#And here it has zero issues stating that. At least when talking to ART

[iamfuckingsorry]

"Do you know where we are going next?" I asked ART.

Y'know what, I think maybe I don't need any more Murderbot books. I think maybe ending things here is fucking perfect and as much as I love Wells's writing I'm genuinely not sure it can get better for me.

Like, so much of the books are about MB learning how to be a person, about becoming okay with being a complete individual with everything it entails. The first thing it does once it's actually allowed to decide on its own is it runs away from it all (admittedly to go on a mission to confirm some things about its past, because it genuinely just wants to be *good*). It shoves all its emotions away as much as it's able to. Then shit happens, and it makes its first friends, makes decisions based on these friendships, goes through a lot of emotionally intense situations...

And we get to this point here. MB having zero doubts about going with ART says a lot about its relationship with ART, but it also says a lot about its relationship with its humans - it knows that wherever it goes, when it comes back, the humans will still be there. Its humans actively acknowledge its struggles with being a now-free SecUnit and MB is willing to entertain the discussions to an extent and share information about its deeply personal experiences. Hell, System Collapse ends with MB admitting it might be somewhat broken, but that's okay as long as it can keep doing its job, and agreeing to basically do counselling - this is the guy what would rewatch its favourite TV show again and again in order to avoid acknowledging it even had Emotions a couple books back.

Reading this, I know that MB will be okay. It has hopes and goals and genuinely believes in itself and it has an amazing support system that its willing to lean on for the first time in its life. I'm convinced it'll go on to do great things with ART. And that's really the only thing I need to know.

[nobodyfamousposts]

why is everyone always hyping up Ms. Mendeleev as this amazing teacher who takes no bull when she really isn’t? in evil illustrator, Mendeleev sees Chloe picking on Nathaniel and even physically rips his sketch book out of his hands and embarrasses him in front of everyone. but not only is Mendeleev more focused on him drawing in class, she only scolds Chloe but doesn’t punish her for being disruptive. in Marinette’s flashback, when Marinette arrives to class late looking downtrodden, she yells at her in front of everyone instead of waiting until the end of class to talk to Marinette privately. she doesn’t ask her what’s wrong, she doesn’t shut down Chloe’s offensive comments about “looking more depressed than usual” and “she wants to design clothes but can’t keep hers clean”, and she yells at Marinette for accusing Chloe of putting paint on her seat by stating that she had no basis to do so. this woman sure does yell a lot doesn’t she? Mendeleev has zero empathy for her students and has no business being a teacher. if we’re going to call out Damocles and Bustier, she deserves a call out as well.

No no, you have a point. I find I want to argue with you because I'm one of those who likes Mendeleiev substantially more compared to the other teachers, but that's just it: when compared to the other teachers.

Other than Damocles as the Principal, Mendeleiv is one of only three teachers we've been introduced to in the whole of the series. Well, until the Art teacher in season three, but even he has the same issues as Bustier and Damocles of admonishing the other students while saying nothing against Chloe.

Chloe issues aside, Bustier's teaching methods are "nice", but notably useless and not age appropriate. She was shown teaching the class about a fairy tale, and not even a specific one. Just about how a Prince saves a Princess with a kiss, with "true love" being the lesson rather than the literary implications or analysis in what I can only assume is a literature class.

Then there's D'Argencourt, and do I really need to get into this guy?

So I think part of the reason here is that of the very few teachers we've gotten any focus on, Mendeleiev is the only one who has actually ACTED like a teacher. Not the nicest teacher, no, but at least A teacher.

She was admittedly harsh in how she went about things with her students, but she had valid points and reasoning behind what she did.

Nathaniel in Evilustrator was drawing in science class, a subject he is struggling in.

Rose was spraying perfume in class without consideration to the hazards it could cause. Someone could have a health issue. Plus...y'know...the canon problem of the perfume being VERY FLAMMABLE.

And she's the only teacher who has at any point at least scolded Chloe for her behavior. Which given how everyone seems to bend over backwards to appease her or admonish her victims, that's saying something.

Plus out of all the school staff who have been akumatized, Mendeleiev had the most sympathetic reason. Then there's her aborted storyline in the New York Special. So she comes off as a teacher who wants to be liked and do right by her students, even if her way of going about her interactions seems harsh, and I think that's the aspect that the fans have taken notice of.

It stands to reason we've all had a teacher like her in our lives. Strict. No nonsense. Didn't let us get away with anything. And it also stands to reason that having that teacher in real life made us dread that class.

So yes, Mendeleiev is no saint. But she at least IS a teacher who ACTS like a teacher. A strict teacher who takes no excuses and seems more impartial (at least when compared with Damocles and Bustier who make it quite obvious they're under Chloe's thumb even if it's in different ways and for different reasons). She could do with some education on empathy and communicating with her students. But she's still at least doing her job as an educator to teach them.

At least until the writers ruin her just like they ruin everything else because they saw what the fandom came up with and decided we can't have nice things.

[redhoodieone]

You’re so Lucky!

A/N: Hey y’all! Here’s another sexy story that was a request from the amazing @jasontoddslut! Enjoy my peeps!

Warnings: Language, Bad Relationship with Ex-Boyfriend, Smut, Voyeurism, and Jason’s Goddamn Dirty Mouth!!!!!

It was bound to happen. She couldn’t deny this was going to happen sooner rather than later. If she believed they that they could get through their issues and be happy like they once were, then she’s a real fucking idiot.

Gabi still couldn’t believe it though. One minute she was trying to calm Bobby down and the next, he’s screaming at her and telling her to get the fuck out of his apartment. He was in a bad mood to begin with. He’s a mechanic and he’s always tired when he gets home. He was expecting dinner to be ready and maybe have his loving girlfriend of three years rub his back since his shoulder pain is getting worse.

But no. Gabi made the mistake of asking Bobby where he was tonight as soon as he got home.

What set him off was her telling him to calm down. She should have known though.

You should NEVER. EVER. Tell an easily angry guy to calm down.

Because that’s like telling fire to not burn people. Or telling a baby to not cry.

She should have known better though. It’s no surprise Bobby’s into some serious shady shit that the low life Gothamites meet up sometimes at night in casinos or nightclubs. She knows they do illegal shit like selling drugs, ordering weapons from other countries, and maybe even kidnapping young women and children.

And Bobby had participated in the ordering weapons category.

How Gabi found out is another story: she knows for damn sure that Bobby once brought home fifteen state of the art total militia AK-47 guns. Bobby had foolishly asked Gabi to go get some important documents from his huge safe; totally forgetting the weapons were in there about five months prior.

Why would a normal mechanic need such weapons?

Gabi had decided to never bring it up. Bobby would either deny or lie about it. His temper had been getting worse right about then and she knew better.

But he wasn’t always like this. Oh, no. Bobby was a funny, laid back, and loving type who worshipped the ground Gabi walked on before they even started dating. But after two years of living with each other, things changed.

Simple as that. Things changed.

Gabi always wondered how things could just...change. So easily. The fact that it could happen in the blink of an eye frightens her sometimes.

Just like Bobby’s hidden anger. She never knew a hilarious and sweet guy could have the rage of a bull.

Bobby never hit her though. He always made sure to slam his fist against the wall beside her head, though. He was the type to yell and belittle Gabi as if she was a little girl.

But she wasn’t a little girl. She was a 23-year-old woman who moved in with her boyfriend so fast that she began to understand why her parents and friends disapproved of her choices and relationship.

I just had to learn the hard way, Gabi thought to herself.

She doesn’t know why she’s trying to think of sayings that relate to this experience. The point is, Gabi knows she seriously fucked. With Bobby only giving her ten minutes to pack whatever truly mattered to her, she had to hurry the fuck up.

The moment she made it outside the apartment building, all Gabi could do is replay her questions that she asked Bobby.

Where were you tonight?

Were you with someone?

What did you do?

Why can’t you tell me what you did?

Are you hiding something from me?

Are you getting into dangerous things?

No wonder Bobby kicked her out. Gabi should have never put her nose in his business. And now, she’s practically homeless. She knows it would be embarrassing as hell to go back to her parents’ house because of what they told her before getting involved with Bobby. She also knows her friends would treat her horribly, with the “I told you so” stares and lectures. Gabi was certainly running out of options just as the rain began to fall.

There was one person she could go to, who would never turn her away.

However, Gabi hasn’t spoken to this person in about a year because of her relationship with Bobby as well as this person’s own relationship with their significant other.

But Gabi knew Y/N was a good person, a good friend. She was a sweet person, with a big warm heart and she would never turn her away.

With nowhere else to go, Gabi walked alone in the rain all the way down to high class side of Gotham.

By the time Gabi gets to the high-class penthouses, she has to call Y/N to let her inside. Of course, Y/N excitedly tells her to come up, and Gabi immediately starts to feel somehow relieved that Y/N hasn’t changed at all.

As Gabi finally makes it to the correct floor, she sees Y/N waiting by the door, where Gabi assumes is where Y/N lives. Y/N is wearing a red and black flannel pajama pants and a thin black tank top. Gabi also notices Y/N’s barefoot, and her hair’s in a messy bun.

She must have just woken up. I’m so sorry, Y/N, Gabi thinks to herself.

But none of that matters when Y/N meets Gabi halfway in the hall where they collide in a tight, warm-hearted embrace.  Y/N smells like a woodsy, musky cologne, most likely from whoever she’s seeing with now. Maybe they were snuggling up against with each other until Gabi had called and asked if she could come over.

“Come inside. You must be freezing!” Y/N says, releasing Gabi from her hug and pulling her arm towards the front door.

Gabi follows on shaky legs, completely overwhelmed by seeing her longtime best friend. Y/N giggles and leads Gabi inside the penthouse. Gabi instantly is hit by the aroma of vanilla and musk, the smell of intimacy and seduction.  Her eyes take in the red and black walls and décor, some exquisite art pieces, and the big space that is more comfortable and warmer than most homes she’s ever seen.

“Welcome, mi casa es tu casa! Seriously Gabi, babe, make yourself at home. There’s absolutely no rush to leave. You leave when you’re ready, okay?” Y/N says seriously.

“Are you absolutely sure? I really don’t want to impose or put you and your boyfriend out,” Gabi confesses.

Y/N leads Gabi to the long, cherry red couch that is facing a huge flat screen TV. Gabi sets down her duffle bag and takes a seat next to Y/N on the couch.

“Don’t be ridiculous! Jay and I insist you stay here until you figure out what you want to do, okay?” Y/N says, before she turns around to get comfortable to face Gabi.

A vanilla candle is lit on the coffee table. Gabi’s cheeks flush in embarrassment. “I didn’t...interrupt something, did I?”

“Oh, no, you didn’t! I was just setting the mood in the living room to be more...comfy,” Y/N admits, with a chuckle. “Jason just got home a few minutes ago and is taking a shower. He should be done by now.”

As if on cue, they hear someone walking down the hall and towards the living room. He stops near the couch. There in all his glory, well half-naked glory, stands Jason Todd, God’s greatest creation of man...at least that’s what both girls were thinking.

“Gabi, this is Jason, my boyfriend,” Y/N proudly introduces Jason to Gabi. “Jay, this is Gabi, my best friend in the whole wide world.”

Still dripping wet and fresh out of the shower, Jason at least has a white towel wrapped around his waist; hiding his goods that Gabi wanted to see so desperately. He’s really tall, must be 6’2 or something close to that. She takes note that Jason is all man: there’s absolutely nothing that screams “boy”. Gabi inhales hard when she watches his large hand run through his soaked dark hair. The other hand holds the towel tightly around his hips.

“Hi,” Jason smirks at Gabi. She notices his eyes are green, almost like emeralds. He smiles at her, even his white teeth are perfect. “So, you’re Gabi. Y/N’s told me a lot about you.”

“She-she has?” Gabi chokes out. Why is it so hot in here? Why can’t she speak?

Her eyes zero in on the droplets of water running down his strong as fuck built chiseled chest and perfectly sculpted abs that she really wants to lick and bite his skin.

Holy fuck...

Gabi scolds herself for thinking such inappropriate thoughts about her best friend’s boyfriend. Even though Gabi’s never fantasized Bobby this kind of way, she realizes Y/N’s lucked out. Bobby wasn’t in shape or even remotely attractive like Jason.

“Of course, she has. You’re one of her best friends, and I’m happy to finally meet you. I would go over there to shake your hand and properly greet you, but I’m uh...not exactly dressed yet,” Jason chuckles, and almost seems shy now. “I’m gonna go get dressed real quick so we can talk.”

You don’t have to. You can stay the way you are. You can even drop the towel, Gabi thinks improperly.

Y/N smiles softly at Jason as they watch him leave. True to his word, Jason returned in a pair of black sweatpants and a white t-shirt and took a seat next to Y/N. Throughout their comfortable and pleasant conversation, Gabi truly sees the way Jason cares about her best friend. Midway through their talk about what happened to Bobby, Jason clearly was paying attention and rubbed caressed Y/N’s thigh when Gabi recounted the latest scary fight with Bobby. Whenever Y/N looked shocked or worried, Jason made sure to calm her down through touches, forehead kisses, and whispers words along the lines of love, probably.

It almost makes Gabi jealous. Y/N’s life is clearly so much better than what Gabi had going on for herself. Jason seems like the perfect gentleman; always does and says the right thing. Gabi’s never seen a man pay so much attention to a woman before. Not only did he offer Gabi his advice and opinions on getting a better and more affordable apartment on their street, but Jason even voiced his hatred for Bobby, and even went on to criticize the man for treating women so poorly. He even made a joke about finding the man and breaking his legs; making Gabi and Y/N laugh their asses off and making the energy around them fun again.

But for some reason, Gabi couldn’t help but notice that Jason wasn’t laughing as hard as she and Y/N were. It almost seemed like Jason was serious about breaking Bobby’s legs, but Jason wouldn’t do that. She was sure of it.

He wouldn’t, would he?

By the time midnight came, the three of them stood up and decided to go to bed. Jason even surprised Gabi by giving her a hug and telling her that she can stay in their guest bedroom for however long as she wants and needs.

“I’m serious, kid. Don’t even worry about it. You mean so much to Y/N, and so therefore, you mean a lot to me, too,” Jason had said as he pulled back from their hug.

Gabi was speechless to say the least. She didn’t want the hug to end. He felt so good in her arms and he smelled so fucking good.

But it was bedtime now, and once Y/N and Jason had shown Gabi the guest bedroom, they went off to bed to let Gabi get comfortable. It wasn’t long for Gabi to quickly clean herself up and put on some plain pajama shorts with a tank top. As soon as she turned off the light, she was amazed by how big and comfortable the bed was. She figured it must be new and is probably the first person to sleep in here. In just a few minutes, exhaustion took over and Gabi fell into a deep sleep.

Her throat was dry. That’s what awoke Gabi at two in the morning and made her climb out of bed and go search for a bottle of water. She made sure to tiptoe out of the room and walk slowly and quietly to the kitchen.

As soon as Gabi made it to the end of the hallway, she stops dead in her tracks when she hears moaning. A woman moaning.

Her mind registers that it’s Y/N moaning. But why is she moaning in the living room?

Curiosity forces Gabi to peek out into the living room and see what’s going on, despite the logical part in her mind is screaming at her to have some respect for her best friend and her boyfriend.

But being a pervert outweighs being a prude.

Gabi is utterly shocked to her core when she sees her best friend straddling Jason’s lap. On the red couch where they sat a couple of hours ago, Gabi sees Y/N and Jason making out heavily. She couldn’t unsee it; she wants to keep watching them.

Gabi even sees the vanilla candle is lit again, after Jason had blown it out before they all went to bed.

But all Gabi could see is Jason’s fingertips digging hard into Y/N’s exposed flesh from where her tank top is pushed up above her bare tits. Y/N shamelessly moans in between the evident delicious kisses, and grinds against Jason’s apparent bulge.

Gabi quickly notices an isolated leather recliner that’s against the wall near the hallway. She throws herself down, sinks into the chair and watches the practically live porno show in front of her.

Jason pulls back from the deep kiss, revealing his red, swollen lips from where Y/N’s been biting and sucking since the beginning. He rests his head back against the couch and looks up with hazy, lustful eyes as Y/N grins down at him. She bites her bottom lip and pulls up her tank top, removing her top completely from her body.  

“Fuck...what the hell are you doing to me, sweetheart?” Jason asks breathlessly. He runs his hands up Y/N’s back and moves them to her front where he reaches for both her tits.

“I’m slowly...and softly killing you,” Y/N says, closing her eyes and moans when Jason gently grabs both her tits in his hands; her breasts fill his hands perfectly.

“I’d say...” he says, before sighing contently when switches from pinching her nipples to squeezing her tits before he sits up straighter and pulls Y/N’s body closer to lick and suck her sensitive nipples.

“Oh, fuck...oh Jay...feels so good,” Y/N moans louder than before. She whimpers and continues to rub herself against him. “I need to cum...please make me cum, Jay...”

Jason pulls back from her chest and gazes into Y/N’s eyes. “You wanna cum, doll? Do you want me to make you cum?”

“Yes, please...I need you so bad!”

“No, I don’t think you need to cum,” Jason teases, before he pulls off his own t-shirt. “Now, I’m going to take off the rest of your clothes, but if you touch your pussy, I ain’t going to fuck you.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!” Y/N snaps. Her cheeks are flushed from being aroused.

Jason smirks at Y/N’s frustration.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, sweetheart. I’m going to check how wet you are,” Jason explains, as he raises Y/N off his lap to pull down her pajama pants and panties; leaving her completely bare on his lap. “If you’re soaking wet, then I’m gonna fuck you so hard that you’ll be feeling me for days. But if I have to make you wet, then that means I get to do whatever I want to this pussy.”

“But-”

Jason runs his hand up Y/N’s thigh until his fingers glide over her bare pussy. His fingers gently push inside her, he can feel the wetness, but wants to see it for himself.

“Stand up and put your pussy in my face,” he demands.

“What?”

“I want to taste your delicious pussy right now. Don’t make me get up and literally put you on my shoulders to eat you out,” Jason threatens.

Y/N slowly moves to stand up carefully on the couch. Her legs are shaking, but Jason quickly grabs her to hold her steady. He doesn’t waste any time, and he dives into her pussy as if he’s a starving man.

“Oh fuck!” Y/N cries out.

Jason’s tongue on her clit is what she wants the most right now. He squeezes her thigh and flicks his tongue side to side until Y/N fears she’s either going to fall back or fall over him.

Y/N notices one of Jason’s pull up bars is above her. How convenient.

She grabs a hold of the bar to hold herself up just as he decides to slip a finger inside her. Holding herself up allows him to remove a hand from her thigh. He takes the opportunity to slip another finger inside and pumps them in and out fast.

Y/N’s body trembles when Jason curls his fingers and strokes the sensitive wall that he’s mastered so well. He can tell she’s close. She must have been excited earlier when they planned to stay in last minute. He manages to look up at her and he can see she’s barely holding on.

“You’re so close aren’t you, babe? You taste so fucking good that I want you to cum on my face. I want you to be my dirty girl tonight,” Jason says as he finger-fucks her harder and faster than before. “Are you going to be my dirty girl tonight?

“Yes! Fuck yes! Just-just make me cum, please!” Y/N cries out desperately, needing the push that Jason could only give her.

“You are my dirty girl. You love it when I make you cum with just my fingers and mouth. But I bet you want my cock right after, huh?” Jason asks, chuckling darkly when Y/N’s eyes roll back when he speeds up his fingers inside her. “You wanna ride me, don’t you?”

“Yes-yes I do...” she’s panting now.

“Okay, I want you to cum in my face and then quickly get on my lap and ride me. Fast, slow, hard, whatever, you pick. I just want to feel your warm, tight pussy around my dick, okay?” Jason says, quickly shoving his sweatpants and boxers down to his feet. “Fuck...give me your pretty, tasty pussy, sweetheart!”

And then Jason finally gives in. He pulls both her thighs to bring her pussy to his face. Y/N whimpers when he licks all around her wetness, and he hums in approval when he feels her hand stroking his scalp and pulling his hair, while she continues holding herself up with only one hand now.

The vibration from his humming helps her reach her release. He continues to thrust his fingers inside her and sucks her clit until she gushes in his face.

Y/N manages to silent most of her orgasm, but it didn’t help when Jason continued to lick and suck at her clit to swallow most of her juices. Once her body relaxes, she lets go of the pull up bar and drops down to the couch. Y/N quickly straddles Jason’s lap until her pussy is hovering above his hard cock.

“Spit on my cock, doll. Get it nice and wet,” Jason says, as he watches Y/N spit in her hand and stroke his thick cock until he’s nice and ready for her. “How are you going to ride me, sweetheart?”

Y/N slowly looks up into Jason’s dilated, misty eyes. “Deep. Hard. And fast,” she says.

Jason swallows hard but is able to quickly smirk up at Y/N before she takes full control. “Then ride me, sweetheart. Fuck yourself on my cock like the dirty girl you really are.”

Y/N finally lowers herself onto Jason’s cock, all logic and common sense flies out the window. Whenever his cock was deep inside her, they both tend to lose themselves and the world around them. Because whenever they were connected emotionally and physically in their bubble, nothing else fucking matters in the world.

When Jason fills her up completely, they both release a content sigh. They usually take their time in the beginning, mostly because of their fears whenever Jason leaves to work as Red Hood. But since they’re both so horny and want to cum sooner, they’ll have to just take their time during round two.

“Fuck me, sweetheart. Fuck yourself silly on my dick,” Jason moans, but he and Y/N laugh at the “silly” part, when he realizes that’s not very sexy.

But Y/N understands and slowly lifts herself up his lap until just the tip of Jason’s cock is inside her. She keeps a steady pace, lifting herself and lowering herself, until their rhythm flows. Within seconds, Jason helps her by holding her hips tightly and thrusting his hips in time with hers.

“Your cock is so big inside me, Jay. You fill me up so good,” Y/N moans and rides him a little faster; wanting the head of his cock to rub hard and relentlessly against her g-spot. She guides one of his hands off her waist to move towards her pussy, encouraging him to rub her clit. “I wanna cum again, Jay.”

“Yeah? You like ridin’ my big cock, you dirty girl? You want me to fill your pussy with my cum?” Jason asks, watching Y/N’s tits bounce while she rides his cock faster than before. He can’t help himself, he uses a free hand to pinch her nipple and leans in to bite and suck her breasts, until he puts his hand back to her hip to guide her thrusts. “You want me to fill you up with my cum?”

“Yes! Yes, please!” Y/N begs.

“Okay, my dirty girl. I’ll give you what you want.”

Well, Jason knows now that this is going to end fast, but he refuses to let it end without Y/N cumming hard again. He squeezes her hip with one hand and the other hand rubs her clit fast in messy circles. He begins to pull her down to meet his thrusts, fucking her harder and faster with everything he’s got. The squelching sound from his cock fucking up into her wet pussy becomes more noticeable, especially when their skin-on-skin slapping gets louder and harsher that echoes in the living room.

“Fuck...Y/N, you’re getting so tight. You feel so fucking good baby,” Jason pants hard, completely sweating and keeping his fast and erratic pace to get them to their releases. “Fuckin’ cum on my big cock, sweetheart. I wanna feel you cum so bad. Please cum for me, again.”

Y/N keeps her eyes on Jason just as her orgasm hits her hard; she squeezes and gushes around his cock, she calls out his name. Jason thrusts harder in her three more times, as he finally cums hard inside Y/N, calls out her name as quietly as he could. Y/N collapses against Jason’s chest, despite being hot and sweaty, but he doesn’t mind. He wraps both arms around her and holds her while they regain their breaths and can function normal again.

Y/N doesn’t see the loving smile Jason gives her as he kisses her forehead. “I love you,” he whispers, and hugs her tighter.

She looks up at him and smiles. “I love you, too.”

Before Y/N can lie her head against Jason’s chest again, she notices Gabi sitting and watching them. Y/N jumps up and covers her breasts with her arms, causing Jason to jump in panic and turn around to see what’s going on.

“Gabi! What-what the hell are you doing there?!” Y/N cries out in embarrassment. She can feel her cheeks are getting red again.

Gabi slowly gets up from the chair and makes her wave into the kitchen. She finds bottled water in the refrigerator, takes one, and goes back into the living room where Jason and Y/N are still frozen in fear.

“I-I was thirsty,” Gabi answers, even though she knows it sounds like a lame answer. She walks backwards until she reaches the hall. “And-and then I saw you guys, and then I couldn’t stop watching. I’m sorry, Y/N...Jason...”

But before Gabi leaves, she points a finger at Jason and smiles. She even chuckles. “But-but in my defense...he’s really sexy! He’s fucking gorgeous, Y/N, and you’re one lucky bitch! You’re so lucky!”

But Gabi is right about that.

Y/N is lucky...because she has Jason.

[catboyantichrist]

Hi there! Can you please do relationship headcanons of a gender neutral MC with autism and ADHD dating the seven brothers? I’d love to see more positive writing of a neurodivergent MC and how each of the brothers would love and respect them regardless of their disabilities. Feel free to do this if you want to. If not, that’s ok! Have a great day! 😁👍🌷🌹🌺🌸🌼🌻🌷🌹🌻🌼🌸🌺

This ask literally made me squeal- my neurodivergent ass is gonna have way too much fun with this- LMAO Just a warning, I'm basing this mainly off of my personal experiences (I have ADHD and am possibly getting tested for atypical autism in the future.). Ill try to be as broad as possible but I'd just like to give a heads up.

Just know that if you don't relate to this post or something in it, that doesn't mean you aren't valid! Everyone experiences neurodivergencey differently ^^

☆The Brothers Dating A GN!MC With Autism & ADHD☆

Day-to-day life has always been a struggle. As it feels like no human truly understands why you function the way you do. From bosses, to teachers, to neurotypical friends. Life can feel draining and like a chore when you're living in a world that doesn't function the way you do.

Then your world literally changes. You're in the devildom now. Most people would be terrified that they're living in a house full of demons. But you weren't. You felt like you finally belonged, and eventually you finally found love. Something that people assumed you'd never be able to find. Well jokes on them because your lover treats you with so much respect and kindness, and of course you do the same. This is some of what your lover does that just makes your heart spin:

Lucifer:

-Much to your dismay, before Lucifer started to get to know you he was similar to the humans you've encountered in the past. This doesn't last long though as one of the brothers (most likely Leviathan or Mammon) try to explain. He begins to go a bit easier on you, and also falls for you.

-When you guys start dating, he makes it his goal to help make your day-to-day life easier. Dare I say, he takes pride in it. (Hahahah aren't I funny?)

-He notices how you need a schedule to function, but how much you hate schedules. So with your permission, he makes a loose schedule and follows it WITH you. It simultaneously helps you function more than usual, and it helps Lucifer take breaks when he needs to.

-You two begin to do everything together, as doing stuff together and holding each other accountable is a lot easier than doing it alone

-If someone ever dares to make a rude comment about you Lucifer will um... "take care of them".

-If you ever get overstimulated from the environment you're in, Lucifer keeps his office wide open as a quiet place for you. He keeps a weighted blanket, some headphones and any stim toys you usually use in a corner of his office. If you're not comfortable with them out in the open he'll keep them in a special box somewhere in his office that others can't get into.

Mammon:

-Executive Dysfunction gang! The both of you are relieved that you understand each other and some dumbass wont just go "jUsT gEt Up aNd dO iT!"

-If you guys are struggling with it at different times, you'll try to help each other do small tasks that require very limited effort so that one of you don't get overwhelmed and stressed out. If its a particularly difficult day, you'll just stay there to support the other if they want that.

-If both of you are struggling that day, you do nothing ✨together✨ and just vibe with each others company.

-This man brings you shiny things. They don't even have to be worth anything, they're just shiny. You proceed to do the same. You two now have a designated spot for shiny things you bring each other. If you have an interest in art, you and him will probably end up using the shiny objects as art projects.

-A LOT of impulse shopping. You guys enable each other. Although you quickly realize that you impulse shop for each other. Every second day you end up bringing each other gifts and laughing about it after.

