#I’m used to being in large amounts of pain for extended periods of time but what I went through there was on an entiredly different level

[liethrasir]

I have finally fully returned— Is what I would like to say, but I realized that today is Thursday and it’s four thirty. Meaning the obnoxious weekend crap is coming, and on top of that I’m still drained after yesterday fuck. BUT. I will be around here and there tonight if I get the chance. Just don’t expect much out of me.

[luckgods]

Why all the white guys in whump?

I got Inspired by a post asking that question, and here we are. Warning: long post ahead.

I think it’s due to a combination of factors, as things frequently are.

The preference for / prevalence of white male characters in fandom is well-known and has been examined pretty thoroughly by people already.

What’s worth noting for discussing this tendency in whump in particular is that the ‘whump fandom’ itself is not a ‘fandom’ in the traditional sense of being made of fans of one single source narrative (or source setting, like a particular comics fandom, or the Star Wars extended universe) with pre-existing characters. Although subsets of traditional fandoms certainly exist within the larger whump fandom, a lot of whump is based on original, ‘fan’-created characters.

So, given the tendency of ‘traditional’ fandoms to create stories disproportionately centered on white male characters due to the source material itself being centered on white male characters (and giving more narrative weight to them, characterizing them better, etc), if we say hypothetically that the whump fandom is split say 50/50 between ‘traditional’ fandom works and original whump works, you’d expect to see a higher number of works focused on white men than the demographics of the ‘traditional’ fandom’s source work would predict, but not as extreme of a divergence between the source material & the fanworks as the one you’d see if whump fandom were 100% based on popular media.

However, that doesn’t quite seem to be the case. Whump stories and art remain focused on overwhelmingly male and frequently white characters, which means that the tendency of the fandom to create stories disproportionately centered on white male characters cannot be ONLY explained by the source material itself being centered on white male characters (and giving more narrative weight to them, characterizing them better, etc).

And, having established the fact that whump writers & artists presumably have MORE control over the design of their characters than writers & artists in ‘traditional’ fandoms, we have to wonder why the proportions remain biased towards men, & white men in particular.

—

The race thing is pretty simple in my opinion. Mostly, it’s just another extension of the fanbase’s tendency to reflect the (predominantly US-American, on tumblr) culture it exists in, which means that, in a white-centric culture, people make artworks featuring white people.

There’s also the issue of artists being hesitant to write works that dwell heavily on violence towards people of color due to the (US-American) history of people of color being violently mistreated. I’ve actually seen a couple of posts arguing that white people SHOULDN’T write whump of nonwhite characters (particularly Black characters) because of the history of actual violence against Black bodies being used as entertainment, which means that fictional violence against Black people, written by white people, for a (presumed) white audience, still feels exploitative and demeaning.

I'm not going to get into all my thoughts on this discussion here but suffice to say that there's probably an impact on the demographics of whump works from authors of color who simply... don't want to see violence against people of color, even non-explicitly-racialized violence, and then another impact from white authors who choose not to write non-white characters either due to the reasons stated above, or simply due to their personal discomfort with how to go about writing non-white characters in a genre that is heavily focused on interpersonal violence.

Interestingly enough, there’s also a decent proportion of Japanese manga & anime being used as source material for whump, and manga-styled original works being created. The particular relationship between US-American and Japanese pop culture could take up a whole essay just by itself so I’ll just say, there’s a long history of US-Japanese cultural exchange which means that this tendency is also not all that surprising.

—

GENDER though. If someone had the time and the energy they could make a fucking CAREER out of examining gender in whump, gender dynamics in whump, and why there seems to be a fandom-wide preference for male whumpees that cannot be fully explained by the emphasis on male characters in the source text.

I have several different theories about factors which impact gender preference in whump, and anyone who has other theories (or disagrees with mine) is free to jump in and add on.

THEORY 1: AUTHOR GENDER AND PERSONAL EXPERIENCE.
 Fandom in general is predominantly female, although these days it might be more accurate to say that fandom is predominantly composed of cis women and trans people of all genders. However, pretty much everyone who isn't a cis man has had to contend with the specter of gendered violence in their real personal life. Thus, if we posit whump (and fandom more generally) as a sort of escapist setup, it's not hard to see why whump authors & artists might willfully eschew writing female whumpees (especially in the case of inflicted whump), because (as in the discussion of people of color in whump above), even violence towards women that is explicitly non-gender-based may still hit too close to home for people whose lives have been saturated with the awareness of gender-based violence.

THEORY 2: SICK OF SEXY SUFFERING.
 Something of an addendum to theory 1, it's worth noting that depictions of female suffering in popular media are extremely gendered (in that they specifically reflect real-life gender-based violence, and that said real-life violence is almost exclusively referenced in relation to female characters) and frequently sexualized as well. There's only so many times you can see female characters having their clothes Strategically Ripped while they're held captive, being sexually menaced (overtly or implicitly) to demonstrate How Evil the villain is, or just getting outright sexually assaulted for the Drama of it all before it gets exhausting, especially when the narratives typically either brush any consequences under the rug, or dwell on them in a way that feels more voyeuristic and gratuitous than realistic and meaningful. All this may result in authors who, given the chance to write their own depictions of suffering, may decide simply to remove the possibility of gendered violence by removing the female gender.

THEORY 3: AUTHOR ATTRACTION. 
I'll admit that this one is more a matter of conjecture, as I haven't seen any good demographic breakdowns of attraction in general fandom or whump fandom. That said, my own experience talking to fellow whump fans does indicate that attraction to the characters (whether whumpers, or whumpees) is part of the draw of whump for some people. This one partially ties into theory 1 as well, in that people who are attracted to multiple genders may not derive the same enjoyment out of seeing a female character in a whumpy situation as they might seeing a male character in that situation, simply because of the experience of gendered violence in their lives.

THEORY 4: ACCEPTABLE TARGETS.
 The female history of fandom means that there's been a lot more discussion of the impacts of depicting pain & suffering (especially female suffering) for personal amusement. Thus, in some ways, you could say that there is a mild taboo on putting female characters through suffering if you can't "justify" it as meaningful to the narrative, not just titillating, which whump fandom rarely tries or requires anyone to do. This fan-cultural 'rule' may impact whump writers' and artists' decisions in choosing the gender of their characters.

THEORY 5: AN ALTERNATIVE TO MAINSTREAM MASCULINITY.
 Whump fandom may like whumping men because by and large, mainstream/pop culture doesn't let men be vulnerable, doesn't let them cry, doesn't let them have long-term health issues due to constantly getting beat up even when they really SHOULD, doesn't let them have mental health issues period. Female characters, as discussed in theory 2, get to ("get to") go through suffering and be affected by it (however poorly written those effects are), but typically, male characters' suffering is treated as a temporary problem, minimized, and sublimated into anger if at all possible. (For an example, see: every scene in a movie where something terrible happens and the male lead character screams instead of crying). So, as nature abhors a vacuum, whump fandom "over-produces" whump of men so as to fill in that gap in content.

THEORY 6: AMPLIFIED BIAS.
 While it's true that whump fandom doesn't have a source text, it's also true that whump fans frequently find their way into the fandom via other 'traditional' fandoms, and continue participating in 'traditional' fandoms as part of their whump fandom activity. Bias begets bias; fandom as a whole has a massive problem with focusing on white male characters, and fans who are used to the bias towards certain types of characters in derivative works absolutely reproduce that bias in their own original whump works.

—

I honestly think that there is greater bias in the whump fandom than anyone would like to admit. Maybe I'm wrong, but it seems as though whump fans avoid introspection and discussion of the issue by bringing up the points I talked about in my previous theories, particularly discomfort with depictions of female suffering for amusement.

However, I think that, as artists, we owe it to ourselves and one another to engage in at least a small amount of self-interrogation over our preferences, and see what unconscious or unacknowledged biases we possess. It's a little absurd to argue that depictions of women as whumpees are universally too distressing to even discuss when a male character in the exact same position would be fine and even gratifying to the person making that argument; while obviously, people have a right to their own boundaries, those boundaries should not be used to shut down discussion of any topics, even sensitive ones.

Furthermore, engaging in personal reflection allows artists to make more deliberate (and meaningful) art. For people whose goal is simply to have fun, that may not seem all that appealing, but having greater understanding of one's own preferences can be very helpful towards deciding what works to create, what to focus on when creating, and what works to seek out.

—

GENDER ADDENDUM: NONBINARY CHARACTERS, NONBINARY AUTHORS. 
Of course, this whole discussion so far has been exclusively based on a male-female binary, which is reductive. (I will note, though, that many binary people do effectively sort all nonbinary people they know of into 'female-aligned' and 'male-aligned' categories and then proceed to treat the nonbinary people and characters they have categorized a 'female-aligned' the same way as they treat people & characters who are actually female, and ditto for 'male-aligned'. That tendency is very frustrating for me, as a nonbinary person whose gender has NOTHING to do with any part of the binary, and reveals that even 'progressive' fandom culture has quite a ways to go in its understanding of gender.)

Anyways, nonbinary characters in whump are still VERY rare and typically written by nonbinary authors. (I have no clue whether nonbinary whump fans have, as a demographic group, different gender preferences than binary fans, but I'd be interested in seeing that data.)

As noted above with female characters, it's similarly difficult to have a discussion about representation and treatment of nonbinary characters in whump fandom, and frankly in fandom in general. Frequently, people regard attempts to open discussions on difficult topics as a call for conflict. This defensive stance once again reveals the distaste for requests of meaningful self-examination that is so frequent in fandom spaces, and online more generally.

—

TL;DR: Whump is not immune to the same gender & racial biases that are prevalent in fandom and (US-American) culture. If you enjoy whump: ask yourself why you dislike the things you dislike— the answer may surprise you. If you create whump: ask yourself whose stories you tell, and what stories you refuse to tell— then ask yourself why.

[yuzukult]

i’m bad too 16 || kdy & reader

title: i’m bad too - drabble series pairing: kim doyoung x reader genre: angst, fluff, smut, goodboy!doyoung, nerdy!dy (basically he’s a dork) & badgirl!reader, hitman!au, oc-isn’t-a-hitman-but-she-could-be!au, word count: 1.8k warnings: none a/n: :D hope you guys enjoy!! taglist: @wownajaemin​​​ @crescent-iak​​​ @ncttboo​​​ @byunbaekby​​​​ @jinfizz​ @doyoungyoung​ @ahgayeah0305​ @doyobun​ @sexualitaeyong @mrkleelvr​ @m1ss-foodi3​ @hcwurld​

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Doyoung looks so pretty like this.

The space between his brows are crinkled in vexation, hair unstyled and brushing against his forehead with his lips pursed while focusing on the task at hand. He’s taken the day off of his internship for this, with approval from your brother, and plus, the way his eyes are sunken and the breakouts on his skin are appearing, it seems like he deserves to chill out for a bit.

But, he seems to refuse to do that, opting that his priority is to take care of you.

Doyoung hasn’t been back to his apartment other than just to grab the necessities—his business casual attire for work, underwear, some lounge clothes, and just things here and there that might be useful. But he hasn’t slept in the comforts of his own bedroom, no, instead he’s been sleeping at your side in your room.

“Would you stop squirming?”

“Well, you could say it’s a bit weird when someone else does it for you.”

Doyoung rolls his eyes. “Be cooperative. I’m trying to make it better.”

You puff your cheeks in agitation, stubborn because you’re not used to this much physical touch, despite the amount of times you’ve slept with Doyoung. There’s something about this that feels more intimate, not like a quick bang for pleasure, but rather he’s doing this because he cares about you.

“Steady. Just a little longer and we’ll be good.”

“You said that twenty minutes ago.”

“It has not been twenty minutes.” Doyoung isn’t that same soft boy you met months ago. He’s gotten intrepid, unabashed by any smart or sharp remarks that you throw his way, in fact, he dodges them or bites the bullet before resuming back to having you in his arms. “You think it’s been twenty minutes because you’re preoccupied with nagging about how you don’t like this happening.”

“It’s weird,” you state, tapping your fingers against the wooden frame of your bed as a distraction. You could use a cigarette, but somehow you managed to let a pretty boy like Doyoung convince you to stop. “I don’t like having people this close.”

“I’m literally just replacing your gauze.”

You frown. “It’s… intimate.” Doyoung can’t help but laugh, shaking his head at your response as he reaches for a fresh new gauze. “I thought you liked me.”

