissue has contained six previously unreleased songs, the primary motive behind recording and releasing what Swift has labeled “Taylor’s Version” of these albums has not been to share new songs but to reclaim full ownership of her old ones.

That’s because the master recordings of her first six albums belong not to Swift, but to her former label, Big Machine. She and her co-writers retain the copyright for the songs as compositions, meaning if someone wants to reprint her lyrics in a book or — crucially — make a new recording of any of her songs, only Swift and her co-writers need to approve, and only they profit.

But if someone wants to purchase, stream or publicly use the version of any song from her first six albums as it was originally recorded, then Big Machine must give its approval and is entitled to a portion of the proceeds. Even worse, these master recordings (and the rights owning them entails) can be sold without the consent of the artists themselves.

So painful was the idea of letting her early work benefit someone she despised, and so sincere was Swift’s belief that artists deserve to own what they make, that the singer decided to rerecord her first six albums as faithfully as possible to render the masters virtually obsolete.

Swift is far from the first artist adversely affected by not owning her master recordings, a standard feature of recording deals; a similar dispute is why Prince became The Artist Formerly Known as Prince. Nor is Swift the first artist to rerecord music to reacquire its control — that’s been going on since Frank Sinatra left Capitol Records in 1960. The scale and pageantry of her project, however, are unprecedented — as is its massive success.

It is easy to see why no other artist has attempted a “Taylor’s Version” gambit despite many agreeing with its principles. Even if they had the time, money and technical expertise to replicate their masters, which exceedingly few do, most artists don’t have the power to persuade fans to repurchase all their albums.

The streaming era has proven this beyond question: No matter how much we love a singer, the majority of us choose the convenience of streaming platforms, even though musicians do not get a fair cut. Rerecording an album is just as costly and labor intensive as recording new work, sometimes even more so. Having enough scrupulously invested fans to make it a financially viable undertaking is beyond the wildest dreams of most artists.

Swift, however, is not most artists. Part of what sets her apart is obvious: Few artists can claim a fan base as large and ferociously devoted as Swift’s. But even among her fellow superstars, there is a mutuality to Swift’s relationship with her fans that is unique.

Many pop stars, Swift included, are worshipped like idols. However, to those same worshipful fans, Swift also feels like a friend. For Swifties, sticking up for Taylor feels synonymous with sticking up for one’s self, and their response to her “Taylor’s Version” project is the ultimate expression of this dynamic — and the benefit to be earned from nurturing personal connections with those who love your work.

Part of the closeness Swift’s fans feel to the star is circumstantial: At 33, Taylor is a literal peer to many of her fans, 45% of whom are fellow millennials. Moreover, from her debut in a country radio world saturated with male voices to her transition into a pop scene dominated by starlets whose words and images were often crafted by and for men, Swift provided a rare, intoxicating dose of genuine teen girl interiority, and young women flocked to Swift in droves.

But more important — what’s led to fans discussing her in therapy or treating places associated with her past relationships as pilgrimage sites — is her career-long dedication to fusing vulnerability and self-assertion. Swift’s unabashedly emotional songs, whether suffused with longing or rage, give voice to a degree of sentimental tumult that still feels radical for a “good girl” on Top 40 pop radio.

As someone who prides herself on emotionally proportionate responses, I was initially alienated by Swift’s penchant for musically litigating her grievances with lovers, friends and even unpleasant music critics. It struck me as petty and immature. Over time, however, I came to admire the boldness with which those same songs asserted the validity of her subjective experience and the bravery required to document her pain so vividly and publicly.

When I was Swift’s age, the embarrassment of admitting someone had the power to hurt me felt so often like it outweighed the catharsis of articulating that hurt, even if I might find community through doing so. Opening myself up to Swift’s work showed me a different path, one her fans had been on all along: By transforming her hurt into massively compelling art, she demonstrated that we could be empowered by our capacity to feel, rather than ashamed.

Instead of viewing herself as weak for feeling “so much” about brief relationships, Swift turned the moments she could not move past into cathedrals we could all inhabit with her. With Taylor, if it mattered to you, it mattered — death is still death, after all, even if it comes by way of a thousand cuts.

It’s this underlying compact that no doubt led fans to turn out in such droves to buy an album most of them already owned; so many that nearly 25% of all albums purchased during the first week of the new album’s release were “Speak Now (Taylor’s Version).” While outsiders might question Swift’s narratives or debate whether her loathing of Braun is reasonable, Taylor’s version of the story was the only information her fans needed.

Swift may be a gorgeous, phenomenally talented, global superstar, but her inability to play it cool has earned her a credibility that no amount of breezy, Springsteenian authenticity could. She has the talent to send a 10-minute version of a song about a 10-year-old relationship that lasted, at most, six months to No. 1 on the Hot 100 — the longest song to ever hold that position. At every stop on her sold-out Eras tour this summer, she has sung all 10 minutes of that song as stadiums holding 50,000-plus fans sing each word right back.

Just as Swift has asked them to, her fans sing her songs as if they feel they are genuinely about their lives. It turns out that kind of mutual understanding works all too well as motivation for buying her albums a second time.

#taylor swift

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filthforfriends · 1 year

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Chapter 12

Alpha!Damiano Omegaverse

Word Count: 8.6k

Catch up on my Masterlist!

You hadn’t realized what a gargantuan undertaking adjusting Damiano’s medications were. Now Isabella’s adherence to the standardized plan that’d been in place for years made sense. The team of doctor’s couldn’t just try a new medication. Absolutely everything had to be measured to create a control group. Some of it was blood tests, others tested behavioral responses. Stress Test had a terrifying name, but that was just Dami running on a treadmill while they monitored his body’s cardiovascular responses. Others were less harmless.

Alpha Dysregulation triggered by the following:

Strenuous physical activity: NEGATIVE

Emotional distress: NEGATIVE

(that one they’d gathered from appointments with Jay)

Omegan physical agitation: NEGATIVE

(Dami had confused the researchers by laughing. He explained privately that it wasn’t much worse than dealing with you while particularly horny.)

Beta physical agitation: NEGATIVE

Alpha physical agitation: NEGATIVE

(Barely. He’d been rigorous in mentally preparing himself to stay present, so he’d be aware that this was a test, not a threat.)

Alpha verbal provocation: NEGATIVE

(He wouldn’t tell you what they’d said, but used a punching bag until his knuckles bled, then climbed through your window in the middle of the night. Perched precariously, Damiano was already in headspace. He said four words: do you want this? Then he fucked you like you like it was breeding. He did it with a hand over your mouth, on the floor, so the headboard against the wall wouldn’t wake anyone.

Right after orgasam, Damia’s expression became homosapien. He was so visibly relieved that you now felt used. Your knees had carpet burn and his hand was way too rough on your clit because he wasn’t even trying to tune in with your body. As teenagers you were bound to be bad at sex, but you eventually found a rhythm. He didn’t even try. Sex wasn’t something Damiano was doing with you, it was something he was doing to you, and you hated it.

Your warning growl captured the intensity of your displeasure with the way he was behaving. Damiano stops thrusting and can immediately tell that something feels different, smells different even. There's no slick, at least not comparatively. You’ll be sore tomorrow, and not because you begged for intensity, but because he let fear poison the sacred thing that was making love to you.

Damiano apologizes profusely, his guilt so evident in wounded whines that it makes you choke up. He grovels, nuzzling against your scent glands with a pouting bottom lip. He needed to be close, so close that it smothered you. Now you understand the reason he can’t bear to tell you why, and you won’t make him.)

You talked about it with Jay. You spoke with Jay about almost everything together because he had more faith in you and Damiano than anyone. He was more invested in making your relationship work than all the other doctors combined. You didn’t understand why your mere existence was so polarizing one way or the other, and he dodged the question whenever you asked.

“I can tell that the other clinicians don’t like me, and don’t say it's not true because we both know it is. Why?” Seemed like a pretty bulletproof statement.

“People's opinions are not stationary, nor do they exist in a vacuum.” It sounded very wise, but after some examination, Jay was just saying that people change their minds about shit. So next time you targeted Jay with your phrasing.

“Why do you think that other clinicians like or dislike me?”

“Well, I personally think you’re a great asset to the team,” he responds warmly. You narrow your eyes.

“I’m not an alpha. Playing to my ego isn’t gonna ruin my train of thought.” Dami begins cackling underneath you. It’d been one of those days where he hauled you onto his lap before you had a chance to sit elsewhere in the room. His joyous smile does distract you.

During attempt number three, you sit on the couch, directly across from Jay and pledge not to look elsewhere until you’ve got your answer.

“I don’t understand why Dr. Hao behaves briskly around me, but warmly towards everyone else. Can you help me understand so I can communicate more effectively with her?”

“If it helps, she doesn’t like me either.”

“That doesn’t help. Stop avoiding the question.” Another alpha would scorn his omega for such behavior, but Dami is positively enthralled by the intellectual sparring. He might as well be munching on popcorn in the background.

“We’ve decided that you are going to be part of Damiano’s recovery. If you ever change your mind –”

“It hasn’t changed,” you bite.

“In that case, I can try to minimize your interaction with Dr. Hao via scheduling.”

“I don’t want to minimize it. I want to be her best friend,” you dead pan. “I want to make friendship bracelets and matching t-shirts and glue sparkly stuff to my face then go skipping down the street, holding hands, singing nursery rhymes.” Your boyfriend is laughing again, so you keep your focus forward to avoid repeat distraction. Jay is at a loss, which is sort of a victory in and of itself.

“Some people are incompatible.”

“Why?”

“Because temperance and belief systems –”

“Why are Dr. Hao and I incompatible?”

“I honestly don’t know her well enough to –”

“Take a guess.”

“I am not in the guessing game, y/n, especially about my colleagues. That would be incredibly unprofessional.” The statement is like hitting a wall, but you're dating Damiano David, so scaling walls is in the job description.

“Fine. Would you say that your colleagues have different temperaments and belief systems?”

“Absolutely, there is so much variation in the human psyche.” To Jay's credit, he can feel it's a trap.

“And how many people are on Dami’s treatment team? There's you, a psychiatrist, endocrinologist, psychologist.” Dam interrupts by tapping your shoulder and holding up two fingers. “Two psychologists, god damn. Any other -ologists?” He signs the letters, G P.

“General practitioner,” fills in Jay.

“So that’s…” god damn it, you’d lost count. “A shit ton of doctors.” Damiano holds up six fingers and points upwards. “That six or more doctors, right?” Jay nods amicably, lulled into a false sense of safety. “Six people would account for a lot of variation in temperament and belief systems. So, given what you know about me, as a psychiatric professional –”

“Y/n, please,” he holds up a hand.

“Doctors are supposed to be nice, even to patients that throw their own feces at them. I haven’t thrown feces at anybody, so what about me is so unlikable that two or three his doctors regularly break professional conduct to nonverbally communicate how much they dislike me?” It came out more personal than you’d intended.

“Y/n, I am genuinely sorry.” White flag raised. “I openly take issue with how certain team members have been conducting themselves to this end.” You’d been angry about information being withheld from you specifically. Damiano knew that. However, now that Jay had acknowledged it, the hurt feelings underneath finally had room to surface. Being given the cold shoulder by someone who was amicable to everyone else in the room stung. Trying to be likable and not knowing where you’ve failed is even worse.

“You represent a significant fissure in our team’s professional opinion of how we should proceed with Damiano’s treatment. An impasse, even. Physicians actually taking it out on you, loved one of the patient and a minor, is inexcusable.” Now that you have your answer, you finally look away and down at your hands. The world blurs, but you try to keep your eyes open, because blinking creates tears.

“I imagine they didn’t anticipate how perceptive you’d be of their hostile attitudes. That will change.” At some point. Damiano had realized that you were genuinely upset and sat on the couch right next to you. His arm wrapped around you, pulled you close. Once you were snuggly tucked into his side, his hand rubbed your back.

“This is so stupid, this is supposed to be Dami’s session.” You blink hard to get it over with. “What do I represent?” Instead of hiding your tears and flushed face, you allow Jay to see it, allowing his experience as a therapist to make that hurt. It’s manipulative, but honest.

“One approach is holistic and the other is very…individual.”

“They wanna just focus on Dami with no distractions?”

“Perhaps.”

“And I’m his biggest distraction?”

“That may be the opinion of some individuals.”

“Or they want her to feel unwelcome. They want to drive her away so they can do treatment their way. Stop giving nonanswers, it’s basically defending them. It's bullshit.” Jay tries not to be surprised, but it's the most Damiano’s said at one time since sessions began two weeks ago. He’d figured out that not talking was therapeutic for Dami, for whom constantly having the right thing to say on the tip of his tongue was a means for survival. So therapy included a variety of modes of communication. Apparently words came easier when he didn’t have to be the one to say them.

There were four therapy sessions a week, two of which you or his parents were a part of, to some effect. Therapy was often prefaced by testing and consultation, with the expectation that if Damiano was triggered, Jay had the best chance of bringing him back to baseline. The whole thing seemed like an overreaction, until Gia reminded you that Dami was the best case scenario, in terms of AD2. The medical system had to be thorough, because monitoring high risk alphas was the primary means of reducing alphaspian violence. A vengeful alpha could maim and torture, but there was focus. An out of control alpha with good intentions was far more deadly.

“It’s like a pistol versus a machine gun,” is how it was explained. “With so many bullets, you're guaranteed to hit something.” You struggled with that analogy, because Damia didn’t feel like a weapon to you. In fact, it seemed like he was under the duress of a weapon. AD2 forced him to act like a man with a loaded gun perpetually pointed at his skull. With you, he could get out from under that feeling, but with everyone else physical contact was a hairpin trigger away from disaster.

While sitting in the clinic’s lobby, you got through as much homework as possible before being called in for the appointment. Sometimes Jay and Dami would talk privately for a few minutes at the top of the hour. Finally, the timing felt so off that you reluctantly dug through your backpack for your phone. It was 3:17.