Leviathan:

-Y'know that arm thing two neurodivergent people do when they find out that the other person is neurodivergent? Yeah you two did that. And still continue to do that. It's your greeting now.

-You two spend tons of time either cuddling and talking about your special interests together, or both of you are pacing around Levi's room talking about your special interests together.

-And if you end up having the same special interest?? Oh man the serotonin you two both get just being AROUND each other.

-If you have a hard time around tons of people (in general or just at certain times) he's more than willing to share his room with you and for you two to do online school together. I mean hey, doing school by yourself online is difficult. (Even if it's more comfortable for you both)

-Will he get you a matching pair of noise cancelling headphones if you have auditory sensory issues, or if you just like the pressure on your head. (I don't know if that's a neurodivergent thing but I will wear my headphones just so that I feel some sort of pressure on my head)

-You both communicate what you need, and whether you need alone time or not. Making sure not to trigger any form of rejection sensitivity dysphoria for eachother.

Satan:

-If you were one of those neurodivergent kids that spent all of their time in the library, going through books like wildfire in middle school, get ready for that to be reignited.

-You two will read together all the time, and if you're having a day where you're more fidgety and don't wanna stay still, Satan is more than happy reading to you while you pace around.

-Satan has a natural curiosity, and loves to learn about anything that he doesn't already know about. So if you have a special interest about your own neurodivergency, he is more than happy to listen to you ramble about your life experiences and symptoms.

-Honestly, it doesn't even have to be about neurodivergency, Satan is happy to listen and learn about anything you're interested currently.

-If you aren't big on physical affection from humans or, well... humanoid people, that's perfectly fine! That's what animals are for! He'll take you to a cat cafe and will enjoy spending time with the animals with you.

-Similar to Lucifer, if anyone makes a comment about the way you act, they wont live to see another day. Unlike Lucifer, the demons who say these comments don't even finish their sentence. They're dead before MC blinks.

Asmodeus:

-When Asmodeus finds out that you have sensory issues that affect what you wear, he decides to hand-make clothes with fabrics of your choice. He has no issue with you prioritizing comfort over appearance, but if you want to put effort into your appearance and texture is stopping you, he's more than happy to design some stuff for you.

-Asmodeus has always been a touchy person, but if you aren't comfortable with that he'd never force you to cuddle. If you are interested in physical affection one of his favourite things to do is put makeup on your face, or just touch your face.

-Speaking of which, if you ever impulsively cut your hair whether it be from breakdown, normal impulsivity, or sensory issues with your hair being longer. He'll always help you cut your hair. He wants to make sure that once you cut it, you wont regret it the next day.

-Depending on whether you like going outside or not (or if its depending on the day) he's more than happy to take you to the fall! He'll make sure you're always comfortable and if you need the attention diverted from you if you need a break!

-If you don't like going outside, Asmo will dedicate certain nights for just you two to hang out. He can always energy match you. Hyperactive? Oh he's right there with you bouncing of the walls. Calmer? He doesn't mind just vibing with you. Comfort? Oh you've come to the right guy.

-Asmodeus is very emotionally intelligent, it may have originally been for the wrong purposes (charming others) but now he can use it to help you work through issues with socializing with others, past traumas from other people, he'll always do his best to support you as long as you'd do the same for him!

Beelzebub:

-Beel is always well meaning, but whether you're neurodivergent or neurotypical, communication is key with him. So, if you're unintentionally blunt to neurotypical people, that's exactly what Beel needs and wants. He knows you don't mean it out of harm, you're just trying to state your boundaries.

-Do you need a weighted blanket? This man will become the weighted blanket. He wants to make sure you're comfortable at all times!

-If you have trouble eating, Beel is here to help. If you take meds for ADHD and they make you lose your appetite, or just general forgetfulness, he'll remind you to have at least some sort of small snack throughout the day. Nothing too filling, just enough so that you aren't running on zero food throughout the day.

-All the go-to and comfort foods that you had in the human world? Beel would make it his MISSION to get them, and TONS of it too. It's the only food in the house he wont eat because he knows how important it is to you. He will tear up a bit if you offer to share though.

-If you're in a hyperactive mood, or anxious, Beel will convince you to do some light exercise with him to help calm you down

Belphegor:

-If you have trouble sleeping, Belphie will definitely try and help. Ranging from cuddling, aroma therapy, getting Beel to do exercise with you. To more magical means (if you're comfortable with it) like sleeping powder.

-If you just have a different internal clock than the average person, that's fine too! It may be permanent but that's okay- Belphie will sleep at any time with you.

-Isn't generally a social person so if you're not that big of a fan of social interaction you don't have to worry. Belphie would even do online school with you!

-He would let you use his pillows and blankets to stim if that's something you're interested in. He'd also listen to you ramble about your interests while doing so! As long as you don't mind him talking about the stars afterwards.

-Definitely the most blunt out of his brothers, so communication wouldn't be an issue between you two. If his bluntness is a bit too harsh for you he'll try to tone it down a bit, but it would probably just end up as him trying to explain the reasoning behind the bluntness and how it's not out of harm.

[writefightandflightclub]

Somebody to love (PART 1/2): Richard Alonso Munoz x fem!reader

Summary: Whilst your neighbour, Richard, is in love with love, you are a little more commitment averse. When he performs a small act of kindness though, your feelings start to unravel, and you wonder if you may have found somebody to love - right next-door all along.

Richard is a sweet, gentle man, and so I hoped to create a sweet, gentle story. I hope you enjoy spending some time in it!

I HAVE POSTED THIS IN TWO PARTS, ONLY BECAUSE OF LENGTH. WHILST YOU COULD PROBABLY(?) READ EITHER PART AS A STANDLONE THEY ARE MEANT TO WORK TOGETHER.

Genre / tropes: pining, friends to lovers (sort of - neighbours to lovers), getting together, domesticity, fluff, smut, nothing bad happens, ends happily, quite a slow burn for a one-shot, I guess?

Author’s note: This is part of my friends to lovers event, prompt requested by @foxilayde who I adore and you should too. Prompt was: he does something utterly mundane which shows how well he knows you, and your feelings hit you. I took some liberties with the prompt, and there is zero pressure to read this - IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A BLURB! :P More of these requests in pinned post!

Warnings/ Ratings:

PART ONE (Mature, 18+ ONLY): swearing; sexual themes (erotic poetry, thirsty internal monologue, sexual tension); food themes inc. mentions/consumption; family mentions - reader has nieces but they need not be biological; brief mentions of the prison system - Richard is a Corrections Officer; exceedingly brief mention of the Holocaust in context of a non-fiction book Richard is reading (I believe this is a canon read but may be wrong); loneliness (theme, not too angsty); self-esteem issues if you squint.

PART TWO: (Explicit, 18+ ONLY): swearing; explicit sex, including - oral m + f receiving; unprotected vaginal sex; creampie; f squirting (first time doing so); well-endowed man, ahem.

Word count: 10k for part 1, 9k for part 2.

You had been thinking about the small gesture all day. You had been distracted all the way through your shift, and then all through dinner with a friend.

Richard -your neighbour to the right- had turned-up at your door that morning, before setting off on his way to work. His visit had been unexpected, and you had opened the door in a fluster, seeing him greet you with a characteristically soft smile - just visible from beneath the thick brush of his bold, impressive moustache.

He had held them out to you - in between his index and middle finger. A small book of postage stamps.

You had simply looked at him in confusion for a moment.

“For your letters,” he had stated, in his soft-spoken voice. “You said last night you didn’t have any stamps, and I found these in my drawer, so...”

It was true. You had said that. Had forgotten you’d said it. Had barely registered running into him, since it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

Your routine overlapped minimally with Richard’s -though more so since his new role in the letter room had him working days exclusively- but sometimes, you would meet serendipitously, as neighbours tend to do. Last night, in the liminal space between your work day ending and your home life beginning, you had stopped to chat with him, and -you remembered now- had made some offhand comment about needing some stamps.

The topic of letters had come up; naturally, given his new position. It caused you to mention having written some letters to your nieces -packaged up with little illustrated portraits you’d gotten commissioned for their new bedrooms. Letters which you hadn’t gotten around to posting.

And so, here Richard was. On your doorstep. With stamps.

It was a little thing. So little, it didn’t even register at the time. In fact, you had bundled him off your porch with a quick, cursory “Thanks, Richard!”, prioritising finishing your morning scramble and making it out of the door on time.

It didn’t register in the moment, no; but you were noticing it now, alright.

“-so, this morning,” you explain to your friend opposite you in the pizza parlour, as she absent-mindedly dips her crusts in some hot sauce, “there he is on my doorstep, and he’d brought me some stamps.”

Your friend, Jaz, dips her chin and slowly raises her perfectly shaped eyebrows, her glossed lips curling in an amused, incredulous smile. “So, let me get this straight. He brought you some... stamps, which he already had, from his house next door,” she recaps, her smile inching wider by the second, “and now you want to fuck him?!”. Her eyebrows knit together in faux concern and she clamps a hand over yours where it rests on the table. “Sweetie, we need to talk. How low is your bar these days? Exactly how dick-starved are you?”

Ordinarily you’d be more than game for the light fun she pokes at you. Would even have a smart riposte ready. This time, though, you simply huff, your jaw twitching in minor irritation at how flippant she is being. So, shaking your head gently, you pull your hand away from hers, folding your jacket around yourself, suddenly feeling exceedingly self-conscious.

“Never mind. I’m obviously not telling it right. And, wait - hold up- who in the hell said I wanted to...” you look around the parlour, voice dropping to an indignant whisper as if anyone around you would hear or care about your hypothetical sexploits “...fuck him?” Your tone is defensive, and you shift to take a masking nibble on your straw, slurping the dregs of your soda and bouncing your leg nervously under the table.

Your friend merely raises an eyebrow, with a healthy -and not entirely unfounded- scepticism, and so, you try to rein your protestations in, lest you get slammed with a “methinks you doth protest too much”.

“Okay, okay,” Jaz concedes, holding up her hands and leaning back in her chair. “All I’m saying is, it seems like you have a hard-on for him all of a sudden. You’ve lived by him for years and you’ve never noticed the guy! It’s just stamps, baby cakes. It’s just your paunchy, kindly neighbour, who gets milkshake stuck in his moustache.”

At least he’s not afraid to make a mess of himself when he’s slurping, you think idly, your eyebrow ticking up - the thought leading you in a very particular direction and sending a sudden scorching heat to your cheeks. Also - paunchy? I like a beautiful soft tummy to rest my head on, thank you very much.

Yeesh. You are not okay. Still, before you go full feral, you shrug your shoulders in partial concession, widening your eyes in innocence. “Uh huh. Sure. Yeah.” 

“Seriously?” Jaz continues, shaking her head in good-natured disbelief - blatantly seeing right through you. “Are stamps your love language now, or what the fuck?”

She’s not wrong. It is very… sudden. You’ve never felt that way about Richard before. But is it so preposterous to think you might begin to?

“Jeez! Who said anything about love?!” You swirl your straw in your cup, concentrating on puncturing the remaining bubbles and ignoring your friend’s peals of bemused laughter. “Look, okay? I guess you’re right, Jaz. Maybe I’m just dick-starved,” you suggest, a smile finally claiming your lips. “It has been… a little while. And the last encounter was not very... inspiring.” You wiggle your eyebrows at her and your shared laughter mingles in the space between you. Still, you’re more than a little keen to deflect, and you bounce your foot more furiously under the table in your haste to change the subject. “I just thought it was sweet of him, that’s all, but… forget it, okay? Tell me everything about your hot date with Jackson.”

As soon as the invitation is given, Jaz jumps on it. And, as you listen to her spill the tea on her latest hook-ups with her fancy man, you try really hard to focus - but you can’t help that your thoughts keep wandering time and again to a certain man. A man with the kindest, most soulful cola-coloured eyes. Your neighbour to the right.  

You’re unsure why, but you feel a little bent out of shape - a little annoyed, even- that Jaz was so quick to dismiss Richard. Particularly that she had seemed to miss the whole meaning behind his small gesture. He was listening to you. He was thinking about you. And, as you dwell further on it, you realise that maybe -just maybe- you want the kind of guy who brings you stamps, goddammit.

Shit - maybe Jaz wasn’t too far off when she said stamps were your love language after all.

And, true, maybe you hadn’t paid the faintest bit of romantic attention to Richard -for the most part- in the years you’d lived side-by-side with him... but maybe it was time to start. Maybe, in fact, it was well overdue.

***

Granted, it hadn’t struck you right away how sweet Richard’s gesture was, but as soon as it had, you started to notice everything. To remember everything.

You remembered how he pushed a flyer through your door one evening, just in case you might be interested in the latest art exhibit going on at the local rec centre. You recalled how he had duct-taped the handle of your garbage can back together after it spectacularly broke one morning, causing your trash to spill over the sidewalk. It hadn’t seemed like a huge thing at the time, but now, as you imagine him painstakingly unfurling the roll and passing it around and around the broken piece, entirely on his own steam, it takes on a new meaning.

You have begun to notice - really notice- how he always smiles and stops to chat to you, his face lighting up as if he is genuinely pleased to see you. You have begun to notice everything he has done for you, over the years, a deluge of kindness flooding your heart. Details -little things- which seemed insignificant at the time, but which weigh heavier than gold now that you reflect on them.

And, most of all, you have noticed him.

Richard.

You have noticed his positivity. That bounce he gets in his step when he’s enthusiastic about something (which is always). The way his expressive, long-lashed eyes reveal everything he’s feeling whenever he talks or listens - his emotions and his compassionate heart pinned firmly on his sleeve, as prominent as his Corrections Officer badge. You notice how handsome he is; a fact which has inexplicably passed you by for the longest time. Perhaps, because of how understated he is? Not cocky and assured and alpha like the guys you’re usually drawn to.

Tonight, though, most of all, you are noticing that he’s not home, as you sit on your front porch steps, entirely locked out of your own house. You know for a fact that a couple of neighbours have spotted you there - you’ve observed pairs of curtains twitching- and yet no-one has come to your aid so far, mean bastards. You know, in contrast, that Richard would help anyone who needed it, without hesitation. And, it’s fair to say that sitting here, waiting for him to return and help you out, is certainly providing you plenty of opportunity to dwell on thoughts of him. In fact, you can’t wait for him to get home; not only because you wish for relief from the elements, no. But because the thought of seeing him actually excites you. You are looking forward to it.

Finally, thankfully, after the evening chill has long begun to bite at your extremities, you see Richard approaching. He whistles a jaunty tune as he comes up his drive, happy as usual. From his silhouette, you note that he’s dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and his usual ill-fitting jeans, his keys already jangling in his hand, and he stops abruptly when he sees you sat out front as though his feet are glued to the floor.

You can just about make out the smile which tugs at his lips, moments before his words do. He always seems happy to see you, and, on this occasion, you echo that feeling too, more so than ever. “Locked out?” he calls, and at the sound of his voice you stand, hopefully, clasping your purse on your shoulder, your own feet glued to the floor too.

“Yeah,” you call, throwing your voice over to him. “Waiting for the locksmith.”

You grip the strap of your purse a little tighter, as Richard takes a few steps closer, a polite but cautious smile lighting his face. “Want to wait inside?”

“Hell yes,” you gush with a relieved exhale of breath, gratefully trotting around to meet him on his porch where the security light bathes him in a halo of orange. “You’re a babe. Thank you, Richard.” You allow your eyes to gently rove over him as you approach. He’s wearing a turquoise bowling shirt, you realise. A bowling shirt with “Alonso Muñoz” stitched in an adorable flourish of red embroidery above the left shirt pocket. What’s more, he looks cute as all hell in it too. You seem to recall he’s in a casual league with some buddies.

“It’s no trouble,” he says with a warm, disarming smile, deep, pleasing creases radiating from around his eyes – and, even though you aren’t usually one to be lost for words, it is all you can do to smile back at him vacantly, clutching your purse strap tight enough that your knuckles strain.

Richard pauses too, seemingly taking a moment to remember the keys bunched and readied in his hand - as though your presence has pushed all other thoughts out of his head. “You must be cold. Let’s get you warmed up,” he says finally, snapping himself out of his stupor.

Yes please.

And so, with a bashful flutter of his long lashes as you shuffle even closer to him, Richard opens the door and guides you inside, hover-handing his palm at the small of your back.

He smiles widely as he is welcomed by his little fur ball, Lady, the white dog yipping and wagging and jumping up at his shins. Richard stoops to bundle her into his arms, the animal rasping its tongue over his shapely jaw, which he raises as he squirms away from the wet, eager kisses.

“Aw, you’re so precious, Lady,” you baby-talk, reaching out to apply fond scritches to the mop of her head. “I forget how cute you are, little bean!”

Richard chuckles with mirth, seemingly warmed by your sweet interaction with his pupper, and only when Lady gets restless in his arms does he set about plopping her down and refilling her food bowl.

“Please, make yourself at home,” Richard offers, before he briefly excuses himself, dipping away into another room and signalling he’ll be right back.

With Richard gone and Lady chowing down on her dried food, you take the opportunity to glance around the place, surprised by how at home you do feel, already, even though you’ve never set foot in here before. You’ve been in his yard before; for example, when he’s hosted block barbeques, or, when the summer sun has withered from your yard, you’ve sometimes shimmied your deck chair to be side by side with his as you languished together in the remaining patch of sun. But you’ve never been inside his home. Now that you are, you drink in the details of him, eager for any new information you can glean, and scanning over the books and paintings and photographs with particular interest. You smile as your eyes fall upon Lady’s bed, filled with a procession of carefully arranged stuffed animals and chew toys.  You are warmed by the painting of a beachy, mountain-edged, palm-fronded sunset, propped against the ‘sill.

You note that his place is homely and well-tended, and you also can’t help but notice that the place signals a rather solitary existence. One plate and one fork drying on the dish rack. A perfectly placed easy chair -for one- in front of the TV, the small couch to its side covered with stacks of books and papers, as if it has been a while since he entertained a guest. In fact, you would take a seat -make yourself at home- but you don’t want to intrude on His Seat, and nor do you wish to disturb his personal papers to clear the couch.

As you ponder this, Richard re-enters, extending a soft, flannel shirt towards you. “Here. In case you’re cold.”

You smile your thanks to him (grinning like a dumbass, actually) and you gratefully slip the garment over your shoulders, feeling instantly warmed. As you wrap it around yourself, you get a waft of fresh-scented detergent. You would never have guessed that you’d be able to recognise any particular Richard-y scent, but as the shirt’s pleasant odour engulfs you, you realise it is infinitely familiar. That it is wildly comforting.

You watch, a brief moment of awkwardness as Richard self-consciously combs his fingers through his thick moustache; sweeps a hand over his already immaculate, plastered-down curls. He looks so... neat. Controlled. Restrained. It crosses your mind that you’d like to mess him up a bit, see him come undone - of course, if he wanted.

Then, noticing your seating predicament, Richard surges over to gather up the strewn piles of mess, shifting them on to the coffee table instead. “Here, take a seat,” he indicates. “Sorry for the mess- I emptied the bureau looking for the stamps. Please. Every time I think to put it back I get distracted.”

His comment is nonchalant, but for the second time since he arrived home, you are at a loss for words, and you can only stare at him as you sink your ass down, gratefully, on to the now emptied couch. He’d gone to that effort for you? And now he’s apologising right to your face for the mess of it?

“That was kind of you, Richard,” you state, finding words again, and he shuffles nervously from shoe to shoe in response. You note that his brown skin grows increasingly flushed, with a deepening undertone of crimson as his eyes skim cautiously over you. “And thank you for letting me hang here. Promise I’ll be out of your hair soon. The locksmith should only be...” You suck in air through your teeth as you un-pocket your cell and glance at the time. “Yikes. Another hour. I’m so sorry to get in the way.”

His moustache twitches with a shy smile, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he looks at you from beneath his lashes, his eyes all big and pretty. He certainly doesn’t look put-out, at least. “Not at all - it’s… really nice to have you here,” Richard insists, polite and sincere as ever. You are the one to feel bashful now, and you tug his shirt more firmly around your shoulders for comfort, the act serving to further fluster you and entrance him, it seems. He seems frozen to the spot again, and meanwhile, you’re now feeling overly warmed.

He looks a little lost, for a moment, as though it’s been so long since he had a visitor that he doesn’t quite know what to do with you. In the next second though, his practiced hospitality kicks in, his warm and affable nature shining through as he determines a course of action. “Have you eaten? I could fix you some dinner.”

You are hungry, you think, your tongue darting out along your bottom lip at the thought of food. Well, if he’s going to feed you, you’re not letting him do all the work -you decide- so you tentatively rise from your seat, clapping your palms together, signifying action. “Only if I can help you?”

“O- okay. Yeah. Thank you,” he nods; then, he comes to stand with his hands on his hips, thumbs to the front, causing his soft, rounded belly to protrude exaggeratedly from under his shirt. You’re not sure why that sends a very subtle flare of heat down between your legs, but it does all the same.

Meanwhile, oblivious to your thirsty inner monologue, Richard looks at you reservedly, until you smile and cross together to the humble kitchen, where, with another bashful flutter of his lashes he begins grabbing out utensils and ingredients. All the while, he moves seamlessly around you, so careful never to touch or to invade your personal space. The pronounced and careful lack of contact makes you realise, however -as he skims his body so close yet so far from yours in the compact space- that maybe you desperately want him to touch you. That you wouldn’t mind if his hand brushed your back, or lower. That maybe having him envelop his arms around you would feel as warm and comforting as his shirt – or even more so. That even, perhaps, if he pressed you from behind into the counter, his soft stomach leading, followed by his wide hips pinning you in place, his moustache grazing up the column of your neck, that you wouldn’t mind at all. In fact, the thought of his touch, and even the mere potential of it, fills you with an excited buzz deep in your belly. A thrill that you haven’t felt for a long time – at least, not quite like this.

Right now, though, you set these thoughts aside to focus on the task at hand. You move around each other a little awkwardly, but thankfully, the conversation flows far more easily than your bodies. Richard’s shy and gentle, but he’s friendly. Inquisitive and interesting, and he keeps you chatting. And, so, you converse and cook together, until the resulting, homely odours waft into your nose, keeping your mind firmly on your much more literal hunger; at least, for the most part.

When the steaming food is plated up, Richard invites you to take a seat on the couch and you oblige, watching him fondly and with interest as he produces various condiments, a bottle of Mr. Chimi’s Churri sauce taking pride of place on the surface in front of you. You add a healthy dollop.

“Mmm, this is so good, thank you,” you say approvingly when he invites you to dig in, eagerly wolfing down forkfuls.

As soon as Richard has plonked himself down in his chair and balanced his own plate on his lap, he flicks on the TV – likely, more out of habit than anything. A vibrant telenovela sparks to life in the background, a particularly melodramatic scene in full swing. You smile to yourself. You recognise the show - you’ve heard him talk about it too. Even get the impression he watches religiously.

Richard’s eyes fix on the screen for a moment, and he is visibly suckered-in by the unfolding plot, his food disappearing at an impressive rate as he scoops it up to his mouth while he watches. Still, he doesn’t forget you’re there. Quite the contrary.

“It’s so sad,” he explains for your benefit, between his mouthfuls of dinner, his eyes overflowing with warmth as he turns to you. “Carlos and Adela are so in love, but they can’t be together. She’s engaged to Luis. She has to stay with him to save the family home because she already signed some papers.”

You smile, Richard’s heartfelt summary filling you with warmth. He cares about people. It’s what he does. Apparently, he’s even invested in the fictional ones. You try hard to supress your good-natured amusement at quite how invested he is; however, when his gaze meets yours once again, flicking back and forth between you and the screen, he must catch a hint of it in your expression. “Sorry,” he flusters. “I can turn this off, if you like?” he offers gently, eyes apologetic.

“Are you kidding?” you respond, with a warm smile. You’re no stranger to becoming over-invested in fiction, you suppose, and besides - you like the prospect of sharing this with him. “Catch me up some more,” you encourage. “So, we’re rooting for Carlos?”

Richard smiles gratefully, nodding vigorously in response. You like seeing him like this. In his own element, his own environment, doing things he typically enjoys. It’s nice to see him living his best life, thriving on the drama of the trope-laden plot. “I hope Carlos crashes the wedding. Luis doesn’t deserve her.”

“Yikes. You’re brutal, Alonso Muñoz,” you tease, a musical laugh lilting out of you.

You chat back and forth, an amused smile twitching at the corner of your mouth for the duration, and although Richard seems somewhat entranced by the developing storyline, he seems even more invested in you. He makes sure to listen to you, even when you’re sure you must be talking over an important detail. He ensures he fills you in on any prior plot point you may need for context.

And, while his eyes do intermittently flick back toward the screen, your eyes, however, remain firmly fixed on him. On the singular swoop of his meticulously parted, grizzled curls. On his long lashes blinking, his deep eyes shining beneath them, glinting in tandem with the light from the screen. His warm, brown skin and the lines etched in it when he smiles cast with a bluish hue, flickering light and shadow ghosting over the contours of his strong nose and chin and his heavy brow. The soft, inviting rolls of his stomach as he relaxes into his chair, and the way his belly shakes when he laughs. Of course, his glorious moustache, positively flourishing on his upper lip. Last but not least, what most gets you though, are his eyes. Eyes as kind and expressive and open as this sweet man’s heart is.

You laugh alongside him, hoping he is enjoying the company as much as you are. You could get used to this, you think; used to him. Indeed, you have no idea how you have managed to overlook this man, beautiful inside and out, until now. You resolve though, that you won’t make that same mistake again.

Eventually, the credits roll, and you thank Richard once more for the food. He carries your plate over to the sink, insisting -when you offer- that the dishes can languish there for one night. And so, instead of rising, you pat the couch cushion beside you invitingly. His throat bobs around a hard swallow as he stands before you, his feet momentarily glued to the floor; yet again. When Richard finally musters movement and takes a seat next to you, he places himself as far away from you as he possibly can on the small two-seater; out of respect rather than repulsion, you are more than sure. However, the compact space affords him little chance to keep his distance, and his clothed thigh presses warm against your own. He doesn’t make any attempt to move away though, and, equally, nor do you.

“Thank you, Richard,” you say, your voice softer and far more breathy than you intended, now that he is so close to you.

He clears his throat self-consciously, before his eyes crease with a sincere smile. “It’s no trouble. Anytime.” He sounds like he means it too.

You lean back, settling yourself deeper into the worn and slightly lumpy couch cushions. His posture, meanwhile, is still alarmingly stiff beside you, his torso upright and his hands folded formally in his lap. If you had to hazard a guess, you’d say that, perhaps, you made him nervous.

“Richard, I don’t bite,” you soothe. “Sit back. Relax. It’s your home.”

He nods in concession, exhaling his tensely held breath. “Yes, Ma’am,” he sounds obediently. You don’t think you’ve ever had anyone call you Ma’am before; but you note that you don’t entirely mind it, out of Richard’s mouth. You maybe even… like it?

Anyway, outside of your increasingly feral internal monologue, Richard reaches over to flick on the soft, ambient lamp to his side -the room having grown thick with shadows- and then he is sinking back, resting his head against the couch cushions alongside you.

You turn your head and tilt your torso a little towards him. When Richard does the same, it evokes a sense of intimacy that you weren’t all the way prepared for; the rest of the room seems to disappear as you are both held in a close circle of oranged light, the TV nothing but a lulling, background hum now. “I mean it... I... I wanted to thank you properly. For the stamps.”

“It’s no trouble,” he repeats, his voice deep and resonant and close now, catching you off-guard. No trouble? Sure. Despite the fact he’d clearly emptied-out everything in his living room to find them. “Did you send your letters?” he enquires softly, his eyebrows jumping up a little.

You can’t supress the bittersweet smile which inches over your face as you respond. “I did, and I got the cutest video call from my nieces when their mail arrived.” That wouldn’t have happened. Not without him being so thoughtful. You’d have put it off and put it off. The letters would still be sat on your dresser.  