“I do, I just—”

“You won’t let your own boyfriend touch you like this?” He queries, and you’re starting to find yourself in this position often. He’d say something bold, something that he normally doesn’t do, and it leaves you feeling small like you used to do to him. Oh, how the tables have turned. He calls himself your boyfriend recently, despite not officially making it a label, but you like it. It feels… right, for once, like this is how it’s supposed to be.

“It’s not that,”

“Then you should just let me do this, yeah?” He tosses the old bandage into the trash. “Plus, we’re almost done anyways. Would you like to go on a walk after this? I kind of wanted to talk about something.”

Staying put, you inhale in a deep breath in surrender because you’re curious about what he wants to discuss. He remains focused, wrapping you once again, despite the fact that the staff at your house offers to do it since it’s their job, but Doyoung insists it’s his job as much as theirs.

After pulling your shirt down, he offers a hand, helping you transition over to your wheelchair, one you’ve grown to hate because it makes you feel helpless, and Doyoung takes you down the hall.

“There’s an elevator down the hall.”

“A what?”

“An elevator,” you reiterate, and Doyoung doesn’t move, feet rooted into the ground. “We don’t have many floors because we do have an elevator. Goes here, the lobby, basement, then the wine cellar.”

“There’s a wine cellar under your basement?”

“You don’t have one?” He knows it’s a joke, so he just shakes it off and heads over to the large metal doors. Your personality never showcases your wealth, and although he’s in your beautiful home with staff that fills up the majority of it, he still forgets the money you come from.

Naeun is still gorgeous, despite the bruises on her cheeks and the cuts that are scattered across her face.

She’s wiping her hands, after running them under the water in the sink, soaping up her previously flawless porcelain skin that’s now marked with the aftermath of another fight. “How are you feeling?”

“Could be better,” you admit, rolling around the kitchen in your wheelchair. “How are you feeling?”

“Bitchin’,” she states calmly, giving a thankful gaze in Doyoung’s direction when he slides over the first aid kit toward her. “Lover boy been takin’ care of ‘ya?”

“Wish he’d go home and take a break for once, but yeah. Good boy decided he wants to play nurse.”

“Why do you guys talk like I’m not here?”

The two of you shrug, waving him off as Naeun hops onto the granite countertop and begins tending to her own wound. “There’s been another attack,” you glare at her and Naeun only rolls her eyes. “He already knows, don’t act like he’s all innocent to this.” She dabs the remnants of blood on her lip before grabbing the disinfectant wipe. “Johnny’s dead, just so you know.”

“What? Johnny’s dead?”

“Nah, he’s undercover,” she winces at the impact of the alcohol against her open cut. “Fuck.”

You furrow your brows. “Why would you tell me that?”

“Just kidding, he’s dead.”

“Naeun,” you say sternly. She’s playing another game.

“Just kidding. I’m just testing your cognitive skills.” Searching for the neosporin, she gives a quick scoop of the ointment and applies it on. “Seeing if you can still think the same. I have a really bad itch that they’re gonna ask you to come back, love.”

“That doesn’t sound like something I’m interested in,” you’re pointing to all of your gunshot wounds. “Got a couple holes in my body that are still whistling when the wind blows.” Tilting your head, you’re trying to make out the expression on her face from underneath all that hair. “What’s with that look?”

She jolts her head at you. “What look?”

“You know something.”

“Other than Johnny’s death?”

“Naeun.”

“Alright,” she sighs, leaning back against her arms. You can’t help but notice the twitch in her lip, and it’s not from her cut. “Rumor has it, they’re going to try to initiate you again. This time, maybe not so nicely.”

“Even after I went through all that trouble? In case they’ve forgotten but I literally have holes in my body. I risked my life for the guy and here I am, sitting in a wheelchair, unable to fucking take a piss by myself, and he wants me to hop back on the field again?”

“You know how he is,” Naeun says apologetically, although none of this is her fault. She’s just the middle man, the bearer of bad news, and she’s only doing her job by protecting the Boss but you’re not even directly tied to the group, just simply a contractor. “He sees your capabilities, thinks you’re more than worthy, he wants to keep you. Seeing that you’re standing in front of the bullets, taking one for the team and protecting those who are part of us… it only makes him want you more.”

“But he can’t even wait?” You exasperate, baffled by his abruptness despite the fact you were still going through a recovery period. “I’m not even ready yet.”

“Well, he’ll give you some time—”

“You’re making it sound like it’s soon.”

She looks pained. “It… It is soon. He thinks the sooner you begin training, the better. You’ll be better equipped and—”

“I thought this was supposed to be temporary,” you state, voice firm. “I mentioned prior that this was simply a gig I needed to get by.”

“This was before you caught the mole. Before you put yourself in danger, protecting the members of the organization. You proved yourself more than capable, and he wants that. He wants you. You get the job done. Why do you think we keep coming back and hiring you? Because sometimes, you don’t even need a gun. You have your fucking head and that’s the weapon.”

“Well, I need a break.”

“There is no break.”

“Naeun, I almost died. To be quite frank, I don’t give a fuck what Taeyong says. I’m taking a break.”

The sunset is breathtaking; warm hues over the horizon, shining on the Good Boy’s face and only adding on to the fact that he’s also the golden boy. Seated on the picnic blanket beside you, he’s resting his weight back on his arms, eyes closed, soaking in the sun with a soft smile upon his face, inhaling in deep breaths to soothe his nerves. “This is nice. I’m glad you suggested it.”

You hate that you have to lean against this make-shift seat, back pressed on the trunk of the tree. But it hurts so bad to sit on your own; parts of your torso require you to straighten yourself because any slight bend stings. You desperately miss being able to function on your own—it’s so embarrassing asking your boyfriend to do things for you.

“You good?” He asks, turning over his shoulder to glance at you. “I hear you wincing.”

“I’m fine,” you mutter, adjusting yourself once more. “I’m just… getting comfortable.”

Doyoung sighs, finally picking up on your personality and habits by now, so he slides himself back just a bit and extends his legs. “Come here.”

You quirk a brow. “What?”

He pats his lap. “Come here. Lay your head on my lap, and enjoy the sun with me. We can soak in the warmth, and talk about what’s on your mind. Feels like you’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately and not a whole lot of talking.”

Conceding, it takes you a while but with Doyoung’s help, you’re finally laying—there’s less pain in this position, and you’re grateful he suggests it. He brushes your hair out of your face, a soft smile looking down at you that tugs on your heartstrings. “You’re probably thinking a lot.”

“I am,” he admits, pursing his lips. “Have been for a while.”

“Well… will you tell me?” You’d be lying if you said that Doyoung confessing he’s been pondering frequently doesn’t make you nervous. There’s always that possibility of him deciding that maybe this wasn’t for him—that taking care of you, learning you’re a sort of a hitman and part of some shady organization, or that your family owned the company that he worked at wasn’t… what he signed up for.

But that stupid grin doesn’t ever wipe off of his face. “What is it?”

And with a gentle voice, he says with a press of a kiss on the crown of your head, he says these words that have you levitating. “I love you.”

[dhaaruni]

I'm struggling with the feeling of being someone who, at this point, simply cannot die but has gotten closer than I care to admit at multiple points. I know this is something you've referenced a little before, but how do you come to terms with being alive in the aftermath of everything?

This has been sitting in my inbox for a while so I thought I'd take a stab at it today.

You're right, I do pretty regularly think about the Anne Carson quote, "I am someone who did not die when I should have died" since I never planned on making it to 27 and being like, healthy and functional and relatively happy and I think about more than I used to because of the levels of success I've been attaining of late. I wasn't actively suicidal for very long but I simply didn't want to be alive for extended periods of time in my late teens and early 20s and I also got very physically close to death a few times, which changes and ages you long before your time.

There's that John Darnielle quote that floats around every so often which comes to mind here:

“I don’t think that I accepted that I wasn’t gonna die young until I was 26 or 27. I really don’t think I fully…when I was 14, 15, 16, 17–I mean I knew as sure as I know that I am wearing green shoes that I was going to die before much happened. It was a certainty for me. And I had shaken off the directly suicidal urge by the time I was 21 or 22, but I still was pretty sure I was going to die pretty young, it really felt like an inevitability. It takes a long time to realize no, you’ve changed…if you shared those feelings with people at some point you go, ‘well, I guess we’re going to stick around.’ And it’s a funky thing to admit because there’s a part of your inner younger self that kind of judges you for that.”

And you could say I relate.

I’ve come to terms with most of the things I did and said when I was hurt but despite being healthier and happier than I’ve ever been, I’m sometimes still completely terrified that I’m going to bring about impenetrable darkness to those I love wherever I go because of the nature of my past, because of my history of violence against myself. I’m afraid that because of my long-standing existential despair, because of not wanting to be alive for a large portion of my life, there is nothing more to me than the pain that I felt, the pain that was often self-inflicted in more ways than one and that is all I can bring to the table. But I have come to realize, there is life after survival and no amount of fear and anger and abject sadness can take that away from me.

The thing about expressly not wanting to be alive for an entire decade is that you stop planning for a future that you don’t believe you’ll be around for. When I was 17, I was flying home from Boston and on that cross country flight, I distinctly remember thinking, who cares what college I get into because I’m not going to be alive to graduate anyway. I planned out what outfit I wanted to wear at my funeral and contemplated what color I would write my death notes to my loved ones and the weird thing is, I never called them suicide notes even to myself because that seemed far too intentional to me and some part of me was convinced that I was born to die young so I didn’t need to put in the effort to kill myself.

But I’m 27 now and that time still hasn’t come and I’ve stopped expecting it. Somewhere along the line, something changed within me, like a candle being snuffed out, and I just simply ceased believing in my long prophesied death and began desperately wanting to do and say and simply be as much I can in my time on this Earth.

However, as I'm sure you understand, some part of me sometimes hardcore judges myself for wanting to live so badly and doing so much to ensure my own survival, fighting until my knuckles are bleeding and burning what bridges have rotted and crying so much the salt dries out the skin on my cheeks. It feels gauche and pathetic and downright childish to be so doggedly determined to live but I’ve grown to accept that aspect of myself, the "silliness of living" as Voltaire once called it. The fragments of good, no matter how small, will always endure and I really believe that.

In any case, despite the sorrow that makes up the blood flows through my veins and all the inarticulable damage that has been done to and by me, I made a decision some years back to defend life complete with all its accumulated anguish, fury, confusion and most of all, its complete mundaneness. And so I go on continuing to do just that. So the answer to your question of how I come to terms with being alive is simply, I don't think about the details, and I go on living because I don't want to give the world the satisfaction of my snuffing out and I want my survival against many odds to be worth something.

[kaypeace21]

El and “post institutional syndrome” (psych analysis)

Before I go in depth with this condition. I wanted to discuss the unique real life case of Genie (whose experiences most closely resemble El ‘s) . And , because of this , could possibly give us insight on how El’s past may affect her psychosocial development .

“Genie had spent almost her entire childhood locked in a bedroom, isolated and ab*sed by her father for the first 13 years of her life. The social worker soon discovered that the girl had been confined to a small room, and an investigation by authorities quickly revealed that the child had spent most of her life in this room. The windows were curtained and the door was kept closed.” 

“At this time, she could only speak a few words -- including "stopit" and "nomore." 

“While her circumstances until that point were undeniably tragic, they also presented an opportunity for psychologists, linguists, and other researchers to study psychosocial, emotional, and cognitive development in an individual who had suffered from severe social isolation and deprivation. In particular, the discovery of Genie presented an opportunity to study whether a child who was past the so-called "critical period" for language acquisition could learn to speak a first language.”

“The case was important, said psycholinguist and author Harlan Lee, because ‘our morality doesn’t allow us to conduct deprivation experiments with human beings; these unfortunate people are all we have to go on.’

* Brenner not only kept her in isolation via her room but even put her through severe deprivation via solitary confinement as punishment. Putting her in a completely barren dark room for hours.UN Special Rapporteur Juan E. Méndez warned ,”Considering the severe mental pain or suffering solitary confinement may cause, it can amount to t*rture or cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment when used as a punishment,  indefinitely, or for a prolonged period, for persons with mental disabilities or juveniles.”

“After assessing Genie's emotional and cognitive abilities, Kent described her as ‘the most profoundly damaged child I've ever seen … Genie's life is a wasteland.’ She began to experience more developmental progress,  but remained poor in areas such as language.Susan Curtiss worked with Genie to teach her English. Genie soon developed a rather large lexicon and was able to express herself. But despite extensive training, she remained unable to produce grammatical sentences. Here is a transcript of one of her reports of her time in the hands of her father:

Father hit arm. Big wood. Genie cry ... Not spit. Father. Hit face—spit ... Father hit big stick. Father angry. Father hit Genie big stick. Father take piece wood hit. Cry. Me cry.”