“Hey, um, can you check if I’m supposed to be sitting in with Damiano David today, Jay Rouche’s patient?” The secretary glanced at his computer screen for a moment.

“Yep, I see you right here,” he confirms with a professional smile.

“It’s just…it's like 20 past and I’ve never waited this long.”

“I can let them know you’re here.”

“No, they know I’m here,” you sigh with exasperation. In the back of the office, there are staff speaking in hushed tones. It wouldn’t strike you as abnormal, except they’re whispering so quietly into the ear of Dami’s behavioral psychiatrist that you couldn’t catch a single syllable from eight feet away. The nurse, testing personnel, and someone who’s uniform you didn’t recognize kept glancing in your direction. They were acutely aware of your presence and smiled anxiously upon being caught staring. That same sensation of unease you felt on the soccer field is now blooming in your chest.

“Is he okay?”

“I don’t have that information”

“What testing did he get done today?”

“I’m not a liberty to –”

“Can I speak to one of his doctors?”

“That won’t be possible without an appointment.”

“Really? Because they’re standing right behind you looking at me.” Very slowly, the front desk attendant turns around in their swivel chair.

“Dr. Clem,” you call. She turns her head in response to hearing her name and winces upon realizing that she can no longer ignore your presence.

“Hi, y/n. Why don’t you come inside and we’ll talk for a sec.” The attendant buzzes you through from the main lobby in the Alpha Behavioral Clinic, to the lobby of the south therapeutic wing from which Jay’s office was directly accessible. You haphazardly stuff your shit into your backpack and accidently rip a paper with the zipper. Dr. Clem stands there with her hands clasped in front of her and an excellent poker face. Already, your anxiety is choking you from the inside out.

“What happened to him?” you demand.

“Damiano is going to be fine.” Going (future tense). “Today’s testing was one of the more difficult ones, which we all knew going in. He had a short procedure afterwards.” You scramble to remember being provided with this information and realize that “we” did not include you.

“Nobody told me. Why didn’t anybody tell me?”

“Because that wouldn’t be appropriate.” You see red and feel sick with betrayal. Dr. Clem was supposed to be one of the supportive ones. Has that changed? Why? Was it your fault?

“Did I do something?” you bite, tone acidic. She’s unaffected, like she anticipated your reaction. The fact of your youth and predictability just makes you angrier. Not being taken seriously is a lot like being silenced and it’s your own damn fault too.

“No. As a general rule, it isn’t appropriate to keep minors up to date with the medical care of non-family.” He is family. “With omegas, especially.” Your fists are curled, arms tensed as they quiver by your sides. Jay’s office door is visible peripherally, but you can’t sense Dami’s presence. Something was wrong. He wasn’t okay and they were intentionally separating you.

“Where is he?”

“He’s right through there, with Jay,” Dr. Clem answers casually. “Given that Damiano has requested we keep you in the loop, I am not trying to withhold information.”

“Is that so? And what are your qualifications for deciding what I do and don’t get to know?”

“I am an adolescent behavioral psychologist. Please lower your voice. There are other patients in session.” For a moment you’re stunned into silence. “I am attempting to provide you with Damiano’s medical information at this moment, okay?”

“Do you condescend all patients, or is it just omegas you treat as unintelligent?” you spit, making your voice as poisonous as possible. Dr. Clem closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. No. Fuck you. You don’t get to be overwhelmed and exasperated, not when you’re keeping him from me.

“Today Damiano’s pain response was tested. Using electrical signals, we approximated the threshold where he enters a dysregulation episode. The procedure was minor, only local anesthetic. I’d like to…” Dr. Clem's voice fades into static. Everything fades: the smell of the room, the backpack strap pulling your hair, the way your shoes feel. The only thing you can perceive is your thundering heart and the way each beat is accompanied by nausea.

“Y/n? Y/n?” Dr. Clem shines a flashlight in your eyes, which turns the whole room white. The momentary blindness only makes the panic worse.

“Sorry about that. Can you describe how you’re –?”

“You tortured him! Do you know how much self-control Damiano has? To get him to break, must’ve taken…and you just electrocuted him until,” Dr. Clem puts a hand on your shoulder so you wrench away and get vertigo from moving too fast. You knew Damiano’s pain as much as any person could. No, you couldn’t feel the hurt, but so viscerally could you feel what it did to him.

He was somewhere, curled in a ball, trying to de-escalate from headspace, and he was trying to do it without you.

“He needs my help,” you implore. There’d been so much blood last time. It got under your fingernails and the only thing that cleaned it was the dishwashing brush by the kitchen sink. You had to scrub until your skin was sore. Braced against the wall, you close your eyes and try to just survive this feeling. There had to be an otherside to it.

“Y/n, how has your fluid intake been today?”

“Your tests are bullshit. And by the way, I didn’t consent to being used as a fucking tool in your assessments. What kind of population survey would lead you to believe that normal alphas wouldn’t also enter headspace after their omega was threatened? Your control group is bullshit and traumatized patients are just getting more traumatized!” The words hurt your throat. It feels like you’re suspended in the air and your whole body tingles but it doesn’t feel like a body. Because of the dissociation, it just feels like dead weight.

More muffled voices join Dr. Clem, one with urgency. It takes a moment to realize that those voices belong to people, which means there's someone else in the room. You force your eyes open and push away from the wall. Dami and Jay are both standing in the waiting room with shocked expressions. He’s fine, not in headspace, or visibly upset. While processing cognitive dissonance, that weight yanks you towards the ground. The room spins then everything goes black.

Nothing is a peaceful place. Nothing is a welcome reprieve. Nothing asks for nothing. Nothing understands that you have nothing left to give.

Damiano reacts quickly enough to stop your head from hitting the floor, but barely. He was distracted by being mortified with your behavior and figured you’d catch yourself. The gesture was too timely and convenient of a distraction. Damiano was aware you both knew that he couldn’t be frustrated with the public tantrum if you were unwell.

“Y/n, c’mon,” he mutters, setting your shoulders on the ground.

“Jay, elevate her feet,” prompts Dr. Clem. Only then does Dami realize that you hadn’t pretended to trip, you’d lost consciousness. He drops to the floor and tries to pull you into his lap.

“Leave her head on the ground, Damiano.” She takes your pulse and blood pressure. “Have there been any changes in her health?”

“Not that I know of.” He pulls the hair from your face. “Y/n?”

“How has her nutrition been the past few days?” You’d eaten multiple meals together, but Dami hadn’t paid attention or checked on you during school lunches.

“I haven’t noticed, honestly.” He’d gotten so wrapped up in his own angst and you’d let him. You’d allowed it to be all about Damiano without a drop of resentment. Fuck, when had it been otherwise?

“Fluid intake?”

“I don’t know.”

“When was the last time you saw her drink water?”

“She keeps a water bottle in her backpack,” he offers. “Y/n? Baby?” Dami roughly rubs your shoulder.

“Try not to move her head,” snaps Dr. Clem. “When was the last time you saw her drink fluids of any kind?’

“I don’t know.” She gives Dami a long, hard look.

“Do you think you’ll be able to watch over her for the next couple days?” Translation: do you think you can do your fucking job as her alpha? “Not to detract from your suffering, but this is really hard on her too.” For a couple seconds, Damiano is reeling.

“What's wrong?” he manages to ask.

“Probably a mix of things: stress, dehydration, lack of sleep. Maybe she didn’t eat anything today. Typically young people wake up almost immediately. I’m going to order IV saline. Jay, is it possible to move your next patient?” He nods and goes over to the secretary's window to reschedule. Dami crawls down to your feet and props them on his lap. How stressed does a person have to be to faint?

“Clem, she’s not waking up!” he calls out. The doctor re-enters the room immediately and squats down on the floor. That same blinding white light ruins your nothingness. Dr. Clem opens one eye and shines a flashlight directly into the pupil, causing you to startle.

“Hey, y/n do you know where you are?”

“Torture center?” Dr. Clem scoffs then visibly relaxes.

“I’ll have you know, that we weren’t sticking Damiano in an electric chair and zapping him until his self defense instincts kicked in.”

“Oh.” The pieces of your memory aren’t fitting together. There was a jump cut from arguing with Dr. Clem to laying on the carpeted floor.

“Is Damiano okay?” Your alpha notes that the first question out of your mouth wasn’t “am I okay?” Guilt is a painful sensation to swallow.

“I’m fine. I’m right here, love.” He rubs your shin, before shifting your legs off his lap. However, that hand only leaves your form for a fraction of a second as he crawls upwards. Even though you can’t see him, you can sense that Dami’s presence is constant.

“Go ahead,” murmurs Dr. Clem, newly gloved fingers pressed to your wrist. Your tailbone aches where it landed hard on the floor.

“Do I have a concussion?”

“That's very unlikely, since your head didn’t hit the ground.” As your brain comes back online, all you want to do is go home and cry into your pillow. Probably scream too, then feel really sorry for yourself. Damiano puts your head on his lap. You procrastinate looking up for as long as possible. Eventually you’re forced to face his expression. You’d embarrassed him and proved all the naysayers right. Watching Damiano, in real time, reevaluating his position on your involvement was excruciating.

You wiggle your fingers, find the carpet, and push yourself upright. Even gritting your teeth, just outright standing is impossible.

“Come here.” He demands clinically.

“I’m fine, just give me a second.” You were nobody’s burden.

“You need fluids and rest,” Dr. Clem directs sternly.

“I’ll drink water on the bus ride home and go to bed early.”

“Stop it.” Irritation instead of warmth was possibly worse. You outright ignore Dami and straighten your spine. Dr. Clem is watching your movements wearily.

“I’ve already ordered IV –”

“IV? Absolutely not, no.” With strength returning, you get a strong hold on a chair to push yourself up.

“Stop it.”

“You’re mad at me and if I make you ignore that because I’m injured, you’ll resent me. I can already feel it,” you hiss, glaring over your shoulder. “I would rather crawl home than be your burden because you’re obligated. Don’t pretend you wouldn’t prefer just to be pissed at me.” How the hell did we get here? That's the question that echoes in Damiano’s head. Despite the devotion and unconditional love, right now you’d risk anything not to need him, because you genuinely thought he’d hold it against you.

To Dami, it seems this might be one of those moments that defines a relationship. Shamefully, all that's required is fulfilling his basic role as an alpha. It’ll be nice to focus on someone else…but he should have checked in much earlier.

“Y/n, you’re not just walking away after passing out.”

“Damiano is right. There's a decent chance you’ll faint again if you just walk away. Next time there won’t be someone to catch you.” Dami gets a vision of your head cracked open on the pavement in a pool of blood. He lurches forward, wraps both arms around your middle, and pulls you down so your head is supported on his chest. You try to wiggle free, but he is determined to keep you tucked against him.

“Don’t fight, you’ll just make yourself dizzy.” You grunt in protest at having a choice made on your behalf and push at Dami’s arms. “Not even close, baby.”

“No needles or I start biting,” you bargain.

“Fair. Let's go sit in Jay’s office, unless there's something else you’d like to yell and disturb all the other appointments?” You start out with a scorching glare, but are unable to resist relaxing against his chest in relief. Damiano is angry, but he's okay. You’re so exhausted that that hard shell of defensiveness falls. For a moment, he sees how much that comment wounded and your bottom lip trembles. You bite it and scowl to control your reaction.

“I really wish I hadn’t said that. I’m in a super shitty mood today,” he professes, stroking your head. “The testing is like getting shocked by static. After a couple minutes they stop, but its fucking annoying and I just wanted to punch something afterwards.” When the words come out, Dami realizes how threatening they sound. “Fuck, I just mean…it’s alpha bullshit. I’d never –”

“I know. I wanna stand up.”

“Just hold onto me.” Damiano stands with you in his arms, then waits a moment for your feet to work. As soon as that happens, you duck out from under his embrace, which is a maneuver he wasn’t expecting. You take one step successfully. Now the decision is between becoming a patient and sitting in Jay’s office or grabbing your backpack and trying to get out of here with an ounce of your pride intact. Maybe there's a compromise.

You walk into the room of your own volition and slump in the armchair instead of the couch, so Damiano can’t sit next to you. Laying down sounds so good, but this way you have independence. He does something you don’t expect. He kneels in front of you.

“Are you okay?” You don’t need to see his expression to know this is out of duty.

“I’m sorry I embarrassed you.”

“I am a lot more embarrassed about how I just acted.” He pulls one hand from your lap and into his own. You snatch the other one back. Slowly, he coaxes it away from your body and uncurls your fist. You don’t know why you let him.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. I’m fine,” you snap, staring out of the window.

“Look at me, y/n.”

“I. Am. Fine.” Deciding to focus on something productive, you take your water bottle from the backpack Dami had set next to you. Only then do you notice the door is closed.

“They’re going to think we’re fucking.”

“No, they’re not.” As soon as you sit back up the world spins and you whimper despite trying not to. He quickly stands between your legs so you can lean against him for stability. One hand is on the back of your head and the other is on your back.

“I’m gonna drive you home as soon as we get the all clear. Baby, are you okay?”

“You need to finish your appointment.”

“When was the last time you needed something? I wasn’t conscious of the fact that everything has revolved around me since my episode until that.” He gestures out towards the waiting room. “It’s been all about me for – what? Two or three weeks, but even before that, I was the one that got to have problems.”

“It's not like this entire relationship is about you.” Now your voice is shaking, because a completely one sided relationship is not one worth having. “Are you breaking up with me?” you whisper.

“No, absolutely not,” Dami responds with total conviction. “Fucks sake, I wouldn’t just –” His Adam’s Apple bobs and he blinks hard, forcing himself to stay on track. Damiano squats back down and squeezes your hands. Despite not meeting his gaze, the tears fall when you take a deep breath.

“I’m sorry I just scared you. Last thing I want is to make it worse.” You nod and bring a hand to your mouth. As you try to hold back the sobs your face heats and your head pounds. Where the hell had all of this emotion even come from? It was like a pot of water boiling over.