Richard’s eyes light, and he looks genuinely pleased for you, his face glowing. “I’m glad.” He smiles, revealing a flash of his cute, ever so slightly imperfect (and therefore entirely perfect) teeth. Finally beginning to relax again, his hands rest flat astride his sturdy thighs and his head lolls towards you. With his next words, his voice becomes even softer. “I can tell you miss them since they moved away. Portland, right? I, uh. I really hoped you would send those letters. I know how much they can mean to people.”

“Portland. Yeah. Wow, you remember that?” You have to admit that you are a little shocked. Richard listened to you. Really listened to you. And, not only that, but he clearly read between the lines, connecting the dots between each one of your ad hoc interactions in a way which you -apparently- had failed to do thus far.

Jaz would scoff at you right now, you know it, if she could see you becoming all shy and flustered for him.

And now you want to fuck him?

But it wasn’t only that he brought you the stamps, okay? It was why he did it. He did it, because he knew what it might mean for you. Because, evidently, not only did he notice that you were sad -about something you barely let yourself acknowledge, by the way- but he also cared enough to try to make you happy instead.

The realisation that he cares is an emotional thing, causing a slight lump to rise in your throat. It should probably make you happy, but in fact, it saddens you. It saddens you because -you realise now- you have taken for granted all this time how easy Richard is to talk to. Have taken for granted the way he has been privy to so many candid details about your life.

Richard has often been the first person you’ve spoken to when you arrived home -sometimes the only person- and you have never hesitated to share your good news and triumphs with him. Nor have you hesitated to vent, sharing the more difficult details of your bad days. You’ve taken for granted just how much of yourself you’ve cumulatively shared with him; in a way you don’t often share with anyone else. Richard has been an important part of your life all these years, without you truly realising it. Perhaps because your interactions with him have tended to exist in such a liminal, peculiar space in your day. Perhaps because you were too close to see the big picture, instead of this collection of valuable, little things.

You hug your arms around yourself. You can merely repeat it again. “Thank you. For real.”

“It’s just a little thing,” he dismisses, modestly, and you are very suddenly tired of him dismissing himself. You want him to know how appreciated he is. Embodying this, your hand darts out to grip his where it rests on his thigh, and Richard looks down at this small spectacle in mild shock; and yet, he doesn’t pull away from your touch.

“It’s not. It’s a lot of things, Richard. I want you to know I appreciate everything you do. It has... It has been a long time since anyone was so sweet to me.”

Feeling self-conscious suddenly, following your outburst of affection, you inch your hand away from his; retreating, and reining yourself back in. For a moment, Richard’s fingers twitch up from his pant leg as though they might chase yours; but then, his hand stills, settled on his thigh just as before.

Then, a crease appears at his brow. “None of your Adonises are sweet to you?”

Your nose crinkles in confusion. “My... Adonises?”

“The... your... gentlemen visitors.”

Your brow creases, as you try to detect whether there is any judgement or malice in his observation, but, knowing him, you are not inclined to think there is. Still, you feel there is more to uncover. He’s noticed your dates coming and going then? He thinks they’re… Adonises? He’s surprised they aren’t sweet to you?

Still, as soon as the words are out of his mouth, perhaps realising how they might be misinterpreted, that crimson undertone to his skin flares again, this time reaching all the way to the tips of his ears. He looks like he wants the couch to swallow him up, and you can’t help but feel for him. “I just meant...”

“-It’s okay,” you say, swooping in to rescue him before he can start helplessly blabbering. He keenly takes the invitation to stop, his mouth suddenly clamping shut, ready to listen. And you? You are ready to talk. The words seem to come so easily around him. “I guess... you’re right. I’ve been on some dates but they...” you sigh, furrowing your brow as you try to find the words. “That’s all fine. Most of the time it’s really fun. Or it was. But... lately...”

“Lately?” Richard encourages, when you don’t go on, his voice barely above a whisper as he hangs on your every word.

“Lately, I think… That maybe it would be nice to have somebody who doesn’t just come and go. To have… somebody to love, I guess?”

“Somebody to love,” Richard ponders, his expression becoming wistful. His head begins moving up and down ever so slowly, gradually building to a more adamant nod. He smiles, but his eyes don’t crease at the corners this time. “That really does sound nice.”

It shocks you, but seeing him even a little sad, like that, has your hands fisting in the material of your skirt, as you resist the urge to reach out for him and offer comfort. You want to cup his face in your hand and kiss him senseless, until his eyes glow once more, imbued with his characteristic positivity. You want to care for him and protect him and make him laugh and spend time with him and…

Fuck.

You want to love him, you realise, and the thought scares you down to your bones. It scares you enough that you sit forwards, breaking this most peculiar tension. Changing the topic. And, abrupt as it may be, at least it works.

“What are you reading?” you ask, shrugging his shirt from your shoulders as a hot, cloying flush creeps along your skin and up your neck, prickly enough that it feels like fingertips. As you imagine Richard’s fingers dancing the same path over your bare shoulder blade, slipping beneath the spaghetti strap of your top, peeling it down, you hurriedly pick up the first book you can put your hands on, turning it in your palms without taking in a word written on it.

Poor Richard. You must be giving the sweet man whiplash.

Still, he leans forward in his seat too, sombrely taking the book from your hands and gazing down at the cover.

“Ah. It’s a bleak topic,” he warns. A deep crease appears in his brow. “It’s Night, by Elie Wiesel – a survivor’s account of his experiences during the Holocaust.”

Your expression turns grave and pinched and you nod, listening carefully as Richard recounts some of the key details. Then, together, you continue to pore through the pile, tackling each book in turn. You listen intently to Richard recount the various synopses, passionate and precise and sensitive in his summaries. It seems he reads a lot of non-fiction. Heavy reading, with many titles about the prison system, and atrocities - often both. But, you understand why it’s important to him. You are grateful to understand how his empathetic nature begets yet more empathy, as he seeks to expand his knowledge of experiences and histories different to his own. 

At first sight, you think it’s seemingly at odds that such a positive man seeks out such dark accounts, but it makes sense to you, in a strange way. After all, he wants to understand how things can be better. He believes they can be. You don’t know anything more Richard-y than that.

Reaching for the next title, you find it is a little different to the rest. You are reluctant to segue too abruptly from such heavy topics, keen to give them the merit they deserve, but at the same time you are grateful for a little lightness as you pick-up what appears to be a slightly trashy romance novel. You smile fondly, connecting the dots between this and the telenovela plotlines that seem to grab his attention; the way he seems so in love with love. Again, you consider how the two sides of him -the more serious and seemingly more trivial - may seem at odds, but that actually, they each reveal what is at the core of him. He is interested in people. He’s invested.

“And this book?” you ask tentatively, not even trying to stifle your smile as your eyes wander over the cover, two half-dressed people locked in an erotic, sordid embrace. You are especially keen to hear what he has to say about this one too.

“Well… Like you said. Somebody to love - right? Don’t we all need those kinds of stories?”

Your eyes glow with admiration. Whilst he’s not cocky or overly assured, no, you are coming to admire Richard’s quiet confidence in who he is and what he cares about. His integrity and his lack of embarrassment in the things he chooses to value. His delight and lack of shame in the things that he enjoys. He’s not afraid to be who he is. You think that’s wonderful.

Next, your eyes flick back to the final book on the pile, partly for completeness but also out of curiosity. You feel with each title you pick-up, you are learning something about him; and, frankly, you want to know everything there is to find out. You look at it with a start however, when you realise what the final book in the pile is.

It’s your book. It’s the anthology of poetry you’d self-published around a year ago, and sold at your local readings. You reach for it instantly, almost cradling it in your hands like a precious object. Not because it’s yours - not exactly- but because it’s his. His copy looks eminently different to the spares you still have boxed-up in your house, all fresh and crisp, spines unbroken. This one looks a little worn around the edges - well-thumbed, spine broken-in. Some of the pages are dog-eared, and various makeshift bookmarks are sticking out of it. You’ve never seen one of your publications looking so… beautiful. So treasured.

“You actually read this?” you ask, a little overwhelmed, your heart hammering, and tears spiking in your eyes.

“I read it often. I told you, I really like it!”

You stroke the cover with your palm. “Honestly? I thought you were just being polite.”

When you’d mentioned to him for the first time that you wrote poetry -specifically erotic poetry- and had invited him to the reading, Richard had looked, at first, as though he was ready to die of embarrassment. Regardless, he’d still come along - your only neighbour to have done so. You vaguely remember having spoken to him the day afterward about it, but when you think of the show itself, you can’t picture him there. Now, you desperately wrack your memory of the event, searching for him. Wishing you could recall him showing-up for you in such an important way. 

It had been such a blur, though. You’d had a lot of friends there. You’d had a date there, who, at the time, you’d thought was the be all and end all. Now, however, you curse yourself for overlooking Richard. You wish you could go back and root through the crowd for him. You wish you could bring him into the spotlight. Bring him into your arms. And yet, while you ponder all of this, Richard reaches for the book and gently lifts it from your hands, with a gentle hum. It practically falls open on one particular page.

“This one is my favourite,” he admits bashfully. “Salted Peach. I must have it almost memorised by now.” You turn to him, studying his face. His expressive eyes are full of a heat gentler and more nuanced than your words could ever hope to be, you think, as he pores over the page. Over your words.

“No way. Prove it, Alonso Muñoz,” you challenge, exhaling a laugh that is surprised and disbelieving and utterly delighted all at once.

You don’t expect him to take you up on it, but the man sets his face, both more determined and more playful than you think you have seen him so far, as he hands the book back to you. “Okay,” he smiles, softly. “I’ll give it a go.”

You hold your breath as his eyes flutter closed -so that you know he has zero chance of cheating- his long lashes fanning-out beautifully over his cheek. You take the chance to look over his handsome features, while he can’t interrupt your surreptitious study.

Then, he begins. His voice is hushed and unsure, yet the richness of it washes over you, right from the first line.

“Like salt kept on the lips,

To resist is to rust,” he begins, and your breath catches in your chest.

“Let me be an oiled thing under you, all fluid and opening smoothly

With keen, slick hinges.”

First, you are struck that he really does know it. That he really does remember it, almost word perfect. You exhale a breath in disbelief, your chest filling with butterflies.

“A ruined peach

Spilling nectar over your thumb,” he continues, and desire knots deep in your belly.

It’s not that the words are explicit – they aren’t. But something about the way he recites them -recounts your desire- makes them feel positively sinful, his voice quietly confident and subtly erotic as he recites your words. You don’t only hear the words, but you feel them, almost as if his thumb really has punctured you.

You are becoming slick already, feeling like a ruined, grateful fruit. You want to be his fruit, you think. His salted peach.

“You can be my stiffness

My joints

My... (my stone heart? Is that right?)” he interjects.

“It’s perfect,” you encourage, your voice trembling slightly, even as his grows ever more robust, and, as you bolster him, he sits a little taller in his seat, his posture proud and the new confidence reflected in his voice as he proceeds. As he grows, stiffer, taller, you become liquid, and you writhe your heat subtly against your seat. You press your thighs closer together.

Enraptured, you watch his lips and tongue move seamlessly around the words. The micro-expressions on his face, revealing how tenderly he wishes to portray them, every word imbued with care. With expression, and feeling.  

“(Got it...) My stone heart

And I, boneless;

Bodiless flesh.”

As he continues, you close your eyes too. You stop checking the words against the book and you let yourself feel them. You let them wash over you. You let his voice wash over you; to sink and curl into the pit of you. You squirm in place, and yet this shifting makes you all too aware of your stillness – this fixed position and distance from him, when surely you should be moving and surging and undulating on him? Surely you should be leaning in and hearing the deep yet gentle timbre of his words waft into the shell of your ear, or fanning over your skin?

Surely, he should be touching you?

Your heart is racing.

“Salt me, then.

Lick your lips and taste me; sweetly.”

You want to taste him. Be tasted.

“Only on your tongue, do I exist.

Only in your hand, do I perish.”

You want to exist and perish on his hand.  

“Do not keep me on your lips.

Oil me with your writhing”

You want to be swallowed by him. Oiled by him. Made slick.

“Or else I rust.”

You are rapt. His words -no, your words, spoken by him- melting you.

His voice. So rich, and so sensual, and you could swear, as you listen to him, that your words have never sounded so erotic. That you have never felt them as deeply as you do now, hearing them fall from his tongue and his lips. Hearing them flow from his heart, as he recites them in a way you’ve never heard them; an interpretation entirely unique to him.

In fact, listening to him, like this, lights a flame in the pit of you, a heat suffusing through you, warming everywhere. He warms you, even from this distance, and you can feel how much heat he has to give. And, on boy. You want to lap it up. Every. Last. Drop.

“I... I forgot the next part,” he adds, shyly, his confidence wavering, and you open your eyes, beginning to recite the rest for him.

“Oh, love,

I long to be a fluid thing;

Under you.”

It sounds… true. It feels right. It feels so right to say those words to him. So right that it knocks the air from out of you.

At the sound of your voice, you watch a soft, unfiltered smile appear on Richard’s face, his still-closed eyes creasing deliciously at the corners, his moustache animating with it.

“And yet you resist me; rust me,” you continue, voice full of fissures, and Richard’s eyes slowly peel open, pooling with heat. This time, unlike the other times his eyes have met yours, he holds your gaze - doesn’t drop his eyes from yours in a flurry of bashfulness and fluttered lashes. He holds your gaze and he holds you, in this moment. In this little circle of intimacy, his eyes glowing, all for you. Pooling with that heat, so nuanced and gentle, but every bit as hot as anything you’ve ever touched.

Your voice and your smile and your heart crack wide open as you continue.

“You are salt kept on my lips;”

You complete the last lines at the same time, eyes locked. 

“Always tempting.

I seize up.”

Of all the swimming emotions rising at that moment, gratitude balls in your heart most intensely, and yet again, it is all you can do to thrust it towards him, your humble offering.

“Thank you,�� you say, for the nth time that evening, a smile of the purest joy still splitting your face. “That was really beautiful.”  

It’s hard to comprehend how moved you are by what just happened. You are shocked. Flattered. That someone appreciates your words, that they resonate at all, makes you feel so seen. That the person is Richard is more of a treasure than you can fathom, and it causes a flood of raw, reckless emotion, joyful tears brimming in your eyes.

In return, Richard’s eyes shine as he regards you, with an admiration so deep and yet prominent that you almost shrink back from it. “They’re your words,” he impresses, aiming, as ever, to shrink himself instead.

You shake your head. You won’t have that. “No, Richard - it’s the way you recited them. I swear you should do my next reading for me. You’re so…” You search desperately for the right words, and you can’t find ones any more fitting. “…So fucking beautiful.”

And you call yourself a poet?

Your eyes well up.

You feel entirely caught off guard and just a little silly that you are getting yourself upset in front of him, and yet Richard’s eyes narrow kindly as you try to scrub a stray tear away from your cheek. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice soothing, and in the next breath he reaches out to touch you, his hand settling over the top of yours. The gesture is a little awkward, unsure, but only until his hand is in place. After that it simply feels... right. Perfect, in fact.

He strokes you, his thumb ghosting slowly, minutely over your pulse point, sending a delicious shiver along your spine. His eyes search yours, and you become thoroughly lost in the intensity of them. Lost in a way that you don’t ever wish to find yourself again. Lost in a way that turns everything on its head - has you finally feeling found.

“I loved hearing you read. It was so wonderful. You should definitely do another event,” Richard gushes. “I’m sure I could listen to you read from this all night.” With that, and the scenario it conjures, perhaps, he looks down at his hand on yours. Maybe growing self-conscious, or worried that he is overstepping; that he has lingered there too long. Suddenly, though, you don’t think any length of time could be too long for him to be touching you.

When your gaze drops to his lips, however, his moustache bristles, and he quickly snatches his hand back to his lap. “Have you written anything lately?” he asks hurriedly, scooping up the book again, his topic change giving off the same energy as yours did previously.

You wonder if he is imagining your fingers trailing over his bare flesh now too. You hope so. Oh how you hope.

At his question, though, you exhale a small laugh, pumping your eyebrows once as your face splits in a smile. You shake your head gently. “I haven’t been... it’s a while since I was, let’s say, properly inspired by an encounter,” you explain, looking down at your hands in your lap, missing his contact already. “I’m just... Hmmph. I don’t know. It’s just... missing something. Guess they don’t make Adonises like they used to,” you add flippantly, poking light fun, partly at yourself.

Contrary to your flippancy, Richard becomes more serious. A gulp trails down his throat, and he seems suddenly frozen in place; seized up. As if he needs you to oil him so that he doesn’t rust. “W-What are you missing?” he asks, his voice lower than you’ve heard it, slightly more grit to it. His chest visibly rising, breaths slightly quickened; just like yours.

You look into his deep, cola-coloured eyes.

You?

What are you missing? You’re not sure, but somehow you feel that whatever it is, Richard could give it to you in moments.

Still, you don’t answer. You can’t. Instead, you ask him a question in return. You ask him a question feeling that, somehow, in a roundabout way, both of your questions may arrive at precisely the same answer.

“Why that poem?” you question, softly, lifting your eyes to him. “Why is that one your favourite?”

“I... I think...” he swallows again, then he whets his plush lips with a flick of his pink tongue. “It’s about longing, isn’t it? About being... lonely? About... wanting... someone in particular.” He fixes his expressive eyes on a point on the table, unable to look at you, it seems, in that moment. Still, his words are telling enough alone, you think, even without you seeing that same sentiment mirrored in his eyes too.

Now, you have another question. “Do you ever... get lonely? Are you? Lonely?”

It’s not even an assumption about him, you vaguely realise. It’s a projection. A projection of how you feel, and how you never realised you felt. It’s a desperate plea for affinity. For that longing to be understood, finally.

You are the one who is rusted. Seized up.

However, as soon as the question is out of your mouth you wish you could retract it. Loneliness is a solitary thing, after all, and you have no business, you suppose, wading into anyone else’s.

“I’m so sorry, please don’t answer that,” you mutter quickly, your fingers darting out to ghost along his forearm in apology, your naturally tactile nature coming through.

He drops his gaze towards your fingers there, watching them skimming his warm skin and the soft, dark hairs on his arms. He doesn’t inch away. Instead, he lifts his eyes to you, and you know the answer before he says it aloud. You know the answer as his emotions are written clearly in his eyes. Worn on his sleeve, like his badge.

The weight of his loneliness crushes you as if it was your own.

“Me too,” you admit, nodding softly, and his mouth curls briefly into a small, sad smile as your fingers continue their slow inch across his skin.

He sits in that sadness for a moment, and then, tentatively, as a thought flashes across his eyes, he brightens, just a little – looking mildly more hopeful. “Well,” he suggests, bravely. “Maybe we can… keep each other company?”

That really does sound nice.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Richard reaches out to fumble away the single tear ever so suddenly coursing down your face, swiping a line on your cheek with the pad of his thumb, and you don’t think you’ve ever felt anything so tender as his touch in that moment. It is yet another little thing; like the graze of a match head along its box. A little act, charged, with all this dangerous potential for a much larger, blazing thing to ignite.

You nod, the corners of your mouth trembling. “I would like that.” You would like that a lot.

Richard searches your eyes, and, ever so slowly - always slowly- as if you don’t wish to scare him away, you dare to hook your arm into his at the elbow, and you lower your head until it is resting on top of his shoulder.

“Is – Is this okay, Richard?” you ask in a small voice, pleading inwardly with the universe that he will say yes. That it is.

“This is... perfect,” he responds, even as he remains stiff against you, and, given his affirmation, you curl and scooch your body, shuffling a little closer to him. Bolstered too, with seeming new-found confidence, Richard raises him arm over you, and he nestles you safely against him where you can better feel his warmth. Where, with your knees drawing up on to his lap and your ear coming to rest on his chest, you can feel and hear the quickened thud of his racing heart as he holds you. His beautiful, kind, open heart.

Your mouth extends in a watery smile as you are held by him. He’s right. It’s a little thing, but it is perfect, isn’t it?

Still, again, although you should feel light, you feel heavy. With emotion. With longing. And so, you reach for another topic change. You reach for lightness. “Has anyone ever told you that you have an incredibly impressive moustache?” you enquire into his shirt, another solitary tear slipping over the bridge of your nose and wetting the flourish of red stitching.

Giving yourself whiplash now, you smile, as Richard’s chest shakes beneath you with gentle, easy laughter.

“Well, not everybody is a fan.”

“Who would actually dare?” you exclaim, as if thoroughly scandalised. “Fuck them, Richard. I like it. I like it a lot.”

His fingers trace shapes on your back. “Thank you.”

You are pleased to feel him gradually relax against you, his form melding with yours, his body becoming less stiff. Less rusted; more of a fluid thing.

“Do you… do you have a little moustache comb?”

Another chuckle. “I do,” he confirms, and you don’t know why on earth that detail settles it, but you think that he must certainly be the most perfect man on earth.

You go silent for a moment, but Richard prompts you gently - “No more questions for me?”- as if he was enjoying your mood-lightening segue. You are more than happy to oblige the sweet man by continuing, and you chew on your lip as you come up with something.

“Are you on Tinder?” A cheeky smile claims your mouth again - you’d kill to see his profile.

You’d think about the fact he’d probably never send unsolicited dick pics, but… then you’d be thinking about dick pics, and that’s one dangerous road towards Feral Town.

While you ponder this, Richard laughs again, but it’s a little self-deprecating this time. “No... I... I was for a while, but I...”

“What?”

He inhales and sighs his whole breath out again - a sad sound. His tone when he speaks is equally morose. “I’m… not sure people are looking for someone like me.”

At that, you abruptly sit up, narrowing your eyes and fixing a determined, earnest stare on him. You reach up, gingerly, moved to cup his cheek with your palm, his groomed sideburn and the plume of his moustache pleasantly rough under your fingers. You make sure he is looking you in the eyes. “Richard,” you contest, with every scrap of sincerity you can muster; and then some. “I think everybody must be looking for somebody like you.” 

His eyes are pierced by a peculiar emotion you haven’t seen there yet. At first it looks like pain, but then it levels off until his eyes are shining, with something resembling pride or gratitude. When a smile finally twitches his moustache, your gaze drops to his lips again, and you are no longer surprised by how easy it is to think about kissing him, desire unfurling in your belly at an alarming rate. A palpable, mutual longing eddies in the space between you.

You surprise yourself though, by dipping to press a sweet, chaste kiss into his cheek, rather than sinking towards his lips as you so wish to do. When you perform this gesture, his eyes flutter closed, and he lets out a soft, involuntary hum, the sound gathering in your very bones and setting up camp there. As you dip back from him, the edge of his moustache grazes your cheek, and you have to admit it’s sort of electrifying. You imagine how it would tickle if you were kissed by him. How it would tickle wherever you were kissed.

The lines of poetry, so to speak, are writing themselves in your mind, already. You haven’t felt this inspired in a long time, and yet, on this occasion, you want to wait. You don’t want to rush it - even though you’ve never felt the need to quell your desires on many occasions before. Life is short, after all – too short to waste. However, something tells you that Richard is the type of man you should savour. Something tells you, that you may have found somebody to love, and, you may not love often; but when you do, you love slow.

So, you pull away from Richard, and you note that his eyes have fluttered closed. When he opens them again, you know that this kiss on the cheek was the right thing to do. You see subtle tears shining in his eyes. Again, he looks pained -with first appearances- but these tears, on second examination you think, are joyful. His heart joyful yet heavy, exactly like yours. After all, when you are overwhelmed with joy all at once, with a flood of little, happy things, it can weigh you down, at first, if the measure of joy is not one which you are quite accustomed to. If you are not practised at carrying it.

At that point, contemplating joy, you are ripped cruelly from the moment, as, with the worst and best possible timing, your phone buzzes to life, vibrating against your hip until you reach to fish out the insistent device.

“The locksmith is here, Richard. I have to go.”

“Y- yeah. Okay,” he nods, despite the fact everything about him is conveying the opposite sentiment.

I don’t want to go.

“Thank you so much.” 

He nods again, and, wanting to leave him with a parting thought (or, not wanting to leave him at all, but needs must), you have the bright idea to pick up your book from the table, thumbing through it quickly to find the page you want. A poem called The Flood.

“Recommended bedtime reading,” you wink, thrusting the book towards his chest and standing, grabbing your purse and making your way towards the door. “I can give you back your shirt tomorrow, right?” you say cheekily. “Maybe after dinner?” 

Richard stands too, following you towards the door like he’s magnetised to you, Lady trotting along too, inquisitively, her little black nose snuffling at the air.

“A-after dinner?” he enquires, confused, as you sweep out in a little bit of a whirlwind.

“Yeah, Richard,” you smile coyly from beneath your lashes, injecting some flirtation into your tone. “I owe you dinner. To make it up to you.”

“You don’t need to make it up to...”

You arch an eyebrow at him, looking at him pointedly and smoothing your hand over his upper arm until he gets the gist. When your meaning dawns on him, he gets that adorable, excited little spring in his step. You revel in his bright toothy smile, striking and pearly from beneath the thick brush of his moustache. “I know a nice little pasta place. And there’s a great documentary playing at the Coolidge if you want to catch it?”

“Sure,” you agree, dipping forward to plant another lingering kiss on his cheek in the doorway, relishing the feel of that moustache all over again. “It’s a date.” 

Evidently flustered, and in no bad way, Richard fumbles for words and finds none, omitting a mere collection of stunted syllables and unfinished sounds in response.

You wink at him, and before swooping off, you add one final thing. “Feel free to consider the bedtime reading a preview, okay? If you’d like.”

The corner of his mouth ticks up in disbelief. You get the feeling he already knows exactly what that particular poem is about. “Yes, ma’am.” he nods, looking sweetly and longingly and adoringly after you as you sashay away.

“Goodnight, neighbour to the right.”

“Goodnight, neighbour to the left.”

You allow yourself one last long look at him before you retreat, an unstoppable smile splitting your face, and, seeing him stood in the doorway, smiling after you, only cements everything you have come to learn this evening.

From now on, neither of you will be lonely anymore. There will be no more longing. Instead, there will be a flood, you think.

THE END

PART TWO IS HERE

[kmclaude]

Forgive me Father, I have no awful headcanons for you, only a general question on comic making. How do you do it, writing-wise/how do you decide what points go where, how do you plot it out (or do you have any resources on the writing aspect that you find useful?) Not to get too bogged down in details, but I attended a writer’s workshop and the author in residence suggested I transfer my wordy sci-fi WIP into graphic novel script, as it might work better. (I do draw, but I don’t know if I have it in me to draw a whole comic—characters in motion? Doing things? With backgrounds? How dare, why can’t everyone just stand around looking pretty)

I was interested but it quickly turned into a lot of internal screaming as I tried to figure out how to compress the hell out of it, since novels are free to do a lot more internal monologuing and such compared to a comic format (to say nothing of trying to write a script without seeing how the panels lay out—just for my own sake, I might have to do both concurrently.)

As an aside, to get a feel for graphic novels I was rereading 99RM and was reminded of how great it was—tightly plotted, intriguing, and anything to do with Ashmedai was just beautifully drawn. I need more Monsignor Tiefer and something something there are parallels between Jehan and Daniel in my head and I don’t know if they make sense but it works for me. (As an aside, I liked the emphasis on atonement being more than just the word sorry, but acknowledgment you did wrong and an attempt to remedy it—I don’t know why that spoke to me the way that it did.)

I thought Tumblr had a word count limit for asks but so far it has offered zero resistance, oh well. I don’t have much else to say but on the topic of 99RM, Adam getting under Monsignor’s skin is amazing, 10/10 (about the Pride picture earlier)

wow tumblr got rid of the markdown editor! or at least in asks which means the new editor probably has no markdown....god i hate this site! anyway...

Totally! So first, giant thank you for the compliments! Second, I have a few questions in turn for you before I dive into a sort of answer, since I can give some advice to your questions in general but it also sounds like you have a specific conundrum on your hands.

My questions to your specific situation are:

did the author give any reason for recommending a, in your words, "wordy" story be turned into a graphic novel?

is the story you're writing more, like you said, "internal monologuing"? action packed? where do the visuals come from?

do you WANT it to be a comic? furthermore, do you want it to be a comic you then must turn around and draw? or would you be interested in writing for comics as a comic writer to have your words turned into art?