“According to Lenneberg, the critical period for language acquisition lasts until around age 12. After the onset of puberty (at 13), he argued, the organization of the brain becomes set and no longer able to learn and utilize language in a fully functional manner.The case of Genie confirms that there is a certain window of opportunity that sets the limit for when you can become relatively fluent in a language. Of course, if you already are fluent in another language, the brain is already primed for language acquisition . If you have no experience with grammar, however, Broca's (an area of the brain) remains relatively hard to change: you cannot learn grammatical language production later on in life. But the abilities to understand language and produce language in ways that do not rely on grammar largely make use of Wernicke's area in the temporal lope. This area is capable of expanding and rewiring throughout life—even after the teen years. The case of Genie confirms this. Grammar was beyond reach for her. But language comprehension and storytelling were not.”

So El struggling with grammar in some sentences but not in others and  improving in grammar unlike Jennie- could possibly be because unlike Jeanie, El was 12 when rescued  vs Jeanie who was 13?

“Researchers were also  left to wonder whether Genie had suffered from cognitive deficits caused by her years of severe neglect or if she had been born with an ‘intellectual disability’.  Most believed,  the permanent mental impairments and ‘developmental delays’ Genie exhibited (upon being assessed ) were the result of the isolation and deprivation she was subjected to.”

For those confused about certain terms just used. “Developmental delays appear before 22 years of age. They are life-long disabilities that affect one or both physical and cognitive functioning. ‘Intellectual disability’ encompasses the “cognitive” part of this definition, that is, a disability that is broadly related to thought processes. People with intellectual disabilities are known for having below-average IQ/cognitive abilities . ID can be caused by a myriad of things- including physical and genetic factors, problems during pregnancy or at birth, health issues at an early age, exposure to environmental toxins, or non-physical causes such as lack of stimulation.”

*DISCLAIMER before we begin: I’m saying this now, cause I expect bad actors to try and cancel me. El , even if she has an intellectual disability- is still a human being with many aspirational character traits- that people can admire or aspire to have . She’s kind, selfless, brave, and resilient.  People with ID can still function and have jobs, make decisions, and learn new skills too. And they have human emotions like everyone else. if you are “offended” that I say a character you like  may have ID - and are pissy you related and empathized to a character that you would otherwise have  ‘othered’ cause they have an intellectual disability. Me, an autistic person, (who the fandom has bullied for being autistic) is not the ableist one for simply saying she may have an Intellectual disability .Being angry by the very idea a character you like has a condition  , and saying it’s “offensive”/”insulting to them” (is ableist). And  in a sense dehumanizes these people who are greatly underestimated and mistreated by society already. you don’t have to agree of course- but don’t try to smear me for stating my opinion based on the psych papers I’ll be discussing. I love El, and have a cousin with ID, so no this isn’t me insulting El. The Duffers said they wanted to give a voice to those “othered” by society- and people who aren’t neurotypical could easily be on the list. The Duffers having us love, relate, and  empathize with a character such as this wouldn’t be a bad thing- but good rep .So now I’ll continue with the evidence that alludes to El possibly having ID.

Post institutional syndrome

“In clinical and abnormal psychology, POST INSTITUTIONAL SYNDROME- refers to deficits or disabilities in social and life skills, which develop after a person has spent a long period living in remote institutions (such as orphanages). “

“Growing up in such an environment can change the brain for good.Institutionalization in early childhood can alter a child's brain and behavior in the long run.The ongoing nature of chronic neglect significantly impacts the brain in infancy and early childhood. It suggests that the specific ages of approximately 6−18 months old , may be especially sensitive to developing deficiencies in orphanage environments. “ (*Making El who was raised in such an environment since birth quite susceptible ).

“According to Perry (2002), neglect at this phase impedes formation of neurological pathways essential to communication in the brain. They found that early institutionalization changed both the structure and the function of the brain. Any time spent in an institution shrunk the volume of gray matter, or brain cell bodies, in the brain. Kids who stayed in the orphanages instead of going to foster care also had less white matter, or the fat-covered tracts between brain cell bodies, than kids who, at a young age, moved in with families.Staying in an orphanage instead of foster care also resulted in lower-quality brain activity as measured by EEG.”

“Neglect may be the most detrimental maltreatment type on brain development.A child’s neurocognitive and emotional development rapidly moves towards a downward spiral following extended time in an institution.Normal development may be disrupted by deprivation associated with neglect and can result in dysregulation of neural systems during vulnerable periods of brain development, leading to pronounced neurocognitive deficits due to maltreatment.There are many outcomes related to this disruption in brain development: delays in development of IQ , delays in language, cognitive delays that impact learning, and difficulty with behavioral inhibitions,  social emotional functioning and well as impaired attachment (Wilkerson, 2009; Barkley, 1997).”

 “Low-stimulation environments can lead to lower scores on intelligence and language tests. Neglect is the type of maltreatment most strongly associated with delays in expressive, receptive, and overall language development.interpersonal interaction is necessary for the acquisition of early language, and these interactions may be limited for children that have been in institutional settings or have experienced physical or emotional neglect.Speech and language delays along with social-emotional delays are very common as the child continues in the institutional environment.”

“Compared with youth that were not neglected, children demonstrated lower cognitive and language scores and more behavioral problems.Higher IQ could be predicted by language scores and an absence of externalizing behavior problems. When comparing the neglected children: shorter time spent in a stable environment, lower scores on language skills, and the presence of externalizing behavior problems predicted lower IQ.”

“The cognitive development of institutionalized children has been studied for more than 60 years. Between 1930 and 1950 a first wave of studies documented that children in institutions often showed a low IQ and severe language delays (Crissey, 1937; Durfee & Wolf, 1933), and children’s orphanages have been considered “natural experiments” on the necessary conditions for intellectual growth (MacLean, 2003).For example, Rutter (1998) found that the mean IQ of children leaving institutional care in Romania shortly after the fall of Ceausescu was about 50 (population mean = 100). Similar results were shown with Dennis in (1973) who addressed the question of how large the cognitive delay of children in orphanages was compared to children adopted into families. He studied children who were abandoned immediately after birth and were reared in children’s homes in Lebanon.Dennis found that at age 11, the average IQ of the adopted children was within the range of normally developing children, whereas the non-adopted 11 y old orphans still living in these institutions were diagnosed as Intellectually disabled.At his followup, when they were 16, these same girls at the Zouk institution had an average IQ going just above 50. While, In a meta-analysis of 75 studies, van IJzendoorn et al. (2008) found that children living in institutional care scored on average 20 points lower on intelligence tests than children who were raised in families.”

“These later studies also revealed that the percentage of time spent in institutional care was significantly and negatively correlated with full scale IQ, verbal, and memory scores. And that 12 years of institutional care, from birth to 12 years of age, showed placement into foster care did not increase iq points .The only cognitive improvement of placing these children in foster care at age 12 -was on working memory. While the only cognitive improvements of taking the children out of the institution by 8 years old was on processing speed. “

pics for proof if you don’t believe me-

* Meaning realistically El who was in such an environment (from birth to 12 years old)  may learn new things after being placed in foster care (like with Hopper or the Byers)-but her Iq would never improve to the point of being neurotypical-  she’d always have an intellectual disability.

Intellectual disability

“People with intellectual and learning Disabilities may have deficits in speech production . Impairment of speech production is among the most commonly reported difficulties in children, adolescents and adults with ID . The children,  including some with mild and moderate intellectual disabilities may lack in phonological development in their speech. These children also exhibit many articulatory deficits, delays in expressive language and show significant limitations in grammar and syntax development  compared to  those their age (without an iD). They often speak in subdued tones or use explosive voice modulations .Some speak quietly, while in others vocal intensity varied from utterance to utterance. “

“Intellectual disability is identified as mild , moderate, severe or profound.”

So, if based on average of Iq of children raised in orphanages (from birth to 11,12, or 16 years old). El would have a mild intellectual disability (and an Iq possibly around 50).Of those affected with ID, about 85% fall into the "mild" category.

Mild intellectuality disability disorder symptoms:

-”being fully independent in self-care when they get older (brushing teeth, dressing themselves, cooking, taking public transport, etc)”

-having problems with reading and writing (having math/reading skills between a 3rd- 6th grade level).

-having an IQ range of 50 to 69

-social immaturity

“Iq below 70 isn’t the only marker for diagnosis. But, also issues in adaptive functioning are usually used for diagnosis. Three areas of adaptive functioning are considered:According to the DSM-5 (APA, 2013), the signs and symptoms of adaptive functioning deficits across 3 domains (conceptual ,social and practical) for a mild intellectual disability are:

Conceptual Domain

”Slow language development (children learn to talk later, if at all). Or problems learning to talk or trouble speaking clearly.”

”Difficulties in academic learning ( such as having math/reading skills between a 3rd- 6th grade level).”

* El can read but still struggles with proper grammar ( verbally and through her writing) .She’s even reading an english-learning book.  Her unsteady handwriting/ lack of apostrophes hint she’s still learning to write (despite her reading abilities) .  And at 14 she doesn’t know what a state is-specifically  Illinois which she visited 6 months prior.

”Difficulty understanding  academic and abstract concepts of time “

*She didn’t start learning how to tell time until 12, and only seemed to master it at 14.

 “childish behavior inconsistent with the child’s age.”

*14 y old El and 5 y old Holly both having a thing for teddy bears, in s3/2.

”Problems with abstract thinking,  short term memory, and cognitive flexibility”. (”Abstract reasoning tasks include the ability to understand subjects on a complex level through analysis and evaluation and the ability to apply knowledge in problem-solving.”)

(”Cognitive flexibility has been described as the mental ability to switch between thinking about two different concepts, and to think about multiple concepts simultaneously.”)

*This one is a bit iffy, cause there’s a few explanations to the s3 example. El and Mike lie to their friends about her curfew.Yet the next day she is confused and says Mike wouldn’t lie to her - cause “friends don’t lie” All despite the fact she and Mike lied to Dustin, Max, Will, and Lucas the day before. So either she doesn’t understand the concept of hypocrisy because she lacks cognitive flexibility (or just doesn’t care about the hypocrisy)- aka her and Mike can lie to their friends, but she’s upset when they lie to her,  (and she’s fine if Mike lies to everyone but her) ?  Personally,I think she doesn’t grasp the concept of hypocrisy yet. Or she didn’t even realize she was lying and believed Mike was right about her curfew. Or bad writing. But given the concept of lying being prevalent to the season- I lean to Mike accidentally lying to her about her curfew (and El thinking her curfew was 4:00) . Or (more likely) El lies and doesn’t have the cognitive flexibility/abstract reasoning to understand that being upset Mike lied to her but not upset Mike (and her) lied to their friends is hypocritical.  She also lied to Mike and pretended she didn’t hear the confession at the cabin for 3 months. She ‘forgave’ Mike but she never noticed Mike didn’t even apologize for lying just being ‘jealous of Max’ (despite lying being the thing she was upset and dumped him over in the first place).  Anyways back on topic-

Social Domain

“Receptive language that may be limited to comprehension of simple speech and gestures.These students struggle to differentiate concrete and abstract concepts. Figurative language (metaphors, similes, idiomatic expressions, etc.) is typically quite confusing to them.”

“trouble understanding social cues”

“Limitations in language and communication skills.More concrete and less complex spoken language (if used), compared with peers. Limited vocabulary and grammatical skills.”

Practical Domain:

“May function age-appropriately in personal care (brushing teeth, dressing, going to the restroom etc).”

Early signs and symptoms of intellectual disability:

El has most of the signs...

-”Have trouble speaking or experiencing delays in speech, trouble understanding social norms,Challenges with problem-solving and logical thinking, Behavioral problems like extreme temper tantrums (breaking windows, pushing max, throwing food on Hopper and the girls in the mall), Having difficulty understanding the results of his or her actions (for instance like not understanding why spying on an ex is wrong).”

“If your child has ID, they may experience some of the following behavioral issues:aggression, Dependency, lack of impulse control passivity, stubbornness,low tolerance for frustration ,difficulty paying attention (She’s exhibited all of these).”

Other traits of Post institutional children

 “poor self concept” (One's self-concept is a collection of beliefs about oneself. Generally, self-concept embodies the answer to "Who am I?".)

“problems with coping and regulating emotions ,poor impulse control, and aggressiveness.”