“What I meant to say is that I am a walking collection of red flags and there are few things that bring me greater peace than your unconditional acceptance. You couldn’t have been better omega these past three months. You couldn’t have been more supportive. Even that was all in my best interest, albeit very misguided.” So earnestly did you want to be good for Damiano, to be what he needed as a mate and partner, despite all the things that made you different.

You squeak and curl up, tears wetting your kneecaps. There's a quick knock on the door and it opens. From the foot falls, you can’t tell if it's Dr. Clem or Jay. Regardless, you’re glad you took a defensive position before they entered. Damiano continues to kneel. He rubs his hands up and down your arms.

“I’ve had it so good for so long that I lost perspective. So what can I do for you?”

“If you’re mad at me, just be mad at me because otherwise –” You accidentally interrupt yourself with a sob. “Just ‘cause you appreciate me doesn’t mean you’re not angry.”

“Y/n, I’d just like to acknowledge how committed you are to making sure that Damiano has all the space he needs to feel and explore his emotions. I know he appreciates it very much,” adds Jay.

“I wa – as sss – so scare – ed that someth – in was wrong with you – ou.”

“Unintentionally, I buried the lead and I can see why you’d assume Damiano was under duress.” Dr. Clem’s voice comes from your right. She gently pulls your arm from your legs and before you realize why, there’s an IV being inserted. At first you tense, but then realize you don’t have the energy to be combative. Instead you sob and feel a rush of cold fluid enter your arm.

“Y/n, it is important to me that you know I’m in full support of your partnership.” This many people observing your emotional breakdown had to be at least the third circle of hell.

“Then why?”

“You’re already here two days a week. Tracking the intricacies of Damiano’s medical care, given the complexity and volume of information, is just too much.” You remain silent, unsure how to feel about Dr. Clem’s statement. The IV stand squeaks as she rolls it beside you.

“It is not about personal maturity,” summarizes Jay. Finally, you look up.

“Exactly. Depending on age, the brain can only handle so much executive functioning. So you end up sacrificing things that are vital, life self care.” Dr. Clem is disarmingly earnest. “Being Dami’s partner is the way you contribute to his health. I swear to you, y/n, that the other stuff is being handled by qualified people who advocate for your presence.”

“Advocate for me?” What could somebody say about you and why would they? Dami was the patient.

“Yes. Our experiences are shaped by the people around us.” Dr. Clem pauses to hand you a tissue.

“That sounds like something Jay would say to dodge a question.” Damiano scoffs and his therapist chuckles good naturedly.

“I can assure you this is going somewhere.” She pauses. “The people around us make us who we are. So we can’t evaluate Damiano separately from evaluating if anyone in his life aggravates the dysregulation.” Panic tightens underneath your sternum, eyes dart around the room. Throughout this entire relationship, you’d functioned under the idea that you made things better for Damaino. He grabs the chair and jostles you around to interrupt your train of thought.

“What is it with you and assuming the worst? She’s trying to give you a compliment! She’s saying she advocates for you because she believes you’re good for me.”

“Oh.” Damiano sighs heavily.

“Okay, time to play musical chairs,” he decides with impatience. Dr. Clem moves across the room briskly and Damiano gets your other hand in and pulls upright. You look at him in confusion, with tears blurring your vision.

“We’re going to lay down until you’re feeling better.” Accepting his direction, you sit down on the couch and grip the edge of the cushions for stability. Going from upright to horizontal seemed awfully far. Dami practically sits on your lap, he’s so close. With both arms wrapped around you, it's obvious he's acting as a guide, pulling you towards him and downwards. It takes a couple seconds to realize he’s having you lay on his chest. The prospect is too comforting to oppose, despite present company.

“Lean into me. Mhm, legs up.” Dr. Clem deals with the IV tube so it doesn’t catch on anything. Once both legs are on the couch, Damiano brings you horizontal and pulls you up his chest so your head is right under his chin. You take a deep breath and relax completely on the exhale, allowing your eyes to close.

“That's better,” Damiano says more to himself than anyone else. Perhaps because of the exhaustion or presence of others, the embrace doesn’t have the typical sexual charge. Still, his hand rubbing your back is as soothing as ever. You follow the sensation of heat and pressure in order to regulate.

“I genuinely don’t know what the hell is wrong with me,” you sniff. “I just started thinking about all the blood and I felt sick.”

“Have you eaten today?” question Dr. Clem, now seated in the armchair.

“Uh…coffee.” Dami sets his jaw and shakes his head. Without a view of his face you can’t detect if he’s mad at you or himself.

“I picked you up for school, I should’ve…damn it.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Sorry to cut in,” Jay rushes. “Y/n, you just said something about blood.”

“My last episode, I was a bit cut up. Nothing deep,” Damiano fills in, running his fingers through your hair, nails gently scratching your scalp.

“So did you get a chance to see yourself?”

“Uh, no, not this time. She cleaned me up and hid the bloody stuff before anyone got there. My mom thinks she may have saved my place on the team. Power of appearances.” Dami pecks the top of your head with his lips.

“Y/n, was that the most wounded you’ve seen someone?”

“Yes,” you answer immediately.

“Wait, really?” Damiano moves so he can see your face. “But you were so calm.”

“That sounds like it could have been traumatic,” Jay concludes with a perfectly calibrated compassionate expression. You groan in annoyance.

“I’m not traumatized. I can just shift into this different, almost invincible person, sometimes.”

“And when you shift out of that, how do you process what you experienced?” You don’t have an answer, and the room falls dead silent.

“I…you know what, this doesn’t feel right, taking Dami’s session when I’m not the patient. Obviously Dr. Clem has stuff to do.” You try to sit up, but Dami’s gentle embrace becomes a straight jacket.

“No, you are unaccustomed to adults focusing on your well being as they should. First Thalia needed the attention and then Clio.”

“Don’t Freud me,” you grumble. Dami scoffs.

“You Freud me all the time!”

“No, I – actually that’s fair,” you admit with an eye roll. Jay smiles and clasps his hands over his knee.

“I know Damiano’s perspective very well, but I’d like you to describe that day to me, y/n.” This was the first time you recounted that tumbleweed of shitty events. Dami’s health had to be kept private, which also meant he was the only person you could speak freely with.

“I could see something was wrong when I walked on the field and Star told me where to find Dami. So I went and found him. Then I calmed him down and cleaned his face.” You keep the version for Jay’s consumption as vague as possible to make questions difficult.

“When Star told you where to find him, what was that like?”

“Dami already –”

“Damiano can’t tell me your experience.” You harumph and collapse against Dami’s chest.

“A couple of alphas on the team gave me shit. Then the giant storage locker smelled like nasty sports gear so I had to go looking for Dami because I couldn’t sense where he was at. When I found him, I cleaned his face off, but initially it spooked me. I don’t know, at the time it didn’t bother me that much, but when I thought about it today I felt…panicked. And, like…” you trail off, not wanting to betray Damiano’s privacy.

“Go ahead.”

“At first it was hard not to get overwhelmed because I knew I needed to make it okay, but I didn’t know how. I didn't know if I’d fail him,” you choke up.

“‘Fail me,’ baby no,” he objects.

“I hate talking about it because you’re gonna think I do shit out of obligation, but I don’t. I’m happy to and I want to and I like being around you, even if it's a rough time. You get in your own head so fucking much that I know you’re gonna go home and hate yourself and then you’re gonna be distant, which is worse than whatever happened in the first place.” You take a shaking breath and roughly wipe your face. “But at the same time, you’re the only person I can talk about this with because it needs to be confidential, but that's just another thing that makes you resent yourself. You know, as if I didn’t make all of these decisions myself, with free will, which I did! And none of this stuff is indicative of you needing to change, it’s just the way it is and again, we decided together. This isn’t something that was done to me or some bullshit.”

“This fear of Damiano’s self-loathing getting in the way of your relationship comes from where?”

“From reality,” he cuts in. “How did you put it in the beginning? ‘Emotional whiplash.’” You nod, wiping the side of your face against his shirt. “This whole time you were trying to protect me from myself.”

“Actually I was just trying to protect myself from loneliness. I’m not that noble.” You close your eyes again, as if that could make the moment less stifling.

“When a really compatible alpha and omega find each other, it's like no other feeling, right? That's why I dredge all of this up, because, y/n, I want to give you the tools to sustain a relationship with a partner who has hormonal dysregulation. That is how I help my patient.” Finally, you were being taken seriously, but it felt less like being free and more like being exposed. Yes, you wanted to spend the foreseeable future with Dami, but having adults expect it of you was intimidating as fuck.

“Even renowned clinicians struggle to evaluate the patients holistically. ‘We want Damiano to have tools to thrive independent of anyone.’ Well alpha-omegas are built for each other, so he’s not going to thrive as an island, period. That level of nuance is unpopular.” There's a softness to Dr. Clem’s voice that you’re unaccustomed to. She pats the arms of the chair with finality and stands, having said her piece.

“And we know this is a lot for a 17 year old,” adds Jay. Both adult’s expressions are emphatic.

“Agreed, Dami is –”

“I was talking about you,” Jay chuckles.

“Uh, I’m not 17.”

“Did you turn 18 recently? Well, happy birthday,” Dr. Clem beams.

“Umm…no.” You shift into a sitting position and Dami helps push you upright. He’s got a sheepish expression.

“I…that nurse hated me as soon as he saw my diagnosis. He’d been grilling me for like 40 minutes, so when they asked about her age I…” He looks to the ceiling and winces. “I told them we were the same age to get off the hook.” You’re rather amused but Jay and Dr. Clem stare at each other in alarm.

“I’m 15,” you chirp. “And I got my big girl bed last week so I don’t have to sleep in the crib anymore.”

“Y/n, why are you like this,” Dami laughs with a red face.

“Sometimes, at dinner, mommy doesn’t even put me in my highchair.”

“This entire time, we’ve been operating on the assumption that your brain was a full two years further in development,” says Dr. Clem in mortification.

“No takesy backsies on that support of our relationship or I’ll rip the Cinderella pages out of your coloring book.”

“A fearsome threat indeed,” adds Jay, feigning seriousness. You feel a hand on your stomach as Damiano wraps his arms around your torso. He leans his cheek on your shoulder, like the sweetheart he secretly is, but something stings in your forearm when you try to embrace him in return.

“Oh my god there's a needle in my skin!”

“And I will be happy to take it out.” Dr. Clem rushes out of the room, but you can’t help but stare at the IV site. The sensation of an intrusion in your arm makes everything itch.

“No, no, stop.” Dami gets a hold of your free hand. “If you yank it out yourself, the vein will spurt blood everywhere.”

“Why would you tell me that!? And what kind of word is ‘spurt?’ Never say that shit again!”

“Okay, okay, fair. I’m sorry.” He still doesn’t trust you enough to let go of your hand, which is probably a good instinct. Unable to stop, you look back at the IV site and see blood in the tube and under the plastic.

“I’m bleeding, oh my god,” you whine. Even with eyes shut, the world spins.

“Head on my lap, c’mon.” Again, he guides you down, but this time Dami covers your eyes too.

“You’re not bleeding, it's just from moving your arm too much,” answers Dr. Clem as she comes back into the room. You can see the wheels of a tray from between Damiano’s fingers as you squirm. The snapping sound of exchanging old medical gloves for fresh ones is the opening salvo to a nightmare of albeit mild sensation.

“How do you even know how to place an IV, I thought only nurses did that.”

“I actually have two degrees. Count back from five.” As soon as Dami says four she rips off the bandaging and pulls the IV out and you screech in betrayal.

“Hey, this is me holding pressure,” Damiano assures, one hand holding a cotton ball over the IV site to slow the blood flow.

“Okay,” you groan, clutching the wrist of the hand shielding your eyes. There's the sensation of adhesive on your skin and then Dr. Clem steps back with a sigh

“Well that was exciting! I’ll be right outside if you need me.” The hand Dami had over your eyes moves your back and the other is stroking your face very slowly. The sensation is so pleasant that you get goosebumps.

“Deep breath, open your eyes,” he coaches. You blink hard, but don’t sit up immediately. Jay and Dr. Clem are standing through the open doorway, conversing. They weren’t giving you privacy, but they were giving you a moment. Damiano runs the back of his pointer finger down your cheek, then along the bridge of your nose. You shiver and finally take a deep breath.

“There you go, kitten. What? What's the face?” Your reaction to the nickname must have been visible.

“I hate needles,” you whine.

“I know, baby.” When he leans down, Dami’s hair acts like a curtain. He presses his lips to your cheekbone, temple, the corner of your eye, and two more kisses on the forehead. For a beautiful moment, your world is just tan skin, statuesque features, and dark brunette waves. He rubs his thumb under your eye, then over your eyelid as it closes, and taps your cupid's bow. When he finally sits up, you follow, sans dizziness. The proximity of his scent glands would typically negate all progress towards a clear head, but that earthy musk you love wasn’t overwhelming. His pheromones were light and more towards ceder than usual.

“Oh my god, what did they do to you?” You lean forward so your nose is directly above Damiano’s scent gland and take a few really deep breaths. “What happened, where is your smell?” Dami is wincing, mouth downturned, with a pained expression.

“They took out my old device and now we’re trying birth control because the side effects are great for curbing my symptoms. I didn’t think you’d notice so soon. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“I couldn’t smell you earlier, when I was in the lobby. I guess this is why.”

“I really am sorry.”

“I’ll get used to it. Your health is the most important thing.”

“Agreed.” Dr. Clem uses the word to announce her reentrance into the office. “Jay and I wanted to discuss one more thing before I clear you to leave.” It, in fact, did not look like Jay wanted to discuss this topic. His expression is void of the typical positivity and he constantly readjusts once seated.

“A team member,” Jay clears his throat forcefully. “Has brought up valid concerns regarding the amount of time you spend apart, or rather lack thereof.”

“Who?” demands Dami.