With those questions in mind, let me jump into the questions you posed me!

Let me start with a confession...

I've said this before but let me say it again: Ninety-Nine Righteous Men was not originally a comic — it was a feature-length screenplay! And furthermore, it was written for a class so it got workshopped again and again to tighten the plot by a classroom of other nerds — so as kind as your compliments are, I'm giving credit where credit is due as that was not just a solo ship sailing on the sea. On top of that, it got adapted (by me) into a comic for my thesis, so my advisor also helped me make it translate or "read" well given I was director, actor, set designer, writer, editor, SFX guy, etc. all in one. And it was a huge help to have someone say "there is no way you can go blow by blow from script to comic: you need to make edits!" For instance, two scenes got compressed to simple dialogue overlaid on the splashpage of Ashmedai raping Caleb (with an insert panel of Adam and Daniel talking the next day.) What had been probably at least 5 pages became 1.

Additionally, I don't consider myself a strong plotter. That said, I found learning to write for film made the plotting process finally make some damn sense since the old plot diagram we all got taught in grammar school English never made sense as a reader and definitely made 0 sense as a writer — for me, for some reason, the breakdown of 25-50-25 (approx. 25 pages for act 1, 50 for act 2 split into 2 parts of 25 each, 25 pages for act 3) and the breaking down of the beats (the act turning points, the mid points, the low point) helped give me a structure that just "draw a mountain, rising action, climax is there, figure it out" never did. Maybe the plot diagram is visually too linear when stories have ebb and flow? I don't know. But it never clicked until screenwriting. So that's where I am coming from. YMMV.

I should also state that there's Official Ways To Write Comic Scripts to Be Drawn By An Artist (Especially If You Work For A Real Publisher As a Writer) and there's What Works For You/Your Team. I don't give a rat's ass about the former (and as an artist, I kind of hate panel by panel breakdowns like you see there) so I'm pretty much entirely writing on the latter here. I don't give a good god damn about official ways of doing anything: what works for you to get it done is what matters.

What Goes Where?

Like I said, 99RM was a screenplay so it follows, beat-wise, the 3-act screenplay structure (hell, it's probably more accurate to say it follows the act 1/act 2A/act 2B/act 3 structure.) So there was the story idea or concept that then got applied to those story beats associated with the structure, and from there came the Scene-by-scene Breakdown (or Expanded Scene Breakdown) which basically is an outline of beats broken down into individual scenes in short prose form so you get an overview of what happens, can see pacing, etc. In the resources at the end I put some links that give information on the whole story beat thing.

(As an aside: for all my short comics, I don't bother with all that, frankly. I usually have an image or a concept or a bit of writing — usually dialogue or monologue, sometimes a concrete scene — that I pick at and pick at in a little sketchbook, going back and forth between writing and thumbnail sketches of the page. Or I just go by the seat of my pants and bullshit my way through. Either or. Those in many ways are a bit more like poems, in my mind: they are images, they are snapshots, they are feelings that I'm capturing in a few panels. Think doing mental math rather than writing out geometric proofs, yanno?)

Personally, I tend to lean on dialogue as it comes easier for me (it's probably why I'm so drawn to screenwriting!) so for me, if I were to do another longform GN, I'd probably take my general "uhhhhhh I have an idea and some beats maybe so I guess this should happen this way?" outline and start breaking it down scene by scene (I tend to write down scenes or scene sketches in that "uhhhh?" outline anyway LOL) and then figure out basic dialogue and action beats — in short, I'd kind of do the work of writing a screenplay without necessarily going full screenplay format (though I did find the format gave me an idea of timing/pacing, as 1 page of formatted script is about equal to 1 minute of screentime, and gave me room to sketch thumbnails or make edits on the large margins!) If you're not a monologue/soliloque/dialogue/speech person and more an image and description person, you may lean more into visuals and scenes that cut to each other.

Either way this of course introduces the elephant in the panel: art! How do you choose what to draw?

The answer is, well, it depends! The freedom of comics is if you can imagine it, you can make it happen. You have the freedoms (and audio limitations) of a truly silent film with none of the physical limitations. Your words can move in real time with the images or they can be a narrative related to the scene or they could be nonsequitors entirely! The better question is how do you think? Do you need all the words and action written first before you break down the visuals? Do you need a panel by panel breakdown to be happy, or can you freewheel and translate from word and general outlines to thumbnails? What suits you? I really cannot answer this because I think when it comes to what goes where with regard to art, it's a bit of "how do you process visuals" and also a bit of "who's drawing this?" — effectively, who is the interpreter for the exact thing you are writing? Is it you or someone else? If it's you, would you benefit from a barebones script alongside thumbnailed paneling? Would you be served by a barebones script, then thumbnails, then a new script that includes panel and page breakdowns? What frees you up to do what you need to do to tell your story?

If I'm being honest, I don't necessarily worry about panels or what something will look like necessarily until I'm done writing. I may have an image that I clearly state needs to happen. I may even have a sequence of panels that I want to see and I do indeed sketch that out and make note of it in my script. But exactly how things will be laid out, paneled, situated? That could change up until I've sketched my final pencils in CSP (but I am writer and artist so admittedly I get that luxury.)

How do I compress from novel to comic?

Honest answer? You don't. Not really. You adapt from one to another. It's more a translation. Something that would take forever to write may take 1 page in a comic or may take a whole issue.

I'm going to pick on Victor Hugo. Victor Hugo spent a whole-ass book in Notre-Dame de Paris talking about a bird's eye view of Paris and other medieval architecture boring stuff, with I guess some foreshadowing with Montfaucon. Who cares. Not me. I like story. Anyway. When we translate that book to a movie any of the billion times someone's done that, we don't spend a billion years talking at length about medieval Paris. There's no great monologuing about the gibbet or whatever: you get to have some establishing shots, maybe a musical number, and then you move tf on. Because it's a movie, right? Your visuals are right there. We can see medieval Paris. We can see the cathedral. We can see the gibbet. We don't need a whole book: it's visually right there. Same with a comic: you may need many paragraphs to describe, say, a space station off of Sirius and one panel to show it.

On the flip side, you may take one line, maybe two, to say a character keyed in the special code to activate the holodeck; depending on the visual pacing, that could be a whole page of panels (are we trying to stretch time? slow it down? what are we emphasizing?) A character gives a sigh of relief — one line of text, yeah? That could be a frozen panel while a conversation continues on or that could be two (or more!) panels, similar to the direction [a beat] in screenwriting.

Sorry there's not a super easy answer there to the question of compression: it's a lot more of a tug, a push-pull, that depends on what you're conveying.

So Do I Have It In Me to Write & Draw a GN?

The only way you'll know is by doing. Scary, right? The thing is, you don't necessarily need to be an animation king or God's gift to background artists to draw a comic.

Hell, I hate backgrounds. I still remember sitting across from my friend who said "Claude you really need to draw an establishing exterior of the church at some point" and me being like "why do you hate me specifically" because drawing architecture? Again? I already drew the interior of the church altar ONCE, that should be enough, right? But I did draw an exterior of the church. Sorta. More like the top steeple. Enough to suggest what I needed to suggest to give the audience a better sense of place without me absolutely losing my gourd trying to render something out of my wheelhouse at the time.

And that's kinda the ticket, I think. Not everyone's a master draftsman. Not everyone has all the skills in every area. And regardless, from page one to page one hundred, your skills will improve. That's all part of it — and in the meantime, you should lean into your strengths and cheat where you can.

Do you need to lovingly render a background every single panel? Christ no! Does every little detail need to be drawn out? Sure if you want your hand to fall off. Cheat! Use Sketchup to build models! Use Blender to sculpt forms to paint over! Use CSP Assets for prebuilt models and brushes if you use CSP! Take photographs and manip them! Cheat! Do what you need to do to convey what you need to convey!

For instance, a tip/axiom/"rule" I've seen is one establishing shot per scene minimum and a corollary to that has been include a background once per page minimum as grounding (no we cannot all have eternal floating heads and characters in the void. Unless your comic is set in the void. In which case, you do you.) People ain't out here drawing hyper detailed backgrounds per each tiny panel. The people who DO do that are insane. Or stupid. Or both. Or have no deadline? Either way, someone's gonna have a repetitive stress injury... Save yourself the pain and the headache. Take shortcuts. Save your punches for the big K.O. moments.

Start small. Make an 8-page zine. Tell a beginning, a middle, an end in comic form. Bring a scene to life in a few pages. See what you're comfortable drawing and where you struggle. See where you can lean heavily into your comfort zones. Learn how to lean out of your comfort zone. Learn when it's worth it to do the latter.

Or start large. Technically my first finished comic (that wasn't "a dumb pencil thing I drew in elementary school" or "that 13 volume manga I outlined and only penciled, what, 7 pages of in sixth grade" or "random one page things I draw about my characters on throw up on the interwebz") was 99RM so what do I know. I'm just some guy on the internet.

(That's not self-deprecating, I literally am some guy on the internet talking about my path. A lot of this is gonna come down to you and what vibes with you.)

Resources on writing

Some of these are things that help me and some are things that I crowd-sourced from others. Some of these are going to be screenwriting based, some will be comic based.

Making Comics by Scott McCloud: I think everyone recommends this but I think it is a useful book if you're like "ahh!!! christ!! where do I start!!!???" It very much breaks down the elements of comics and the world they exist in and the principles involved, with the caveat that there are no rules! In fact, I need to re-read it.

Comic Book Design: I picked this up at B&N on a whim and in terms of just getting a bird's eye view of varied ways to tackle layout and paneling? It's such a great resource and reference! I personally recommend it as a way to really get a feel for what can be done.

the screenwriter's bible: this is a book that was used in my class. we also used another book that's escaping me but to be honest, I never read anything in school and that's why I'm so stupid. anyway, I'd say check it out if you want, especially if you start googling screenwriting stuff and it's like 20 billion pieces of advice that make 0 sense -- get the core advice from one place and then go from there.

Drawing Words & Writing Pictures: many people I know recommended this. I think I have it? It may be in storage. So frankly, I'd already read a bunch of books on comics before grabbing this that it kind of felt like a rehash. Which isn't shade on the authors — I personally was just a sort of "girl, I don't need comics 101!!!"

Invisible Ink: A Practical Guide to Building Stories that Resonate: this has been recommended so many times to me. I cannot personally speak on it but I can say I do trust those who rec'd it to me so I am passing it along

the story circle: this is pretty much the hero's journey. a useful way to think of journeys! a homie pretty much swears by it

a primer on beats: quick google search got me this that outlines storybeats

save the cat!: what the above refers to, this gives a more genre-specific breakdown. also wants to sell you on the software but you don't need that.

I hope this helps and please feel free to touch base with more info about your specific situation and hopefully I'll have more applicable answers.

[cienie-isengardu]

Not only do I not regret asking you to "RELEASE THE RAMBLES!", I'm sending you requests for more. Below is a list of questions that I asked @bihansthot , and enjoyed their answers, but because you are so thorough, and answer in such depth, I'm re-asking them to you.

Brace yourself, it's a list. I didnt have time to sort thru them, I just copied and pasted, so if any are questions you already answered before, please feel free to include the links.

"LET US BEGIN!"

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In the spirit of potential future writing,  I'm trying to find a building that  would make a good substitution for Lin Kuei temple.

I've tried looking up ancient Chinese military barracks/forts, and have found some stuff,  but is all exterior.  Anyone know of any locations (or several I can cobble together) that would make good inspiration fodder?

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So, uhm, religion? What's the Lin Kuei's take on that one? I know they are aware of Gods, they team up with/ encounter Raiden all the time,  and have literally worked for/against Shinook, so I know they recognize higher powers... but I  guess the question is,  do they care?

Do they have a religion,  or spiritual practice that resembles religion? Or do they have a more practical approach "gods exist,  but we just consider them very strong people"?

Which segues into... do they recognize and participate in holidays, or things like birthdays? Or are all their celebrations work related (I.E. successful missions or levels of combat mastery)?

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Food.  What foods do they normally eat? What foods do they like?  What foods don't they like? What foods do they absolutely love so much they'll stop what they're doing to get it?

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If you had to match the Lin Kuei with a dynasty,  what one would it be? (I know the 2021 movie has the opening in the Ming dynasty, so the Lin Kuei is at least that old,  but given that movie Bi Han hasn't aged in 400 years, and was taken is a child,  its probably much older) (and also know the game probably cherry picked random Chinese things it liked).

What do you think the Lin Kuei's view on artistic culture (probably not the right word) is? I know they are heavily militaristic,  but in the game,  Kuai Liang offers Hanzo tea and he properly prepares it the Japanese way, that says they have something of an education other than just related to fighting?

Lastly,  in the movie,  everything Bi Han does is "for the Lin Kuei", but the Lin Kuei is on Earth (assumedly),  and he is working for a guy who wants to enslave Earth, so what do you think the deal is?

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Question about the Cryomancers. I know the game lore says that they are supposed to be rare, but I also know that the Lin Kuei have had at least 5 (grandpa, papa, older, and younger Sub Zero,  and Frost). 4 of which are part of 3 generations that inherited it even with mixed blood (I'm assuming Mama Sub Zero wasn't Cryomancer since they left her alone).

That's a lot of generations in a row for a rare trait... So do you think the Cryomancers as a group have figured out they're being hunted and have chosen to live in hiding?

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Lin Kuei society question? I like writing so I also like world building and I think about these things.

Is Lin Kuei society ever covered? I know there is a Grandmaster, a handful master assassins (Sub Zero's, Sektor, Cyrax, etc) and the  movies always have a bunch canon fodder lesser assassins.

And they live in the very isolated Lin Kuei Palace/Temple in Arktika (or wherever it used to be)

But is Lin Kuei (we'll call it "village") ever covered?   Do they have willing servants, kidnapped slaves, or a mix of both? Are there women (non fighter women,  I know there's Frost) or do they employ strictly male help? If there are women, what's their role, and are there children born there? What about Elderly? What about resources,  is everything (from food, clothes, weapons, and the raw materials to create them) grown or manufactured on sight by skilled laborers or do they import/interact with the outside world? How vicious or civil is this society, could you be killed for looking at Sektor wrong or do they value your services to a degree? What's the degree? This is obviously a combat culture,  but is everyone expected to know martial arts of some variety, is it optional, or do they prohibit it among the servants/slaves? How strict are they on things like clothing, food, alcohol,  drugs, "luxuries", or pleasures? Money? If they interact with the world do they recognize and use $$ currency, commodity currency, or a mixture? Internally are the Lin Kuei payed or just provided for? What about illness or injury,  if you're not a master and it a serious injury/illness are you taken care of or do they just give you a quick death?

Etc. That's all the questions I can think of,  but please feel free to answer questions I didn't ask,  if you think of anything else.

Thank you for this wonderful list to talk about! I’m gonna split the answer into smaller parts, for better focusing on each aspect but also so I don’t feel bad for keeping you waiting for ages, lol. For now let’s focus on asks about the religion!

So good questions! I do think they have some spiritual practice(s) because in martial arts the state of a mind is as important as the physical body and religion is one of many ways to shape someone’s mindset from a young age. I do, however, think that Lin Kuei does not worship the gods. They are aware that the gods exist (with Raiden as the thorn in the side) and may even respect their supernatural powers and battle skills but it never has stopped Lin Kuei from desecrating holy places, murdering people and stealing stuff for the best price. So, it seems to me that whatever religion the members of the clan follow, by nature it is rooted in nontheism.

Of course, there is also a chance that Lin Kuei worships some forgotten deity or deities (as a remnant of their ancient connections with Outworld / realms conquered and destroyed by Shao Kahn?) or may even practice ancestor worship which seems like a good way to uphold a widely understood tradition that plays an important role in the discussed community.

The closest thing to religious practice was seen in Mortal Kombat X, when Sub-Zero and his warriors seemed to pray together before statue of god / deity / ancestor / legendary warrior / personalized thing they value the most (sadly, my knowledge about Asian religious practices or faiths is very limited so I don’t have idea if the statue is supposed to represent any real god/religious symbol).

At the same time, it could be just a bluff since Grandmaster was aware of Cage’s team infiltrating the Lin Kuei territory and used this moment to lure them into a trap. Additionally, Mortal Kombat X comics presented once Kuai Liang sitting before the same statue albeit in a completely different (devoid of reverence?) position.

Of course, if we take into account Mortal Kombat Armageddon, the game states that Lin Kuei Temple placed in Arctika was actually once the Temple of Delia (the great sorceress & wife of god Argus) that at some point get abandoned and re-used by Sub-Zero’s clan.

(In the background, we can see a statue of Delia that Lin Kuei does not worship but did not remove for whatever reason. Mixing both old and new games, we can only wonder if MKX!statue is also the remnant of someone else's faith/religion?)

Beside that, Kuai Liang was pretty vocal about Lin Kuei not worshipping the Elder Gods, what was seen in MK11’s intro dialogue with Cetrion

Sub-Zero: The Lin Kuei do not worship the Elder Gods.

Cetrion: We seek gratitude, not worship.

Sub-Zero: I see no distinction.

and personally did not have any reason to pray to the goddess:

Sub-Zero: Why should I pray to you?

Cetrion: Why does a bird flap its wings?

Sub-Zero: I asked a simple question.

In all fairness, in MK11 Kuai Liang seems the most passive-aggressive toward the Elder God while Frost is focused on her ambitions and Noob!Bi-Han just wants to be left alone when bothered by Cetrion. Similar thing happens toward Raiden. Despite gratitude for saving him, Kuai Liang does not spare the god criticism (can’t serve both Elder Gods and Earthrealm, isn’t fit for his role of protector) and in MKX outright says he does not fear divine beings:

Raiden: Sub-Zero...

Sub-Zero: I fear no gods, Raiden.

Raiden': That's why you shall lose.

Surprisingly, Kuai Liang’s interaction with MK11!Fujin sounds less accusing than with Raiden and Cetrion and it is connected closely to their ties with Bi-Han. And maybe Kuai Liang did seek in the past Fujin and other elements to make a peace with them, like he planned to do so in Mortal Kombat 4 Limited comics?

"I came here to make peace with the gods of the elements that you fought [...]"

Anyway, the accusingly behaviour toward Raiden and Cetrion could be just Kuai Liang’s personal dislike for gods and serious authority issues, which makes sense considering how much he suffered because of their meddling and conflicts.

But honestly?

The available examples of Lin Kuei attitude toward gods, demigods and supernatural beings suggest how little the warriors - especially cryomancers - care for them.

Like, we have Bi-Han in Mythologies, who asked Quan Chi about details of mission:

Sub-Zero: If it's so precious, why don't you get it yourself?

Quan Chi: I cannot enter the temple until the four elements within its walls have been defeated. And I am not on the best of terms with the gods of your realm... especially your god of thunder.

Sub-Zero: Tell me about these elements.

Quan Chi outright said he and earthrealm gods weren’t friends and Bi-Han, reading between the lines, could get the idea that he may end on bad terms with Thunder God. Yet he was interested only in elements (lesser gods than protector of realm?) guarding the temple.

Then Bi-Han beat down four demigods and met a displeased Raiden after Quan Chi got the Shinnok Amulet. His reaction? No fear, like meeting an angry god was a normal occurrence.

Rayden: Do you realize what you've done??

Sub-Zero: I was just earning my living.

Rayden: Your clan's ignorance and greed will cost this entire realm. You must now set things straight.

Sub-Zero: Quan Chi could simply be a lunatic sorcerer. I've never heard of an elder god named Shinnok or of a place called the Netherrealm.

Rayden: Well, you'd better start believing in both, because you're going to the Netherrealm and you're going to bring the amulet back. We must act quickly. I have no dominion in the Netherrealm... You are reality's only hope.

Sub-Zero: I'll do it, Thunder God... but only because I have no choice.

And once he came back from Netherrealm, where he was fixing what he messed up in the first place on Raiden’s order, his abrasive attitude did not change much:

Sub-Zero: Here... the amulet.

Rayden: Impressive, Sub-Zero. Perhaps you will reconcile your reckless past after all.

Sub-Zero: That's it? Not even a thank you?

Of course, to some degree Raiden’s words did have an impact on Bi-Han but even the god’s warning about his soul tainted with evil did not stop him from coming back to Lin Kuei. Bi-Han’s attitude and/or approach to gods seems to change somehow once he was reborn as Noob, but that is a different matter for different times.

Anyway, Mythologies!Bi-Han and MK11!Noob act less aggressive toward gods than Kuai Liang. But then we have Sub-Zero from from the MK novel by Jeff Rovin, who not only is not afraid of gods but outright insult them:

“Wait! Be warned, Shang Tsung. He is cursed!”

“Cursed? By whom?”

Ruthay wailed, “By the immortal Yu.”

Shang Tsung felt cold spiders crawl up his spine. “The demigod Yu?”

“Yes… he who is said to dwell in the underground caverns of Horse Ear Mountain… which is sacred to the goddess Kuan Lin. He who protects the canals… and the tunnels… and looks after all who use them, human and animal.”

“What did our brash friend do to Yu?”

“He… killed a man,” said Ruthay.

“What man?”

“A toll-taker… one who had given up a life of crime… one who had been a partner of the man… you… seek.”

“And how did that crime come to the attention of the spirit of Yu?” Shang Tsung asked.

“The man was killed… slowly disemboweled with a sword… while accomplices forced his wife and his son to look on! After his murder… the man’s remains… were dumped into a canal!”

Shang Tsung raised an eyebrow. “Is that all? I was expecting something truly terrible!”

“It was!” Ruthay shrieked. “When he disposed of the body… in that way … he profaned one of the sacred waterways… of Yu!”

Shang Tsung smiled now. “Then he is definitely the man I want,” he said. “Anyone who is impudent enough to insult a demigod won’t be afraid to attack a member of the White Lotus Society, or the gods who watch after them. I will send Hamachi, Ruthay. When he nears his goal, see through his eyes and guide him!”

Book!Sub-Zero was impudent enough to insult a demigod which is why he was one of Shang Tsung’s favorites. And to be clear - book!Sub-Zero did not regret insulting the demigod at all. Even more! He found humor in it!:

He dwelt in a cave two hundred feet up the face of a cliff by the sea. The mouth of his home was barely wide enough to accommodate a slender adult, and was accessible only by climbing the sheer wall of rock, a feat that was impossible for most adults and daunting even to the few arachnids and marsupials that tried it.

Maybe some of them were even sent by Yu, he thought with a smirk, little assassins who would chastise me for having spilled blood in his precious canal.

The less abrasive attitude toward gods was shown by Cyrax, who talked a bit with Raiden over Bi-Han’s remains. He wasn’t outright antagonistic but wasn’t overall respectful either. He talked with Thunder God like he would talk with any other human being that wasn’t actually Scorpion. Frankly, from the named Lin Kuei only MK9!Smoke actually addressed Raiden in respectful manner, with proper bow and the name of lord

albeit did he do so because he respects the divine beings or just out of gratitude for saving him, hard to tell for sure.

So yeah, it seems like no matter what kind of timeline or age or medium of the story, Lin Kuei does not fear gods nor pray to them. And the clan has a long history of dealing with Raiden, so the Lin Kuei had first-hand experiences with supernatural beings. Somehow, cryomancers are the most impudent warriors when it comes to dealing with or criticizing the gods.

Interestingly, as much as Lin Kuei warriors don’t care for gods, most of the known to us named characters believe to have - and to care - for their own souls. Sektor and MK11!Frost embraced the Cyber Lin Kuei idea but Kuai Liang, Cyrax and Smoke were opposed to C.I. project out for concern for their souls among other things. Even Bi-Han, to some degree became concerned about his soul after trip to Netherrealm.

Believing in souls is usually a sign of belief in the afterlife, albeit after all of them went through (the change into cyborgs, death and change into Revenants) this is less a matter of faith (religion) and more first-hand experiences. And let's not forget that regularly dealing over the centuries with Shang Tsung who steals people's souls on a daily basis makes it really hard to not believe spirits are real.

Also, an interesting matter of Lin Kuei practices that could have a religious/spiritual ground and/or be an example of ancestor worship is the clan’s funeral rites. I don’t think we actually saw any Lin Kuei to bury their own (especially after warrior’s failure?) and for sure MK9!Cyrax and Sektor did not bother to take care of Bi-Han’s remains. However the sources provide examples of Lin Kuei keeping corpses, most likely of their own leaders or warriors.

And so, we could see human remains:

put in two coffins on each side of statue

hidden / kept in a block of ice(?) in chamber of Fallen Lin Kuei in which Frost’s frozen body was also laid, but on the altar

Cyrax’s cyber body was kept and guarded by Sub-Zero (and this is like the only thing that Kuai Liang and Cyber Sektor so far agreed on)

and even Cyber Sektor’s remains, even if just for pragmatic reasons, are kept in what seems to be respectful manner:

It could be just Kuai Liang’s good nature to honor fallen of his clan (I’m still not sure if Lin Kuei Palace is the new place for Sub-Zero’s clan or the ancient hideout) but even in MK Conquest TV series, after Grandmaster was killed by then-currently-Sub-Zero, there was the farewell ceremony with clothes on display (cause there was not much left of body after freezing and shattering) while new leader gave the speech promising to punish the guilty.

Which makes me think that Lin Kuei did honor their fallen warriors (especially those exceptional, deserving). Such custom and apparently common belief in soul could also support the ancestor worship - both as some ancient, mythical ancestor(s) connecting warriors into one clan (family) and tradition to follow in the footsteps of forefathers (Bi-Han taking place of his father [old timeline] or grandfather [current timeline] or Kuai Liang taking Bi-Han’s place as Sub-Zero).

My general conclusion about Lin Kuei is that its members believe in souls, have respect and use of spiritual matters (meditation?) and maybe ancestor worship. Whatever the religious / spiritual practices they have over the centuries, it is not something they will share, as the Lin Kuei by nature are secretive people who keep personal things mostly for themselves. The people that joined the clan (Cyrax and Smoke) maybe kept their old, eventual religious beliefs but overall, Lin Kuei warriors did not fear, care for nor pray to gods. They may respect god (Raiden, Fujin) as a person but not because of their divine nature. And even that would not stop them from criticizing said god. Which is pretty much how Kuai Liang and Raiden’s relationship looks like. Grandmaster is grateful to Thunder God for saving him but he won’t blindly follow his authority.

(Kuai Liang has serious authority issues, hasn't he?)

As for holidays, I can’t really see Lin Kuei to follow any specific religious (theistic) special day cause they don’t care much for gods in the first place. Unless they worked undercover and needed to act as normal human beings, religious holidays would mean nothing to them. The warriors may however celebrate their mission success, combat mastery or promotion between themselves or in secret, I think. Like, Lin Kuei did forbid friendship because it was considered warrior’s flaw yet we know some members either were blood-related (Kuai Liang, Bi-Han, previous Sub-Zero - father or grandfather, depending on which timeline is correct) or considered each other a family (Kuai Liang and Tomas Vrbada) and most named characters worked in duos so they have both opportunity and knowledge about each other to celebrate important matters. If they managed to remember anything from previous life, that is. Because from ancient to at least Great Kung Lao’s times most(?) adepts were kidnapped from biological families at a really young age (something around 6 years old). And Mythologies: Sub-Zero takes that even further:

Its warriors are chosen at birth to be raised apart from the workings of day to day civilization and are stripped of their former lives. Only the clan knows their existence. Each of them posses certain skills and abilities that set them apart from normal men. These abilities are passed on from generation to generation and honed throughout the experiences of life.

So, celebrating birthdays doesn’t sound like happening much, unless those with family around could allow themselves such luxury. The clan may however celebrate the day of becoming a fully trained and sworn warrior? Or the fallen warriors? Who knows.

Also, something worth thinking about: in Mortal Kombat Conquest TV series, when the Grandmaster presented newly appointed Sub-Zero to the rest of the clan, he “celebrated” the cryomancer's first official performance as the execution of two men who failed their mission. So, yeah, celebration of something special in (old) Lin Kuei does not necessarily mean anything nice.