“Studies have repeatedly shown that children with disrupted attachment who have experienced neglect have problems coping and managing emotions, “

“inappropriately demanding and clinging”                          

“indiscriminate friendliness”

“44% of institutionalized children showed high levels of indiscriminately sociable behavior as contrasted with 18% of children who had never been institutionalized.children who were indiscriminately sociable as 8-year olds were not indiscriminately sociable toward adults as 16-year olds; however, these children were indiscriminately sociable in their relationships with peers (those their own age). Thus, it is possible that indiscriminate sociability serves as a marker of later problems in social relationships, even though manifesting differently by the teen years.That friendliness was probably an important coping technique in their socially starved early lives. What's interesting is it just doesn't go away.Indiscriminate friendliness may also be tied to the amygdala. In a study using fMRI, Aviva Olsavsky, MD, at the University of California, Los Angeles, and colleagues found that when typical children (4-14 years old) viewed photos of their mothers versus photos of strangers, the amygdala showed distinctly different responses. In children who had been institutionalized, however, the amygdala responded similarly whether the children viewed mothers or strangers. That response was particularly notable among kids who exhibited more friendliness toward strangers. Attachment and behavior problems, indiscriminate friendliness, and lower IQ seem to go together in the same children.”

(We have to admit she attached herself rather quickly to Max, and Kali after only a few days, same goes for Mike and the boys she knew for only a week).

“cognitive delays, particularly speech and language deficits.” (we’ve covered that)

“quasi autism (is a term used to describe autistic-like difficulties and traits following very severe social deprivation in the first year of life.) About 10 % percent of the children adopted from Romanian orphanages after 6 months of age were diagnosed with autism sometime in childhood. And of those who stayed in the institution to age 11, 8.5% with an IQ >50 , fit the “quasi-autism” profile (meaning they fit some but not all autistic traits). The results showed  children with ‘autistic features’ usually experienced longer durations of severe psychological privation, than other orphans.”

El does have a few traits that some people on the spectrum have.

-” Many children with autism spectrum disorder (ASD) use echolalia, which means they repeat others' words or sentences. They might repeat the words of familiar people (parents, teachers, friends), or they might repeat sentences from their favorite video.”

(X)

-”Some children with ASD also have delayed speech and language skills.some children are even selectively mute. “

- ”Talk in a flat, robot-like tone” (obviously not all asd people. But I do think El’s voice in conversation can often be quite monotone).

 - Many autistic girls on the spectrum also have disordered eating patterns . This can include simply eating the same foods over and over again (cough her eggo obsession). And although “disorder eating” and “eating dis*rders” are different.”Previous research has found that autism and eating disorders can occur together, as 20-30% of adults with eating dis*rders have autism (despite being only 2.2% of the US population).”

-“Has obsessive interests” (her whole room is covered in Mike related stuff like he’s her special interest- my gay ass has no idea if a whole room covered in bf related stuff is ‘straight little girl normal’ or a bit obsessive- but I lean to the latter, especially when compared to Max’s room XD)

-” difficulty understanding social cues .” (covered that)

- “And she is sensitive to certain noises (thunder etc)”

 Alright, thanks for listening. Of course, this analysis is if the Duffers went the realistic route-which I do lean to them doing.  One of the stephen King movies “dream catcher” was cited as inspiration for Stranger things . It  even had a boy with ID who spoke in broken english, carried around stuffed animals, and had the superpower of being able to track people (just like El)  . And he retained broken english/his interest in stuffed animals in adulthood.Of course her fitting the psych criteria I listed could have other explanations.El can most certainly learn and improve in academic skills, language, and social skills even with an Intellectual disability. But honestly, even if El had an Iq of 160 she would (at least initially) struggle tremendously given the lack of education and neglect/ab*se she’s dealt with.But, I’m excited to see El gain independence as she learns more about herself and  the real world (and maybe heal from some of her tr*uma).

But if we’re talking academically-she doesn’t know basic geography or what a state is at 14.She’s still learning how to speak and write with correct grammar at 14.She only just mastered how to tell time at 14 . Does she even know how to add, subtract, multiple, and divide, let alone algebra (knowledge needed for highschool) ? Or basic science knowledge also needed ? No way would she’d be ready to go to highschool in s3 (like the others already attending, during the ending-time skip). If we were being realistic- she’d be held back a few years and or in remedial classes, or special school, etc. The kids in middle or highschool who don’t know her circumstances wouldn’t be understanding of why she has little knowledge of social norms, expressions, language issues,etc. El  has only interacted with 4 kids her own age for 3 months (9 months with Mike) and was in a year of isolation with Hopper (being taught social norms via tv- which is not the best teacher) .This was hardly ‘typical socialization for a kid her age’. Unlike, the rest of the gang who interacts with many kids on a daily basis.How will she be in an environment with this many kids? I wouldn’t be surprised if she was sadly bullied.Regardless, I’m looking forward to El’s character arc of trying to assimilate to the ‘real world’ as she grows into her own person-most likely  there’s some good in her journey and not just bullies along the way. :)

[luxekook]

THE SEVEN || prologue

⇥ pairing: ot7 x reader

⇥ genre: supernatural au with action, angst, smut, and (trace amounts of) fluff

⇥ summary: a series in which the reader fights to survive, attracts a powerful group of demons, and causes general mayhem in a post-apocalyptic new world

⇥ word count: 1.5k

⇥ warnings: nc17, *this fic has scenes of graphic violence*, demons, bloodshed, anarchy, general apocalyptic things, cursing, eventual poly relationship, a made-up language, hints of desire to own, brief mention of abuse, an attempt at world-building

⇥ beta reader: heathy @shadowsremedy​​ - thank u so much!!! i was holding off on beginning this fic for so long, and you really helped me move forward! uwu<3

Prologue

The world has completely gone to shit, I think to myself as my blade slices right through my opponent’s eye. The responding roar of the crowd reinforces that thought as the lifeless body slumps to the ground.

Removing my bloodied knife from the man at my feet, I stand, exhaustion kicking in after yet another adrenaline-fueled fight. Gazing out at the surrounding crowd of humans and demons, I narrow my sights on tonight’s guests of honor – the seven demons who would decide if my performance was deemed worthy enough of payment.

Raising my chin in defiance, my eyes meet those of the pompous greed demon of the Ahgase Seven. Lim Jaebeom lounges on a provisional throne flanked by his six brothers. Their combined beauty is ethereal but leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. 

How is it that creatures so prone to evil can be so lovely to look at?

After glancing briefly at each brother, I finally make eye contact with Jackson Wang, the Ahgase’s pride demon. He inclines his head with a satisfied smirk, simultaneously permitting my payment and ordering my swift dismissal.

The callous disregard of my efforts never fails to ignite a familiar burn of fury within me. I fight to the death to earn a week’s worth of food and shelter, and all I get is a fucking nod in response? Complete and utter bullshit if you ask me.

My teeth grind together as I give the slightest and stiffest bow possible in the Ahgase Seven’s general vicinity and stalk out of the Pit. Reminding myself that I actively choose this fate never really helps, given that the alternatives are equally as shit – if not more-so.

Basically, since the planet lost three-fourths of its population in the Reaping, the old capitalistic way of the world is no longer. Now, the main ways to survive deal with what you have to offer as a resource – your body, your skill, your labor, your loyalty. I choose to fight because, for me, it’s the soundest option.

My prior life had been sketchy at best. I had taught Krav Maga, a form of aggressive self-defense and reflexive fighting, to teens and young adults. I also had used Krav Maga (and other more nefarious methods) on abusive parents or guardians, bullies, or romantic partners - the very reasons my students came to my classes.

My resulting ambiguously gray background probably had influenced heaven and hell’s decisions to leave me behind. Still, killing hadn’t come easy for me in the beginning, but now it seems like second nature. In this new era, there are no rules, no moral codes, no winners, no losers. There are only survivors.

And I’ll be damned if I am not one of them.

Last year, the Reaping left us all in chaos and confusion. The supernatural had become natural. Heaven took those deemed worthy and let Hell deal with the rest. But, as it turns out, Hell was just as picky.

For a few days, demons ruthlessly reaped millions of humans and dragged them below the earth. And then the reaping stopped. The humans that remained were left with burned cities, abandoned homes and a complete absence of law. They were a ruthless bunch with questionable backgrounds and ambiguous morals. It honestly made sense that they were left behind – myself included.

The short period after the Reaping brought with it a general mayhem which resulted in looting, fires, and general destruction. The remainder of society was bare-boned, with only the richest areas having luxuries like running water and electricity. I referred to this time period – the lull before the demon Sevens took over – as the pseudo-Hunger Games. I legit had to pull a full Katniss Everdeen in order to stay alive during those two weeks.

Then, finally, the demons rose again.

The demons that rose were power-hungry and desperate to prove themselves worthy to rule over the New Earth. They looked human until you got too close and felt the negative energy that emanated from them. It's almost a built-in warning for those lower on the metaphorical food-chain not to get close to a source of potential harm.

By possessing a demon of each sin category, Sevens were able to bond together and max out their powers. Often, Sevens took on courts and consorts to siphon additional power, but my intel on demons was mostly built on speculation and rumors. The general consensus seemed to be that humans joined demon factions because of the promise of protection, food, and other resources. However, no one usually survived leaving a faction led by a Seven once they had declared fealty.

I vowed to never willingly enter into a Seven’s territory. My freedom and independence were the only things I had left to hold onto. And that was how I ended up in my current situation as a fighter in the Pit, the rough, man-made arena where fighters battle to the death for winnings while the audience bets furiously on their selected victor. No one had bet on me at first, but they learned quickly.

The Pit’s existence sprung out of desperation for distraction. Humans and demons alike needed some form of entertainment away from the monotony and death embedded within everyday life. Located within the Neutral Zone, the Pit provided humans the ability to earn a living and to make a name for themselves. Those that fought in the Pit were only lower on the human totem pole to the Pit Master and to the merchants in the Neutral Zone. Below the fighters were the scavengers, the workers, the peasants, and the lost.

Marching towards the exit gate, I nod to the next competitor to enter the arena – it might be the last I’d see of them. Pit Master Agra greets me as I step through the gate’s threshold and finally out of the public eye.

“Good work,” she forces a smile that only looks like she’s in pain, “But, next time make sure there’s more blood.”

I say nothing.

Agra takes my silence as acceptance and jerks her head at the empty hallway, indicating my second dismissal of the day. “You have one week until your next fight,” she predictably calls as I make my way down the tunnel towards my makeshift room located in the fighters’ dorms.

I wave a hand carelessly behind me in a sign of recognition. Damn, what I wouldn’t give to challenge her in the Pit.

Pausing outside my room, I struggle to unhook my necklace that held my key. The blood on my fingers still has not fully dried, and I grow increasingly frustrated. I just want to bathe, goddamnit.

“Allow me,” a deep voice purrs from behind me. I shudder as two hands suddenly brush my own away from their hold on the necklace. Warm fingers brush the nape of my neck as the sound of a slight inhale meets my ears.

Fuck, I hope this person isn’t smelling me because I am almost certain the combination of sweat and dried blood is extremely unpleasant.

“There,” the voice rasps, “All done.”

My necklace is gone from my neck, and I turn to retrieve it from whoever just assisted me.

“Oh, fuck,” I hiss, taking in the demon before me. His teal hair is wild and reminiscent of a blue flame. His black eyes are large and slanted, fixed on me with a peculiar expression I just cannot place. His clothes are expensive. I peer closer, inspecting the intricate details on his patterned top. Was that Versace? 

In this economy?

His arm extends to mine. My necklace dangles from one finger carelessly. “Here, mì shaìà (my pet).”

“My name is (y/n),” I grab the necklace and shudder when our fingers brush for a split second, “Not Mishaeya.”

The demon smiles. It’s large and boxy and completely predatory. “(Y/n). Mì shaìà. It doesn’t make a difference.”

Am I missing something? 

“Listen, demon-dude, I just killed someone like five minutes ago. Can you stop being cryptic and just tell me why you’re lurking outside my room?”

“Ah, yes,” he stalks closer to me. My back hits the door to my room. He licks his lips, “I was watching you. You are quite the fighter, little one.”

“Little?” I glance down at my thick and well-muscled self, “Mhm, okay.”

“Are you not scared of me, mì shaìà?” His hand cups my chin, thumb darting out to wipe some blood from the shallow cut across my cheek.

“Should I be?” I front like my heart isn’t beating out of my chest.

“Yes,” he smiles before sucking the droplets of my blood from his thumb. “Surely someone as exquisite as you should need protecting. I’m surprised no one owns you yet, (y/n).”

My back straightens, “No one owns me. No one ever will.”