“I am withholding that information on the grounds that it will detract from possible therapeutic benefits.” It’s interesting to watch Damiano have a silent standoff with Jay, as you’re rarely the observer in this situation. “How many days a week do you spend socializing with friends?”

“I talk to my friends everyday at lunch and I’m in the AE club.”

“And I’m on the soccer team.”

“Outside of school hours and extracurriculars?”

“I talk to my friends before I leave school as well,” you reply, starting to see the issue.

“The beginning of any relationship can be all consuming, but especially alpha-omegas. I’d hate for you to wake up one day and realize you’d lost contact with the other people that enriched your lives.”

“Everyone isolates at the beginning. When one of my alpha friends is socially absent for a few months after finding an omega, I don’t take it personally and neither do they.”

“Plus for five weeks at the beginning I never saw Damiano outside of school because he was trying not to corrupt me or whatever.” Dami scoffs and looks at his hands. “I mean yeah, I could hang out with my friends a little more, but I’m not asocial and obsessed with my alpha.”

“And that's all I’m asking, socialize with your friends too. It doesn’t necessarily have to be separate. Try integrating your social circles, hanging out in groups, see how those dynamics work.”

“But spending time apart is important,” interjects Dr. Clem, perched on the edge of the desk. Damiano glares at her with his eyes narrowed.

“Is this coming from you?”

“No, but I do think it's a valid point, right Jay?” He clears his throat again.

“Something I see with mated couples is empathy fatigue. When one person is struggling, the compulsion to be there for comfort and support is very strong.”

“I think that's called love,” interrupts Damiano.

“Perhaps, but uh…When a person is in a sustained state of hardship, their partner grieves for their suffering. That is its own pain, which I’m sure y/n understands.” You nod reluctantly, trying to read Dr. Clem’s expression. “Spending lots of time together during a rough patch feels comforting in the short term, but there's a tradeoff. That partner comes to know their loved ones' pain so intimately that they are now carrying the sorrow of two people. Empathy makes them ache for the sufferer and empathy allows them to bear that suffering themselves.” Damiano looks so defeated. All that anger at some random doctor who didn’t even know you making crappy assumptions is gone.

“And you think that's happening here?”

“Not necessarily.”

“Well if its not necessarily happening why the fuck would you bring it up?”

“Because it’s a concern,” answers Dr. Clem.

“Is Damiano drowning in self-loathing after you’ve undermined our entire relationship, now also concerning? But hey, if he thinks he’s ruining my life, maybe you’ll get the distance you’ve been wanting, right?”

“That is not the goal,” retorts Dr. Clem. You turn your attention the other way.

“Jay, in your professional opinion, what do you think is worse for the human psyche, empathy or profound loneliness?” Dr. Clem sighs, but Jay leans forward to answer earnestly.

“Loneliness. Damiano, I am the mouthpiece for an unfortunate and often frustratingly wide range of opinions, most of whom do not have my expertise. It is still my responsibility to convey that information if the team decides its pertinent.” Dami glances up so you throw your legs over his lap and embrace him. “While I am providing you with information, it is important to know that in my very long career, I have never seen this issue outside of mated couples, since the mechanism is established with mating.

“So you don’t think I’m damaging –”

“No! You are not,” you interrupt. Dami smiles a bit and looks over.

“Well, I already knew your opinion, dear.”

“Then fuck what anybody else thinks,” you whisper, pressing your foreheads together.

“Although anything is possible, logically this won’t be an immanent worry until you are mated.”

“See? That was him saying no, but covering his ass, because Clem is watching.” Damiano snorts and you forcefully shake him while speaking theatrically. “So please don’t have an emotional crisis about whether or not you are a good influence in my life! Because if you’re distant, I will blame Jay, personally. And Jay doesn’t want that.” Damiano’s therapist pursues his lips and his wide eyes are directed towards the floor. “See? His self preservation instincts are already screaming at him to run.”

“Good instincts,” Dami chuckles, rolling his shoulders back with a deep breath. He puts his hair up, physically brushing the intrusive thoughts off. Jay and Dr. Clem shared some intensely sustained eye contact. Whether they’re on the same side or not you can’t tell, but whatever sentiments exchanged are clearly meaningful.

“We’re gonna go,” announces Dami, shifting your legs off of his lap. He grabs your backpack and puts his arm around your waist.

“Right, yes.” Apparently nervously clearing his throat was Jay’s tell. He stands cordially, obviously preoccupied in thought.

“See you tomorrow,” Damiano bids goodbye and his physicians awkwardly do so in return. “Christ, that was painful. Fucking hell,” he murmurs under his breath, wearing a fabricated smile that said “I’m okay” to anyone watching. When it came to your boyfriend, people were always watching, and you couldn’t blame them.

“I…I don’t know if I already apologized, but I’m sorry.”

“Ssh, ssh, it's okay,” he reassured, pulling you close enough to kiss your temple without breaking lockstep. “I am going to cook your dinner, if you don’t mind waiting in the car at the store for five minutes, that is.”

“Don’t want to bother unbuckling me from my car seat?” you tease. Dami holds the door open as you exit the clinic.

“Incorrigible,” he says, affectionately. Before getting in the car, you pull Damiano in for a kiss. Or rather, you stand in front of the driver's side door, making eyes at him until he captures your face in both hands and presses his mouth to yours. You slip a hand into his back pocket. Situationally inappropriate, but he allows it, nipping at your bottom lips so you know you’ve been bad.

“Get in the car,” he growls and pats your ass as you walk around the hood. “So I assume it’s not foul, then,” he prompts, while you close the door.

“What?” The engine turns over once before starting.

“My pheromones.”

“No, definitely not. Your pheromones actually smell…cleaner, I guess.” Dami visibly perks up at that description.

“Cleaner isn’t bad.”

“No…” Your tone of voice makes it sound like a question.

“Well that was convincing.”

“I love you no matter what.”

“Oh, no.”

“Not ‘oh, no!’” you laugh.

“Well then what's wrong!?”

“It’s not as sexy,” you admit.

“Fuuuuck,” he groans, features contorted.

“There’s something kind of sweaty or a little dirty in the way you normally smell. I don’t know how to describe it, it’s just…”

“Musk?”

“Yeah, exactly. Like the smell of your body, kind of. It’s very intimate.”

“And that's gone?”

“As I’m saying it, it sounds gross, but that was the thing. I couldn’t tell if it was gross or if I wanted to lick it off of you.” It’s the smell of your boxers after soccer practice if you showered beforehand. The perfect amount of ick, is what you were thinking, but not saying. He didn’t need to know about the time(s) you sniffed his dirty underwear, since you so loved teasing Damiano for doing the same.

“Ah, so I’ve lost the scent of manhood. That's great.”

“I thought this was your manhood,” you place a hand on the fly of his jeans.

“Y/n, I’m trying to drive!”

“Sorry! I wasn’t actually touching anything, it's just the denim.”

“Doesn’t matter!” After a beat, you can see him fighting a smile.

“I wonder if your pre-cum is gonna taste different.”

“Driving!” You decide to tease (or maybe torture) him a little bit. Leaning over the center console with your shoulders pushed forward for the sake of cleavage, you use a dramatized, breathy.

“I wonder if it's gonna taste different when I fall to my knees in front of you, unbuckle your belt, unbutton your fly, and —.”

“LA LA LA LA,” he sings, to drown out the commentary. You dissolve into laughter, letting Dami focus on the public roadways instead.

“This is why I can’t bring you into the store. You’re distracting!” Behind Damiano, the sun was just beginning to set. It peeked out from behind the rain clouds while making its descent towards the horizon. Despite being a bit under rested, Dami’s olive skin looked positively biblical as it reflected the rays of waning light in warm, sandy tones. He was made for the sun’s kiss…and your kiss.

Notes: Next chapter up within a week (for real). This is for the conversation lovers and world builders. Part 13 has the protective Damiano y'all have been asking for. Please let me know what you think I live for external validation.

-XOXO Eden

Taglist: @bieberhoodforever @blackberryblossom @butkutee @cuzimitaliano @elvirabelle @iamtashaquinn @icarodamiano @ilwiwbysmv @immrbrightsideeee @little-moonbeam-666 @maneslut @mortyandem @the-chaotic-cow @wasteddoubts @weareoddlydrawn @whore4damia @azertyhug @biancathecool @bohemianrainbow @daisy0gf @dustyinkpages @katyldamusic @minnietmouse @obiw4n @persona1read1ng @gr8rainbowpunk @hiraetheral @iosonoarina @l0standn0tf0und @que--sera--sera @stardustingold @teenyweenynightghost @softmullet @solacestyles @thegeminisgirl @bobfood @slavicgoddess13 @bright-shiningstar @kammerstx

#maneskin #måneskin #må #daminao #damiano david #damiano maneskin #maneskin damiano #damiano david imagine #damiano david fanfiction #damiano david x reader #damiano david x you #maneskin fanfiction #maneskin imagine #maneskin x reader #alpha omega #alpha beta omega #omega reader #alpha and omega #omegaverse

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fontasticcrablettes · 5 months

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Been really thinking about making a modern Tales crossover AU these past few days, and i’ve got a basic premise in mind, but I’m relatively new to long form writing, and i keep backing out due to the urge of “i’m not writing these characters correctly/they wouldn’t be like this”. Any tips for a newcomer writer to get over that kind of anxiety?

I'm going to try to give you actionable advice beyond the generic "Write anyway, even if it's not living up to your expectations, because writing poorly is the only way to learn how to write well" (even though all of that is true).

Writing is a skill like any other. The more practice you've had, the faster and more effortless it feels. You know how talented and experienced artists can just free hand some fanart and it looks just the character instantly? But a beginner artist will probably have to draw a sketch with guidelines, block things in, and gradually add more detail to get it to look right.

This is the same with writing! When you're just starting out, the dialogue and character actions can be like that rough sketch. Just giving yourself the idea of where things go and how the scene is moving. You can then give it more passes to get it sounding right.

So let's think about your problem. You're worried about, "They wouldn't be like this." But what thought comes next? Anxiety is telling you to follow that with, "so I should give up." But I'm telling you to follow it with another question: "So how would they be?"

Because I think that if you look at your writing and think "They wouldn't act like this," then what that tells me is that you know how they do act. How can you recognize that they're out of character if you have no idea what in-character looks like? This is like Dumbo's magic feather: the power is already inside you!

If you recognize that, for example, the dialogue you wrote for someone doesn't sound right, try to think of a time in canon when they said something similar - a similar level of tension, similar emotional state, similar level of intimacy with whom they're speaking. Now you have example of how they speak and behave in canon. Use that as reference for when they would be sarcastic, what sort of slang they'd use, how formal they'd be, etc.

Writing an AU setting can be a double-edged sword. One one hand. you might be extra anxious because they aren't in their canonical setting so you have less of a frame of reference. But on the other, I think most readers are also more forgiving of characters behaving differently in AUs. They have a different upbringing, after all; it's going to affect them. Concentrate on the second part if you're getting anxious that your AU versions of the characters aren't close enough to canon.

Ultimately, writing a lengthy fic for the first time is a daunting endeavour. A lot of people would be very intimidated to undertake a project like this! Your anxiety is likely scared in general of committing a long and effort-intensive project and looking for excuses to tell you not to even try. After all, if you don't try, you can't fail. Your anxiety is being dumb. You've got a cool project to share, and you're going to learn a lot about writing while working on it (even if some of that learning is subconscious).

Good luck! Write that fic!

#Anonymous #writing advice

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rhetorical-rhetoric · 6 months

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Rhetoric,

I'm extremely sorry for lashing out at you so heavily like that. I was stressed and my targeting you was completely unwarranted. Your comment that caused me to make that post did not match my inflammatory and hysterical post in intensity.

I didn't comment on your apology that you made moments before my little temper-tantrum reached its burning point. I'm so glad to see you trying new techniques in your debating. Initially, I did not respond because I... heard you say the emotions talk made you feel sick. But I see it now. The fact you would go through such pain just to try a new approach to reach me is commendable.

And I see what you mean now by it.

First of all, you don't *have* to prove yourself to be useful, okay? You've already demonstrated many times where your strengths can come in handy, both in helping Harry speak with others and even in here. *All* of us have different duties here that are extremely important to help him function; you're not, and will never be, useless.

Second, I'm sorry for undermining your attempts to help Harry have hope for the future. It was a genuine and honourable task to undertake for yourself. Just... please tone it down a little bit, okay? He can have hope while still getting enough sleep at night.

Lastly... again, I'm sorry for attacking you for something you weren't *made* to do. Something I'm not made for either. I understand that now. Intimately.

I hope you can accept my apology. It's good to chat occasionally about debate topics; I like how impassioned about them you are. I'd hate to lose that now over my own terrible attitude.

Finally -- trick-or-treat?

Thank you, @in-omni-scientia

That is a really well worded apollogy, you really are getting better at comunocating. For the sake of diplomatic realtionships I accept it.

now for that last question, trick or treat? hmmmm... wich do I like better? its hard to say both sides have got their highs and their lows, one must think about these things deeply before making a choice. does choosing treat make one reward threats of violence (the trick) does choosing trick show that you won't go along with the what society expects of you, giving away candy to strangers sounds like something a communist would do but the fact that this whole holiday is built around consuming things makes it also capitalist propoganda

hmmmmmmmm............... I don't know, which one do you want me to choose?

#skillsposting

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lovejustforaday · 3 months

Text

2023 Year End List - #1

夢之駭客 Dream Hacker - Otay:onii

Main Genres: Post-Industrial, Experimental

A decent sampling of: Neoclassical Darkwave, Electroacoustic, Glitch, Industrial Techno, Drone

Brace yourself, cause from here on out this is mostly just gonna be me fanboying and gushing uncontrollably.

Back in 2021, I had championed the Chinese American singer/songwriter/composer/producer/performance artist Lane Shi Otayonii a.k.a. Otay:onii for her experimental record Ming Ming on that year's roundup, describing her potential to become "one of the greatest producers of the decade". But who is this enigmatic artist?