(The next part of answer most likely will be focused either on food or architecture / origin of Lin Kuei. Let's hope I will get it written sooner than later)

<><> EDIT <><>

RELIGION <> ORIGINS / ARCHITECTURE <> FOOD <> FOR THE LIN KUEI <> ART <> CRYOMANCERS <> LIN KUEI SOCIETY <> MONEY & MATERIAL GOODS

[i-see-you-now-you-see-me]

Anyways, couldn’t let crazy Hendery’s personalities be the end of DYVLONY right? Here is the High Court Magistrate’s turn :)

Mending souls

(oneshot, can be read separate, included in DYVLONY series)

Pairing: Xiao Dejun (Wayv) x virgin Reader (Y/N) pseudo Anna

Word count : approx 7.5k, prepare to read under the cut

Warnings: not our shiny Xiaojun, but a bit darker version with a problematic need for all things neat, and hate for all kinds of body fluids... loss of virginity, first time sex (safe sex), some form of punishment, Xiao being a bit yandere. 

Bill.

Another bill.

Another bill.

When does this end?

You thought to yourself.

College bills won’t pay themselves and the job you’d gotten at a local pub didn’t pay much either, the tips were mainly your income. So, when a job opportunity presented itself in a form of middle- aged man, you didn’t think twice, before agreeing.

A couple of dates every week, with a random stranger, but you’ll get paid for it, sounded ok, at that time. The job description however scared you a bit.

An escort.

A man or woman who is hired to go with someone to a social event- often used from escort agency services/ a person or group accompanying another to give protection or as a courtesy.

-Prostitution? – your college roommate Lea asked.

-No, not at all, - you stated, - I don’t have to sleep with anyone for this, not unless I want to, this company guarantees that I will be safe, they always provide a driver from their own company, who is near enough next to us all the time.

-Still sounds like prostitution, - Lea was a realist, she would say it for what it is.

-I suppose it is some kind of prostitution, I will be giving my time for the other person, but it is worth it, like the man sad, I would be able to pay college tuition, and we’ll have some extra left over, maybe we can both afford something then.

Lea sighed. Her job didn’t pay much either, and you both were struggling, but this was it, a job Is still a job.

-Fine, - she stated, - just be careful, alright?

You nodded and got dressed. Tonight, you will be a dance/music major, and you will accompany a businessman to a simple dinner. Yet, when your driver reached the destination as a five- star hotel, you felt under- dressed.

-What? – you sucked in a breath, - they told me it’s a small dinner.

-It is miss, - your driver announced, - only up to fifty people.

-Fifty? – your head was spinning, yet your nerves were somehow calm. You were not Y/N tonight.

You were Anna, art student, a confident dancer, who looks gorgeous in her outfit. Your driver nodded that it was the time, and soon you were inside the hotel, greeted by an elderly man, who was your partner for the evening.

-Miss Anna, I presume, - he extended his arm to reach for your hand, and kissed the top of your palm, - you look beautiful. My name is Sir Arthur de Clemence, I am a sponsor for many students over the country, and I am trying to attach more people to my fond tonight. See all these people, - he mentioned to the hall, - they have millions to spare, and with your help, I might be able to do that.

-Yes, sir, - you nodded, - I will do my best.

He nodded and you both headed inside.

A small talk with nearly every guest was your first talk. Flashing your best smile, you turned the conversations into- how small artists help locals survive in smaller towns and so on. It really was working, and by the end of the night, Sir Clemence was able to snatch at least thirty people on his side, all thanks to you.

When driving back after the event, your phone buzzed.

Your jaw dropped. You had just earned an amount that ended with five zeros in your bank account.

You ran into your apartment to find Lea asleep on the couch.

-We did it!!! – you ran towards her and jumped on top of her.

-What a, - Lea woke up from her slumber.

-We did it!!! – you shouted again, and Lea was wide awake now. You showed her your bank statement, and you both started jumping like kids.

-Oh my god!!! Oh my god!!! – she screamed.

-We have got to celebrate this!!!- you stated, and Lea nodded.

Weeks after weeks, the money kept going, your alter ego- Anna was who ever she had to be. A pro gamer, a barista, a literature student, even a stripper once. She was someone who was fearless, who would help you get through everything. To accommodate with your changes- you wore wigs, glasses, your lipstick was different for every person you played.

And after every couple of weeks, you and Lea got to celebrate.

-Did you hear? – Lea asked you, - Wanderlust club is throwing a party, wanna go?

You nodded. It was one of the coolest clubs there was, everyone wanted to get inside, and tonight you would.

As expected, it was crowded, people dancing, chilling at the tables, you both popped a champagne, drinking it ever so slowly, to feel the bubbles sliding down your throat.

-Is this what feeling posh is like? – Lea asked, you nodded.

-It’s just the beginning, - you stated, - I will be able to pay off my loan in a couple of weeks, and then we will get yours too, - you smiled, Lea nearly cried.

-You would do that for me? – she re asked.

-Always, you are my best friend Lea, I would do anything for you.

-Ah, you are making me cry now, - you both laughed and headed to the dance floor.

One moment you were next to Lea, and the next, grinding against someone’s crotch, feeling their hands around your waist. Once turned around you noticed it was an ex-partner of yours, who you accompanied a few weeks back.

-Mr. Roger? – you asked. – what are you doing here?

-Can we speak in private? – he invited, and you followed.

Once outside, he let you to the alley behind the club.

-What is this about? – you asked, - I don’t quite understand.

-Anna, - he started, - I have missed you.

His hands went to grab onto your waist.

-Mr. Roger, you should not be here, - hell, he was not supposed to find you, all your meetings had been confidential, without your real identity and all. – you should not be seeing me like this.

-I had to find you, - he stated, - I…. have been going crazy without you.

He reached for you once again, and you stepped back.

-This is not right, - you said, - I am getting back.

As you walked, his hands grabbed you again, pressing you against his torso, you kneaded him with your elbow and tried to get out of his grasp.

-Hey, - someone shouted, - what’s going on here?

You recognized him as the bartender from the club. He had a towel on his shoulder, and he was carrying a bin bag.

-This is not your business dude, better leave, - Mr. Roger spoke.

-He is attacking me, - you said, - get me away from him and if necessary, call the police, would you?

The bartender led you inside, giving you a glass of water and a pill.

-This will reduce your dizziness from the alcohol, - he stated and you drank without hesitation.

-Tastes funny, - you said, and somehow your words were getting slurpy, as if your mouth was filled with your saliva, -what is thisssss…. – you tried to ask.

-I am sorry, - he said, - I truly am.

You had no idea what had happened. Once unconscious, your clutch-bag had been taken away from you, and you were lying next to few other unconscious bodies, waiting for couple more, so the task would be completed.

Michel sighed, rubbing his eyes. This was wrong what they were doing.

His friend Jack on the other hand, had no issues with this. His mind was blinded by the money.

-Got one? – Jack asked when stepping in the room. Michel nodded.

-Good, good, - he patted the younger’s shoulder, - two more and we are ready to go.

Soon with nine other girls you were thrown in a van and driven away, a few hours later, tied in a spaceship, to be sent elsewhere, and later on, flying through the waves of different galaxies, till you crash landed on a planet, different from your coordinates.

* Planet DYVLONY 10043567901;1102033149001*

A gun was pressed at your neck, a sharp, stinging needle pierced through your skin, an injection that made you wide awake. You woke up with a groan while breathing in. The air- unknown and different, was burning your lungs.

-Her vitals are stable, - someone shouted. You felt disoriented.

The high court magistrate Xiao Dejun was watching through the glass, how all ten girls were injected a serum, vaccine, and a microchip, to help you communicate. Your naked body were one of the final ones, and for some reason he felt like a pervert watching you like that. Your body was beautiful, your curves in all the right places.

-Sir, - Dejun’s assistant spoke, - shall we get them ready?

-Yes, please, - Xiao nodded, - I will get Detective Ten here asap.

Greeting the detective as he arrived, Dejun led him through the doors.

-Don’t think of us as uncivil, - Xiao spoke, - since we don’t know why they are here, we cannot allow them to roam free, if you know what I mean…

The doors opened and Ten arched a brow. Dejun wasn’t looking happy either, but this is what they had to do, precautions, if you will.

-Greetings aliens, - Detective stepped on a platform, and started his interrogation. Xiao knew, Ten will get answers, one way or another, he was a Detective for a reason. – Have they been on drugs?

Xiao nodded to his assistant who handed Ten a file of information.

-The lab tried to make a sample from their blood, but couldn’t, whatever it was, didn’t last long in their system.

-Long enough to transport them to this planet though, - Ten stated.

Later behind closed doors both Detective Ten and Magistrate Xiao Dejun talked about what to do next.

-What did they say? – Xiao asked.

-We were right, the girls were not meant to be here, and they all are harmless, so we need to take action now.

-I know what you mean, - Xiao agreed. – what do you think we do?

Ten sighed and bit his lip.

-We should provide them with home, someone to look after them, - he started, - I can be one, maybe you?

Xiao nodded.

-What about the members of society council?

-Maybe, - Xiao spoke, - but I want to choose.

-Choose? – Ten asked, - ahhh, I see, - he smiled, - has one of them already caught your eye? – Ten winked and giggled.

-Ha, - Dejun poked his shoulder, - it’s not like that, she just seems to be the youngest out of all of them, so, I decided to choose her.

-If that’s what you like, why not, - Ten agreed, smirking.

Once at home, Xiao pulled out your file. It contained a lot of your photos, naked and dressed, from many different angles, information that you had given them. Anna. Your fake name, but no one has to know that.

Opening one of the bedside drawers, he took out a USB, attaching it to his pc. A video started playing and Dejun bit his lip. Choosing to remake the video, he started to work on it. He even re-made the sounds. Clapping his palm onto his other hand, which was formed in a fist, he made sex-like noises, and spoke into microphone.

-Ten, you have to see this, - he spoke, in the video Anna was crawling on her knees, grabbing onto Dejuns’ trousers, touching his cock, and sucking on it afterwards. – she’s a naughty girl.

He announced in the mic, playing forward the video, he made sure, that his partner indeed looked like Anna (you) from all the angles. No one would ever know. Xiaojun remembered the mess his partner had made after the sex, how angry he got, when she smeared her secret all over his abdomen.

Anyways, she got to sit on a bag of peas (a method of punishment used in schools, a long time ago, bag of beans or peas, since small in size would poke at your knees and hurt as hell,) after that stunt. Not on his watch is anyone to make him dirty like that.

Not two days had passed, when Xiao returned to the high court to pick you up. One by one you all got split up, taken to different peoples’ homes, to be taken care of.

-Hey, Suzy, - Xiao greeted, - I am here to pick up Anna, - he smiled.

-She is ready, you just need to sign these papers, - she handed the documents to Xiao, and he filled them in, simple questions of- does your house have a spare room and if you had already purchased clothing for Anna etc. Yes. Xiao was prepared.

You were shaking. This was scary. Who are you about to get? Yet you were the one who were hoping for someone nice, so you put your façade on, bringing in the person you are playing. Anna.

-Anna, - you were greeted by a female DYVLONY, - your guardian is here to pick you up. Follow me.

Once through the door, you saw a back first. Then the brown hair, a person wearing a suit.

For some reason, the person you pictured was Mr. Roger at your first meeting, you got goosebumps all over your body, and then he turned around.

You knew the guy. High court magistrate that you had encountered many times when you had just landed. He was with you when you were being examined. Behind his stare though, there was something else, he seemed like a nice guy, so you put your thoughts aside to focus on your travel to your new home.

Xiao was driving. So, you thought, to make things not so difficult, might have a chat, a small talk, just to get you going.

-What do you do for a living? – you asked, Dejun was very focused on driving, but he gave a small smile before talking.

-I work in the High court, - he started, - I am one of the magistrates there.

-I see, - you spoke, - so you assist in cases and all that?

Xiao nodded.

-What were you on your Earth? – Dejun asked.

You thought briefly, what to tell him, you were a student and an escort? Do you really tell him?

-I was in school, actually, - you started, - but I did various side jobs.

-Like what? – he continued.

-Uhm, - you bit your lip, - I was a bartender.

-Was a bartender? – he re- asked, - and after that?

Do you tell him? He might not know what it is though, right?

-I worked as an escort, - you spoke softly, more quiet than normal.

-So, what does an escort do? – he was curious now.

-Just, you know, - you breathed in a sharp breath, - like a person to be company for another person. Simple as that.

Xiao nodded.

-And you get paid to do that? – he thought to himself, you nodded.

-Yeah, see, a lot of people are lonely like that, - you stated, trying to figure out a way to change a subject. – your car is neat, - you nearly squeaked out a random sentence. But then it really was neat, there was not a single bit of dust, the cleanest vehicle you had ever seen.

Xiao flashed a smile. He was really good- looking, it was clear as the sky.

Once parked up by his house, he led you both inside the house. It amazed you how clean it was everywhere. You left your shoes at the hallway before putting on a pair of slippers, which Xiao had given to you.

The house was small, but comfy, two floors, by the looks of it. Xiao led you to your room, but you stopped by his room seeing how it looked like. There were various toys on one of the shelves, and it looked creepy as fuck.

-This is my room, - Xiao was right beside you.

-Oh, - you snapped out of your trance, - I’m sorry, I just noticed those… - you pointed to the shelves.

-I see, - he said, - let’s go, shall we?

You nodded and followed into your room. He opened a cupboard; everything was placed in it neatly. Socks, jumpers, underwear, you name it, he had it. All stacked up elegantly, nothing hanging about.

-Thank you, - you said.

-I’ll let you settle in, - with that he left you alone, only then you could get some time to roam through the cupboards. You started doing that when you met up with your clients back on Earth, some of them had planted microphones and cameras in their hotel rooms, so it had made you a bit paranoid. You had never told Lea that. As far as she had to know, you were always safe while at your job.

Xiao walked back to his room, opening his computer, he clicked send the video, adding a thumbs up, before getting back to you. You were literally roaming through the cupboards, half of the clothing now onto the floor. Xiao found you, arms deep in the drawers.

-What on DYVLONY are you doing!? – he shouted.

You jumped, landing on your ass.

-Ouch, - you shouted, swearing a “fuck” after that.

-Nope, - Xiao announced, went straight for you, grabbing your ear, while you grabbed his hand, he pulled you up on your feet, dragging you out of your room, down the stairs. You followed him with an “ouch” after an “ouch”.

Once in the kitchen, he sat you down on a chair.

-We don’t speak like that in this house, - he said, opening one of the drawers, putting a cloth on the table, followed by a box of silver cutlery. – and we don’t throw things around like that!

He stayed quiet. You didn’t quite get what he wanted from you.

-So, - he started, - I am giving you a punishment, - your eyes widened and heart- beat went up, - you will polish this, - he mentioned to the silver cutlery. You nodded taking the cloth in your hand. One by one you took out the pieces, wiping them clean, putting them back. Really there was nothing to polish, they must have been cleaned only a couple of days before.

-This is easy, - you said.

-Ha, - Xiaojun laughed opening few more drawers where you were greeted by a few more sets of silver.

You mentally face-palmed yourself.

-You will clean ALL OF THEM, - he announced.

-I’m sorry, - you whispered.

-I know you are, - he stated, passing you more sets.

A few hours later you thought your hands were to fall off. Clean. Wipe. Polish. Your stomach rumbled. Xiaojun leaned closer, next to you ear, his breath tickling your throat.

-Hungry?

You jumped back in your chair, your nape hitting Xiaojun in the face in the process. When he grabbed his nose, you went to help him.

-I am sorry, I didn’t mean to, - you said, nearly sobbing, he was groaning in pain. When he moved his hands away from his face, you saw the blood first.

-There better be no blood, - Xiao said, your lip trembled now, teary eyes looking at him. He walked away, upstairs, probably to the bathroom, while you fell to your knees, crying. He was angry, it was frightening. Most of the times the calmest people are the most scary when it comes to things like this.

Minutes passed while you were on the floor, until you heard footsteps approaching. Xiao leaned down, putting his hand around you to help you get up.

-I’m sorry, - you sobbed.

-It’s fine, - he replied, - let’s get you something to eat.

He sat you back to the chair, and when you saw his face, there was not a glimpse of blood or anger, he looked like before, the smiling court magistrate that you met before. You wiped your eyes in the back of your hands, and the sleeves of your onesie.

Throughout the dinner, you couldn’t face him, not once you looked his way. When you finished eating, Xiao took the dishes and washed them, drying them off straight away. You looked up at him, finally. He smiled at you.

The kind of smile that makes you warm. A nice smile.

-Shall we go upstairs?

You nodded, and he led the way, but to your surprise he stopped in front of the bathroom.

-Is everything alright? – you asked when he opened the door, he didn’t respond, but mentioned for you to walk inside. You stepped inside and he followed. There was a pile of bloodied tissue in the rubbish bin that caught your attention.

The next thing you know, your face is nearly in the bloody tissues, and you are on your knees.

-Who did this? – Xiaojun asked.

You couldn’t say a word, you were in shock.

-Who did this? – he asked again, pressing your head down more towards the tissue. You started crying. – who did this? – he asked the final time.

-I’m sorry, - you sobbed.

-I am not asking you that, - he said calmly, - WHO DID THIS?

Throughout your sobs and cries, you manage to squeak a very quiet “me”. He let go of your head.

-Me, - you said one more time, the same quiet like before, - I did this…

And then it was all too much, your cries, your feelings on high alert, and then… everything went black.

*48 hours later*

Xiaojun was next to your bed, sitting on a chair. The doctor had just left, saying that you must have had a couple of rough days, that knocked you out like this.

He was scared.

He did this to you.

You looked so peaceful like this though. He must have had scared you with his behavior. He couldn’t do anything about it, that’s what he does, he had been brought up like this, and so will you. You will get used to it; he was sure about it.

There was a couple of pills that the doctor recommended, and an injection, which Xiao was against off. He would not do that to you. So, pills it were, he just needs you to wake up, and then you both could continue with your life.

He waited an hour, and one more, and then he made you soup, then he was ready to wake you. Once he walked in your room, he noticed you were sat upright, looking disoriented.

-Hey, - Xiao greeted, your body pressed back, as if to hide from him, - it’s ok, - he said, - don’t be scared, I won’t hurt you.

This time, Xiao got on his knees, leaning down, asking for your forgiveness.

-I should not have reacted like I did, and I apologize, - he said, - I am truly sorry, I will try to take care of you like I promised, if you let me…

You nodded.

He got back up, bringing you some warm soup, and giving you water to drink the pills.

-Doctor gave these for you, - he smiled while handing them to you, - they should help, for the anxiety and stress that you’ve been through.

You nodded, pretending to drink the pills. When you thought he wasn’t looking, you turned your head to spit the pills out, but Xiao’s hands got to you first, his hand clamped down on your mouth.

-Swallow, - he said. – it’s for your own good.

You nodded a “no”.

-Please, - he said, - it really is for your own good. Please?

You swallowed the tablets, not really wanting to, but it was the only option for you. Only then, Xiao let go of your face.

-I know I scared you, - he said, - if you behave, it won’t happen again, ok?

You nodded once more. God only knew what he was about to do, and you? Would play nice, not to anger him. Oh boy, was it ever that simple?

Following days, he was at home. Both of you would have breakfast, then doing house- work, you would clean, he would do the same, you would watch him rearrange his toys, and then would be lunch, and every other day you would go for walks.

On this particular day, he took you to church.

You were greeted by a smiling pastor, who seemed off.

Once you sat down in one of the isles, you listened to what pastor Kun would be talking about today.

-Family, - he said, - family is only one, the one that we had chosen before we were born. Family is our beginning, and it is also our ending. Turn to your right, - pastor preached, - are you with your loved ones? Your friends are also your family. They are the ones who make you who you are.

Your brain gears started to circulate in motion. Family. Why is Xiao like this? There is something that must have happened, it’s your task to find out.

Walking back, you looked around, smiled at the kids who ran around, a simple interaction like this made you feel welcome.

-Tell me about your family, - you said looking up at Xiao.

-There is not much to tell, - he replied, - my father was very strict, my mother was too, they both were, but thanks to them I got where I am now. I focused more on learning and knowledge than running around with friends or girlfriends.

You nodded. Strict. That’s probably not the right word.

-Who made you obsessed with cleaning? – you spat out and then shut your mouth with your hand. Xiao stopped in his tracks. He looked at you, the deep orbs searching yours, as if he was looking directly into your soul.

-Why don’t you tell me your real name? – he simply replied, starting to walk again, away from you, towards the house.

-What? – you asked, going after him, - what does that supposed to mean?

He looked at you unbothered, raising his eyebrows.

-I know you lied about that; I am not stupid you know…

-So, what!? I lied… AND? – your voice escalated, - you have no proof!

Soon you were back in the house, behind closed doors, where no one would hear you arguing.

-And that Is supposed to make It normal? – Xiao talked back at you, - proof? I have called your name, and you have not responded so many times I started to think, that something is off, until I realized, that Anna might not be your name, that you might be a traitor, who has stolen someone’s identity.

-I told you I was an escort, you know what else escorts do? – you shouted, - I transform into other personalities, turn into a different person, to earn money. One day I can be someone to seduce you, - you stepped closer, touching Xiao’s chest, - a different time I can be your worst enemy.

You stomped upstairs, going in Xiao’s room.

-What do you think you’re doing? – he asked, going after you.

-I told you, I can be whatever people wanted me to be, so which me do you want? You chose me for a reason? And what is that reason, huh?

With a swift movement, your hands threw all of his toys on the ground, like a maniac, you threw every single one of them down, Xiao was screaming, while trying to catch you.

-What are you doing!? – he shouted.

-What you gonna do about it? – you shouted back, and it was like a switch had been activated. Gone was the calm and happy Xiao from minutes ago. Next thing you knew, you were on your stomach on the ground, your face pushed down into the carpet.

-What is this behavior? – he asked, pushing your face even more, if that was even possible. Somehow you managed to turn your face at the right time, gathering your saliva, spitting him in the face. Xiao jumped back. He looked so disgusted.

-What? – you bit back, - don’t like a bit of drool? You neat freak!

You were ready to make a run for it.

-I have seen the weird things you do, - you said, - you dislike blood and other body fluids, barely manage to live through the mess in the bathroom after I have had a shower with my hair sticking everywhere… yet you drink coffee and tea that contains grains, through a straw. What does it make you? You are disgusting!

Xiao pursed his lips, calculating what he will say next.

-I think that mouth of yours needs washing with soap, - he said matter- of- factly, - everything that comes out of it, sounds like a lot of shit…

When you understood what he was about to do, it was too late, he had grabbed you, pushing you into the bathroom, down on your knees, already next to the sink. Holding you in between his legs so you wouldn’t move, his hands gathering the liquid soap, trying to get it in your mouth, you were pursing your lips, trying your best not to open your mouth. His fingers blocked your nose, and you breathed in to get air back into your lungs, and Xiao pushed the soap in your mouth.

It burned like hell, your tongue tasted the bitterness, and your mouth was burning, tears were already streaming down your face, and your face was pushed up, Xiao was looking down on you, his face happy.

-Whose fault is this? – he asked, - I wouldn’t have to do this if you were a nice girl… right?

When you were sobbing like mad, he let go, and you spat the soap out, some of it had already went down your throat. Washing your mouth, you sobbed even louder, Xiao was still having a hold on you.

-Who are you? – he asked.

-My name is Y/N, - you spoke softly, tears slipping down your face.

-My classmates called me dirty, - he said, - so my mother made sure, I was not…

Back to your feet, Xiao had washed your face, made you sit on the bean bag, while he puts his toys back into place. You were still sobbing in between, while Xiao talked.

-I did choose you, - he said, - for my own hunger and desires. I made you someone else in my mind. I thought you would be different, once you would be mine, but expectations didn’t match reality, - he looked at you, - don’t worry, I won’t give you back, I intend to make you mine…

He smiled.

-What you do is not right, - you talked quietly, - you can’t make me yours, I should do that willingly, you punishing me is not right.

Xiao let out a laugh. He walked over to you.

-That’s the only thing I know, that’s how I keep control…

-When I was Anna, that’s how I kept control.

-See, we are not so different, you and I.

The after taste from the soap still lingered in your mouth. He was right in a way, and in a normal situation you would have ran away, but not here. As an escort you had come across a lot of broken souls, people who just needed someone to talk to, near enough like a next of kin, a family member who would listen to them instead of blaming them for something.

-I’m sorry, - you whispered, - your parents had no right to do that to you. I know, me saying this won’t change nothing either, but I need you to know, you can always change, of you find the right person.

Somehow those words stayed with Xiaojun. They made him feel weird. Change? How?

Hour after hour, day after day, and he still had not found the answers he was looking for. He walked home, leaving his car by the High court. Fresh air would help him think. Passing by the church, he made a d-tour. It’s like the god himself drove him to come to confess.

Inside the church, he sat in the cabin. Pastor Kun on the other side.

-I don’t know how to change.

-Why do you need to change? – Pastor asked.

-I have hurt the person I was supposed to care for, - he breathed in, - I shouldn’t have done that… she deserves more than that.

-Now the more important question is what are you willing to do for her to change this? Don’t you think?

-I know, father, but how do I change?

-Remember, when you are a child, your parents taught you everything… this time you both have to teach each other something, starting with small things, baby steps, smaller and then bigger. Slowly, you have to accommodate each other, start with trust, continue with anger issues, and so on…

-Yes, - Xiao said, - I will make sure she is cared for, she is loved, and I will make her happy.

Pastor Kun smiled on the other side. Xiao was a tough man, but he had a heart of gold.

-Thank you, - Xiaojun said, and then he left, going back home to you.

You had just made dinner, washing a pot, when Xiao’s arms trapped you in a back hug.

-I am sorry for hurting you, - he spoke, - I will try to master my issues if you’d let me.

You touched his hands with your wet ones. Xiao cringed.

-Let’s start with this, - you said, giggling, - fluids.

-Nope, - he tried to step back, - not ready for this, - but you didn’t let him. You turned around grabbing onto him and wiping your nose in his chest. – what the hell!!!

He was getting angry, but then he tried to suppress it down, instead of bursting out in anger, his hands grabbed your bottom. You thought, you might play a little, let some of that Anna’s personality slip through. You licked your lips, and Xiao raised his eyebrows.

-No, - he warned, - whatever you are about to do, don’t… - he warned again.

-Yes, - you said back.

-No no, - he shook his head.

-Yes, I have to, - you laughed a bit, wetting your lips again, and then you did it. Your lips reached his.

A wet smooch on his lips, the wetter the better, your saliva coating his dry ones. He had closed his eyes in the process. You leaned in again, doing the same over and over again. He was cringing so badly, you actually felt bad for the guy.

God knows, what his family had pumped into his system.

-This is natural, - and then the unimaginable happened, he kissed you back, his mouth drinking from yours, and your tongue asked for entry in his mouth, now both tongues touching each other, plenty of spit shared now.

Days passed. Just like this. You- trying your best to ease Xiao into all the things he despised, some even so ridiculous, and he kept warning you, that you apparently “make him angry” all the time. But it was not it. You started to develop feelings for him in the weirdest ways possible. Somewhat like a Stockholm syndrome founds its way through someone who has been taken against their will, your body grew accustomed to his needs and his wishes. During the day he left for work, and after work, you tried to tease him with all sorts of weird crap.

This particular day you were feeling hungry for his attention. So, you did what you do best in a situation like this- cause trouble.

You went in his bedroom and swapped over a couple of books. You see, a normal person would not notice shit, but not him. Xiaojun would notice that near enough as he would walk through the door. You greeted him when he came home.

-Dinner will be ready soon, - you announced.

-Ok, I will change my clothes and I will be down soon, - he smiled, touching your head and kissing your forehead. You watched him disappear, only to see him come out, - were you in my room?

You nodded “no”.

-Are you sure? – you nodded a “yes”, not saying nothing. He looked at you suspiciously, - is there something you are not telling me?

-I don’t think so, - you said, and walked back into the kitchen.

Xiao didn’t bother changing clothes, he went straight for you, pressing you against the kitchen counter.

-What are you doing? – he asked again.

-I don’t know what do you mean? – you faked innocence. He leaned in, his lips nearly brushing against yours.