The demon’s head tilts as he silently studies me for a few moments. He looks like he almost wants to say something before he steps back and bows. “Sleep well, mì shaìà. I will be seeing you again.”

I gape as he walks away from me. A thought strikes me. “Hey!” I call after him, “What’s your name?”

He answers without looking back or breaking his stride, “V.”

a/n: i made up Deìthi, the language that the demons use in this story. i will keep a running list of translations at the bottom of each chapter as well as putting initial translations in parentheses following the first usage of the word.

Deìthi (The Language of Demons) Translation List:

Mì shaìà - My pet

© luxekook. please do not repost, modify, edit or translate.

[hardyimagines]

Oblivious

SHORT AND SWEET

Bane being confused over reader’s period.

——————————————————————

It was late at night. The bed creaked beneath your shifting weight as you rolled from one side of the bed to the other. The fan that swirled above the pair of your slumbering forms did nothing to soothe your body as sweat spread along your skin, a thin layer draped over you like the sheet you kicked at every few seconds.

Bane was curled up behind you, knees pushed against the backside of your legs and arm hooked over your waist as he slept soundlessly. Apart from the heavy breaths that airily left the mask and left him sounding like a character from Star Wars, he was silent. You were the noise maker, moaning and groaning in your sleep as you flipped and flopped, agonizingly uncomfortable. The sheet was around your shoulders, then your waist, then kicked off to drape only over his body until you’d sleepily drag it back up to your chin and shiver beneath it. A few seconds later and you’d been hot again.

The small cottage was your’s and your’s alone. Bane had his own home, but yours offered more comfort. More privacy. More.. walls. He lived in a sewer, a place of semi-choice that he hadn’t complained about until he’d met you and you’d told him he could spend the night whenever he wanted. He’d taken advantage of that offer and was at your house nightly. The house wasn’t big by any means. It had a kitchen, which you kept insanely clean. The windows constantly looked as if they were propped open, smudgeless and clear. The countertops practically sparkled and the dishes were never left out on the countertops or in the sink. Sometimes he wondered if you even used them. Not once had he seen a dish or even a drawer left cracked open.

There was a small hall, lined with crooked framed photographs, hung along the length of the wall. Most of the pictures contained only you or old captures of your parents, who you never saw anymore. There was one of a wilted flower. And one of an abstract painting. There was no particular flow to your home, no theme or strict color. No set feel to it. It was random. You had plants tucked away in every crevice of the house. Knick-knacks lines the shelves on the walls. You had a variety of clocks throughout your home, but those had been a sense of comfort, the quiet and relaxing ticking of the minute hand as it circled the length of its home endlessly. You’d purchased the clocks before you’d met Bane. How were you meant to know you were going to have a boyfriend almost instantly — one who actually talked quite a bit and filled the silences better than the soft ticking of the clocks.

The window in the corner of your white-painted bedroom, the simplest and emptiest of the house, was propped open, hot air blowing through and lifting the sheer gray curtain before it drifted back down at a slow pace to return to its original position, lazily swaying against the floor. You huffed underneath your breath before this time rolling to face the man who typically woke up and rubbed your back until you’d drift into a deep slumber. Tonight was different.

Bane lifted his head when your rolling wouldn’t stop. His hand was gentle as it pressed against your warm forehead, ignoring the sticky beads of sweat that evaporated against his palm. He stared down at you, eyes creasing with his would-be smile. The man drew his thumb down to your cheek before letting the pad of his finger brush over your chin, delicately pulling it down as he eyed your parted lips. What he would give to kiss them..

His life.

The man moved closer to you, big arm flexing in the slightest as it curled around your waist. He rolled further on to his side, slightly settled on his front. His trousers stuck to him, luring his attention south. He could comfort you in a moment. His free hand slipped between your body and his own, feeling the front of his slacks uncertainly. He expected the strange feeling to be in his head, but when his fingers grazed the wet material of his pants, he rolled over and blindly searched for the light switch.

The golden bulb flickered before illuminating the small room. You were laid on your stomach, one leg bent out to the side and the other extended out completely. Bane was staring down at his crotch, completely speechless at the red stain that marked the front of his pants. He blinked once and then twice, attempting to think of a reasoning for the strange liquid that he’d somehow managed to get into while sleeping. Was he bleeding? His hand pinched the hem of his pants. Dragging them open, he peered inside, more confusion draining him when he realized that he wasn’t bleeding, not in the slightest. His soft eyes slid to you, ready to wake you and inform you of the situation, see if you could help him figure out what the hell was going on. The man had never felt such fear in his life, not until those big, curious, blue, innocent eyes met your back. He caught sight of the same red stain on your pants. His brows pulled together, a deep etch forming between his brows. What the hell was going on?

Bane’s fingertips pressed against your back, stroking it slowly as he sat up. Hunching over, he pinched the material of your pants and pulled on them slightly so that the material was flattened. “Jesus Christ.” He uttered. You let out a soft hum of distaste. Not only was the light on and Bane was touching you, but he also felt the need to talk?

“Y/n.” He shook you softly. His palm curled around your shoulder, delicately shaking you as firmly as he could. “Y/n!” He tried again, his voice only slightly louder. The worry doubled at your lack of response. “Y/n, you’re bleeding!” The innocence that’s dripped in his tone was sweet. He was worried about you, large hand curled in your pants as he studied the stain. At first, he thought he’d severely hurt you. Having sex and going directly to sleep afterward had just given him the horrible thought that he’d.. severely damaged you.. and yet, somehow, it seemed way worse than that because, as he stared at your twisted features, he could tell you were still in an immense amount of pain. Surely sex pain would’ve faded by now.. or at least it wouldn’t bother you while you were trying to sleep. Your eyes fluttered open, completely oblivious to the fact that not only had you bled through your slacks, but you’d bled on your boyfriend. Bane was a picture. His eyes held more emotion than any set of eyes you’d ever seen. He was staring down at you in fear, like he’d just seen you take your head off and put it back on. “You’re bleeding.” He repeated.

Those words were dreaded by every woman, you were sure of it. Your eyes fluttered open fully and without hesitation, you sat up. For someone to inform you of a heavy situation such as this, it left your insides trickling with hot embarrassment. “Fuck..” You whispered. The stain was on the bed too. You felt your cheeks growing hotter by the second and your eyes stung from the building tears. How could this happen!

Bane’s hand moved to your own. He took it carefully before climbing off of the bed and helping you with him. “Did.. did I do this to you?” He asked. His hand moved to your back, caressing it slowly before he pulled you along with him to the bathroom across the hall. The bathroom was brightly lit, the only bulb in the house that refused to burn out. He lifted the toilet lid before ushering to your pants. “Take those off, I’ll wash them for you.”

You were stunned by how helpful he was being, in a trance as you followed him to the bathroom. Part of you was focused on trying to prevent yourself from crying and the other part was focused on Bane’s words. “Wait.. baby..” You pushed your hands into your waistband before pushing the material to the floor and lowering yourself down on the toilet. “Did you just ask me if you caused this?”

Bane, doing his best to hide the fact that your blood was also smeared on his trousers, turned away from you and busied himself with heading back into the bedroom so he could gather the bedding and wash it. “Yes.” He answered. He could hear you loud and clear as he sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled off his pants. Waiting for your inevitable ‘yes, you did do this’, he closed his eyes for only a second before gathering the materials and carrying them to the washer which was right next door to the bathroom. He put on a new pair of sleepwear before making his way back into the bathroom to get your dirty clothes.

“Honey..” You shifted on the toilet seat shyly before shaking your head in mild amusement. It was hard to be embarrassed when the man you loved was oblivious to what was going on. “You didn’t do this. Women’s bodies, they do this once a month.” Your brows furrowed as he left the room once again, filling the washer with all of the clothing before he started the machine and moved back into the bathroom. He looked so confused.

“Your body.. makes you bleed?” He sounded like a child. He stepped back into the room, large hand circling the doorknob. He pulled it shut behind him before moving over to the bathtub and turning on the faucet so the warm water could fill the basin. You watched him for a few moments before clearing your throat.

You wanted to explain it to him simply. “It’s my body’s way of saying I’m not pregnant.” You offered up with a shy smile before rising from the toilet after you’d flushed. Stepping into the hot water, you sent him a grateful smile before wrapping your arms around your bent knees. You were still wearing your shirt, the material was wet the second the water rose up high enough to touch the end of it. Bane narrowed his eyes slightly. Why had he never heard of a woman bleeding periodically?

The man stepped toward the tub before crouching down beside it. His hand lifted to press against your hot back, stroking the length of your skin slowly. “Is there anything I can do?” He made a mental note to use the cracked computer later to do some research about these monthly visits.

“You’ve done more than enough, baby.” You assured him. “I just want to clean up and then try to get some sleep.” He could tell how baggy your eyes were, how groggy you were acting and droopy your entire body seemed. Your head turned to the side, temple pressed against the top of your knees as you eyed the seemingly intimidating, masked man who crouched beside the tub shirtless and big. He looked like he was ready to fight off your cramps, your headaches, any discomfort that came your way. Your heart tightened. Opening one adm, you draped your damp skin around his broad shoulders, sweetly pulling him into you so your mouth could graze his mask. You wanted, so badly, to kiss those pink, plump lips of his. But you knew you couldn’t, do your lips brushed to the exposed areas of skin on his face, kissing each area slowly, lingering without a care. His eyes fluttered, savoring the little gestures of affection. He knew you wanted a kiss from him and he hated that he couldn’t give it to you. But now was not the time to focus on the negatives, you were so appreciative for him, you wanted to show that in the best way you could. So, your lips continued their journey along his skin, fingertips caressing the back of his head as the hot water you were submerged in soothed your aching stomach.

———————————————————————

Tagged: @willowick13 @pansexualginger @heyitscam99 @haroldpain @justrepostandlove @emerald-bijou u @multireality @innerpaperexpertcloud @goodiesintheclosetlove @giftofdreams @ihclipse @inkedfandom @thatsamegirl @doct0rstrange @jakechillenhaal @shanty-lol @centerhabit @clevertheoristpainter @favouritereadings @badmaax @thephuonganh @wewillfindourwaythere

@uhhhemilyrose @scarrasco1325 @bignastyfan-nz @hot-and-spiceyyy @azayamari @shane-isa-shame @lonewolf471 @crldrr @keeleyella @overitall2018 @lovebitesimagines @eddieisasnack @axxl-rose @slytherintothedeep @lucreziaborgiatheunholyfamily @demoncrypt1066 @captainbuckyboobear @phire23 @orphiceseum @advictedtohim @uncreativezx

[icyowl]

A/B/O Worldbuilding

Every omegaverse author has their own spin on the idea, so here is mine! Feel free to use the ideas in your own writing. I really love world building as a whole as well as the omegaverse concept, so it kind of spiraled out of control ;).

These are just my own ideas so please don’t come after me if you don’t agree with something. I’m not asking anyone to use these ideas over their own.

It’s 9 pages so I’m putting the rest under a read more.

BIOLOGY:

What makes dynamic individuals different from others is the enlarged and highly developed limbic system. This part of the brain controls emotions, memory, and the endocrine and some of the olfactory reception. This is why they are so hormonal, experience deep emotional connections, and depend on smell for lots of information gathering and processing. It also explains why changes in hormones go along with changes in a person’s smell. The link to memory could mean that reincarnation may play a part, though researchers are still investigating.

Males are alphas or betas, females are betas or omegas. A person’s dynamic can be mutually exclusive to their personality, so you can have a really brutish and headstrong woman (such a personality does not always mean “alpha”), she’s just more likely to be a beta rather than an omega.

Both sexes have scent glands. Depending on the sex, the glands will be slightly different shapes, sizes, and in different locations (infographs at the end).

Males have canines and claws that extend during excitement or high emotion. If the canines extend far enough, they cause the gums around the teeth to split and bleed. The size, shape, and curvature of the fangs varies from person to person.

Omegas have canines and claws, but they are much smaller.

Rarely a person will have two sets of fangs, their canines and their lateral incisors. These people are always alphas.

Omegas have a “terror-mone” that is automatically emitted when she experiences extreme fear. It is very potent and far-traveling, and the idea is to alert others to come to her aid and overwhelm the opposing alpha’s senses until he backs off. People liken it to pouring bleach down their throat and in their eyes or getting pepper-sprayed.

Scent changes upon a person’s emotions.

Pheromones are emitted from scent glands. Pheromones are processed as a smell and therefore are a kind of scent, but are not directly linked with a person’s emotions. For example, even if an alpha is scared, he can produce comfort pheromones for those nearby.