Lane Shi divides her time and energy between creating and touring with her hardcore noise rock band Elizabeth Colour Wheel, and performing studio black magic with her solo project under the Otay:onii name.

She is also an artist who regularly alternates her base of operations between two worlds, residing at different times in New York City and Shanghai. The duality of her identity as a Chinese American is a narrative thread that appears many times throughout the artist's work, informing some of the thematic elements of her records.

According to a really great interview she did with the YouTuber Heinos, the moniker 'Otayonii' itself is actually a name that was given to the artist when she met a Seneca First Nations man, who asked if he could call her by the name for 'wolf' in his ancestral language. She liked the sound and what it represented, and so decided to own her new given title.

Musically, Otay:onii is primarily a post-industrial project, but Lane Shi regularly incorporates aspects of darkwave, glitch, drone, traditional Chinese music, and electroacoustic music into her work. Her signature sound is equal parts atmospheric, lovecraftian, primordial, playful, and frenetic. She's kinda like if an ancient vengeful demi-god reemerged from the bowels of the Earth, and learned how to download and play around with studio software on a laptop.

As a vocalist, Lane Shi possesses a contralto range, and falls under one of my favourite niche categories of woman singers I like to call "force-of-nature belters", along with the likes of Tanya Tagaq and Björk. She has a trademark lower register that I would describe as a witch's snarl, a gentler middle register, as well as a higher register that she usually reserves for piercing battle cries and wailing like a banshee.

Her 2018 debut Nag was a comparatively more minimalist, grayscale undertaking, heavy on the more ambient and gothic tones of her sound. A genuinely solid first effort, if a bit less memorable than later records, barring the deliciously dreary eponymous song which is still among her very best.

2021's Ming Ming was an upgrade in all respects. Pulling major influences from Chinese folk music and folklore, I described the record in my previous Otay:onii review as a "true Pandora's Box . . . like the story of a mortal who attempts to enter the realm of the gods". Lots of ominous industrial cyber-magic, with a rare few moments that could have perhaps been edited down or omitted altogether to increase the force of its impact.

So, what to make of her latest then?

Dream Hacker is an exorcism. An inferno of ancient eternal flames envelops this absolutely bonkers and surreal listening experience. Each song carries powerful buildups in intensity combined with impossibly elegant structural competence. Far and away one of the most visceral and transcendent records I have ever beheld. This gets into your bloodstream, like an innate, raw instinct towards entropy.

Otay:onii's work has never sounded quite this immediate, energetic, and dynamic, thanks to the incorporation of avant-garde industrial techno beats that gives the whole project a mighty propulsion. Even during its quieter moments, you as the listener are never far from being engulfed in its unruly fire and brimstone. So many little leftfield moments that made me audibly go "what the fuck?" upon my first listen, too.

To me, this is album of the year not just because it poses the best collection of songs from an artist in 2023 (which, to be clear, it does), but also because it forms the most cohesive and fully realized project of the year. Every moment of this record feels intentional, meticulously crafted, and designed to fit accordingly into a larger entity. This is almost a living, breathing organism unto itself.

Lane Shi described how much of the inspiration for Dream Hacker came to her in a dream, or as she sees it, an "astral projection". Within this dream, she says she witnessed stones being thrown by a child until two of them overlapped, followed by a great light which emerged from the center of the overlap. The imagery was profound enough that she ended up naming most of the tracks after different aspects of what she saw in the dream.

The album starts with humble beginnings. "You Do/Rub" is a two-parter, opening with the haunting, softly swirling piano ballad melancholy of "You Do". The lyrics are deeply cutting and vulnerable, as the artist ponders her shaky relationship with her father as a daughter of the generation where China had implemented the one child policy, breeding stigma against female offspring in the more conservative rural communities. Lane Shi wields her voice like a delicate blade, gracefully and artfully interrogating her father's worldview. The progression of the piano's melody suggests a kind of resolution in ambiguity, resisting rigid, narrow-minded answers to multidimensional questions.

Then quite abruptly, "Rub" completely overtakes and drowns out the serenity of the softer piano song, like a sudden onset computer virus infection. What becomes of this part two is honestly one of the most immaculate timbral frequencies I've ever heard. A glitchy, droning wall of madness forms in dark, ominous, tempestuous clouds all across the sky. Warm colours are sucked out of existence by a black hole, leaving only greyish pale blues. The soul is washed with abrasion until all that's left is the ability to observe. Sound design on this is fucking unreal, as though Lane Shi Otayonii is wiping clean of our universe, leaving only a empty slate to form the basis for her own new sonic domain, wherein she is god of all things.

"Light Burst" is the combustion spark of a rebirth of all things that comes immediately after. Lane Shi let's out a shrill cry of tremendous power and agony amidst the grinding dust and debris of an incredibly dense and intricate industrial techno concoction, built upon her long standing love affair with minor second chord progressions. This track does not relent, adding more and more layers to its already colossal tower of babel proportions until, just as suddenly as it came into existence, it vanishes without a trace of detection.

"Two Rocks A Bird" oscillates like an electron creating new electromagnetic waves. Sound particles split into atoms that dance in a mindless frenzy. Even as a regular Arca fan, I don't think I was ready to comprehend something like this the first time I heard it. Subverted all of my expectations. I think the artist may have invented a few completely new sound textures on this track. A highly reactive new form of industrial music.

After deliberating with all of the sheer fucking brilliance to be found on this project, I eventually concluded that "Overlap" was my favourite off of the record. Like the best song on her last LP "Blackheart Breakables", this is an epic midpoint that just continues to build and build, feeding endlessly like a malignant being that cannot be stopped. Hand drum beat patterns are mutated, modulated, and mutilated by industrial electroacoustic mechanisms, while a synthesized flute echos a most forlorn and sinister melody.

Lane Shi takes on the shape of a skillful pyromancer, testing her newfound powers by conjuring a sea of flames that I visualize with my mind's eye as something similar to the Darvaza Gas Crater. Alternatively, I imagine thousand year old stains of bloodshed on the tombs of a ransacked temple, or the ancient terracotta soldiers of Qin Shi Huang's mausoleum brought to life for the purpose of ushering a new war. "Overlap" is just something else, man. My other pick for song of the year.

"Ritualware" opens with a rare calm, dreams swirling on the outskirts of a newborn world that has not reached its zenith. The spacious void bursts to life with a single, literal drop (another brilliant production choice), creating ripples in space-time that give way to a trumpeting sawtooth synths' cacophonous symphony.

"Good Fool" brings things to a stirringly harmonious denouement. The light of the last candle is blown out, and a creeping dusk sets in. Petals of sound float along the wind and promptly dissipate, as everything reaches an uncanny stillness. A hushed, rapid-fire breakdown of bass drums, hand drums, and gongs occurs as the final closing act of the record.

I know I've already said this like a dozen times before about a dozen different artists, but it really needs to be said here - more people should know about Otay:onii. No one I've discovered has been doing anything as consistently exciting, challenging, and infectious as this project in the last few years. As it stands right now, the artist is criminally unknown and criminally underappreciated.

Dream Hacker is the rare ambitious record that dares to be so challenging and not only lives up to all of its potential, but manages to make the old formula of doing things look incredibly obsolete by comparison. Not many avant-garde music albums are this ridiculously fun to listen to, let alone manage to capture sonic worlds that are this truly sublime.

I've probably listened to this at least 40 times in the last year, and I plan on at least doubling that number in the following year. This is not just my album of the year; it is my top album of the 2020s as a decade so far, and already one of my favourites of all time. This record sets my soul ablaze and I simply can't get enough of it. Otay:onii is my new religion, and Dream Hacker is the scripture.

10/10

Highlights: "Overlap", "You Do/Rub", "Light Burst", "Two Rocks A Bird", "Ritualware", "Good Fool"

#album review #music review #list #aoty #year end list #favourite music #favourite albums #aoty2023 #post-industrial #industrial music #otayonii #otay:onii #lane shi otay onii #chinese american music #experimental #experimental music #2023

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theresattrpgforthat · 1 year

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hi! do you have any recommendations for ZOMBIE-based ttrpgs? can include apocalypse survival or casual zombie people living amongst other people, or literally whatever else :P

THEME: Zombies

Evil Risen 2, by Purple Moon Games.

No one knows where they came from. No one knows who created them. The only thing you know for certain is that they never stay dead for long. Shoot them, burn them, hack them to pieces. It doesn't matter. They always come back, bigger and stronger than before. All you can do is buy yourself some time to escape. Grab your gun. Break out your trusty baseball bat. You're on a mission, and you have one goal: SURVIVE

In this re-imagined second edition, revisit the gripping survival horror of EVIL RISEN like never before. Using a brand-new 2d10 system, create your survivors and explore overrun buildings, cities, and wilderness that will put their Grit, Brawn, and Poise to the test. And it's not just the living dead you have to worry about: Optional rules for lycanthropes, vampires, eldritch horrors, and other monsters lie within!

As a survival game, Evil Risen 2 is concerned with inventory, and your ability to face terrifying situations. Your characters will scavenge for resources, fight off zombies, and try not to freak out and freeze up in the least opportune moment. If you like games like Resident Evil, this game pulls on a lot of similar themes.

The Creeping Rot, by Claymore.

THE CREEPING ROT is a tabletop zombie survival game designed to be played with no game master. As a community of regular people, focus on using dwindling resources to tackle everyday problems, like an empty gas tank or unsettling sounds from the woods. Your focus doesn't need to be on blowing off heads - instead, you must figure out how to conserve your supplies, ensure your safety, and protect your spirit while caring for yourself and your comrades.

If you manage to keep your heads above water, you can undertake projects that will define the identity of your settlement. Your home could be a commune with quiet spaces for meditation, a sustainability-focused outpost with an organized militia, or a welcoming social hub with cozy potlucks and roaring parties, serving as a warm light in the endless dark. As problems pile on, pain, burnout, and poverty creep closer and closer. still, you and your friends will push onward. together, you are strong.

The Creeping Rot abstracts problems as threats to either the group’s Spirit, Safety, or Supply. These three pools must be maintained by the group, and can be managed by sacrificing from a strength in order to shore up a weakness. This game is less focused on the action of fighting off zombie invaders, and more about surviving in a hostile environment when all of your infrastructure has fallen away.

This game comes with two files: the Revised Edition, which has what you need to play the base game, and Drifters & Grifters, a list of strangers who may periodically show up to pose new problems or new solutions to the community.

Zombuddies, by Bruce Wright.

Well, whattaya know, the zombie apocalypse is finally here, and it’s not THAT bad! Sure, there are roaming bands of the living dead everywhere. But the malls are open!!

Well, one mall at least. The ShoppingTowne Mall, advertised as the first 100% Guaranteed zombie-proof mall in the world. Which is good, because if there’s one thing that draws zombies, it’s a shopping mall.You feel an intense need to go there. Almost compelled. Almost as if you have no mind of your own.

You are a zombie.

You shamble forward, arms outstretched, your face a terrifying frozen rictus.You shuffle toward the ShoppingTowne Mall. You and your Zombuddies.

Zombuddies is a wacky rules-light table-top role playing game for a GM and 2-4 player characters. It’s set in a zombie apocalypse where YOU are the zombies!

This is a game for fast-paced mayhem, with quick character creation and simple rules. You’ll be one of four different kinds of zombies, with a dice that is better for one kind of attribute and not so great for others. You’ll also get special abilities that give you advantage in some situtations. As a zombie, you can’t really die, but rather put yourself in greater danger until you fall into a zombie sleep. If you want something that’s easy to teach, with a pre-written premise and a cartoonish feel, Zombuddies might be for you.

Now You Are a Zombie!, by Z Gosck.

Your story so far:You were born, grew up, performed an inconceivable number of profoundly menial tasks, did that one really embarrassing thing that everyone totally remembers and talks about behind your back all the time, and then eventually, died.After that a bunch of other stuff happened, but none of it really concerned you, what with being dead and all. However, after some time, somehow, you came back.

Welcome to Now You Are a Zombie! The game where you get to un-live the experience of being a freshly-reanimated corpse learning to do everything all over again.

In this game you are the zombie, rather than the humans running from them. You’re also not super good at anything, with the best possible outcome being that you perform about as well as a normal human with a hangover. The game mechanics involve assigning different dice to different stats: 1d4, 2d6, and 1d8, with a roll of 4 or higher being a technically success. This is a game for players who like the idea of playing pitiful or hopeless characters, rolling to see what kinds of sad scenarios they’ll all end up in.

Games I’ve recommended in the past

Rotted Capes, by Paradigm Concepts Inc. (Superheroes vs Zombies!)

#dnd #indie ttrpgs #tabletop games #zombies #game recommendations #asks

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wheredidhiseyebrowsgo · 2 years

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Hey! Do you or anyone else have any Kira centric fics that you can recommend? No pairing preferably, I'm just really looking for some exploration into her character.

Hi @isalinski! @kevaaronday found these and said "Couldn't really find any without pairings, but these are all Kira-centric!"

Dreadful as the Storm and the Lightning by Escalus (7/7 | 20,061 | Mature | Scira) Tell me if this sounds familiar. A hero undertakes a quest not by choice but by necessity. She wins. She comes out the other side, but she realizes that the world she left did not remain frozen in place while she was gone. Time has passed. People have changed. The very reasons that she left in the first place might no longer be valid. Or ...

A fox goes into the desert; a fox comes out of the desert.

Dancing, a Bouquet of Flowers, and a Heart-shaped Locket by Diary (1/1 | 13,359 | Teen | Erica/Kira) AU. Kira and Erica meet, fall in love, and struggle.

The Mountains are Calling and I Must Go by Triangulum (1/1 | 10,855 | Explicit | Kira/Derek/Stiles/Allison) Kira's phone is long dead when the skinwalkers declare she's in control enough to be let go, though they don't make it easy for her. She crawls out of the sand pit they'd dragged her into, panting and desperate. Her skin is raw, dirt caked under her nails, and even though her legs are shaking with exhaustion, she runs, putting as much distance as she can between them and her.