-Are you sure? – he teased you now.

-Mmh, - you nodded. He giggled letting you go.

-You are making me crazy, - he whispered.

-I love you.

The three words that you were hiding from him all this time, managed to slip passed your lips. Xiao stopped in his tracks. What did you say?

He trapped you again in his arms.

-What did you say? – he leaned closer, and you were looking everywhere but not him.

-I…, - you struggled, his hand reached for your face, and he was holding your chin up to see into his eyes, his loving eyes, how he scrunched his nose when you did something to tease him, how his eyebrows raised when you pretended to be someone else, just to see his reaction, - I love you…

He smiled with his eyes, his lips widening in a grin, he felt like a douchebag, but he knew what was next for you both, so his lips touched yours in a loving manner, starting to kiss you slowly, just barely touching your lips in the process.

You on the other hand felt like you were thirsty, and you joined in, grabbing onto Xiaojun’s body, kissing him passionately. He put your legs around his hips, taking you with him up the stairs. His lips were now attacking your neck, and grabby hands- your butt in the process.

Once on his bed, he got rid of his jacket and shirt, leaving him in a tank top, and getting back to what he was doing. You stopped in between to get rid of some of the clothing, when he had left you only in your bra and trackies, his body was on top of yours, his lips returning to yours.

-Xiao…- you whispered, he looked up, - I… I haven’t done this… with anyone…. Yet.

He didn’t look surprised. For some reason he always had assumed that you hadn’t, maybe it was just the way he saw you at first, and then, he just never bothered to ask.

-I am ok with that, - he smiled, - only if you are.

You nodded eagerly. Minutes later, he had gotten rid of your trousers, your panties on display. His arms caressed your skin, he was extra gentle and slow, to prove that you could trust him, and he would only continue if you would nod or reach for him, which you did. Your hands found themselves in his hair, pulling him closer to your own hungry body.

His hands travelled south, slipping past the waistline of your underwear, going down on your sex, you nearly bit him, since no one had touched you there, this was a new sensation, and it was making your body tingle and your heart rate going up.

-It’s ok, I just have to stretch you a bit, if that’s alright with you, - you nodded, feeling how his fingers were moving up and down on your lower lips. You knew that he is not really ok with body fluids, but for some reason he didn’t mind your wet lips nor your dripping sex.

-I should ask you the same thing, - you giggled, getting more comfortable at his touch, he smiled back.

-You might just be the reason, why it’s ok, - he replied, as simple as that.

One of his fingers found your entrance and eased its way inside, your walls snug around it. You had closed your eyes; it was making you nervous and excited. While moving one of his fingers inside your tight walls, he soon added another one. You grabbed onto his arm.

-Give me a moment, - you whispered, the feeling making your head spin, - can… can I be on top when we do this?

Xiao was surprised. Not once he had heard a request like that, but he nodded anyways, soon you had changed positions, your legs spread over his lap, his fingers working their way inside your pussy, coaxing moans from you.

-Oh, don’t stop, - you whispered, biting your lip, - please… don’t stop…

And he didn’t, he worked hard to get you to orgasm, not slowing down till you came down from your high, now completely sat on his lap. His lips found yours. Tender lips brushing yours, quiet whispers leaving his mouth to make sure you were good.

When your hands reached for his pants, it was clear that you were ok to continue, and he let you play a little bit, his hand helping you work on his member through his pants.

He moved you off his body, so he could get rid of his trousers, his dick standing proud, a happy trail towards it that you hadn’t noticed before. You gulped. How is he going to fit? Like how?

Xiao got you out of your thoughts, with his own hand, returning to his member, massaging it, you felt your throat dry out a bit. Alright, watching a porn was completely different to what was in front of you now. Then the idea of a horrible sex scene found its way to your mind, and you had to shake your head to get rid of it. No time for that bull.

He reached for you, to kiss you again, then slowly moving back to the cupboard next to his bed, taking out a condom and slowly slipping it on, then sitting back down on the bed, helping you get on top of him again. He pushed you down slightly, so your pussy lips were grinding on his naked member, sparks of pleasure went through you. You looked down and helped him position himself right under your entrance. The tip of his cock was now slowly pressing into you, your hands were on Xiao’s shoulders for stability, grabbing a bit strongly onto him now.

Xiao let you move on your own accord, watching your reaction as you sank down lower on him.

-Help me, - you whispered, and he helped to push your hips down, his dick penetrating your virgin vaginal walls, and you sank down with a hiss. A tear escaped your eyes, Xiao kissed it away, his hands caressing your sides and your back, till you nodded with a quiet “I’m ok”. The stretch was something new, a bit painful, a bit extraordinary, if you could call it that.

Xiao’s lips kissed yours, then your neck and lower to your front, just above your breasts, his hand touched one of your breasts, groping and massaging, and his lips latched onto your nipple. Your head fell back, enjoying the feeling, and your hips started to move. The burn you felt in your abdomen, was slowly fading away, your vagina pulsing around Xiao’s member, and he helped you find a rhythm. You knew, you won’t be able to keep up for much longer, but you had to make sure, you were comfortable enough to give into him completely.

He let you enjoy your ride, but then he said:

-That’s it, - and with that he flipped you over, your body under his, - you had your fun… now it’s my turn…

The lovemaking sounds were in the air, with tender kisses, slow and sensual movements, his hand touched yours, fingers entangled with yours, and his eyes searched for your eyes, the feelings felt even on a higher level. The eye contact made it even more personal, not only because this was your first time, but it was also Xiao who made it special for you.

Changing the rhythm to faster movements, coaxing more moans out of you, that he swallowed with hot kisses over your mouth, he felt you tightening around him one more time, as you orgasmed, your lips not making a single sound, only when Xiao returned to continue his pelvic thrusts to chase his own high, you moaned and screamed, driving him into oblivion, and him taking you with him, your body convulsing and turning into a hot lava, bursting at the seam, while his hot seed filled up the condom.

He held you tight against him as you both were trying to catch your breath, he pulled out slowly, earning a whine from you.

-Let’s get you cleaned up, - he said, but you didn’t allow him to move.

-Not yet, - you giggled, - stay a bit more… - your body was sweaty, and so was his, and he was not happy about it at all.

-Y/N, - he warned you.

-Yes…? – you laughed again, - too much body fluid? – you giggled, earning a sigh from Xiaojun. – if we have a bath, I will want to make you dirty again soon after that…

You said that as a fact, and Xiao shook his head.

-Ok, - he gave in, hugging you again. – but only because you asked so nicely.

-See, it’s not that bad…

-Oh, it’s bad, - he replied, - and I am still not used to this.

-But you will be…? – you smiled, kissing him.

-I will be.

[woozapooza]

I just finished re-reading Tuck Everlasting, gang! I first read this book fourteen years ago, when I was twelve years old, and I was OBSESSED with it. I was always a passionate reader, but this was one of the first pieces of fiction to really take over my life. It was a very formative time for me. In fact, I learned the words “fandom” and “ship” from a fanvid of the 2002 movie adaptation that I watched on youtube. Unsurprisingly, reading this book at 26 is a different experience from reading it at 12. Here are some takeaways from this re-read:

The main factor in 12-year-old Anna’s love of this book was that, much like Winnie, I was positively infatuated with Jesse Tuck. He was, I think, my first fictional crush, and for that reason he will always have a special place in my heart. (And on my whiteboard. When I was 12, I wrote his name on my whiteboard, and it’s still there.) But re-reading, two things about Jesse stood out to me. First, he’s pretty one-dimensional. Second, he acts like a 17-year-old, not a 104-year-old. Listen, I get why some people find the dynamic between Jesse and Winnie off-putting, but I think that just comes from an inaccurate reading. Jesse does not come across as a grown man hiding behind the facade of youth. He comes off as a kid. That’s why I take issue with the podcast I listened to a few days ago, in which the hosts accuse Jesse of “grooming” Winnie. I get why they went on a long tangent about how if you’re a kid and an adult says you’re really mature for your age that’s a red flag, but I think they arrived at that real-world issue by free-association rather than by actually engaging with this book. Jesse is neither that nefarious nor that calculating. He’s just a good-hearted kid who will probably never grow into a genuinely good man because he’s stuck in a perpetual state of adolescent stupidity. Which is really, really tragic! When I was 12 I wanted to marry him. Now I would prefer to save him :/ and also save his family from the tragedy of never getting to see him really grow up :/

Wait a minute, is Jesse a Manic Pixie Dream Boy? Or perhaps a subversion thereof? Discuss.

You know who I didn’t appreciate nearly enough, if at all, the first time I read the book because I was consumed with the preteen version of lust for Jesse? Miles!!! One time I tweeted “you either die a Jesse girl or you live long enough to see yourself become a Miles girl” and it got zero notes because I have fewer than 70 followers and I don’t think most of them would have understood what I meant anyway, but I stand by that statement. Back then I was a Miles-coded Jesse girl and now I’m just a Miles-coded Miles girl. He makes me sadder than his parents or even than Jesse. At least Jesse is enjoying life. At least Mae and Angus have spouses and children. Miles had both and now he has neither. A very telling moment about Miles: after the boys and Mae tell Winnie their story, she decides that she likes them, “especially Jesse. But it was Miles who took her hand and said, ‘It’s really fine to have you along [...]’” Jesse treats Winnie with affection, but Miles treats her with kindness.

And here’s a very telling moment about Jesse: when the gang breaks Mae out of jail, Jesse gives a “bursting, exultant laugh.” I know even mature adults sometimes laugh out of relief, so I’m not saying this reflects badly on Jesse, but I do think it shows that he just doesn’t have his feet on the ground to the same extent as his parents and brother.

I know the worldbuilding is very much not the point of this book, but I am so intrigued by the part where Jesse says that Angus’ theory about the spring is that it’s “something left over from—well, from some other plan for the way the world should be.” What a fascinating concept! I want to know more about that theory!

I had forgotten just how abundant wheel imagery is in this book. Wheels everywhere. Wheels on wheels on wheels. For example, Mae swings the shotgun “round her head, like a wheel” to strike the man in the yellow suit. If wheels symbolize the circle of life, then I guess an act of killing is an appropriate moment for wheel imagery to show up.

When the Fosters learn that TMITYS is not doing so great, Winnie’s father points out that they may regain ownership of the wood, but he avoids saying the word “die.” Winnie says, “You mean, if he dies,” and her family is all like 😱 Guys, seriously? She’s ten years old. My god, she’s old enough to talk about death. No wonder she wanted to run away. How exhausting would it be to be treated like that when you’re in double digits?

I distinctly remember my sixth-grade Language Arts teacher saying, “Forever is a hard concept for kids to understand.” I was kind of offended because I was like “uh, I’m pretty sure adults don’t understand it either.” And I was right! I’m 26 and I still don’t understand the concept of forever! No one does! But even though I still can’t grasp what it means for the Tucks to live forever, I do have a much better grasp of the tragedy of their situation, and maybe that’s what my teacher meant. When I was a kid I mainly identified with Winnie and was basically content to get the story from her perspective, but now I’m reading the Tucks as people in their own right rather than props in Winnie’s journey, and that makes the story much more painful. This post has gotten long enough, so suffice to say that I’m just very emo.

I want to make a separate post comparing the book and the musical at some point, but I want to rewatch the musical first, or at least parts of it. For now I just want to say that in the book, Winnie is really the only truly fleshed-out character. It’s not that the other characters are bland, but they aren’t given a lot of depth, either, and I think the musical did a great job changing that in ways that still feel true to Natalie Babbitt’s characters.

[captlok]

Pacifism Isn’t A Character Trait

Or: MLK Day is Upon Us so Let Me Do You a Learn

Or: As An Aang Stan I Got a Bit Over-Zealous But Lemme Explain Why For A Hot Minute

Plus some History and Tumblr commentary that even non-ATLA fans can chew on

And by ‘hot minute’ I do mean this is going to be a long meta, so strap in.  For those of you who just might be tuning into this debacle, I, a person who has not used Tumblr, much at all, except for the last half year, ran into some trouble. 

If you wanna skip the whole TLDNR interpersonal stuffs and get straight to Why Aang is the Best Thing Since Sliced Bread, I will embolden the relevant parts, and italicize the crit of Korra, if you want that alongside.

I was excited that ATLA was seeing a resurgence due to the Netflix remake. I wasn’t even trying to apply any steep expectations for it. (learned not to do that the hard way with the last live action adaption, and to a much lesser extent, ATLOK, since it had good . . . elements, *ba dum tsshh*) 

So, these are a couple aspects of the issue: (1) Even on the internet, I am extremely introverted and until recently mostly came for content, not socializing. My main online interactions thus far have been in forums and artist-to-artist on DA. Tumblr is still very strange to me because it splits up its ‘threads’ so you can’t see all the replies if a certain pattern of users responds in their own space. I’m not even 100% sure it’s in chronological order, and replies are not nested next to each other so you can look in the comments and someone will be replying to something you can’t see in that window. And also since it is a bizarre hybrid of a blogging system, posts are somehow considered ‘owned by’ or an ‘extension of’ OP in a way forum threads are not. (2) ATLOK was good in a cinematic and musical way, to be sure. It also had some good concepts. I can go into it just appreciating it for the worldbuilding and be somewhat satisfied. But the execution was terrible. I was on AvatarSpirit.Net for years, and If I had maintained my presence on ASN to current day and had gotten around to downloading their archive now that the forum is dead, I would include some links to other peoples’ detailed analyses on just how flawed both the plotting and Korra’s frustratingly flat learning curve was especially in the first two seasons. But, that is a task for another day, and only if people are interested. 

No, what I’m addressing today, on the issue of Korra as a writing exercise, is how Mike and Bryan said specifically they wanted to make her ‘as opposite to Aang as possible’ and in so doing, muddied the central theme of the original ATLA series.

Now, again, I was mainly an art consumer for my first major round of ATLA fandom. Tumblr is an alien beast to me. But, after I write my first major Aang meta, talking about how amazing it is that he has the attitude he does, and how being content in the face of this overwhelming pain and suffering is an ONGOING PROCESS and an INTENTIONAL DECISION and not a simple PERSONALITY TRAIT, I start hearing that Aang gets a lot of hate from the fandom. Now this would be bad enough if it were merely people not liking his crowning moment of pacifism because they don’t understand the potential utility (I’ll elaborate on that in another post) or the ethics involved.

Aang is easily the most adult member of the Gaang. But he apparently gets hate for his few moments where he actually acts his age, a preteen, and maybe kisses a girl in a historical timeframe in which ‘consent’ discussions were probably nonexistent. Even in the present day, we are still practically drowned in movies that reinforce this kissing without asking trope. And even some female bodied people complain that asking kills the mood! But somehow he is responsible and reprehensible for this, even though the first time she kissed him back. I’m only going to get into the pacifism discussion today, but that was just another layer of annoyance bouncing around in the back of my head.  Other peoples’ crit of Korra that was stewing in my subconscious, plus this Aang bashing, which thankfully I had not directly read much of, made up the backdrop of gasoline for the match that set it off.  Even that seems a pretty melodramatic way to phrase what I actually said, which was: Aang, on the other hand, lost dozens of father figures and was being steamrolled by Ozai who was gloating about genocide TO HIS FACE, yet he still reigned in all that quote, ‘unbelievable rage and pain’ (The Southern Raiders). We Stan Aang, the Superior Avatar. No I did not f**king stutter. #AangSupremacy In another meta, someone complained that I was too defensive of Aang as a character and didn’t apply literary analysis enough, which I quickly rectified.

What set this off? Someone was kind of indirectly praising the line from Korra,  “When I get out of here, none of you will survive” To them it was emotionally resonant or whatever, and I have to point out that no, it was a martial artist not having control of their state of mind, as is the bedrock of the practice. It was never addressed by the narrative, which is a severe oversight.  I had a conversation with someone in the chats, making this distinction between Korra’s character traits and life philosophy. If she were to kill people while enraged and she was fine with that, that’s one thing. But if she regretted it, that’s a whole other kettle of fish. People argue that she comes from a warrior culture, unlike Aang.

Never mind that warrior monks are a thing. That’s what Shaolin monks are. You can be a pacifist and skilled at fighting. Those things are not mutually exclusive, which is the whole point of Bagua, Aang’s style.  And also, Katara’s style. 

That’s one reason I like Kataang so much- their congruent styles. Both of their real world martial arts are dedicated to pacifism, even though ATLA specifically doesn’t spell that out for Katara and her learning arc. 

There was a meta where someone briefly tried to argue that knowing “martial arts” is against pacifism. No. Quite the opposite. I’d argue that you are not a true pacifist unless you know exactly how to handle yourself if someone attacks you.  If you are not in a position to make conscious decisions about how much force to use, rather than merely operating on survival instincts, that is not pacifism. Or at least, not any energy or effort towards pacifism as a practical everyday tool.  I’ve made a few attempts to learn some tai chi and aikido, and it’s improved my physical and mental health, but some other things have gotten in the way. #lifegoals

I’m not going to tag the unfortunate soul whom I was replying to, because they’re probably tired of all this, but I’ll be sending them a PM to say that I’ve made this into a different post, because as I mentioned before, threads are somehow considered “owned” by OP, so it’s been pointed out to me that I should separate it.  I also said, I have basically ZERO respect for Korra uttering violent threats when the writers already minted a far more emotionally devastated and yet still resilient and centered character earlier in their franchise. People always try to excuse away people who genuinely like Aang more.  As if it’s just nostalgia or whatever. For me, no, it’s absolutely not. It is respect for a character who stands toe to toe with real people who are kind in the face of overwhelming injustice. (I have another meta on that). 

Both OP and people in the chats try to make excuses that she wasn’t raised as a pacifist, and that would be fine if they had addressed it with Tenzin and she had stated outright that she was rejecting pacifism and mind training. As it is, we are left with this nebulous affair where the lines between ideology and personality traits are blurred. 

We are told she “has trouble with spirituality” but what does that even mean? Does she have trouble with focus? Does she have trouble relating to the canonically real spirits? And pacifism specifically nor inner peace that it flows from is never even talked about as an extension of spirituality, which is canonically tied to airbending.

“Aang didn't have to deal once with the loss of his autonomy in atla” OP claims.

This was after I had noted that Aang was getting kicked around by Ozai and was most likely going to die.  Similarly, someone in the chat rejected the idea that a 12 year old trapped in a stone sphere that is heating up under a cyclone-sized blowtorch feels powerless. 

Sorry but that’s flat out ridiculous.

No one wants to admit that both of these people were faced with similar situations, and when push came to shove, one showed his LIFE PHILOSOPHY through conscious effort, and the other was abandoning the basis of martial arts, which is, no matter what the situation, keep thinking. Hold the panic at bay. Non-attachment would have served her well in this situation. Tenzin should have told her this. Before, or afterwards. It should have been addressed in the writing.  

People see this as “bashing” Korra, and oh well, can’t help that. If I think the writers didn’t follow through on their themes, that is my concern.  OP said I was “offended.” No, not really. 

I wasn’t offended by the post itself, or its commentary. Thought I made that pretty clear.

This is not dramatics. Let me be blunt.

As a ideological pacifist, and an actual practitioner of meditation, based on Buddhism, NOT just the fan of some show, I am for calling out writers who write one way from the survivor of genocide, and then stray from that ‘thoughtless aggression is immoral no matter HOW hurt I am’ to ‘let’s not address this character’s aggression in the narrative whatsoever.’ OP attempted to derail by accusing me of being racist or sexist against Korra. Also ridiculous. It honestly should have set me off more, but it didn’t. 

Meditation is about reigning in your emotions. Managing your anger when it gets out of hand, and digging down to the roots of it. Being responsible for your own behavoir. Acknowledging ownership of your own actions. Not blaming anything YOU DO on anyone else or any circumstances in your life. Like an adult, or should I say, an enlightened adult.

Or at the very least, that is the ideal ypu strive towards while being imperfect in the present.

. . .

Now.

I’m going to quote a passage in a Google Doc of mine, even though I’d really prefer if you asked to read the whole thing, with context.

“What do humans do when it is necessary to, or greed makes a nation want to recruit?

They go to the army to get trained, right?

Granted, having someone scream and get spittle on your face is, in the grand scheme of things, poor preparation for having bullets whiz past your chest and grenades shatter your ears. And, what do you do to prepare you for the pain of getting your leg blown off? Hopefully, nothing. Like taking a test where you only got half the study guide. But, it’s about the most ethical way to go about it, right?

Not everyone even sees action. So any more more extensive mental preparation for physical pain than that, and you’d have people definitely protesting.

Well, as it turns out, pacifistic protestors themselves, if they were in the right time and place, also very intentionally do this type of mind training. Except, when they did it, they actually did sit still and took turns roughly grabbing each other and throwing each other down and in some cases, even kicking and bruising each other.

Turns out, those pacifists are, in some ways, more hardcore than the army.

Why is this?

Because a pacifist’s aim, unlike a unit, who wants to gain the upper hand in a situation, is to grit their teeth and grind their way through all those survival instincts, and totally submit.

In this, they aim to get the sympathy of the public, who clearly sees they are not aggressive, or a danger, no matter how much the footage is manipulated or suppressed.

In this, they hope to appeal to their attacker’s better nature.

Make them stop and think, wait a second, are these people a threat like we’re told they are? I’m attacking someone who’s letting me beat them up. Or a bunch of people. All forming a line, and letting us peel them off. Or sitting, and bowing their heads. If I’m on the ‘right’ side of things, the law, why am I doing this?

It’s not like a bully, who’s just a kid.” They’re more self-aware.

And might I add the situation influences a pacifist’s actions too. There’s no reason to let a single or a few random attackers beat you up if you can evade or disable without permanent damage.

Pacifism is a dynamic set of responsive actions informed by values. Not a proscribed set or a checklist.

But in terms of organizing against state power, and recording wrongdoing, which unlike during the Civil Rights can happen from all angles from smart phones nowadays, these are the motivations.

“So, the pacifist knows this, and that’s why they go through all that trouble of training themselves to, not only submit, but not turn tail and run, either.”

See, a character trait is something like being a morning person, or ways of handing information, or a given set of emotions a character feels. Once you cross over into actions, you must make the distinction of whether an impulsive character agrees with their own uncontrolled actions, or is embarrassed or remorseful. Those are life philosophy. Now sure, one type of person or character may be more likely to subscribe to pacifism, but there is no gatekeeping on what you have to feel or how you look at things. You can be easygoing, or feel all the rage in the world, but as long as you at least attempt to have a handle on those desires and feelings to where they do not cross into actions, you are still doing the work of metacognition, which is what martial arts and its accompanying mind training are for.

It’s what we see Aang do.

He’s informed us, during the Southern Raiders, on how much rage and pain he feels.

Pain points, TRIGGERS, that were directly struck at when Ozai gloated over him.

He joins with all the past Avatars for several moments, and just like every other time he is in the Avatar State, he is enraged. He wants to exact revenge on the unrepentant grandson of a baby murderer.

We see it when he turns his head away, face still screwed up in anger.

For another example, I could cite my difficulties in being aware and reining in my tongue sometimes. I know the roots of these issues and I seek to let them go.

It’s just that process takes way longer than Guru Pathik would have us assume.

In fact, I would even say that Aang’s portrayal throughout the three seasons is not strictly a realistic representation of at least the sad side of grief. I addressed that a little when I talked about real life figures. But what it IS, is a metaphor that cuts very deep to the heart of pacifism. As I showed in that Doc . . . There is no limit of suffering a pacifist is willing to go through, internal or external, for the preservation of peace.

This was demonstrated during the Civil Rights, and with Gandhi and all his followers beforehand, inspiring them. The pacifists’ method of swaying hearts is probably the reason BLM exists in such numbers as it does today. Will the types of narratives that correspond with their full stories of the way they collectively planned and trained for and approached conflict make it into fantasy media? I’d say, probably not. For a host of reasons.

It could be hoped for, I guess.

But we DO have Aang.

As for myself, whether speaking sharply is an “action,” per se is up for debate- certainly it doesn’t seem to violate the non-aggression principle put forth by the vision of a “stateless society.”

For another example, let’s take my explanation at the beginning. I am examining how circumstances affected my actions, and now am attempting to fix it, if indeed it needs to be fixed. 

At least one person said that it not so much what I said, but how and when I said it. I don’t actually think I’ve said anything “wrong” per se. So I have to figure it out. 

[I’m considering splitting up this next part into a second post, as it only slightly relates to pacifism itself and is just kinda some more commentary on Tumblr itself- Tumblr discourse, as it were]

[I’ll put more brackets when I’m done in case you want to skip this part as well]

An interesting social difference between Tumblr and other places is this command you often get, “don’t chat/reblog/message me back.”

This is interesting for several reasons. For chats and reblogs, other people may be following the “conversation,” so it’s actually pretty rude and presumptuous to tell a person not to respond to whatever you said, because other people watching still may be interested in your take.

In a forum setting, if someone involved in a conversation doesn’t have anything left to say, usually they just don’t respond.

This method would work perfectly fine for Tumblr, but for some reason, maybe its super odd format, probably due to the “ownership”/“extension of self” I mentioned at the beginning of the essay, people don’t tend to do this.

Now, in comment sections, sometimes you’ll run across an amusing sort of “mutually assured destruction” where two people both say this to each other. You’d better stop responding. Omg just give up. Why are you still arguing. Etc.

But see, no matter where this behavoir pops up, and no matter who starts in on it, those who do this usually want to have the last say on the matter.

Instead of merely not replying, they want to assert verbal control over the conversation.

Tumblr, in its weirdness, is also sort of like a mutant comments section. You can post comment section threads as your own post.

Which is one reason why I’m puzzled when people say ‘don’t read the comment sections’ when Tumblr is so popular.

I’m an oddball in that I browse comment sections for fun.

Probably due to alexithymia, I didn’t really comprehend the emotional toll it takes on many people, so the warnings to “stay out of comment sections” read to me like “hey don’t eat that dessert.” After I’m done with the ‘meal’ of an article or art, I like to see what lots of different people have to say about it. The fluff. Anything vitriolic I either blip over, or extract anything useful, or if I judge the person is reasonable enough, I might engage.

Sometimes I mis-judge on how reasonable someone is, and I shrug and move on after being cussed out or whatever.

In this, I suppose I succeed much of the time in being a verbal pacifist.

[But let’s get back to the more serious stuff.]

We’re talking about what is done in life or death situations, here.

For myself, I may in the near future be working more with dangerously mentally ill people. I’ve had a little exposure to it through various means. Nurses are obligated not to retaliate against patients, and those who have, have been fired in some situations. Again oddly, this is not primarily what triggers my anxiety. Unfortunately enough, this requirement has also resulted in nurses getting seriously injured and violated. I hope to influence whether “no harm” techniques such as tai chi and aikido and arm locks may be allowed. The voluntary philosophy I was luckily already on board with is enforced by bureauacracy, directly relevant to my potential profession.

Were someone to get involved in a dangerous profession, such as a police officer, their moral duty would also be to own up to any spur of the moment anger or fear they acted on. 

It’s just that their bureaucracy acts differently, in excusing their actions.

Ideally, they would be taking steps far in advance, to avoid this often-cited fear of death reaction. As training pacifists like Aang do. 

And yes, army people are trained differently than police officers because the army, often, even when threatened, is supposed to avoid engagement or deploy deterrents that are non-lethal almost all costs, unless ordered otherwise. Whereas American police are given pretty much complete discretion and often not taught de-escalation techniques. Even police from other nations are better trained in that regard.

Enter the ironically named @avatarfandompolice whose account description should really speak for itself. Combative, dismissive, and their attention-hungry bread and butter is to find people they think it’s acceptable to ridicule.  They basically tried to say trauma was a valid excuse to take out your anger on other people, and in this situation, potentially kill. 

Now, does this hold up in the real world? Yeah, sometimes. Especially if some law breaker or law keeper has not been given the anger management tools, they perhaps could be excused, or better yet, rehabilitated.

But especially if anyone finds themselves in dangerous situations, or intends to put themselves in such, it falls to them to do this preparation.

As an aphant, I am at a bit of a disadvantage, compared to an average martial artist, being unable to visualize an attacker. But I still attempt it.