Scent glands are very complex, high-value organs. They produce a person’s pheromones, scent, hold a mark, and are linked directly with a person’s mental and physical state because of the high density of nerve endings. Rather than check under the tongue or forehead for temperature, the most accurate way is to press the scent glands. Because of the nerve endings found there, they are sensitive to touch and overstimulation.

Scent glands sometimes need to be expressed in order to expel the build-up of pheromones in the blood. This is done via deep pressure or puncturing the skin with fangs or claws. The most effective place is the large scent gland on the neck but any scent gland will work. It is usually done by the significant other since the originator craves that physical intimacy and emotional closeness, but in their absence the person will do it themselves with their claws or by simply massaging the area.

If not expressed, the expired pheromones will build up in the blood and eventually cause anxiety, blurred vision, very high or low temperature, exposing canines and claws, intense trembling, and lethargy to the point of passing out. Essentially the person becomes very sick. The scent glands become puffy, sensitive, and the skin turns rosy as if sunburned.

Males produce venom from their canines and claws. Others of the same rank will be adversely affected by it, but those of the opposite rank are positively affected. The venom alphas produce can cause omegas to become catatonic if present in large enough quantities.

In extreme cases, alphas can go into R.I.L.A (Rut Induced Loss of Awareness), whereby they lose awareness of who they are, where they are, and what they should and shouldn't do. It’s a crazed trance-like state where reasoning is impossible and they act without inhibition.

Scenting is when one person wants to outwardly show everyone that someone is taken by them. It involves rubbing a person’s scent onto the skin of the other’s scent glands and body in general. This rubbing looks like nuzzling when done with the face, but can be done with any part of the body really. For two people to rub scent glands together is a very powerful experience. It strengthens bonds and dissuades outsiders from attempting to court one of them. An alpha’s desire to scent is stronger than an omegas, but they both do it. The desire to scent someone is an infallible sign that they have feelings for the person.

Marking is when an alpha intends to devote himself to that person for the rest of his life. The urge only develops when there is an extremely intimate bond between two people, and also involves emotional ties. Marks do fade and need to be replaced. There are creams that help the mark last longer, and people can buy an expensive contraption that has the dental impression of the alpha and can create a mark-like impression, but there is no scent of the alpha and it doesn’t last as long as the real thing. Nevertheless, people use it--on the daily, sometimes--when the alpha is gone for a long period of time. Omegas can mark too, but don’t really have an urge to do so. Marking can be done by the parents when the child is young and looking for comfort, but is done on the arm or wrist typically instead of the neck, as is typically used by romantic partners.

Marking isn’t for life, since marks need to be updated, but they do insinuate a very strong bond with the intentions of being long-term, since marks last about a year. You also feel that person’s emotional state while the mark is active, so you’re committing to that when you mark. 

A mark may not last as long as normal if the omega is stressed. The increased adrenaline pulls the remnants of the alphas venom out of her system more quickly and some may not last six months given the right stressors.

Marking works because he gives her his venom, and she gives him her blood, so the omega doesn’t need to also mark the alpha, but sometimes will in the heat of the moment. Through scent glands the emotions of that person can be felt by the other, because scent glands contain high concentrations of nerve cells.

Even if an omega is already marked, the feeling of being marked is the same as the first time if it's by the same alpha.

If an omega is marked by another alpha while the previous mark is still strong, the omega will experience extreme pain as the two opposing venoms fight for dominance. It can take days, but one will always win. The venom of the alpha the omega is more attached to has a better chance of winning the battle, but it isn’t always certain.

Once a person has been marked (especially for the first time) the bond between the two is exceptionally fragile and should be carefully fostered by time spent together and physical contact.

Eyes dilate in response to many things. Typically it is a sign of physical relaxation in response to affection. It is also a major sign of trust, since severe dilation can cause the vision to blur. Dilation can be forced though, for instance when copious amounts of pheromones are in the air.

Preening refers to when a person is showing off to their significant other, and the physical change a person goes through when another person notices and/or appreciates their efforts. The face becomes flushed, they’re eyes may dilate, and muscles tighten in an effort to flex. Claws and fangs will lengthen in an effort to show physical fitness. Males preen to show their prowess and fitness to the female. Females focus on the dedication of a male to care for her needs, but canines are a symbol of the male’s ability to protect her, so when males preen, their canines drop and aren’t usually easy to retract.

Purring occurs when a person is either very content or wishes to make another person content. A person can talk while this is happening, but it can be difficult to understand. Omegas have a special frequency of purr that promotes healing and stress-relief.

There is a kind of deeper purring that only occurs between a pair of deeply bonded, typically romantically involved, individuals. It is a subconscious choice, so the first time a person does it, it usually comes as a surprise. Because it takes more muscles (the diaphragm, chest muscles, lungs, and larynx all work together) a person is more incapasitated than with normal purring, so it carries a connotation of deep trust in the receiver. Usually only alphas do this, but omegas can do it too. Because the muscles associated with talking are all occupied, it can make talking nearly impossible.

Glating (from the latin “gadio” for sword) is an intimidation tactic used between alphas so they may not have to resort to physical violence. It can also be used to prove an alpha’s rank to another so they are seen as a serious competitor/threat. This also affects a person’s ability to talk. It is an involuntary reaction like blinking, so trying to stop one’s self from doing it is a challenge. The term comes from the intense volume, causing it to reverberate around the surrounding area.

When omegas feel an overpowering urge to protect something they can become “theta”, where their reflexes and willpower skyrocket and they become little crazed animals

Children first present around 18/19 years of age, and experience their first heats/ruts about a year later. Over the span of a week or so they get extremely uncomfortable in their own skin. Their temperature rises and their gums become inflamed, tender, and swollen. Senses randomly sharpen before going back to normal. When they finally “tune”, it happens in a single instance. The body temperature peaks until they literally steam. The influx of emotions, senses, and hormones means they flee until they feel safe. It normally doesn’t last more than a couple hours. Typically, alphas will have an intense need to protect that which they consider part of their territory. It may be a person like a sibling, a girlfriend, or a parent, or it may be a location like their house or the nest of someone they love. Omegas feel insecure and unsafe and look to be with someone they feel safe with. Omegas won’t even want to leave that person’s arms.

Traumatic or transformative moments can force a person to change presentations. Sometimes the change is permanent, sometimes it lasts only a little while (weeks or months). They are referred to as “alternate alpha/omega/beta”.

Bunting is the term for a kind of head-butting, similar to what cats do, that works as a subtle yet deep sign of affection.

Moroi is a term for the sickness that overcomes a person’s body when intense negative emotions stem from one’s mate (i.e. rejection, cheating, fear of that person, falling out of love). It comes from the mythological term for a phantom ghost that leaves its grave to drain energy from the living. Side effects include extreme lethargy and phantom chest pains. The severity varies and the treatment is supportive care (rest, fluids). Some may even fall into a resting trance of sorts. It is very rare that a person dies, but sometimes the extreme phantom pains never go away.

A person’s smell changes depending on how they feel. It may be neutral (clean linens), happy, sad, angry, fearful, physical pain (copper or metallic), love, etc.

Every male possesses a knot. 

Tonic immobility (aka ‘megaspace or the Rapture) is the term for how an omega becomes placid, calm, and compliant. It happens when lots of alpha pheromones act as a depressant to the brain by ‘bleeding out’ from the limbic system to the rest of the brain. It happens more easily when the alpha is someone she has great trust in. The depressant side-effect means the omega experiences an addicting calm-high. Alphas can experience this to an extent, but not with the same intensity. There is a problem with omegas experiencing tonic immobility and then, unable to have it again for whatever reason, turns to drugs and/or become prostitutes in an attempt to reach that high again.

Going feral is the layman's term for the very beginning stages of R.I.L.A.. It isn’t nearly as dangerous as the real thing but should certainly be recognized so that the alpha doesn’t drop further into his instincts. It’s how alphas prep their bodies for battle by flooding the system with testosterone and other chemicals. When glating doesn’t work, alphas may become feral in an effort to scare off another alpha before things become physical, but it generally happens any time an alpha senses an omega becoming upset with no sign of the situation getting any better. It also happens when he feels the need to go to an omega but is prevented from doing so. Lessening nearby stimuli is the solution to feralization, as well as scenting with the omega that he is worried about if she isn’t already with someone.

CUSTOMS AND SOCIETAL PRACTICES

If there are normal people, then many are struggling with where to place dynamic people. Are they a subspecies? A baser kind of human, or the next step in evolution?

Bites occur to the neck because the blood flow is large, fast, and goes directly into feeding the brain. This makes it the perfect spot to deposit the pheromones in venom. This can make the recipient a little loopy and very compliant, making consent problems an issue. Alphas have an especially hard time because consent is such a popular thing these days, but waiting and worrying about the omega and giving her the power makes him anxious and emotionally unhappy because it goes against his nature to hold back. Alphas gain purpose and satisfaction from knowing what their omega wants innately, and omegas crave an alpha that will take the lead and make them feel safe and cared for.

Touching another’s scent glands expresses a deep bond between two people. To touch one when the owner doesn’t want you to is a big taboo.

An alpha’s instinct is to look after, an omegas is to be looked after. For this reason it is especially heinous for an alpha to harass an omega, because it goes against their instinct. To deliberately do something that frightens an omega takes a great deal of willpower because the smell of fear an omega produces is strong enough to stop the assailant from continuing.

Bouts of extreme rage can happen if someone harms another’s mate.

A person’s mate is considered off-limits and to break that law is extremely terrible.

An adverse reaction to intense negative emotions can cause an omega to cope with the overwhelming empathy she feels by mentally shutting down. It is an emotional block from all the emotions she feels of others and the desire to have everyone go back to being happy.

Scenting is considered extremely intimate. To interrupt a couple when they are scenting is considered very embarrassing. Usually, it is incorporated into a couple’s daily routine. 

If an alpha wants to show another alpha that an omega is taken, he will mark her in front of the other alpha.

In modern culture, the size and thinness/thickness of canines don’t usually matter, but heavily curved and long ones are considered conventionally attractive.

In a relationship, the first time a person purrs for the other is considered a big step in the relationship.

Dynamics (a.k.a. “Dynams” for the hip youngsters) is the name for the class that every student must complete. Like any history or science class, it is part of the class schedule and is taken throughout high school. It teaches students about dynamics, how to be an alpha/beta/omega, and what each class means for a person. History of scientific discoveries and important figures are also discussed as they relate to it.

When an omega feels safe enough to nest, that is cause for celebration. It is only celebrated between the couple, however. When a young person finishes tuning, their parents typically have some kind of celebration. Marking involves a celebration where anyone can be invited or involved (with all the relatives, or just the couple). 

TECHNOLOGY

Suppressants nullify most all the side effects of heats and ruts. It takes an hour or two to take effect and should be taken once per day (uncommonly, people up the dose if they feel they need to for whatever reason). Suppressants are different for alphas and omegas, since one needs to calm down and one needs to be more awake and not so placid. 

Rut gear involves a type of bite guard and metal nail caps that go over the fingers. This makes them safe for others and prevents damage to others and property.

“Scent stones” are special kinds of rock that absorb scent really well. They are worn for extended periods of time by a person before being given to the other, where they are worn against a scent gland in the wrist to provide comfort and protection. After a week or so of being worn by another person, the scent fades, at which point the stones are switched between the two people.

“Phero-bombs” are grenades of concentrated scent to subdue raging alpha(s)

Bouts of extreme protective instinct--brought on by an overwhelming urge to protect an injured or scared loved one may get bad enough to only be stopped by vials of an omega’s concentrated pheromones. If this is a known/recurring problem, vials are drawn in advance to be injected into the alpha to bring him out of it and calm him down if need be. There are special divisions of S.W.A.T teams to deal with this.

Omegas can wear a type of scarf that is rigid on the inside and won’t release unless the scent stones in it detect enough feel-good pheromones from the omega.

RUTS AND HEATS

Males experience ruts, females experience heats (no matter the presentation)

Heats/ruts happen 4 times per year

Heats are characterized by muscle weakness, muscle cramps, and/or skittish behavior. Ruts are characterized by irritability, increased reflexes/senses, heightened physical strength, and/or short temper. Both sides experience varying degrees of restlessness. Alphas will often spend the nights unable to sleep, watching over the omega as the protective instincts take over, they’re canines also grow and can’t retract. Omegas’ scent glands will swell and become tender, and will sleep a lot. When omegas are awake, they fidget and crave company. The sense of touch becomes hyperactive, making every surface prickly and uncomfortable. Below is a chart to help better visualize the contrasts and similarities.