When Kira comes back from New Mexico, its Derek, Stiles, and Allison who bundle her up and take her away for some well-deserved healing.

retrouvaille by momentofmemory (1/1 | 5,715 | Gen | Scira) retrouvaille (n): the joy of meeting or finding someone again after a long separation.

Ken gives Kira the phone three weeks before they move.

It’s an eye-catching bright yellow, designed to match the intensity of her favorite watch, with a package of professional apps preloaded to the home screen and technical specs boasting an unprecedented 64gb of storage. The most important part to Ken, however, is the impressive-looking camera lens protruding from the back.

Indelible by AFireInTheAttic (1/1 | 4,649 | Teen | Scira) She’s taken a picture of herself every night since she got her first camera phone. It was one of the reasons she begged her parents to let her upgrade to the Nokia Lumia when they renewed their contract—she likes selfies, and she likes Instagram, and she likes high quality phone pictures. It just wouldn’t be the same if she used a real camera.

Or: Kira found herself before she found Scott.

sight by calcetineys (1/1 | 3,655 | Not Rated) Kira sees now.

the fox and the hunter by arcadianparadigm (1/1 | 2,763 | Teen | Allison/Kira) For the prompt by consumedly: "a nogitsune is nothing more than a kitsune gone off the wagon. What does happen if a kitsune is borned psycho- or sociopath? Can they be considered a kitsunes or are they more nogitsunes than anything? Do they get to have some special powers? How did Kira manage to hide all her life?"

Or, Kira goes dark. She always knew this was inside of her, but she had refused to let it happen, until she felt the full force of what power it could bring her. Now? Now, she's never going back.

A certain Allison Argent has something very different to say about that.

things you said with too many miles between us by foxron (1/1 | 2,043 | Gen | Jackson/Kira) “’Ello?” a disgruntled voice comes. It sounds rough, as if he’d been sleeping before she had called.

“I miss you,” Kira whispers.

love live on by dinEli (1/1 | 1,225 | Teen | Scira) It’s a different sort of missing, this is.

When she wakes up, if she wakes up, it’s a new year or a new month or maybe it’s another century; then it hits her, like punched awareness. As soon as she’s conscious, it reaches her.

In the dreams, it doesn’t hurt; then she opens her eyelids, a stream of thoughts running from all parts of her, and it spreads in her chest, moisten her eyes.

But she’s as optimistic as she’s ever been, and her light’s always been stronger than her dark. The love always outweighs the pain.

#teen wolf #scira #femslash #kira yukimura #angst #anon

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worldbuildguild · 2 years

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Syllabus: Line Mileage

(source)

If you google Line Mileage you'll see relatively few search results. Why this term has come to be so obscure to the public is everybody's guess. Regardless; it is an incredibly important concept for artists working with visual storytelling to understand, as it informs them of how labour-intensive a design or composition can be.

"Line Mileage is a term that means how much line you have to draw. if you were to take a traditional drawing and stretch out the lines end to end, you would see what your Line Mileage is. Every millimeter more of pencil or digital line takes more time to draw. Intricate character designs may look good as still images, but the reality of animating such a character is time consuming. A long, curly headed character wearing a wrinkly overcoat, multiple ammo straps over his shoulders, and a striped shirt has extra Line Mileage. It is difficult to keep so many lines moving well without them seeming to crawl, pop or distract from the animation"

Tina O'Hailey: Hybrid Animation: integrating 2D and 3D assets

As O'Hailey mentions in her book: Hybrid Animation: Integrating 2D and 3D assets, Line Mileage is the total amount of time it takes for an artist to draw a character (and by that extension prop, background, etc). Animators have used this term to deduce whether or not a design is adequately balanced in its amount of details in terms of artists being able to reach their deadline by drawing it the amount of times necessary.

Line Mileage is most commonly used in the world of 2D animation. The use of the term has fallen somewhat out of favour now that the entertainment industry has skewed heavier towards 3D animation, but it's still a concept well worth grasping if you work in 2D, particularly in disciplines such as comics, animation or serial illustration where the volume of drawings you need to produce exceeds more than just a handful of images. It sounds simple enough to consider whether or not your character design is too complex to draw multiple times. But you will find, especially if you're just getting started, that your stamina drawing your character will drastically dwindle once you've been through with it a few times. If you've committed to a comic project, the first 3-4-5 times of drawing your character might be perfectly easy and motivating in enough of itself. But when you get to frame 10, 20, 40 - your design will most likely have lost a good bit of its excitement to you. Now you're in for the long haul of gruelling work, and if you have not made the design suitable for that kind of long-term labour, it is going to be absolute hell to pull through. Moreover your lack of motivation will surely come to show in the final product.

There's not one 'correct' amount of detail or Line Mileage for anyone or anything. But is understood that the average artist can undertake a certain amount of Line Mileage without overworking themselves or even worse, causing themselves long-term injuries. Yours will never be like anyone elses, so never rely on what other artists might be able to manage, you'll end up hurting yourself (I've been there and that injury still sometimes keeps me from working for days on end).

How to account for good Mileage

Milt's rough animation drawings from Thumper's famous scene: "If you can't say something nice..."

Check your medium Accounting for your Line Mileage in a sustainable way comes down to researching and making conscious decisions about the complexity of your design. This decision should be made based on your own speed rather than anyone else's, as you will be the one drawing your character again and again. So forget what industry professionals or other hobbyists can do. You're the illustrator/animator/storyteller, you make the decision (unless you're working as lead of a team; naturally you'd want to get a feel for your teams capacity first before making any decisions in that case). Your design's complexity should also be based on how many times you're supposed to draw the character. It's logical to assume that a character that you're supposed to draw once or a handful of times can be a lot more complex than a character that needs drawing dozens or hundreds of times.

Be honest with yourself when making a decision on how high your Line Mileage should be. Always give yourself a little less work ( in this context: a little less detail) than you think you can manage.

Trust me; you will thank yourself later! The following examples are based on my capacity as an artist and is not indicative of yours or any other industry professionals. Pay attention to the difference in detailing between them and notice how their complexity lessen significantly the more frequency the character is supposed to be drawn.

Illustrations Drawings: 1-5

When it comes to designs that I'm not supposed to draw a million times over ( say, a random character or creature that will pop up in the occassional leisure piece ) I don't hold that much back on the detailing for the sake of Line Mileage. Though, compared to other artists, I'm still somewhat conservative to details. Though this has all to do with my own personal stylistic preferences rather than Mileage.

In this design, meant only to be drawn very occassionally; The ribcage takes up a majority of the total Mileage. Drawing exposed bone structures is incredibly time-consuming, as it does not only take time to apply lineart to, but the construction of it and the sketch phases take a long time too, as every rib has to be lined up properly as to not break with perspective. I personally try to include as little structure that would require a lot of respective, when it comes to designs that are supposed to have low Mileage. Perhaps also a by-product of my less than stellar grip on perspective. I would recommend it for anyone who's not 100% comfortable with drawing perspective too. It's just really time-consuming from the onset. You'll also notice that every single leaf in the mane of the creature has been drawn in pretty meticulously. I would never do this for a design that would only need drawing occasionally. You can definitely simplify the likes of the mane down to a more uniform green mass though to lower your Mileage.

Storybook Drawings: 5-12

When we get into storybook (and later comic book and animation) territory, I will personally start scaling back on details majorly. Instead, I'll focus heavily on incorporating large, dominant, and interesting shapes into the design. Seen here with the tall, lanky anatomy, the big trench coat and the furry collar. The bag was added to pad out the silhouette and give a secondary shape as well. This bag and the gasmask are the only elements that require somewhat thorough construction in the sketch phases. The machinegun is drawn using a hybrid method of 3D and 2D assets, more on that in a later essay) Therefore, the majority of the design can be freehanded pretty easily with little need for reference.

Comic Drawings: 15+

Now we're getting to the more scarce designs in terms of detail. Once we reach comic level, I personally like to scale back the designs almost to the bone. Keeping only the most major shapes intact and generally simplifying the design down to its core ideas. In this particular example, that meant scaling the details down to a simple robe and overcoat/vest, along with a relatively simplified version of a sword. The character has a few details in the form of facial stubble and two scars, but aside from that, he is pretty simple when compared to the designs above. Just like the gun from above, the sword is worked into the illustrations by applying 3D and 2D assets in order to expedite the process. Therefore it isn't considered an integral part of the design itself from a Line Mileage standpoint.

Animation Frames-

2D animation is among the most laborious disciplines of 2D visuals and storytelling that you can do. This makes it incredibly expensive to produce as well. Many newer shows tackle this incredible amount of labour by simplifying their designs ( see Steven Universe, Adventure time, etc ). If you're a single artist working on something, I highly recommend you think about the economy of your details through a very conservative lens. At least if you want to animate long-form sequences. Disney and Dreamworks had success in animating relatively complex 2D characters back in the 2000s by organising in teams of up to 30 working on characters alone (in the case of The Little Mermaid) working full time to produce over one million drawings before release. If you're not Disney, you don't have 29 other people with you and enough money to pay yourself full-time along with your other animators, then you need to think very critically about how you spend your time. Granted, you can absolutely go as detailed as you want as long as you plan your animations legnth and your time-frame for making it accordingly. Anyway: Above is a very basic idea of what a design for an animation could look like. Many indie-artists currently lean towards these highly simplified by effective designs. though, we are seeing a resurgence of semi-realism in adult cartooning ( See Netflix' Castlevania. The Boondocks, The Legend of Voc Machina. Technology is allowing artist to draw more complex designs more efficiently ). You'll see that many of the structural details of the character's anatomy ( facial features, toes, etc) has been removed completely or simplified down to very minor shapes and volumes. The majority of the character is covered in one shape (the cape) and the texturing on the leaves and flowers is random splatters of a brush. This design is almost as simple as it gets, but still clearly conveys a few ideas. I'm by no means saying that you have to go this scarce with your detailing for animation, I would personally maybe shoot a little above it as well if i was to make an animated project, but from a pure Mileage point of view, this design would be very optimized for animation.

Take breaks: even with good Mileage No matter how low your Line Mileage is, taking care of yourself should be at the forefront of your mind when drawing characters multiple times. Drawing takes a huge toll on your hands, your elbows, your posture and your overall health. I'm not going to preach too much in this particular post (though expect it in a future essay) But being conscious of your Line Mileage is not only going to save you time, but spare your body from excessive repetitive work, which can cause RSI's (Repititive Strain Injury). These can completely mess with your scheduling and in worst case scenario become chronic. So don't even try it. I can personally attest that giving your projects a little more runtime is going to suck a lot less than being unable to draw for long periods of time. Certainly suck less than dealing with chronic pain and deformities because of being too ambitious with your Line Mileage.

Mod Wackart ( ko-fi ) Follow my work!

#mod wackart #essay #line mileage #character design #syllabus

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nso-csi · 1 year

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[Full Trans] SHINee's Taemin Interview for GQ Magazine 12/2014 Issue. 01. Do you like winter? A: I love winter very much.

02. Why is that? A: It seems I have a lot of memories of winter. In my life, all or most of the things left in my memory are in winter. They are very warm memories. ...But I can't say here what (memories) they are.

03: Uh...Is the Taemin in front of the camera very different from the real Taemin? A: It's not really different. But it's difficult to say what (my) real image is. In front of the camera, I'm Taemin the performer. And it is really me. But in front of the camera there some things I have to say, and there are things I cannot say. Anyway, before facing the camera, I need to organize my thoughts and think of what I should say and how to say them.

04. Actually we chose up to 50 questions to ask. But we don't really want to do this the normal way. So from here on, please choose a question from 1 to 50. A: Then, number 17.

05. The 17th question is, during your stage performances in Danger, how do you do that killer stare at the camera? Is it just because of the eye make up? A: Haha. During the performances, the cameras are far away, so I need to exert more energy and make bigger moves. But during music programs, the cameras are closer, so I depend my movements based on their proximity to me. I think their distance are about the same as these ones during this interview? To think that I have such a side in me, even I find it strange. I really like this kind of feeling. It's kind of funny when I say it myself, but when I monitor myself (my recordings), it seems that I have a more profound feeling than before? I think I see myself becoming more mature.

06. What is inside Taemin? A: I think that the general masses expect me to have a bright feeling because of my usual cute concept. However, the staff around me searches for and gathers up my real usual self and what's inside me. With the continuous performances, piling up my heart wants to let all these know-how and energy explode. And then as a performaer, I have to diligently express myself. My stomach won't be able to take it, right? But since the performance for "Danger" is intense, all those tress just go away. I think I've managed to diffuse them off me.

07. It feels like you've strongly prepared for this (solo activity) until you've felt poison. (t/n: it means he worked really, super hard) A: From the time I started to dream about being a singer, in my head, the image I've drawn is of myself standing alone on stage. Being in SHINee is really happy and fun, but simultaneously, at the back of my mind, I've always had the desire to try doing something myself just once. So I practiced untiringly until I've felt that it's the time when I've satisfied the qualifications for the company to give me a chance.

08. With regards to Taemin, from where does the company's faith and confidence in you come? A: I talked a lot with our choreographers, Shim Jaewon-hyung and Greg Hwang-hyung, as well as with our directors. We talked about my worries and what direction I'm going to undertake from here on. The hyungs know all this time what I wish for. Even though I don't say it directly, I think there were subtle hints. They told me, "If you really want to work as a solo, the company is willing to give you a push." They also said, "If you can sing and dance like Michael Jackson, the company will be willing to do anything with you." It's like because they acted like a bridge (between the company and I), I was able to do this well.

09. This time, having this experience, were there some disappointing parts? A: "Danger" is pretty temperate and is a refined song, but the singing register is quite narrow and low. On my first live, the sound I made was shaky and I wondered if it was really alright as a title song. Now, when I think about it, that kind of quality isn't that bad after all.