As the main “police officer” of the world- the coincidentally blue clad figurehead that is supposed to keep order, it is apparently fine for Korra to not do the work Aang did to keep level. To blow it off as too much trouble: clearing the First Chakra of fear. For herself or others. And its resultant anger. Had she had access to the Avatar State, the authority figure pretty much would have killed people.  This is what the “fandom police” and a certain chat goer ultimately support. Maybe they didn’t understand it that way, and since the second had blocked me, they will also never see this explanation. Unless I were to share it in Google Doc form I suppose.

So, I responded. “Remember kids, you are not responsible for your own behavior if you have the excuse that someone else did something bad to you.” A frighteningly common sentiment on this site.

When it’s low stakes like CAPSLOCKING or internet fights, that’s not such a big deal. But what happens if this attitude leaks into the real world? This isn’t even about Korra or Aang anymore, it’s about toxic mindsets. I didn’t know fans taking pro-Korra posts as anti-Aang was a common in the fandom. I’ll say again I’ve only just gotten really active on Tumblr like the past few months. This is about pacifism itself. MLK and his hardworking, training followers (yes some of them sixteen and POC and not super-powered like Korra) facing down firehoses and staging sit-ins long trained for would shake their heads at this defense of reactionism. 

Pacifism is not a Personality Trait.

It is deliberate actions and preparation taken over a period of time.

Then the “fandom police” tried more of this, and these two conversations ensued, the comments with another user resulting in the title and main thesis of this essay:

https://captlok.tumblr.com/post/638777472806273024/avatarfandompolice-response-to-my-independent

https://captlok.tumblr.com/post/638806142933467136/the-plight-was-not-what-i-was-getting-at-it-was

[argumentl]

The Freedom of Expression Ep 24 - The more its restored, the less like the original it becomes.

K: This is Dir en grey's Kaoru, starting this episode of The Freedom of Expression. Joe san, Tasai san, welcome....*points to Joe with his bare leg showing*..Errr, are you hot?

J: No, I mean, its hot isn't it?

K: Yeh, it is.

J: How do you feel about Summer? Im really bad with Summer!

K: Well, I don't like the heat, but I don't really go outside all that much.

J: Really? By the way, what are your favourite seasons, Kaoru?

K: Autumn and Spring.

J: Well, yeh right? Which do you hate the most? Winter or Summer?

K: Im really sensitive to hot and cold.

J: Oh really?!

K: But, hmm, which one? Maybe Summer is better.

J: Summer is better? Ehh? But in the winter you can always put on extra clothes if you are cold..but in Summer...we have our limits, right?  Summer is...

K: Can't you just put the aircon on?

J: I do...but..

K: If you go outside, right?

J: Outside is also hot, and if you leave the aircon on constantly inside, you'll catch a cold. Its hard, I really don't like summer at all!

T: Haha

J: You're also limited in what you can eat, right? You have no appetite, you get bored of eating soumen noodles every day.

K: Yeh, that does get boring.

J: In winter you can have big hot pots, and all sorts!

K: I eat hot pots in the summer too.

J: Really?!

T: Ehh?

J: Incredible! Ah, but on the other hand, yes, that kinda works.

T: Wouldn't you feel cooler? After eating it?

K: I feel hot.

J: You feel hot? haha.

K: Hahaha

J: Its is hot!

K: I get really hot! Haha

T: Do you eat it with the aircon blasting?

K: Well, even with the aircon blasting, I still sweat a lot.

J: Its hot, right? But doing that feels good? Conversely?

K: What have you been eating?

J: Salad, basically.

K: Did you say you were on a diet?

J: Yeh, my belly is getting round.

K: Weren't you going to the gym?

J: I am going to the gym!

K: Haha.

J: I started with squats, and when I lifted up, it was so hard*1.

K: Hahaha

J: My muscles hurt a lot today. I can't walk up the stairs.

T: Hahaha

K: At 50, you're like...

J: Getting my teeth out...

K: Getting your teeth out..

T: Doing squats...

J: Yeh, well im divorced, and im aiming to remarry, so this is my last spurt. If I havn't reached my goal by age 55...

K: You've entered a plan to reform yourself?

J: Yes, I have.

T: Joe, you're young!

J: If I havn't managed it by 55, I'll give up...*gestures to camera* So, please,  everyone.

K: Why are you smiling?

T: Hahaha

J: I've kinda been wanting to do that.

K: Hahaha

J: Lets cut that bit.

K: No, we'll show it

J: Hahaha

K: We won't cut it, haha. Ok, Joe san. Today's news please.

J: Yes, this is today's news. We talked about this news a little bit once on the radio show, didn't we?

K: Yeh, we did.

J: Right? Well this is news about how "The more it was restored, the less like the original it became". So in Spain, its been disovered that  an amatuer tried to re-touch a famous work of art, and failed twice. The altered work is a oil painting copy of the 17th century piece by the Spanish Baroque artist Bartolomé Esteban Murillo. The title of the work is, 'The Immaculate Conception of Los Venerables'. The owner of this piece, an art collecter based in Valencia, who paid 1200 euros for it, had requested an employee of a furniture repair company to clean the painting. But during the cleaning, the Virgin Mary's face changed. After not one, but two restoration attempts, the painting was completely ruined, and the owner was apparently very angry. So, if you search for it, you will be able to find the images online. We can't show you them here due to the issue of image rights (*On screen text: Search for Spain painting restoration*). But...yehh..

T: Its incredible, isn't it?

J: This is shocking!

K: They weren't looking at how the picture is supposed to be, were they?

T: *Looking at his paper* Is the top picture the first restoration attempt?

K: Yeh, the one on the left is the original state, and on the right is the first restoration.

J: The top right, yeh.

*Lots of giggling*

J: This has zero sense of Maria! It looks like some vandalism.

K: Its looks like those pictures they stick up outside the police box *2

J: This first attempt is bad enough...

K: Its terrible, really bad!

J: But it generally still fits with the original Maria's line of gaze, right?

K: Yeh, but like, you can see the whites of her eyes. The top half is totally black.

J: If this is restoration work, it means they took money for it?

T: ??? *3

J: Really!

K: How did they actually do it though? Normally you have to use a matching colour to the original, and just do it like this, right?*imitates dabbing paint finely*

J: I think so.

K: But it seems like this person has just gone like "Gahhh' *imitates waving a paintbrush around roughly*

J: They re-painted it, right?

K: They are just slapping paint on, you can't see much detail.

J: Re-writing it! Its terrible!

K: They were somehow trying to remember what it used to look like.

J: At least they could have taken a photo..

K: Without that, this third try is never gonna work.

J: Everyone, please search for these images online. The third image is shocking!

T: The second pic is still looking upwards and kinda has a bit of the orininal feel to it, but the third pic is just staring straight forward!

K: Its the same person who did them both, right?

Kami: Um..I just..

J: Ah, Kami is here.

Kami: Um, I had a look at it, but where did her clothes go?

J: Huh? (*looks at paper*) Ohh, her clothes?

Kami: Yeh.

J: In the original, the area from Maria's chest and up is visible, but by the third picture, the clothes cover up to her head. This is awful!

T: Its scary, isn't it?

J: This is...well, where is the real problem? Even this kind of person has the authority to do restorations, even people at this level.

K: I dont know if they had the authority, they were just asked.

Kami: Yeh, the owner asked a furniture business to do it.

J: Yeh, someone from the furniture business came to restore it.

Kami: If you ask a furniture store to do it, this kind of result can't be helped.

K: For sure. ????*4

Kami: Maria got really ugly.

T: Ahh, I see! Originally, they were supposed to be just cleaning it right? Like, removing the dust.

J: Yeh, that might have been it. Like the painting was deteriorating, and in order to stop it getting worse, or something like that. They must have thought it was ok to go ahead and re-paint it.

K: The person who did it was quite eldery weren't they?

J: Ahh, I see.

T: This is crazy

J: But after seeing their first try, they should have given up trying to fix it for a second time. Somehow, that would've been better.

K: The owner shouldn't ask the same person to fix it, right?

J: Right!

K: But, well, it won't go back to its original state will it?

J: No, it won't.

K: Even if a new person could get to back to this (*points at the first restoration attempt*)

J: ??? Its like hell if you keep going, and hell if you stop. In the end, its like ??? *5, it would be no good...Well, its an impressive thing.

K: Yeh, but imagine if you wanted to keep viewing the painting, as for the first restoration,   if you look at it from far away, it kiiinda still resembles the original a bit. But the second one is no good at all.

J: Yeh, its no good. In the first one you can kinda still see that they were trying to paint the virgin mary, but in the second restoration, it looks like an old woman..not even a proper portrait.

T: Her nose is well defined though, haha.

J: Well, yeh...Isn't the Virgin Mary a friend of Kami's?

Kami: Well, the one in the original is my friend. The third one is totally different.

J: Its no good?

K: That kind of old woman, really.

J: Do you consider this to be a profanity? Is this ok?

Kami: Well, its ok, isn't it?

J: Hahaha.

Kami: That kind of thing.

J: Ah, its ok.

Kami: The original is really well painted isn't it?

T: Mm, yeh.

Kami: Yeh, I think its a really good picture.

K: Its a copy though right? There is someone who painted this as a copy?

T: Yeh, there is a proper original.

K: It would be pretty expensive to hire that person to fix it, right?

J: I think they were trying to save money. 140000yen was too much for them. I wonder how much it usually costs to have a painting decently restored? How much did they save?

K: It probably takes quite a long time to do.

T: I think it takes a really long time.

J: Yeah. Well, when they saw how it ended up, it says the owner was angry, well, yeh, he would be angry wouldn't he?

K: Yeh, he would. Cause its his precious painting that he just wanted cleaning.

J: Yes, thats it.

K: I can only laugh at this, haha. Its a total disaster, really.

T: It really is.

J: Well, the lesson to learn from this is that a ricecake maker makes ricecakes. If you want anything repairing properly, hire a professional..otherwise this type of thing will happen.

T: Thats it.

J: Don't be stingy!

T: Its problematic if they pretend to be a pro, then take your money. But in this case they were just a furniture store.

J: Asking a furniture store to do it was the mistake. Why did they ask a furniture store?

T: But they still said, 'Yes, we can do it', right?

J: Hmm, yeah.

K: They had the look of someone who could do it. The owner was fooled.

J: Its like 'The Guild', they may have had the look of a craftsperson. You have to be careful with appearance too.

K: Well, I think we'll finish here. Please subscribe. Thank you very much.

J: Go Hanshin Tigers!

*1, 2 Couldn't make out the last words, but i think its something like this.

*3, 4, 5 Couldn't make out.

[itsybitsylemonsqueezy]

Hi! I happened to stumble across your analyses on both Majima and Saejima and boy am I blown away by them! You captured their personalities so well it’s awespiring. Is there a chance you’ll write a post about Kiryu as well? It’s just that originally I’ve had a hard time liking him as a character because of the numerous mistakes he has made across the series (and the fact that others don’t really address them for some reason). Despite that I’m a huge fan of kazumaji and that’s why I feel conflicted sometimes. Anyway, I would really like to hear your thoughts about it!

Awww, you’re very kind ^^; Thanks for asking for more c: So, the reason why I haven’t yet made a post about Kiryu is NOT due to my lack of feelings about him, it’s quite the opposite. I have essays worth of feelings about Kiryu and just... have not found the time to really give those feelings credit ^^; But, since you ask and you’re having a hard time with his character, let me at least start. 

As a preamble, let me first say that there’s a difference between a character making a mistake and the writing making a mistake. This is not to say Kiryu never makes mistakes, far from it. I have a lot of feelings about Kiryu’s mistakes, they’re one of the reasons I love him, but a lot of the more egregious fuck ups are the writers making weak or poorly thought out choices. For example, like you point out, Kiryu makes mistakes and no one ever calls him out for it... that’s a writing flaw, not a problem with Kiryu. 

(Please note that to give my best reading of Kiryu, I’m going to reference as many games as I have seen, which is through game 6. If you do not wish to be spoiled through at least game 5 (I never reference game 6 if I can help it), do not read further.)

Continuing with that example... I cannot tell you how simultaneously OVERJOYED and FURIOUS I am about game 3 when Mine, MINE YOSHITAKA, a character who was introduced that game and then never appears again, is the only person who criticizes Kiryu’s decisions when he has DEMONSTRABLY made bad ones! Like, Mine’s criticisms are ENTIRELY valid, but because they come out of his mouth it’s hard to say if the audience is meant to sympathize or not. Especially since Mine is sort of the antagonist of that game and he’s not really pitched as a sympathetic character. You have to really be willing to be critical of Kiryu to hear what Mine’s saying there and agree with him. The way the scene is played, you’re sort of supposed to still identify with Kiryu and insist that he’s never done anything wrong ever, even though he’s put all of his friends in a vulnerable position and IS arguably to blame for the state Daigo’s in now, as Mine points out. 

And the writing is on some level aware that it is Kiryu’s fault or they wouldn’t have brought it up. They wouldn’t have had Mine say that if they didn’t see that problem. But the problem is they’re afraid of letting Kiryu be flawed. They’re afraid that if Kiryu’s wrong, even once, he won’t be The Good Guy anymore and the audience won’t like him anymore. This is weak and cowardly writing. Characters aren’t compelling because they’re never wrong, characters are compelling from what they do when they’re wrong. Any character who’s never wrong is unrealistic and, ultimately, boring. We all fuck up, we’re all only human. You ultimately will not identify with an infallible god because they would make choices you wouldn’t. I’m sure we can all think of characters who were pitched to us as infallible that, sooner or later, we ended up hating because of this very trait. So trying to pitch Kiryu as infallible is a ginormous mistake. But an understandable one, especially in a franchise that depends on the likability of its main character. But this means that they don’t trust their own writing, they don’t trust Kiryu’s inherent appeal and they fuck up the story around refusing to take risks. It’s one of the most heartbreaking writing decisions for me that those words come out of Mine’s mouth and not one of Kiryu’s friends. 

Because it’s Kiryu’s friends who deserve to get to say that. It’s Kiryu’s friends, the people who are directly affected by his actions and the people who CARE about Kiryu, who have the right to criticize him. Not some fucking young blood with a chip on his shoulder. Having Mine say it makes the criticism look biased an illegitimate when it isn’t. I understand the writing impulse to not let us criticize Kiryu, but think how much more compelling it would be to show that Kiryu’s relationships are strong enough to handle criticism. That the trust and love is there for a friend to come to Kiryu with this and to force Kiryu to confront himself and listen rather than ignore the problems and insist that he’s never done anything wrong. But to make that call, to let us doubt Kiryu, you, as the writer, have to trust your story, you have to trust your character, and, worst of all, you have to trust your audience. Many many writers of popular media do not trust their audiences. They don’t trust that if they let you doubt, you’ll come with them and see where the story leads. They’re afraid you’ll lose interest and turn away. Many writers feel that they cannot take the risk of trusting their writing for fear of losing their base and therefore their income.

And, again, part of the issue is the aims of the story. At the end of the day, RGG is here to produce a fighting video game, that’s it. Wrapping that up in a compelling story makes it more sellable, but their primary focus isn’t the story itself. It’s getting you to buy a fighting video game. If the mechanics aren’t up to par, if they fights aren’t cool and interesting, the rest doesn’t matter. RGG came up with a story to link the games together and invested in making an interesting protag, but it was to sell the games. If the point of this story was the story, I think we’d be seeing different writing decisions and maybe some of these flaws could have been avoided. And I don’t actually mean to point this out as a criticism and say why aren’t they creating art for art’s sake? I mean it really as a grain of salt that I personally use to try not to hold the writing here up to the standard that I would a novel or something. That may not be useful perspective for anyone else, but it’s a thing I like to keep in mind. 

So, part of what we see in Kiryu is that the writing fucking sucks. And it’s fair not to want to redeem Kiryu’s character or dig deeper into him when the writing hasn’t provided you with much. So no one feel bad if you’re not persuaded by my assessment, I’m not here to shame or convince anyone, I’m just offering my two cents. 

And now alllll��of that said... Let’s talk about my boy, Kiryu Kazuma. 

I said earlier that characters are compelling based on how they react to mistakes, how they deal with them. Let me tell you, Kiryu is aware that he’s made mistakes. And he has regrets. 

What I find compelling about Kiryu is that he tries so fucking hard to do the right thing, all the fucking time. What I find compelling about Kiryu is that he wants so much to make people happy, to make people proud of him. He is scared all the time of doing wrong by people and making himself untrustworthy, making himself scary. He has lost so much, he has lost everything and he still gets up every goddamn day and tries. 

Does he fuck up? YES. ABSOLUTELY. ALL THE FUCKING TIME. But he gets up. Every. Fucking. Day. And tries. And you can’t buy that. You can’t ask for that. That’s just who he is, a guy who tries. 

I don’t... have time to explain the depths of my love for Kiryu, but let’s take my favorite Kiryu, what I think the best characterization of Kiryu is in the entire fucking series: game 5. Game 5 Kiryu is my favorite fucking Kiryu, including 1, including Zero, bar fucking none. I fucking love game 5 Kiryu. 

And Game 5 begins with a colossal mistake. 

Before the game starts, Kiryu is convinced, either earnestly or nefariously, to leave his little family and specifically abandon AHEM release his daughter Haruka to someone else. This is the stupidest fucking thing Kiryu’s done since giving up the chairmanship. But he does it because he is told that he is a greater threat to his family WITH them than abandoning them. I want you to think about that. Kiryu loves his family so much he would sooner leave them than do them harm. I need to remind you that Kiryu has already destroyed and rebuilt his own life once already. He has repeatedly given up everything for his dream of having a family and for all his beautiful kids more than once. And he just loves his little Okinawa home so much, he can’t stand the idea that he would bring it harm, so he fucks off. This is categorically the wrong decision and any other reasonable adult would know this. I’m sure you yourself understand intuitively why a parent, no matter how dubious, can’t just leave a brood of underage children to fend for themselves in the world.

But here’s the thing: Kiryu’s made a number of dumbass decisions that have led him to this point in his life. He doesn’t have any adult, peer friends to counsel him about this. He’s deliberately estranged himself from Majima, from Date, from all the people who could have helped him out here and told him not to. And deep down Kiryu’s always been worried that he was unworthy of this. He’s always been afraid that he didn’t really deserve to be happy, deserve his little family of innocents. And the plot SURE AS FUCK has confirmed that for him, repeatedly putting the kids in danger and reminding him that you can never actually leave the yakuza. Kiryu knows he’s fucked up. He knows adopting his family was a mistake, but it was too late, what was he gonna do now? But here comes this little insidious voice confirming his worst fears, telling him he needs to go, and Kiryu listens. He has no one else to listen to and he’s been so beaten down by the plot by this point, he’s lost so fucking much now, that he doesn’t have the strength to believe in himself anymore. So he goes. Believing that he is doing the right thing.

And then, as it always does, the plot comes for him, telling Kiryu he needs to come help, telling Kiryu only he can fix it. And Kiryu, for the first time in his life, puts his foot down. He’s so fucking tired, he won’t fucking do it, not one more time. Because every time he gets his ass up to help, what happens? Someone else dies. Someone else dies and it’s Kiryu’s fault all over again, and it’s Nishiki all over again, and Kiryu can barely fucking live with himself for all the guilt that he feels. He starts to help and he just loses. Every fucking time. So this time, no, this time he won’t do it. He can’t do it anymore. He just wants... everyone to be okay. And he’s so sure that everyone would be better off without him. 

If that’s a huge screaming red flag for anyone else IT SHOULD BE. Kiryu is in a depression spiral. He’s suicidal. He’s cut himself off from all his meaningful relationships, he’s not participating in his favorite hobbies, he’s alone and isolated in a new city where he doesn’t know anyone. He’s Not Doing Good. Game 5 is about finally, FINALLY confronting Kiryu’s demons, all the pent up unresolved guilt and turmoil that we never fucking addressed for 5 games running. (And if you’re hearing Bitter Resentment in the way the games have handled Kiryu’s emotional reactions OH BOY YOU BETCHA but that’s for another post.)

So Kiryu finally says no. He won’t fucking do it. But the plot comes for the fucking carotid. It’s Majima. It’s Majima. The only person Kiryu really, truly trusts. The person Kiryu was relying on to still be there, to be strong, to do the things Kiryu couldn’t. It’s Majima this time. And Kiryu loses his goddamn mind. That was the one thing you had left to take from him, his belief in Majima, and you took it. Kiryu nearly has a psychotic break at the news and decides, fine. Fine. I’ll go fix this, and then I can die. Then it’s over. Because there ain’t nothing left for him now. 

And he does. Kiryu gets his ass down there, he solves the fucking problem, and then he does his level best to die there. Because it’s what he feels he deserves. He’s let down everyone. All those losses, all those people... they’re his fault. If he was really the hero, he could have saved them. If he was really a good person, these tragedies wouldn’t keep happening. It must be his fault. Fuck, even Majima died, even Majima... and he wasn’t even there, he couldn’t even have helped him, he just... He abandoned him. And Kiryu feels intensely that guilt and grief for his mistakes and his missed opportunities. And all he can think to do with that feeling... is die. It’s what Nishiki did before him. It’s what Kazama did before that. That’s what you do when you’ve fucked up and you don’t know how to fix it. You die. Then no one has to deal with you anymore.

But Haruka. His daughter. The best thing he ever did. She’s up there on stage and she loves him. She still loves him and wants him to be her dad. She’s been with him the whole time, she knows all about it. And she’s not scared. And she doesn’t think he’s bad. Maybe... maybe he can stay alive then. Maybe it’s okay if Haruka is still his daughter. And against all belief, he finds his way back to Haruka. He stays alive for her. He won’t repeat the mistakes of the past. And maybe... he can learn to do something different this time.

Kiryu... makes mistakes all the time. But he knows. And he feels so guilty. The writing doesn’t always do a great job of showing it. We don’t process Nishiki the way we should. We kill Rikiya for no reason. We forget that game 3 should have been TRIGGERING AS SHIT. And we awkwardly no homo out of Kiryu’s most important relationship while still insisting that it is Kiryu’s most important relationship. The writing is spotty and flawed and sometimes you can barely piece together a coherent narrative out of it. 

But at its white burning core is a guy who just keeps trying. Who gets up the next day and tries again. Because he’s lost so much. Because he loves so much. Because he believes there is value in being nice to people and being a good person. And I love that.

[thanksjro]

More Than Meets the Eye #19- Ambulon and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

We got a major reveal at the end of last issue, and now it’s time to put the rest of the pieces together so we can finally understand the mystery that is the Ultra Magnus situation.

So back when Magnus’ seemingly lifeless body stole a shuttle, fucked off into space and landed on the moon, Tyrest was there to greet him.

And by “greet him”, I mean punch through the windshield and carry him bridal style, as if he weighed no more than a baby bird, into his moon base.

Pharma did his thing with his crazy new hands, Magnus was saved, and he woke up shortly after his lifesaving operation. Then Tyrest punched Magnus in the face, because fuck the healing process. He’s an engineer, not a doctor, he doesn’t deal with the SOUL and FEELINGS or anything like that.

In the here and now, Rodimus is still trying to comprehend the fact that his SIC isn’t dead, and is also actually another, much smaller guy with a mustache. Minimus Ambus attempts to explain just what the hell is going on, and we get back to our flashback.

After some good old-fashioned face violence, Tyrest showed Magnus around the place, specifically the terminal he’d set up for his on-the-fly, real-time law amending. With how many war crimes the Cybertronian race has committed in the last several million years, I’m sure it was needed.

Dang, wonder who pissed off Big Brother.

Magnus is more concerned about how it is exactly he isn’t dead right now, and also why his boss looks like a swiss cheese party platter.

Turns out that Tyrest isn’t actually mad at Magnus, just disappointed. He went and read his diary while the operation was happening, and in the 18 months that the Knight Quest has been running, Tyrest has deemed the work done to be unsatisfactory. Instead of arresting criminals, Magnus had been handling infractions so minor, most people wouldn’t have even noticed them. Tyrest doesn’t know where he went wrong.

Well, Tyrest, it was probably the anxiety that manifested itself as OCD, because you picked someone without factoring what the end of the war might do to them. Magnus needs structure to flourish, and if he cannot find it, he will make it himself. I mean, look at all this:

No wonder he was struggling on the chaos engine that is the Lost Light.

Still, Tyrest wants nothing to do with someone who’s cracked under the pressure (lack of pressure?) and the deal was that Magnus only got to be Magnus if he did what Tyrest wanted. Tyrest divests him with the literal push of a button.

Good grief, he’s naked!

As Minimus Ambus mourns over the loss of his stature, both literal and position-wise, we get back to the present, in a double-page spread no less, as Minimus tells everyone about the storied history of the Magnus Armor. Ultra Magnus was originally an actual person, but then he died, and Tyrest was kind of bummed out about that, so he decided to make up a lie (lying, while perhaps morally dubious is not illegal, so he’s allowed to do that) that Magnus faked his death, and then built the armor. There were at least a few wearers of the armor prior to Minimus, some of who were even known by the other crew members. Whenever someone got offed, their hand would spasm and press a recall button in their palm, which would bring the Magnus Armor, and the dead body inside, back to Tyrest.

You can tell he’s still real shaken up about losing the Magnus Armor, because he’s truncating his words. Poor guy.

Minimus asks what exactly happened after he got stabbed, seeing as he was too busy dying to really pay attention to the Overlord plot. Rodimus tells him it’s been handled. Brainstorm jumps in, wanting to know about the other things on Minimus’ resume, which leads into Minimus revealing the fact that he is a Point One Percenter, and something known as a Load Bearer. Load Bearers circumvent that niggling little issue that we saw presented in the “Shadowplay” arc, where spark strain due to not being able to handle a different frame type would outright kill you. Minimus doesn’t have that problem.

Tailgate wants to know how exactly it is that Minimus isn’t dead, seeing as he was clearly on his way out prior to his grand theft auto. Tailgate may have a personal interest in that sort of information, what with still being terminal and all.

Everyone’s real handsy this issue.

Minimus lets Tailgate know that Tyrest’s medical equipment is off the hook, and we get a reminder that Tailgate’s got basically a day left to live. Harsh, Roberts.

Back in Minimus’ flashback, Tyrest sort-of apologizes for punching him in the face, and laments on the loss of one of his greatest Enforcers of the Tyrest Accord.

Oh, so you DID know that this was a possibility, and instead of ordering your subordinate to go make that follow-up appointment with the only therapist on Cybertron- which, while being borderline sectioning, would have at least kept Minimus from sending emails to Rodimus about how he was spiraling- you just let it happen. The Vector Sigma pulse wave went all over the galaxy, there’s zero possibility you didn’t hear about the end of the war before Magnus loaded up on the Lost Light and didn’t call for a year and a half.

Anyway, so Tyrest’s got a new Enforcer lined up, seeing as he’s going to retire the Magnus Armor after all the shenanigans Minimus got dragged through while wearing it. Let’s see what we’re working with.

I thought we were supposed to have separation of church and state, what the hell?

In the present, Rodimus has questions, mainly about why there are so many people in this prison cell. Minimus admits that he asked to be put in here, to try and prove Rodimus and friends’ innocence on the charge of harboring a criminal, by recording their conversation and proving that they had no idea what SKIDS deal was.

Yep, Skids did a bad, and Tyrest wants him in jail.

Minimus also drops the bomb that everyone else in this cell is going to get he death penalty for that whole “crimes against creation” thing. I mean, all Tyrest has to do is wait for a little while and Tailgate will be dealt with, no sweat.

Minimus pulls a device out of his hip compartment, uses it to disrupt the electro-bars of the cell (it’s cool, he was an undercover cop for this whole thing and can therefore break out of prison without it being a crime), and goes to have a chat with his boss about all the weird new stuff he’s shoved into the Autobot Code in the last year and a half. Rodimus doesn’t really want him to leave, but there’s no time for that, because the cell just got a little more full.

Uh oh, Swerve’s badge has gone missing again. Rung, why don’t you slap yours on his crotch, that way Minimus won’t try to murder him when he gets back?