NESTING

Nesting occurs when an omega feels 100% at ease in the presence of an alpha. It requires the subconscious to be perfectly content as well, so it takes a long time for an omega to get to the point. When it does happen, it counts as a major step and is normally followed by celebration.

It’s a big deal if the omega verbally shares her nest with her alpha. Either by offering for him to enter or saying “our nest” can basically cause an alpha to fall to his knees.

When an alpha wants his omega to nest, or thinks she might do soon, or while she is nesting, he will go about trying to prove he can protect and care for her. This involves doting on her, showing her affection, bringing things for the nest, or otherwise showing his fitness. The omega will carefully consider his offerings for her nest. If she doesn’t take any of his offerings, it means he didn’t do a good enough job proving himself to her. For this reason, having an omega view and scrutinize his offerings is very stressful for the alpha.

Below is a chart for the different ways alphas and omegas behave.

Scent gland locations (in blue):

Female (17 total):

Male (12 total):

[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

I know him

A/N: this was requested by anon, I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

summary: could you do a reddie x daughter where she sees apparitions of penny wise but keeps it to herself. but one day when she’s w all the losers they mention pennywise in a short joke and she says she knows who that is n they all freak out wondering how she knows and ask her questions to confirm and somehow she knows everything that happened

warnings: fear of being stuck in an elevator so I guess small spaces, pennywise, a brief mention of vomiting and curse words

The old elevator scared her for as long as she could remember, it’s old doors creaking and closing leisurely, and the inside of it coated in a filthy substance that your dad avoided at all costs and urged you to do the same.  Many horror story that roamed the building hallways originated from said moving lift, endless cases of people getting stuck in there and injuring themselves, some minor wounds, some majors.

In one particular case, a man from apartment block B4 broke his hand while trying to escape the grimy space, reaching for help outside of the lift only to have the doors ruthlessly crushing his bones, inducing agony so severely that he had to have his hand amputated.

Or another one during which a woman found herself trapped in it’s confinements while a thunderstorm was happening, and ended up electrocuting and dying before morning dawn.

It’s possible that Richie made those story’s up however, and Emma is the first one to admit that her pops does have a track record of pulling pranks on her, but there is a sliver of truth behind the stories.

Several people reported the elevator for malfunctioning, and the tenant always promised to fix the issue, but he never did, and so the thing continued to be a problem. Emma rarely used it, and if she happened to make use of it’s services, she made she was always accompanied by someone who could help in case of an emergency.

June twentieth though, she returned home from school, secretly excited about the prospect of being on her own for the evening, as Richie and Eddie were going out on a date to celebrate their anniversary, and she already imagined all the junk food she bought and would eat throughout the night, when she stumbled upon a problem.

The apartment Richie, Eddie and her lived on was located at the top floor, the furthest away from the prying eyes of the public, in lieu of their future home being renovated, which meant that taking the stairs was a painstaking chore that left her drained of all energy by the time she made it up.

Normally, she occupied the escalator anyway, but she slipped and twisted her ankle at school that morning, and despite it not hurting too bad, Emma figured that using the elevator was still the better call, so her ankle had time to rest.

She hesitated only briefly, before confidently walking in the lift, and pressing the bottom for the eight-floor. Emma tried to make light off the situation, using humor the way Richie had thought her, telling herself that she better take a large gulp of air, just in case the door refused to open again once they slid shut.

‘I got this I got this I got this’, she murmured to herself, psyching herself up before panic overtook her. Using the elevator was an irrational fear she had, and no amount of times riding helped any good in overcoming it. Realistically, the worst thing that could happen was that she locked in, waiting until a neighbor also needed to use the elevator and noticed that someone was in there, then effectively helping her out, but the thought of spending even five minutes with no way out gave her chills, so she suppressed that thought and waited patiently until the lift moved up.

Only it didn’t. The doors latched shut, but no movements upwards preceded. Clearing her throat, Emma hit the floor number again, rationalizing that she pressed the number too soft to be registered, but the eight lit up and yet again no movement took place.

Emma laughed antsy, breathing in and out deeply, still convincing herself that everything was fine, and a firmer hand was needed to get the lift moving, but when nothing happened, she hurriedly thumbed the open button.

With a screeching sound, the doors began to open, wide enough that tears welt up in Emma’s eyes from relief, but then the doors unfolded just enough to see through them into the open hall, not big enough for Emma’s form to fit through, and then shut again.

Terror infiltrated every pore of her being, rendering her a anxiety riddled mess, her breathing shaking too much to properly inhale. Black spots danced on the edge of her vision, becoming faint enough that Emma stumbled backwards and had to grip the railing bar tight in order not to fall.

The temperature read 35° degrees Celsius, the room hot enough that sweat drops formed on Emma’s forehead, and she lost her cool, her mind conjuring up the worst case scenarios.

She repeatedly pushed the open button, wheezing fresh air in the nik of time, while begging to whoever was listening to save her from this mess. Changing tactics, Emma attacked the alarm bell, but then over-analyzed that too. She had no clue whether or not she was supposed to hold it for a longer period of time, or release it and attempt multiple times.

A phone that connected to the main office was also present, and when Emma perceived that, she lunged for it and held it to her ear as close as possible.

‘Hello, please help me’, her voice cracked, ’I’m stuck.’ Nothing but static greeted her, no person on the other line to help her or comfort her, no help on the way.

The tears began bolstering down her cheeks then, a single one leading the way for many others once the dam was finally broken. In spite of not receiving an answer, Emma repeated the same word over and over again anyway, unable to think of any other way out.

She feared that if she kept opening the door, that that too would stop working, and then the heat building would suffocate her. Or the elevator may crash down, killing her instantly, or starvation and dehydration would take her out before anyone finds her and saves her. The fears may sound un-rational, but to Emma they were very real, and she worked herself up into a near panic attack.

‘Please, please, please, I want my parents’, she continues to sob, hoping against all hope that someone apprehends her message.

Her prayers seemed to have been answered when a white glove creeps through the elevator slot, the fingers wiggling back and forth.

‘Take my hand Emma, I’ll help you out.’

Inhibitions aside, Emma allowed said hand to wrap around her wrist, and urged her closer to the edge of the lift, another gloved hand pushing the lift apart and jerking her through. Ignoring the way the stranger somehow knew her name and the way she was lucky she wasn’t crushed by the doors, Emma heaves down on the ground, her painful ankle all forgotten.

The jitters in her body making her stand on shaky legs until she dropped down on her knees. Lunch had already processed most likely, as she couldn’t hurl up anything solid, but a bad taste lingered in her mouth lingers in her mouth regardless

When the last flow leaves her, Emma sits back, still on the ground, her hands buried in her hair to ground herself.

‘You’re out, you’re okay, you’re fine,’ she reassures herself, refraining from rocking back and forth.

For the first time, Emma glanced upwards to look at the person who saved her. The man, if she could call it that, wore a clown suit, completed with a face caked full of make-up. She inched away from him when their eyes connected, certain that the eyes that stared back were yellow, but upon second glance, she notices they were blue, just like her pops.

‘hmm, are you alright there? You look a bit shaken up’, the man grinned with his teeth visible, yellow and sharp on top while his tongue licked over them like he was hungry. He creeped Emma out, but he did rescue her, so Emma felt obligated to give him the benefit of the doubt.

‘Thank you’, she breathed out, the tears in her eyes running dry. He extended a hand out to her, and she took it, pulling herself upright and shaking the nerves off of her.

‘Who are you?’

‘My names Pennywise the dancing clown,’ he giggled in a weird, unsettling tone, ‘you really should refrain from using that lift, I heard it’s,’ he paused and winked at her, ‘scare inducing.’

‘Right,’ Emma trailed off, the polite smile on her face never fading away. ‘Oh wait, you’re a circus performer right? I heard about it coming to town from one of the posters outside.’

At pennywise nod, Emma relaxed. Sure, he came across as frightening, but maybe that was just her imagination after the scare she had experienced, and it would provide a reason why he was dressed like that.

‘Yes yes’, he explained, ‘do you like the circus? Because I love it’, he twisted his body in a way that made bells go off, the smile on his face unusually large for his face. Speaking of which, his forehead was also massive.

‘Your fathers used to love the circus too.’ The admission sparked new interested within Emma, who perked up and listened to him with all her attention.

‘You knew my fathers?’ she asked, shaking off the worry that loomed in the back of her mind.

‘Why yes of course I do, we were all best friends, and we did so much fun things together. If you want, I’ll tell you all about it.’

Emma hesitated, she had never met this man, and he seemed to be sketchy, but at the same time her interests had been piqued, and she figured that the man wouldn’t have come to her aid if he had something malicious planned.

‘They lived in Derry, Eddie and Richie, and they have always been best friends. But the summer of 1989 was one they’ll never forget.’

Emma frowned, neither her dad nor her pops had ever mentioned the summer of 1989, nor had they ever discussed any other people outside of the losers club, but if he knew their names were Eddie and Richie, there’s no way he hadn’t met them.

‘Ow yes, the summer their nightmares came to live right before their very eyes,’ his voice lilts up in a sing song sound, almost a mocking tone, and he belly laughs, as if the prospect of facing your fears was that funny to imagine.

Emma’s heart began to pound faster when the memories of the lift resurfaced, and she couldn’t phantom anyone laughing at that.

‘It all began with uncle Bills little brother….’

When Emma awoke, she was laying down on the sofa, her legs stretched over side so her feet were dangling. She lifted her head and scanned the room in confusion, blinking away the sleep from her eyes.

She would’ve swore that she had a conversation with a guy, but maybe that was a nightmare that she experienced a little too vividly. The talk was strange to begin with, anecdotes including murder, brutal attacks and near death experiences presented as something that really took place, something her family endured.

A quick search on the internet let Emma to believe that she saw a hallucination induced by her distress, and so she never mentioned anything to her fathers when they returned home from their date.

Perhaps the man had offered help to Emma, and he was uncanny enough that Emma dreamed about him after he left, but the conversation was all in her head and never had never come to pass.

The elevator was at full service again the next day, so she never informed Richie and Eddie of that either, feeling no need to rehash how irrational she behaved.

She adamantly fought tooth and nail to never step near the lift at any time, and since her parents were good at parenting, they accepted that with no questions asked, although Richie would huff and puff walking up and down the stairs, his old man bones creaking in protest changelessly.

-----

‘Chug chug chug’, Bill chants, his hands balled in fist chomping down on the table as he viewed Richie gulping down his glass in one smooth sling.

‘I hate it here’, Stan rolls his eyes, downplaying the nearly there smile that graced his face upon hearing roared laughter.

Losers club meetings always brought a never seen amount of chaos and noise, causing them to be chucked out of restaurants more than once, but they’re never deterred.  

Stan advocated on multiple occasion to host the parties in one of their houses, but upon the suggestion of organizing one at his house, he backed down and dejectedly proposed a new restaurant they’re welcome at, for now.

This time, the choice alternated between a new Thai restaurant or a steak house that Richie tipped very generously for last time they visited, the new Thai place being a tad more inviting.

Emma loved losers meetings, because she always got to reconnect with her aunts and uncles, and also because the food was more than delicious.

She adored all the losers dearly, but the one she formed a special bond with was Mike, the history buff who knows more than Emma’s actual history teacher, and the one who somehow knows all the right words she must hear if she asks for advice.

The spot next to him is without fail the one chair that remains empty until she arrives, hanging off the tip of his tongue to hear about all the adventures he undergoes on his far off trips.

Today is no exception, Mike sitting on Emma’s left as she bolsters equally as loud as her uncles and aunts as liquid spills from the side of her pops’s face, staining the new shirt her dad recently bought and now belongs in the trash.

Eddie’s face is set in a scowl, as he thrusts out for a napkin and hands it over to Richie, who takes it with a smack kiss on the cheek as a romantic gesture Eddie repulses away from.

‘Dude, keep your disgusting bear filled lips the fuck away from me’, his face lighting up with a blush he tried but fails to suppress. His repulsion of germs decreases every day, but it’s not gone completely, the avoidance of touching the table with any skin proof.

‘Oh come on Eddie, it can’t possibly bother you that much, you married the guy’, Stan remarks, chuckling when Patty softy taps him on the arm.

A waiter pops his out from behind a wall, his face betraying nothing, but the murderous look in his eyes more than telling enough that this will be the last time they pop in this eatery. He refrains from saying anything though, walking away with a rigid back to no doubt complain to his coworkers about annoying table number five.

Thank god, they’ve only arrived an hour ago, and are still waiting on their food to come, and Emma is excited to try it.