010. Even though there are teams for planning and setting the framework, the one who expresses himself on stage is Taemin alone. Taemin is the one who makes the stage special. A: On the stage and during the performance, I want to present a more artistic approach. That is why immersing myself in the song is the most important. The question is how much should I immerse myself in the song and how much concentration people give me when they watch me. I'm not the type who can immerse himself while watching things like dramas. But during concerts and performances, I'm really able to immerse myself. There's a similar case, like when we (SHINee) are performing "Evil" on stage, and after we finish it I still need sometime to calm myself down. Somehow, I kind of become weird during those times.

011. Isn't it inborn talent? A: I don't think that I have singing and dancing talents since I was born. However, each person has a unique "color", right? I think that may parents really gave me such "color".

012. Where/When do you consummate your musical ability? Is it also in the toilet? A: Haha. No, no. SHINee's songs have really high registers, and in order to learn it all properly, I have to widen my singing range a bit. In the vocal practice room, while playing the piano, I follow the scale. One day, I was just able to reach the high notes. Just when I thought I was finally able to do it, the next day I couldn't do it again. It comes out, then it doesn't, then I do it over and over again until little by little, I widen my vocal range.

013. Honestly, when you're alone, have you ever thought, "This year it's me."? A: Yeas, about the solo...LOL. The activity period is not long but I understood that during that short time, I was able to leave a good impression, so it was nice.

014. Are you indifferent when you hear unpleasant words about you? A: Nope. I am very irrational. If I hear unpleasant things, I will continuously think about it from the day I heard it until I'm completely tired. Then I'll feel stressed out. Nevertheless, if that happens, I'll be able to correct myself and exert a lot of effort in changing myself.

015. It's really hard being 22 years old, right? A: Yeah. "If you start exploring/inquiring that much, afterwards, how much are you able to talk about it, let's find out one time." It feels a bit sentimental like that, LOL.

016. Even so, you've done a lot more things than what you imagined you'd do as a 22-year old when you were younger. A: Yes, that's true. When I was young, I only had an outlook about my strength in dancing and singing. I've never really imagined it before, seeing this present style and refinement. As time moves one, I want to present a more explosive energy.

017. Doesn't continuously proving yourself and what you can do make you tired? A: I think that it is really worth doing. The joy I feel (in doing it) keeps me alive.

018. What do you think of the word "hardworker". A: Ah, it's alright. At any rate, even if I tell other people about my troubles, it wouldn't alleviate my worries, right? I do not really make a big deal of purposefully wishing for something bigger. I don't want people to see me as hardworking, I want them to see another side of me. When they do and they tell me even a few words that overflowed from their hearts, I would appreciate those words.

019. What does Taemin do when he's not practising and has nothing at which to aim his efforts? A: If everyone wants to know about it, it's better to leave them guessing. Actually if I start talking about it, it will be very disappointing. I don't really do anything special, really.

020. Do you have anything you suddenly come to like recently? A: Billiards. I've learned it late but it's really interesting. I play it really lightly with my friends. It doesn't involve drinking and I can do a lot of exercise at the same time. I play it with immature enjoyment with same-age people.

021. What is something you like so much you even dream of it? A: Nothing, really. I'm not very greedy. Somehow I've changed. Whatever I have or what I buy, I'm not really that much concerned about them.

022. Not even appetite for food? A: Ah, I do have a little of that. Lately I've been liking seafood. Even though there was a time I love meat so much, I think that's changed. My father also liked seafood, so I think I took after him.

023. What is a word you use the most these days? A: "Anyway, it's already..." I say this a lot. I'm really a bit at a loss for words. Because of that, it's become some sort of a pet phrase I use when I'm organizing my words.

024. What is a phrase/word you hear the most? A: "Do things a little properly." A while ago, I lost the wallet Key-hyung bought for me but it reappeared. Ah, Minho-hyung says a lot, "Be a little better to me and the hyungs." Even though he cannot do it himself. LOL. I'm kidding.

025. If time can move quickly or if time can go backwards, at what age would you want to be? A: One year old.

026. Eh? A: If it's the start, it means I can do well. It's a one-time thing, so I think I would want to do things even better.

027. You wouldn't want to change this person, right? A: I love myself. I wouldn't want to change myself. But sometimes, within my friends, there is someone who would be happy about something. At times, that makes me a bit envious. LOL.

cr keihissi

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terrorpenned · 9 months

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DOSSIER : VICTORIA WINTERS

Studies in: parasitic obsessions with the past, entanglements with old families, Jane Eyre and Mrs. de Winter, the genre-dysphoric protagonist, transmutable identity, hauntings by the women of the narrative.

FULL NAME: Victoria Winters AGE: early 20's BIRTH DATE: March 4th, 1946 ETHNICITY: white, American GENDER: cis woman ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: biromantic SEXUAL ORIENTATION: bisexual RELIGION: Protestant, but not devout SPOKEN LANGUAGE: English CURRENT LIVING CONDITIONS: in a room at Collinwood OCCUPATION: governess, tutor

RELATIONSHIPS

PARENTS: unknown (Betty Hanscombe and Danny Taylor) SIBLINGS: none SIGNIFICANT OTHER: Burke Devlin (present, presumed deceased), Peter Bradford (1795)/Jeff Clark (present), Barnabas Collins (ish, present) CHILDREN: none

PHYSICAL TRAITS

EYE COLOUR: blue HAIR COLOUR: brunette HEIGHT: 5'6″ BODY BUILD: thin TATTOOS + PIERCINGS: no tattoos, ear piercings NOTABLE PHYSICAL TRAITS: hair often tied back into a half-up ponytail with ends flipped. favors comfortable clothing like loose cardigans and jackets. captivating, haunted-looking eyes : sometimes more like a spirit, than a girl.

PERSONALITY

INTELLIGENCE: mixed bag, definitely not the brightest. very book smart, especially when it comes to history, which is a fixated interest of hers –– to the point it is regarded as an unhealthy obsession by everyone else. she can name every president in US history in order, one of her only party tricks. once she begins working for the Collins family, she undertakes study of their own family history as well, especially the story of Josette Collins. quite decent at mathematics, geography, and basic science, as well as teaching them, and overall makes David a fine tutor: his aptitude and questions help her learn more too. socially, though, she struggles with a lot of social cues, and very frequently gets herself into a lot of trouble by oversharing with the wrong person, or misreading situations with those she's close with, or misreading situations period; in a modern era, she might be diagnosed on the autism spectrum. the intensity of her obsession with the past tends to put people off. while she’s often oblivious, she’s not completely helpless, and has successfully solved some complicated supernatural mysteries and managed to save David’s life, but she also stays on at Collinwood after repeated kidnappings so… not the sharpest tool in the shed.

LIKES: fresh coffee (hot and iced), sherry, soda, the smell of the sea and sounds of the waves, old books, family stories and oral histories (including ghost stories), antique stores - old jewelry and paintings, knitted cardigans, pop music: (including The Beatles, the Monkees, Lesley Gore, the Everly Brothers), some classical music, namely for piano, and jazz (she doesn’t have a large record collection of her own, so usually ends up either listening to the radio or borrowing Roger’s) , music boxes, movies of old Hollywood - Gene Tierney, Marilyn Monroe, Rita Hayworth, Jane Russel, Audrey Hepburn - equally noir (Rebecca, Wuthering Heights, Niagara, The Phantom of the Opera, The Bride of Frankenstein, The Invisible Man) and technicolor musicals (The Court Jester, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, Mary Poppins). The writings of Austen and the Brontë sisters, radio dramas. She doesn’t watch much television, but she does enjoy The Twilight Zone. Museums: art or history, it doesn’t matter. she tends to prefer older art to modern art in general, but she does like photography and surrealism

DISLIKES: any hard liquor and for the most part, drinking in general, though she’ll occasionally have some champagne or a glass of sherry out on a date; the smell of cigarette smoke (cigars and pipes are better, though she doesn’t smoke herself and generally dislikes the habit), canned food - especially fish, she’s quite sick of it by now, and she doesn’t care much for crab, shrimp, or oysters; the cubist movement, most non objective art (though she has a secret soft spot for Rothko). I wouldn’t call it an outright dislike, as she appreciates it in other women, but she doesn’t have much interest in keeping up with fashion or hair/makeup and she hates shopping for her own clothes (though she’ll happily shop for David, or accompany Carolyn out on a shopping trip). any horror film with a lot of gore and on-screen violence. the only history she’s not much interested in is military history. and she tends to be uncomfortable around firearms and the thought of war in general: though she’s never going to be a passionate political activist, she is staunchly against the war in Vietnam, and opposes the draft.

DISPOSITION: quiet, naive, goody-two-shoes. can occasionally be too blunt and too honest (to her own harm). “this may as well happen.” extreme fortitude in the face of continual Shenanigans that would rival Marcus Aurelius.

Biography:

“Because she’s lost and lonely. Because she looks in shadows.”

For eighteen years of her life, Victoria Winters lived in the Hammond Foundling Home in New York City. At a few months old, she was dropped at the freezing doorstep with nothing but a note: “Her name is Victoria. I cannot take care of her,” and she was given the name Winters in honor of the season. Though she waited for her birth parents to come back and take her into the fold, no one did; neither did anyone have any clues about her past, and her family, or any place where she might belong, despite her desperation in the search. Her one link was the anonymous gift of $50 every month, postmarked Bangor, Maine, that came regularly until she turned 16 years old. Once she turned 16, she took a job at the foundling home helping to take care of and tutor the younger children, and she became a favorite of her students and staff alike.

Her work at the orphanage continued for two years. Shortly after her eighteenth birthday, Victoria received a letter from Elizabeth Collins Stoddard requesting her to the great old house of Collinwood, in Collinsport, Maine, to serve as governess. No one at the foundling home was able to give her any answers as to why she was thus requested: no one knew the Collins family. Victoria seized on the job eagerly as an opportunity to learn more about herself, and her past, convinced that the answers lay in the bay of the old fishing town. She took a train from New York to Bangor, and never looked back (despite everyone begging her to)

With the Collinses, Victoria found the home, and the family she had longed for in the howling old house. Once used to sleeping in iron cots, Vicki is given Mrs. Stoddard’s former childhood bedroom, and treated much as one of their own within weeks of her arrival. Carolyn, the heiress beating at the walls of her ivory tower, became a proto-sister and her fastest friend. Elizabeth, the matriarch and ghost in a house of ghosts, treated her much like her own daughter. Roger, Elizabeth's wayward brother, though initially hostile, became immensely fond of his son’s governess … probably more than he should have been. David, her student, proved more trouble than she expected, and was the source of some of her earliest severe trials in the house, both threatened and realized: including aiding and abetting her kidnapper, as well as locking her away in abandoned rooms at Collinwood himself. After sustained effort, she was able to finally befriend David, a little worse for wear but staunchly resolved.

Though not for Roger's lack of trying, the man that captures her attention is Burke Devlin, a handsome, well-travelled and wealthy businessman, whom she was soon to learn was an avowed enemy of the entire Collins family. Wrongly convicted of vehicular manslaughter ten years ago, Devlin had returned to Collinsport to take his revenge out on the man who had gone free in his stead (and who had married the woman he loved), Roger Collins. Burke doted on the pretty, doe-eyed governess and though her loyalties were technically with her employer… she wasn’t long to resist his charm. The two of them became engaged, initially despite the Collins wishes, but eventually with their blessing, and even intended to buy a house on the Collins property: a beautiful old house called Seaview.

"What am I?" "It's a toss-up between a chocolate malt and champagne."

Eventually, the ghosts of the Collinwood estate and the wailing of the widows materialize themselves into tangible spirits, overshadowing Roger’s legal troubles and ten-year-old wounds. First, it is the ghost of the murdered Bill Malloy, covered in sea weed and dripping salt water onto the basement floor. Then, the ghostly bride of Jeremiah Collins, Josette, who makes herself Victoria’s spectral protectress when she is once again kidnapped and locked away on the Collinwood grounds. Then, Roger’s estranged wife, Laura, who reveals herself to be far more than an unfit mother, but a reincarnated phoenix, who attempts –– unsuccessfully, due to Victoria’s intervention –– to kill David. And then there is Barnabas. The Collins ancestor, lately returned from his coffin, who adores the past and scorns all modern amenities, charms Victoria, and she never suspects that the young women dying all over town might result from his gentleman’s hand. Conveniently, Burke Devlin’s plane goes down over the jungle right before they are to be married, making way for Barnabas to hypnotize his way into Victoria’s heart.

The defining event of her stay at Collinwood –– more than the murders, the many, many kidnappings, and the rotating circle of suitors –– is her travel back to the year 1795 in the midst of a séance, where she is able to pay witness to the early Collins family history herself and the earlier existence of Angélique Bouchard ( though, importantly, missing the evidence of Barnabas’s monstrous transformation ). Victoria is tried and hanged as a witch, which jerks her back to the present, after which she becomes obsessed with finding her lost love from the past, Peter Bradford, and miraculously succeeds, though Barnabas, as per usual, regards this engagement as just another inconvenience.

A note on Vicki’s parents: even though it’s the dominant theory, I won’t be following Liz as Vicki’s mother, at least on this blog, for these purposes (unless written as an au!). Instead: Vicki is the daughter of Betty Hanscombe, a former servant at Collinwood who was a lover of Elizabeth’s. Her father was Betty’s husband: a loveless, normative marriage. As the Collins family hushed the affair, Betty was institutionalized at Windcliff for homosexuality, a victim of American hysteria in the Lavender Scare. The intensity of the aversion therapy and other “treatment” received worsens her mental health, and though she is released before Vicki’s birth, Betty commits suicide only six months later at Widow’s Hill. Betty’s husband absconds to New York and abandons Vicki at the foundling home, leaving her with the note. Elizabeth, through the use of private investigators, is able to locate Vicki and send her regular payments, and later, to bring her to Collinwood under her personal protection. She feels an immense connection to Vicki both out of her love for her mother, as well as her tremendous guilt for her part in her fate. She’s also willing to let her suspect she is her mother, because it distracts from other secrets she’s not ready to disclose; nor is the town at large (including Sam Evans) willing to discuss what exactly happened to Betty, so it’s simply said she went away and died soon after.