While this is happening, Whirl and Cyclonus are standing on the rim of a smelting pool, absolutely not having a dick measuring contest.

Luna 1 said Bi Rights.

There’s a structure built over the pool that looks an awful lot like living quarters, but is probably actually a prison that violates the Geneva convention. Whirl suggests they find some weapons and go hog-wild, but Cyclonus is more concerned about finding something. When Whirl asks what in the hell he could possibly be looking for in this sort of crisis, Cyclonus turns into a moody teenager.

Well, at least he’s respecting Tailgate’s wish to keep his looming demise under wraps. Not that Cyclonus tells anyone anything anyway.

Over in the Luna 1 medibay, Ratchet is being subjected to having his very fucking soul threatened with a paring knife. Pharma’s having what probably an inappropriate amount of fun, especially since he’s realized that Ratchet took his goddamn hands after the shitshow that was Delphi.

It turns out that every single piece of tech that Ultra Magnus ever repossessed is floating around on Luna 1, even the stuff that really ought to have been destroyed. This is why they were able to save Magnus from certain death at the start of the issue. Somehow I’m not surprised that Tyrest kept all those toys for himself. Corruption of an authority figure? In my Cybertronian Justice System? It’s more likely than you think.

Some of the little art quirks in MTMTE are added in by Milne- see Brainstorm holding any handgun ever if you’d like an example- but I know for a FACT that Pharma humping Ratchet’s headless body was specified by Roberts.

Ratchet, unimpressed and likely mildly queasy by the display going on before him, proposes that Pharma’s afraid of failure, which is why he hasn’t taken his hands back. Pharma disagrees, and a wager is set to see who the better doctor is- winner gets to keep the hands.

Over with the fly boys, alarms are going off in a deserted building, as Whirl struggles to open a door with his claws. Cyclonus takes over on door duty, and asks why Whirl hasn’t gotten his shit fixed yet.

Whirl’s worried that if he gets help for his trauma, he’s going to lose a huge part of himself as a person, and then where will he be? Of course, he says it in a much more Whirly fashion, full of vitriolic self-blame, but reading between the lines is fun. Whirl fires the “let’s get into each other’s personal issues even though both of us hate talking about ourselves and also each other” missile right back at Cyclonus. He wants to know about Cyclonus’ facial situation.

Cyclonus doesn’t like this question.

Then he gets stabbed with a sword.

Back with the docs, it’s apparently much later, as Ratchet’s just woken up from surgery and has a body again. He gets up from the operating table and finds that Pharma’s gone ahead with setting up their gentleman’s wager.

First Aid seems less than pleased with the current situation. Ambulon’s arms are long as hell in this panel, and he doesn’t seem entirely present in the moment. Maybe he’s practicing Rungian Re-Experience Therapy.

Pharma wants to cut both of the boys in half to see who can put the pieces together back the fastest. Ratchet tries to deescalate the situation, because he’s usually pretty good at it, but Pharma’s set on using his chainsaw attachment on someone today.

Ratchet attempts to console his coworkers, saying that their Springer-on-Pova treatment be over soon, and they’ll get a nice lollipop at the end for being such brave little robots.

Then Pharma cuts Ambulon in half, in a way that Ratchet hadn’t accounted for.

We’re gonna need a little more than some bandaids and a kiss to make it feel better for this one. It’s amazing what censorship laws will let you get away with when the blood isn’t red.

Speaking of blood, Cyclonus is more or less okay with being stabbed, because Whirl did him a solid and chopped his assailant in half- lengthways- with a super sweet sword he found in the armory they just opened up. Cyclonus pulls the blade out of his midriff and we finally find out what happened to the Circle of Light.

Back in the prison cell, Perceptor’s been given the job of doctor, even though Rung, Swerve, and Chromedome are all here and at least somewhat closer to being general practice doctors than our science sniper.

Seems like Swerve filled everyone in on the situation on the Lost Light off-panel, which is good, because they’ve been in the dark up to this point.

Chromedome hypothesizes that the reason Skids is a wanted man has to do with that mysterious gun he was holding when he fell out of the sky all the way back in issue #2. This is the point where Skids wakes up from his stabbing and admits that this is probably what happened, even though he still has no recollection of ever stealing the gun or even it existing up until he entered the story, but he apologizes for the trouble anyway.

Shh.  Someone’s coming down the corridor. It’s Star Saber, and he’s brought yet another prisoner to stuff in this cell.

And there’s something else. Can you hear it?

Is… is that music?

Are those the beginning synth riffs of “Tainted Love" by Soft Cell?

Over with Minimus, we’re treated to a taste of Tyrest’s personal brand of disinterest, then get a quick run-down of the birds and the bees. The forging process is a little more convoluted than originally implied, needing Primus to send out a pulse wave through Vector Sigma in order for the Hot Spots to be ignited.

Then the pulse waves started to slow down, Nova Prime had a little freak out, and cold construction was invented to prevent the Cybertronian race from becoming an endangered species.

Minimus of course knows all of this, because he, like basically half of the cast of MTMTE, is old as shit. What he DOESN’T know is that cold construction isn’t managed the way that anyone thought that it was, because there was a government coverup going on about the whole thing. You don’t splice sparks to make a new one, you use the Matrix to create new life.

I know, it’s crazy.

Tyrest was on the team that fiddled around with the Matrix until it started spitting out robot zygotes, and he’s now convinced that they bled the Matrix dry. Nobody tell him what happened to the thing after the war ended.

Wait. If the pulse waves have stopped, and the Matrix is busted beyond repair, doesn’t that mean they can’t make any more Transformers? Once they finish up on their stockpile of sparks, that’s it. No more. The Transformers are a protected species now, we’ve got to treat them like giant pandas.

One of his team members stole the Matrix and hid it in the black market, so its strange, mystical baby powers could never be used again. Except someone obviously found it later on, because we have half of it on the Lost Light. Minimus isn’t sure why any of this is actually relevant to the current situation, or why Tyrest feels guilty about pulling a Eugenesis Fulcrum and finding out where babies come from.

Tyrest is convinced that by draining the Matrix, his team somehow corrupted it, and all the sparks made by this corrupted Matrix are straying further and further from Primus. This is why Rodimus and friends have been charged with crimes against creation- some of their party were created in a way that predisposes them to crime. Or so Tyrest thinks.

I thought we were supposed to have separation of church and state, what the hell? This is still the same guy who was appointed as Chief Justice by the space pope because of his levelheadedness, right?

Yes, actually, but this sudden flip in priorities and personality has been induced by the guilt he felt during the Aequitas trials. Tyrest turned to self harm to deal with the weight of it all, and one day tried to go for what in most species would have been a suicide, by drilling with his drill fingers into the spot between his eyes. Instead, he most likely gave himself a lobotomy and became a religious zealot, fully believing that the gods are real, and he can go visit them by using his super-cool space portal.

Outside the moon base, Whirl and Cyclonus have freed the Circle of Light, and everyone’s ready to kick some ass. Both the fly boys have found themselves a Great Sword to play with, further cementing Cyclonus as our replacement Drift. Rodimus will be so thrilled.

Dai Atlas, the leader of the Circle of Light, tells our boys that there used to be a lot more of his group, but a lot of folks ended up being used to build Legislators.

Hm. I’m sure that’ll never be brought up again, and won’t paint future events in a much darker light. Nope. Absolutely not.

Cyclonus thinks that they need to get a move on, because if that sort of horrific shit can happen to the Circle of Light, it can also happen to Tailgate and the others. He does specifically name Tailgate in his dialogue, but it’s not like he actually cares about the guy, right? Feelings are for nerds.

Then the Legislators show up and it’s party time.

Wonder how that’s going to work out for you, Whirl.

Back with Tyrest, it’s revealed that Tyrest’s plan has a small snag- only people completely absolved of their guilt can go to Cyberutopia to hang out with Primus and the gang, and Tyrest is feeling awful guilty. Not about his weird space-eugenics thing, but about inventing cold construction. Now, how in the world is he going to handle this?

By committing a genocide.

Minimus is, understandably, not a fan of this plan. Tyrest had anticipated that the Universal Killswitch wouldn’t be universally appreciated, and has some of the new law come into play.

And that’s a series wrap on Minimus Ambus! Let’s give him a hand, folks!

[brinaedwards]

Hi, my name is Brina... and I’m a workaholic

As the above title states, my name is Brina and yes, I am a workaholic. I don't think of that as a bad thing since I enjoy the self-motivation and the feeling of accomplishment when I get tasks done. However, my boyfriend thinks that I should focus some of that time getting more hours of sleep, haha. 

I attended Valley Central High school and graduated in 2017. High school was an okay experience, if I wasn’t apart of the band program I feel that I would have disliked it more and would not have an interest in the things I do now. I’m not trying to shit on the school, but I feel that it needed a deep cleanse on administration staffing and just an overall re-look on how to spend the funding. Just saying, I think the asbestos issue should have been handled before the  bleachers and locker rooms. But, not my problem anymore, Thank God. 

When it came to deciding colleges and all that jazz, my high school was zero help in the whole process. Yes, they talked about it but at that age things should be more simplified to understand what needs to be done. I’m 22 and I just finally figured out how to build up my credit score? Like, HELLO, start teaching kids about loans and all the other financial shit that goes into college. Not to mention the absolute lack of help I got when picking my major. I knew I wanted to go into the music or media industry and of course, none of my advisors had a clue what I was talking about. I decided on OCCC for the pricing and that cushion of still figuring out what I wanted to do. I attended SUNY Orange Fall of 2017 as a liberal arts: music emphasis major. Fast forward a year later to find out that they actually have a music program! Got to love the help advisors give you right? More so, the help wrong advisors give you. That following fall I was a full Music: Performing Arts major and loved every second of it. I met amazing, talented people that I am very glad to still be in touch with. When I was on my last semester and was on the edge of graduating I had the moment of “Oh, God.. What the hell am I going to do after this”. I decided I wasn't ready to move on from SUNY Orange, since I had no idea what direction to go. I started looking into another major and that's when I found New Media! I was always interested on how content was made and what went into making a film. I remember my cousin and I used to make these little movie clips with the windows movie maker. We thought we were going to be these big movie-making hot shots at 8/9 years old haha. 

I am grateful that I took my time with school and by the end of this OCCC journey I will be graduating next Fall with two A.A.S degrees and a clear idea of where I want to go.

Aside from anything media related I’ve been on this reading kick. Genres from fantasy, horror and some history. This summer my boyfriend and I got really into reading/collecting comic books! He has way more comics than I do but at least once a week we’re at Middletown Comics seeing what new issues came out! Now with the fall/Halloween season fast approaching I have been planning some great ideas for this year! I know I may catch a lot of eye-rolls/ mini-hate from those not wishing summer to be over but I can’t wait for fall. Besides, halloween is everyday haha. I’ve been looking at Pinterest ideas on how to DIY some awesome decorations. I guess Pinterest is somewhat media related though? Ah well, since I'm back talking about it, I might as well talk about the last movie and TV show I watched. The last movie I watched was actually what had to be watched for COM 105. It was the 1995 movie Kids and uh.. it was definitely something haha. I understood the point of how it related to youth culture but I would not want to watch that movie again. As for the last TV show I watched, was again what I had to be watched for COM 105. It was Euphoria season 1 and that was a really good show. I know I only had to watch the first four episodes but I binged the whole season. The way the story was told was creative, I enjoyed the narrative back a forth style and how each character had their own stories. It made it worth getting a month of HBO Max.  

Being on the topic of last things done, I suppose the next order is the last book/video game played or finished. The last book I finished was A Map of the Dark by Karen Ellis. I got that book from Thrill Club. It’s basically a horror/thriller/anything dark and creepy book subscription. I canceled thrill club awhile ago and just now getting into the books I was sent. Anyway back to this book that I read. I found it a little empty. I just wanted more from it, it was very predictable and dry. I wanted more character depth, more suspense and just more of everything. The book is in the corner of my room at this moment because I’m going to donate it, that's how unsatisfying it was to me. But HEY if anyone is interested in a dry thriller let me know! Haha. As for the last video game played it would have to be Assassins Creed Valhalla and that was a few weeks ago. I do love to game but when I’m getting into a project or assignment, more of my focus goes into that rather than a video game. But my goal this semster is to take more time to myself and have self-care days, so Valhalla here I come! 

Going down the “Lasts” list I have to my right here is, the last thing I created. Um, I guess the last thing I created was a make up look, that I will post a pic of at the bottom!  I do have ideas I wish to create such as uploading my podcast and YouTube videos! Im a really big planner so when it comes to things like that I want to have clear, organized agenda. I do have a date that I want things done and released so there’s that! I will probably mention more of my podcast in future posts but for now things are in the works. 

Which now brings us to the last thing of the “Lasts” list. Im sure there is a tongue twister in there somewhere but I don’t have the brain capacity to think of one. My last meal on earth would have to be what I had for dinner last night. I ate cheese ravioli with a side of mozzarella sticks. 

I know this assignment was supposed to be a minimum of 500 words and I believe I exceeded that. I look forward to these blog assignments since I can let my mind go and word things as if I was actually speaking. Well with a post this long I guess it’s safe to say I was ranting. 

To future rants and of course the required MLA formatted references! 

[thisweekingundamwing]

This Week in Gundam Wing July 26 - 01 August 2020

Here’s this week’s roundup!

Remember to give your content creators some love! And join in on the events at the bottom!

~Mod Hel

Fanfiction/Snippets/AU Ideas:

@bobo-is-tha-bomb​

Unraveled https://archiveofourown.org/works/25379161

F/M, Trowa Barton/Reader

Trowa Barton, Reader

Romance, Fluff, Reader-Insert, Bathing/Washing, ritual bathing

His little witch, he mused with a slight tilt of lips. Even after years of being with you, he still couldn’t get enough of watching you.

Tonight, he vowed, he would keep you company while you bathed.

Lazy Day https://archiveofourown.org/works/25379695

F/M, Heero Yuy/Reader

Heero Yuy, Reader

Romance, Lemon, Lime, Reader-Insert

You would enjoy this day. Every minute of it. And, you vowed, you would have a repeat of it in New York.

Twenty Kisses (Ch. 6 & 7) https://archiveofourown.org/works/24038704/chapters/61620076

F/M, Heero Yuy/Reader

Heero Yuy, Reader

Romance, Kissing, Drabble Collection, Reader-Insert

Kissing Heero is something special.

Deadly Intent https://archiveofourown.org/works/25576657/chapters/62069890

Mature

F/M, Heero/Reader, ???/Reader

Heero Yuy, Duo Maxwell, Wufei Chang, Lady Une, Relena Peacecraft, Reader

Reader Insert, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Drama, Angst, Romance, Violence, Lime

Eleven years is a long time for a ghost to come back and haunt him. But Heero Yuy finds himself unable to dodge or outrun it. It’s the start of a dangerous cat and mouse game between one of the most powerful organizations in the world and a loner who has every intention of dragging him down with her. After all, she has come with deadly intent.

@coffeetailor​

Emergence (Ch. 12) https://archiveofourown.org/works/13322880/chapters/62023231

Duo Maxwell/Heero Yuy

Duo Maxwell, Heero Yuy, Quatre Raberba Winner, Trowa Barton, Chang Wufei, Sally Po

Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, borrowers fusion but don't call them borrowers, disturbing themes like people trafficking from the bad guys, Size Difference, Will probably be a series, alternate canon events, Macro/Micro

Series: Part 1 of Emergence Series

When the war ended, things went a little strange. First, Duo vanished after never having let them see him in person. Then, years later, a tiny race of people are discovered. And that's just the start of things.

@lifeaftermeteor​

LAM!Verse https://lifeaftermeteor.tumblr.com/post/625293600094355456/private-island-location-redacted-fiji-south

Private Island [location redacted]

Fiji, South Pacific

14 August 211

Une and Sally arrived on-island to blue skies, a functioning jeep, and a personal escort by Lucrezia Noin.

perryvic & Zaganthi (Caffiends)

All Go Unto Once Place https://archiveofourown.org/works/25520368

M/M, Chang Wufei/Treize Khushrenada

Treize Khushrenada, Quatre Raberba Winner,  Change Wufei

Cameos, Anxiety, Mental Health Issues, Aftermath of Torture, ZERO System (Gundam Wing), Alternate Universe - Stargate Atlantis Fusion

He chose the study because it was formal and the least used room in the house, and brought in coffee and water because he needed something to do with his hands. "I'm sorry to request the house call. I haven't been in a reliable enough state to leave the house."

"I quite understand," Bedelia murmured. "Is this the place you feel most comfortable talking?"

He took the coffee and sat in one of the low overstuffed reading chairs rather than at the desk. "Yes. I, what we discussed a couple of weeks ago, you know. Surprising only to me, apparently, it went terribly." He cradled the coffee, watching her select where to sit, posture and movement impeccable as ever.

@simulacraryn​

Higurashi https://archiveofourown.org/works/25592344#main

Heero Yuy 

Higurashi = Mundane life, living hand-to-mouth. This is a VERY old fic of my (from 2008...), about what life might have been like for Heero after the war.

The Manwell

The Silencer and the Sicarian (Ch. 1 & 2) https://archiveofourown.org/works/25478938/chapters/61805053

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Relationships: Trowa Barton/Duo Maxwell, Chang Wufei/Solo

Characters: Duo Maxwell, Trowa Barton, Chang Wufei, Solo (Gundam Wing), Hilde Schbeiker, Catherine Bloom, Kyouju H | Instructor H

Additional Tags: Wufei POV, Duo POV, Trowa POV, Solo POV

Series: Part 4 of The Brothers Maxwell

It was just one vow. A simple but necessary promise to respect life -- both human and fey -- but can Duo hold to it when his resolve is put to the ultimate test?

@tziganecaffiends & Zaganthi (Caffiends)

Dust to Dust https://archiveofourown.org/works/25519633/chapters/61915789

M/M, Chang Wufei/Treize Khushrenada

Treize Khushrenada, Chang Wufei, Mariemaia Khushrenada, Duo Maxwell

Domestic Fluff, Bondage, bottom Treize, Mental Instability, Mental Health Issues, Aftermath of Violence, Aftermath of Torture, Rape Aftermath, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Kidnapping, Subspace, Subdrop, Diplomacy, Alternate Universe - Stargate Atlantis Fusion, ZERO System (Gundam Wing), Graphic Dipictions of Violence

It was unbearable, it was too much, and his heart was trying its best to jump out of his chest. Treize managed to get his knees pulled up, and pressed his forehead against them, struggling to breathe as the anxiety crawled up from his gut and clenched around his heart. Not there, anywhere but there, and he'd been fine seeing it in ZERO, not fine, but okay, livable, but being there, smelling the familiar antiseptic hell and must of the place, took his legs out from under him.

He could play forward on all of the other scenarios he hadn't wanted to explore, and he knew when that door opened it wasn't going to be Wufei. It was never going to be what he'd wanted, no matter hard he'd played at it back home with Wufei.

Fanart/Crafts/Photo Manips:

@2pcbiscuit​

https://2pcb.tumblr.com/post/625195682010120192/am-i-a-furry-artist-now-quatre-is-supposed-to-be

Raccoon!Trowa, and other cute surprises.

@antarespromise​

https://antarespromise.tumblr.com/post/625175674322305024

WuFei Chang

https://antarespromise.tumblr.com/post/625274951362117632

Duo Maxwell

@bobo-is-tha-bomb​

https://bobo-is-tha-bomb.tumblr.com/post/625096842616717312/having-waaaay-too-much-fun-rediscovering-art

Trowa Barton

@grey-sentry​

https://grey-sentry.tumblr.com/post/624917334680829952/next-batch-of-artwork-for-the-gw-art-discord

Heero & Doktor S

https://grey-sentry.tumblr.com/post/624917124777951232/art-made-for-the-gw-art-discord-i-tried-to-follow

Relena & Catherine

@gundayum​

https://gundayum.tumblr.com/post/625232214658056192/i-relish-in-being-a-terrible-human-being

Relena & Heero

@oekakimemo​

https://oekakimemo.tumblr.com/post/625242524130361345/20200728-digital

Relena Darlian/Peacecraft

@tatakaumono​

https://tatakaumono.tumblr.com/post/625240776436252672/its-evens-propaganda-month-dont-tag-as

Quatre/Duo

Photosets/Gifsets/Screenshots/Manga Pages:

@bobo-is-tha-bomb​

https://bobo-is-tha-bomb.tumblr.com/post/625161359751036928/im-so-lucky-to-have-awesome-friends-thank-you

GW T-shirts

@cynthiaandsamus​

https://cynthiaandsamus.tumblr.com/post/625268346914586624/like-everyone-in-gundam-wing-is-a-ridiculously

Zechs Merquise

@janaverse​

https://janaverse.tumblr.com/post/625277358889451521/aannnnndddd-theyre-done-3-the-process-was-a

Heero & Duo silhouettes

https://janaverse.tumblr.com/post/625280260361093120/for-scale-btw-they-are-perfectly-framed-from

For scale - Heero & Duo silhouettes

Head Canons:

@disturbed02girl​

https://disturbed02girl.tumblr.com/post/625254324341194752/gw-fashion-mix-day-off

GW Fashion Mix - Day Off : Duo, Heero, Trowa, WuFei, Quatre

Fandom Discourse:

@lifeaftermeteor​

https://lifeaftermeteor.tumblr.com/post/625289823670927360/whats-all-this-then-although-the-gw-discord

Discord Meet-up! 0900 EST on both Saturday (August 29) and Sunday (August 30)

Quotes:

@incorrectgundamwingquotes​

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/625002948624318464/iria-father-quatre-youre-family-you-shouldnt

Iria & Rashid

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/625184158043570177/duo-to-trowa-are-you-trying-to-hurt-my-feelings

Duo at Trowa

Calendar Events:

@gwcocktailfriday​

Cocktail Fridays!

Post responses on Friday, during Happy Hour between 3 & 5 pm in your own timezone.

Here’s the prompt for Friday, August 7th! https://gwcocktailfriday.tumblr.com/post/625255859848642560/cocktail-friday-post-responses-on-friday-august

In need of SUMMER & FALL/AUTUMN prompts!

@gwoc-october​

GW OC October 2020!

Help pick out prompts! https://gwoc-october.tumblr.com/post/621130082429337600/hello-gundam-wing-folks-thats-right-gw-oc

@seasons-of-gundamwing​

Summer of Hilde!

Check the page today! The full prompt list was set to post at 10AM!

We also have an AO3 collection now! Come check it out. https://seasons-of-gundamwing.tumblr.com/post/624191236146855936/seasons-of-gundam-wing-archive

@thisweekingundamevents​

Events Calendar

https://thisweekingundamevents.tumblr.com/post/624053314842230784/event-calendar-update

If you are hosting an event currently, or are planning on one, hit us up with links and dates! We’ll add them to the Calendar and reblog your notices to get the word out!

[branchingcrossroads]

Thinking more on awareness-consciousness-sentience, trying to logic through it.

To be able to learn and act, an organism needs to be able to prioritize information. No matter how much processing power you have, you need a way to allocate it. I don’t know what kind of impoverished environment (coupled with enormous processing power) would allow you to process all stimuli equally and get away with it.

If we have prioritization, we have “attention” in some form - as the spotlight that zeroes in on high-priority information.

“Attention” ties into “awareness”. If we devote more “attention” to a stimulus, we process it more quickly and/or in greater depth, we are more “aware” of it.

“Awareness“ introduces more ambiguity, though. If something falls below some threshold, are we “unaware” of it? Can we still “perceive” it without being “aware” of it? Should we define “conscious awareness” vs “unconscious awareness” vs “unawareness” - and if so, where do we draw the dividing lines? Does “awareness” presuppose a sentient agent, or can we talk about an amoeba’s “awareness” of water temperature?

To sidestep the whole issue, will try to avoid the term “awareness” for the time being. (And won’t even touch “sentience”. ATM I’ve no idea how to even approach that term.)

Let’s simplify “self-awareness“ to “the action of directing attention toward oneself“. (I think it makes more sense to see it as an action, not an inherent quality. “The capacity for self-awareness” is a quality, but not even the most self-aware (or self-obsessed) mind can direct its full attention inwards 24/7.)

Directing attention inwards draws processing power away from external stimuli. It’s is a trade-off. On the other hand, unless a being has the capacity to direct at least some processing power to itself, it has a blind spot in its mental model. At the simplest level: unless you account for the fact that you leave footprints, you’ll be tracking a Woozle with Winnie the Pooh.

Different situations can call for different levels of inward-attention. The optimal case is obvious: “one should direct exactly enough attention inward, and no more than that”.

So how much is “enough”, vs “too much”, vs “too little”? I would certainly love to be able to “switch off” excessive inward-attention when it happens. (There’s a reason grounding techniques tend to involve directing attention back to the senses - feeling your breath, tensing and relaxing the muscles, listening, smelling, touching, etc.)

But inward-attention is also the thing that allows me to counter unhelpful unconscious decisions. And even to notice when unhelpful “inward-attention” happens, so I can try to redirect it back out.

Presumably... if you have instincts and autopilots that are well suited to your environment... you’d hardly ever need inward-attention (beyond the level required to not "Woozle-track”).

But currently, human instincts and automatic processes aren’t calibrated for modern life. So inward-attention is required to counter any outdated (and sometimes plain wonky) autopilots.

((Spoilers for “Blindsight” ahead.))

Which seems to tie in with consciousness being described in “Blindsight” as “training wheels“.

For all we know, Scramblers (or whatever part of Rorschach is “the actual organism(s)”) used to have inward-attention. With its help, they rebuilt/reprogrammed themselves, got rid of the inefficiencies and any other evolutionary baggage. And then inward-attention became unnecessary, presumably only kept as a backup in case some new revision was needed. (Susan did talk about how a scrambler needed to be “reminded” about its own existence.)

...Which makes the Scramblers' reaction to humans’ signals make all the more sense. Here they were, doing perfectly well with their minimal necessary level of inward-attention hovering near zero, and something tries to encourage them to bring it back up. “What for? Did the the autopilot become suboptimal? Do we need to re-evaluate it?” - “No, just for the heck of it.”

So the signal acts as a two-pronged attack: 1) if they stay at near-zero inward-attention, they can’t comprehend the signal. They can waste as much time and energy as you like, and still not “decode” it. It’s a potentially endless energy sink. 2) if they crack the signal, it means the signal forced them into a high-enough level of inward-attention to "get” it. And if they try to pass this information on, they’ll be pushing the next Scrambler to go into that state too. (Unless they don’t pass on the message, and instead tell everyone “it’s garbage” and drop back down to their near-zero inward-attention. Which is what they apparently did in the end.)

((Side note: Can / does inward-attention act as a “parasite”? Does it refuse to shut down once activated? To me, that doesn’t seem right. In a well-calibrated organism, it should be able to detect when it’s no longer needed, and shut back down. That’s part of its job. And in a less well-calibrated organism, what else can help it self-correct and recalibrate? I can think of some counter-examples, cases where it would try to hang on and overstay its welcome. But I think Scramblers are optimal enough that it shouldn’t apply. And humans... ...y’kno’wha, I won’t try to get into that right now, that’s a whole separate train of worms.))

For bonus points, gonna try to decode “I enjoyed it” from a minimal-inward-attention standpoint.

“I attended to an internal signal that indicated a boost to my genes’ chance of survival/proliferation.“

...no, won’t try to go beyond that right now. Would need to further parse “I / my“, “attend“, maybe “internal signal“.

......can take “attend” out of the equation: “It resulted in an internal signal that indicated a boost to my genes’ chance of survival/proliferation.“ This can actually be useful intel on how to boost survival odds, if it’s difficult to get the information from the environment directly. (E.g. "I ate an apple, it tasted as if it made me stronger” is an (indirect) cue that maybe you should eat apples too. Though “I ate an apple and now I’m stronger” would be a better indication, and a controlled study on the effect of eating apples would be better still.)

Of course, if “it” refers to something whose only effect is to change an internal state (e.g. art or music), then a being with already-optimized internal states would (at best) shrug it off, and (at worst) have its well-tuned internal processes thrown off.