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incorrectjane-andthedragon · 1 year

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Undertaker: A fic. The Sequel to The Mysterious Message

This fic starts roughly 24 hours after the conclusion of The Mysterious Message.

Magnus often paced to gather his thoughts, so Gunther awakening very early in the morning to the sound of regular footsteps downstairs was far from unusual. What was unusual was the frequency and intensity of the footsteps. Magnus was pacing with a rabid quality, like an animal trapped in a cage. His low growling voice floated up the stairs.

“No need to worry myself…the tree. The tree.”

This didn’t happen unless something was really getting under his skin. Gunther knew he should make himself scarce before his father started snapping.

So he did, sneaking off to the one place he knew he could go for certain: the castle.

Being surrounded by the massive gray walls and expected routine sometimes made him feel safe, protected.

But the feeling didn’t last for long. For, after a few hours, he sensed Magnus stalking him like a shadow. This happened all the time, but what didn’t happen all the time was how obvious it was. Magnus rarely got this close to Gunther while watching him spar, he almost never bumped into other people, he certainly almost never mumbled acknowledgements of other people’s existence while peering at his son with bloodshot eyes.

“Sorry, excuse me.” Magnus mumbled after accidentally bumping into Sir Theodore. Gunther could count the amount of times he’d heard his father apologize on one hand.

“Are you feeling all right?” Sir Theodore asked, ever the diplomat.

“I am perfectly fine. Is Gunther’s training session over yet?”

“No, there is still much work to be done. Why don’t you go-”

“I’m not going anywhere, thank you very much.” Magnus glowered at Sir Theodore, and the sight twisted Gunther’s stomach. Sir Theodore, please leave before he gets angry with you.

“All right.” Sir Theodore said calmly. He walked away, only for another knight to immediately accidentally collide with Magnus.

“Watch it!” Sir Ivon snapped.

“Why don’t you watch where you’re going, you bumbling buffoon?”

“Why don’t you watch your mouth?”

Gunther broke into a cold sweat. Why didn’t Sir Ivon ever know when to drop an argument?

Ivon was still continuing, in spite of how red Magnus’s face was growing. “You ought to respect one of the king’s knights. You can’t just do whatever you please around here.”

“Actually, I can.” Magnus’s voice abruptly went into an oddly higher pitch, his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. It made Gunther sweat even more. “For example, I will be taking Gunther home now.”

Gunther felt himself starting to go numb, he couldn’t really feel his hands. He’d realized both he and Jane had stopped sparring and openly staring. Jane’s mouth was open as if she was about to interject, but she also looked a little afraid.

Ivon scowled. “He still has a lot of work to do here. You cannot just come and demand-”

“Yes I can, I am his father-”

“Listen-”

“Is something wrong, gentlemen?” Sir Theodore asked, walking over again.

Both men started talking rapidly at the same time, looking at Sir Theodore and then back at each other with increasingly ferocious glares. Magnus’s chest was heaving.

Sir Ivon turned to him again and snarled something, Gunther would never for the life of him know what it was, but he saw Magnus’s hand begin to move.

Time slowed to a snail’s pace as Gunther watched, frozen. He heard Jane begin to yell. Then he couldn’t hear anything beyond his own pulse.

Magnus slapped Sir Ivon across the face.

A brief and terrifying silence froze time.

Sir Ivon’s bellow broke the spell.

“WHY YOU-”

There was more rapid movement, Gunther couldn’t make anything out. He heard the thud of two bodies colliding, saw a spurt of blood. Whose blood was it? Why was he just standing there?

More yelling, so much yelling. He was running now. Ivon yelled, then grunted. He was trying to wrestle Magnus off of himself.

Not thinking anymore, Gunther grabbed Magnus’s shoulders and squeezed, trying to heave him off, but it was no use.

“GET OFF OF HIM!” Gunther screamed, a guttural sound. “LET HIM GO, YOU MONSTER!”

His father’s only response was a howl of fury that chilled him to the bone.

More yelling, more people yelling now. Was someone crying? Was it him?

Hands on his shoulders, squeezing hard. His father, trying to send him a silent reprimand? No, these hands were too warm and squeezing too tight as someone tried to drag him away.

Whoever dragged him away succeeded, taking him inside.

During a brief and embarrassing phase, Gunther had experimented with writing poetry. He never got very far and he’d repressed most of those memories so he wouldn’t cringe at himself constantly, but he still remembered a comparison he’d drawn between the queen’s blue eyes and serene clear pools.

He wished there was a serene pool of water he could dive into now, and stay there forever.

She was saying something to him now.

“Your father has been taken to the dungeon. You can see him, if you wish, but I do not recommend it, and you will not be allowed to see him alone.”

He nodded numbly. “Understood, my queen.”

“Had your father been behaving unusually before this outburst occurred?”

“A little, Your Majesty. He seemed more agitated than usual this morning, and,” he remembered how bloodshot his eyes had been. “I do not believe he slept very well, if at all, last night. I sensed something was bothering him deeply.”

“Could it have been something to do with the knights?”

“I do not know.”

She said something else that he only half-listened to, something that dismissed him. He was glad for that.

At some point, he found Sir Theodore walking next to him as they left the throne room. He was glad for that. Sir Theodore said nothing, but he didn’t need to. The older knight was scowling, but he knew all that rage was for Magnus.

“Hello.” Jane said, walking up to them both. She sounded more alive than he felt, but still shocked.

“Hello. How is everyone else?”

“Ivon took a beating, but he’s Ivon. Fighting men almost twice his size is his idea of a good time. Smithy saw most of the fight, he’s spending some time alone.” She paused. “Everyone is rattled. Unharmed, but rattled.”

“Good.” Sir Theodore spoke for them both.

The rest of the day was a haze, with only pops of lucidity. Everyone was talking a lot. He was asked a lot of questions about the fight, and his father, and he ignored most of the latter. At some point he found himself being hugged. The part of him that registered it let him sink into the embrace.

Two days later, he walked up to Sir Theodore.

“I’m ready, Sir.”

“May I come with you?” Jane asked.

“As long as you keep your temper in check.”

She promised she would.

“May I come?” Sir Ivon asked. His voice sounded funny, since his nose was broken. He said it was worth it, since he’d broken Magnus’s nose in turn.

“No.” Sir Theodore said firmly. “You risk riling him up too much.”

Ivon grimaced, but nodded. “I’ll stay close by in case you need backup.”

Together, the three of them descended into the dungeon.

Magnus had been placed in a cell. He was cloaked in shadow, the only part of his face that was visible in the dim light was one of his swollen eyes. He swallowed, let out a soft wheezing breath.

Everything Gunther had been planning to say evaporated. He scrambled to say something, anything, but Magnus beat him to it.

“Did they find it yet, bastard?”

Gunther internally groaned. It could refer to about a million illegal things in his father’s possession. The king might as well confiscate the whole house at this point.

What do I say now? Do I lie and say they found it, see how he reacts? Do I tell him the truth? Wait. He stared his father in the eyes. There’s a strong possibility that whatever it is had something to do with his distress and outburst.

What could be so important?

Gunther thought back to the fight. How his father had wanted to take him home, keep an eye on him.

Ah. He found out what I know.

“No.” He said half-truthfully. “They did not find the letter.”

Sir Theodore shifted curiously at the mention of a letter but said nothing. Jane shot Gunther a glance, but she too remained silent.

Magnus had them all in the palm of his hand and he knew it. Gunther waited for him to smirk, or sneer, or even laugh a little to himself.

Instead, he stared at them with immense misery in his eyes. He looked exhausted. Furious. But exhausted to the bone.

He made a scoffing noise. “Then my secrets are kept, then.”

“No, they’re not.” Jane interjected, practically shaking with loathing. “The letter’s already in the process of being translated. Soon everyone will know what you’ve hidden.”

He scoffed again. “I don’t care about the letter, I care about what I’ve buried.” His eyes widened as he realized he’d slipped up, but it was too late.

“Need my help?” Dragon asked as he hovered awkwardly above Gunther’s house. “My claws will be able to dig more than your tiny things.”

“No thank you, Dragon.” Jane wheezed as she stabbed her shovel into the soil again. She was starting to imagine he was plunging it into Magnus's chest instead. That made this easier and more satisfying. She suspected the other knights digging with her were doing the same. “Whatever is buried on his property may be delicate. Damage cannot be risked.”

“Tree.” Gunther gasped abruptly, almost dropping his shovel.

“What?”

“Before-the morning of the fight, before he left the house that day, my father was muttering to himself about ‘not needing to worry’ and a tree. Something’s probably buried by or beneath that tree.” Gunther pointed a sweaty hand at a small tree on the property, across from them.

“The tree’s roots will make that impossible.” Sir Ivon grunted.

“Not if we uproot it.” Jane said, her eyes lighting up. “Dragon?”

“Mmmm, and what do I get in return for the knowledge you gain?”

“Free head scratches for a week?”

“Done!”

Dragon grabbed the tree by the trunk in both of his front talons, and heaved. Most of the tree’s roots came up with it.

The uprooted tree shook with Dragon’s wingbeats, causing something white to fall from the roots it had been tangled in.

Gunther screamed.

Entangled in the roots was a human skeleton.

Waking up to the sound of her father pacing was not unusual, he often paced to gather his thoughts. She knew he had a lot of thoughts to gather that morning.

“Kippernia’s not that far away.” She said as she walked past him.

“Yes it is.”

“It’s close enough for us to do business with.”

“Yes, but-“

“Father, please. I am nervous about this too, but I can do it. I can.”

He sighed heavily. “Yes, yes you can. I’m just-“

“I know, Father. But I am excited too.” She felt a genuine, goofy smile start to spread across her face. “Magnus is going to be my husband! My. Husband.” She wiggled her fingers as if flaunting an imaginary wedding ring.

Her father smiled at her, but it was slightly strained. “Yes, he will. I can only hope he will be a good one.”

“I’m certain he will. He’s so smart, and considerate, and have you seen the gifts he’s given me? I’m just-” she squealed girlishly, thinking of hugging him again, and being able to flaunt him to all her friends as her husband! Husband! AAAAH!

“I know you will miss me, but I will write.”

“In our runes?”

“In our runes. I will never forget my roots.”

“I will ask you one more time.” Sir Theodore growled. “Who was buried beneath that tree?”

“Where is Gunther?”

“Whip him again.” Sir Theodore commanded.

Sir Theodore’s face was grave. “He simply refuses to talk unless you are there. I wish it had not come to this.”

Gunther steeled himself with a shuddering breath. “It must be done.”

Magnus looked even worse than before. His wounds from the brawl had barely recovered when his torture had begun, after he’d refused to talk.

Gunther felt no pity. He scowled. Magnus scowled back.

“Who was buried beneath that tree?”

Sullen silence.

“Enough with the games. Tell me who was buried beneath that tree or I will-”

“Or you will what?”

“I-I will have you executed.”

Magnus retreated back into silence again.

Gunther felt like his voice was coming from somewhere deep inside him. “Tell me who was buried beneath that tree or I will have you executed, Father.”

Magnus threw back his head and laughed. When the horrible sound died down after echoing ominously through the dungeon, he spoke.

We were happy. We were happy. The wedding was lavish, the bride was luminous. I loved her so much, Gunther. I loved her even more once she bore a healthy baby boy. A son. I had a wife, money, and a- a beautiful baby boy. I had never been happier.

You do not remember him, but my close friend James was there for all of it. We’d known each other for decades, since I was young and he was an experienced merchant several years my senior taking me under his wing. He treated my wife like royalty, and you like his own son. He always wanted to hold you.

Your mother, my wife, didn’t always want to hold you. After a while she didn’t want to hold me either. It took me far too long to discover why.

I went searching one night, when she didn’t come home when she was supposed to. Watching from a distance, I found her in a tavern, in the arms of another.

I will never forget what I saw. It is as vivid in my mind now as it was all those years ago.

I walked home. I waited for her to come home. She did. I let her think everything was fine.

I don’t know for certain if she died. I tried my best, but I am still not certain. I- I couldn’t bring myself to bury her, I don’t know why. I put her in the ocean instead.

I don’t know when James started to suspect. Very soon, most likely. He came to the house, played with you, then asked, in that gentle voice of his, what had happened to her.

I could not risk anything. I worked under the cover of darkness, and the tree I had planted over that spot did its job well.

Do you see now, Gunther?

Do you see now, bastard? You have many of my traits, and none of the monster that stole my wife from me, but I have never been able to shake the feeling that you are not mine. I have tried, over and over, to make you prove to me that you are mine. But time and time again, you have failed me and turned to others. Do you see the face of the man who might be your father in the face of that old knight you worship? I know you saw it in the face of the man I fought, which is why I broke his face.

Ha. Your shocked expression looks just like mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.

“Breathe, Gunther, breathe.” Sir Theodore kept saying. “He’s back in the dungeon, he cannot hurt you.”

You don’t understand. He’s already hurt me. Gunther wanted to say, but instead what came out was: “We need more information. We have to go back down there.”

“We can wait.”

“No.” He felt it in his bones. “We need to go back down there now.”

You’re a smart boy, Gunther (just like me). Yes, your discovery of the letter “was the straw that broke the camel’s back” as you put it. Some relative of your mother wrote it. I knew that if you decoded it (which you would, thanks to that damned dragon and that insolent brat), you would find everything. James, and them. You have to understand, I couldn’t have you finding them.

Gunther recounted this to Jane, who had just returned back from patrol and was sweating hard.

“Gunther…”

“What?”

“I saw an unusual ship on patrol. I think your mother’s family has already found you.”

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