‘Ben and I saw the circus in town two weeks ago,’ Bev steers the conversation in a different direction, bored with the current lack of anything but laughter.

The mention of the circus reminds Emma of the strange encounter that happened, the incubus she can recall in perfect detail. The duality of reality and fiction confusion her to this day. She’s pretty sure she dreamed the whole thing besides her being stuck, but then did Pennywise exists for real? And if not, then who helped her out?

The table turns abnormally quiet, so much so that it shocks Emma out of her thoughts. Stan’s face in particular drains of all color and he taps his fingers on the table to remain calm and collected, Patty scrutinizes his every move, but she is lost for how to react as well.

Ben sips his drink awkwardly, clearing his throat after and lacing his hand with Bev with a warning squeeze. Emma is a second away from asking what in the world is going on, but Richie’s got it covered.

‘Yeah, you saw any one familiar? Like a type of clown hoping we die gruesomely? It’s been a while huh I wonder how he’s doing these days.’

‘Richie’, Eddie hisses exasperated, motioning his head in Emma’s direction to remind Richie their daughter was still in the room with them.

Emma chortles at his joke, covering her mouth with her hand so that no piece of the chip she’s nibbling on accidentally lands on the table, the others following her lead easily. They remain at the edge of their seat, not yet settled, but Richie’s humor calmed them down enough that the tense atmosphere around the room fizzles out.

Emma, unthinkingly and mindlessly adds; ‘That someone happened to be named Pennywise?’

She continues to chuckle at her addition, right up to the point that a glass crack to her left, Ben’s glass splintered in tiny pieces on the floor as his big, shock filled eyes gawking at Emma as if she announced she’s pregnant.

The sound of glass relinquishing disturbs Emma’s laugh, the blast spooking her out of nowhere.

‘What? Her dad asks her pressed, and if she thought the losers looked keyed up before, the consternation they now display is in a whole different ballpark.

Trying to rail the topic back on track, Emma continues to jest the situation, reminiscing on the fictional things in her dream.

‘Yeah, you know Pennywise. The clown that transformed into your worst fears. Stan’s painting, pop’s clowns, dad’s gazebo’s, oh and of course we can’t forgot about breaking dad’s arm right.’

No one else laughs, all of them staring shell shocked ahead, unbeknownst to Emma thrusted back to the summer of hell.  

‘Emma,’ Richie address her, his palm rubbing across his chest on the left side, his heart burning with urgency to protect his daughter and his family without a second of hesitation.

Richie rarely uses her name in place of a nickname, so she drops the act and tunes out every other person and sound for the sake of paying attention to her pops.

‘Where did you hear all of that?’

A cold gust of winds breezes around the room, resulting in shivers that shake Emma’s whole body. All members of the losers club focus on her, awaiting her response to the question. Eddie and Richie in particular are most keen on finding out how their daughter somehow, without any of them telling, savvy traumatizing events of their youth.

‘I don’t know, a nightmare. Why is it so important?’ Emma inquires, enclosing her body with her arms in an effort to comfort herself.

‘A nightmare?’ Eddie clarifies, the intention behind his inquire not flying over her head.

‘Emma’, Mike interrupts to stop the impending flood of dread about to unleash over her before it even begins.

‘I know you know so much more than you’re letting on. I understands why this is scary, but it’s of the upmost important that you come clean now.’

Mike can read her better than a book, and that’s saying something for a librarian, so Emma gives in, overwhelming tears sticking to her eyelashes, the attention proving to be too much, begging anyone in the room to explain to her what’s going on.

‘The elevator got stuck in our apartment building, and this guy, Pennywise helped me out.’

‘Oh applejack,’ Richie exclaims, understanding now why she’s so resilient on trudging the escalator. Eddie scrambles up from his chair across from Emma’s seat, and tucking her away safely in his arms, her head underneath his chin.

‘it’s okay Ems, you’re safe, you’re fine.’ He soothes her, suppressing his own sobs at the knowledge that Pennywise had been this close to attacking his daughter, the light of his and Richie’s life. Richie joins him a moment later, pressing both Eddie and Emma close to him in spite of the difficult position they’re in.

‘Yeah, no fucking clown is coming near you again, well except for uncle Stan then of course. He gets a pass.’

Uncle Stan dishes out no jab, inevitably inciting more terror in Emma, who whimpers and hides behind the shield her dads form around her.

The night ends with a sleepover all the losers join in on, each and every one committed to creating a safe space for Emma, and if that means killing Pennywise again, then so be it.

[potatopossums]

Idk man, sometimes I like the aromantic fb groups I follow, and other times I kind of hate the comments.

Uh yeah it's a long one. Affectionate aro-spec rant inbound.

Today, I was reading a thread about "allos developing feelings after sex" and how that was "such an alloromantic experience."

It felt fucking alienating.

Maybe I read "feelings" to mean something different than "instantly wants to marry/date this person." That is not my definition of "developing feelings." But the wording is so vague, and I don't have much of a vocabulary outside of these experiences. I mean, I still use decidedly alloromantic terminology sometimes, because I grew up with it for so long, and I find it difficult to use other terms, even if they're technically the correct definition for what I'm experiencing.

But my main gripe was really with this demonization of "feelings." Feelings of intimacy? Feelings of tenderness? Wanting to continue? Sure, it depends on the people involved; each relationship has its own rules and boundaries and goals. Aromantic people can easily do romantic-coded things and enjoy them. They can also just as easily avoid those things. That's up to personal choice, and I'm not knocking that.

But it bothered me how unanimous it was in that comments section that a casual sex partner expressing a desire to "do more than sex only" might be off-putting. Sure, I think the intention was that a sex partner suddenly wants to date you, and yeah, I would say no to that advance, too, were I in a similar position. But if a friendship/FWB/QPR formed organically from a casual sex situation? Sure.

And on the flipside, it also bothers me that sex can't possibly be seen as an emotionally bonding experience. Again, romance entirely aside, I would consider, especially as a largely demisexual person, that sex with someone I was actually physically attracted to would also involve emotions. It would enrich my relationship with that person. That doesn't make it romantic for me. My tendencies are just very close knit. I enjoy deep relationships and tend to despise surface level ones. This has more to do with my learned history of passivity, and less to do with romantic feelings. I don't feel romantic. I feel close. I desire closeness. That closeness can manifest in a lot of different ways. Romance, in my experience, likes to wear the costume of intimacy and parrot the lines, but it doesn't signify intimacy. Closeness comes from self and mutual honesty. And from some shit just lining up well.

Feelings (as in emotions) are part of the human experience. They're temporary, and that's the important bit (and that was the only bit on that thread that I actually agreed with; alloromantic people do tend to view feeling as fact in a romantic sense, but everyone is prone to misreading general feelings as fact—for example, a common trap is "I'm afraid, therefore I must be in danger." Feelings, thus, are not necessarily factual.) But emotions are also reactions to something. Experiencing emotions is a normal thing. Having sex with someone casually for an extended period of time will likely let you get to know that person a bit. Amatonormative conditioning can easily kick in, regardless of orientation. And amatonormativity promises something—something substantial.

Happiness.

Clearly, this promise doesn't hold up. Romance is bullshit, unhealthy, an obsession with being unrequited, and an overinflated lens of glorifying pain for the purpose of promised reward (which never comes). We all know that.

And yet, it still reels some of us in. Conditioning at its finest, eh? Remind me to stop watching movies with any shred of romance in them.

But here's the thing. I'm aro-spec and I have fucking ADHD. Those two experiences, for me, have been the absolute worst combination.

I'm only beginning to come to grips with my ADHD and how it affects my perception of the world and my orientation(s) within it. One of the things I've noticed about myself is that I chase highs. Those highs simulate the deficiency in dopamine and reward signals inside my brain. I kind of don't function normally when I don't have those reward chemicals. I don't feel senses of accomplishment often, even when I've done lots of things. This is a really common experience with ADHD, hence why depression and anxiety can sometimes be considered side-effects of ADHD. Of course feeling like you've done nothing would make you anxious and depressed.

But especially in terms of social relationships, these sorts of reward chemicals can factor in to great amounts. I mean, I'd like to say that romance writing & fantasizing has been one of my most persistent hyperfixations in life. It's a concept teeming with overwhelming emotions, which tend to set off chemical responses in the brain that can induce dopamine, or dopamine-like effects. Thus, drama feels good. And for someone who never feels good... well, drama can become a drug. It can become seemingly the only thing that helps one feel good—about themselves, about their life, their accomplishments, their abilities—especially for undiagnosed adults.

It's a really tumultuous reality. And the back and forth is absolutely chaotic. Hyperfixations don't go on constantly. But they can start at any time. They can be triggered so easily. And amatonormative and positive conditioning doesn't help. Again, it's a happy drug for your brain. Evolution probably intended that. And now it's gone very awry in me.

Here's my thing though: me wanting intimacy, me wanting closeness—that does not equate to romance. Me experiencing feelings and desiring those feelings also doesn't equate to romance. My brain has a chemistry issue. It likes these chemicals, like, way too much as it is. Amatonormativity already conditioned me to chase these highs, and those highs have an even stronger and more dangerous effect on me and my perception of reality, especially as someone who is statistically more predisposed addictive behaviors.

So imagine trying to sus out that you're actually aromantic underneath all that. But you also are really touch starved. Oh, and you're a lesbian. Not even a little bit bisexual. Totally very gay. And you have sensory issues. And you have those handy-dandy side effects of anxiety and depression hanging around.

There's a lot to parse through every time I have an emotion at all.

So genuinely: yes. I agree that it sucks when someone you only wanna have casual sex with suddenly wants to have a romantic relationship with you.

But also: I'm aro, and I'm also not over here having sex with random strangers. I'm over here having sex with good friends. I'm over here being polyaffectionate. I'm over here chasing the highs of pretty people, sensual intimacy, and awesome orgasms.

And none of that shit rings alloromantic to me.

[daisychvins]

｡･ﾟﾟ･ — introduction.

introducing ... violet’s demise ! aka grayson aka her big brother she’s been wiring money to stay away in europe <33333

name: grayson swag money jeon  age: 22 turning 23 (don’t ask me about his sign that’s for liza to figure out someday <3) gender: cis male; he/him hometown: baltimore, maryland sexuality: bisexual & biromantic

listen i was feeling rlly committed to completing his stats but i’m already over it so don’t ask dont tell xx anYWAYS let’s get on to the juicy stuff hehe

i tend to ramble a lot so this intro is gonna be probably a mixture of paragraphs and bullet points and everything in between but let’s start simple. also i rlly wanna emphasize a massive DRUGS TW bc his character largely revolves around his interest in and addiction to drugs

blackmails

grayson is claiming that he's been in a rehab program for the last year and is now completely sober and reformed when he really was just using the money to party and travel throughout europe.

without his parents paying to support him now, he's had to start dealing to make ends meet and keep up appearances. it’s mostly coke, but he dabbles in harder substances depending on what his connections can get him. 

grayson dabbles with calligraphy and was notorious for forging excuse notes and parent signatures all throughout high school and even now sells forgeries for a quick buck. the most notable of these was xavi’s letter of recommendation that helped him get into yale. 

background

grayson is violet’s older brother!!1 yes, that’s right, THE big brother who’s been out of the country getting LIT (and by lit i mean he’s been traveling europe on a series of solo trips w his parents’ money and doin lots of recreational drugs)

i haven’t fully fleshed out the dynamic he has w his parents but just know it’s ,, bad ASDHFJNK basically the jeons treated their children like accessories and expected them to be their little trophies and grayson just was not having that as a kid!!! so he acted out a lot and obviously got himself into a pretty bad scene (thank u goosie) and is basically the bane of his parents existence at this point <3 yet they still try to appease him to keep him under control but that’s for the family task to work out hehehehe

despite hating his parents, he adores both of his siblings. before the drug use started, he was always a big nurturer and would have done anything for either of them......now he wouldn’t be caught dead praising violet but he loves her in secret from afar HSJDFKG

yeah basically he met goose when he was around 15 i think????? and got introduced to drugs around 16 or 17 i wanna say and by the time he graduated high school he was just....a much different person than the soft big brother he used to be. his parents sent him off to europe pretty much as soon as he turned 18 under the guise of going to school internationally, but grayson obviously knew the truth and understood that he was being sent away so he wouldn’t be his parents problem anymore. 

he basically spent the last four years galavanting europe and just....trying to enjoy it???? but it’s hard to enjoy an extended vacation when u have no family or friends on ur side anymore </3 he basically used the money to stay in hostels and worked odd jobs here and there to stay afloat and keep supplied w the...special goods....but yeah lots of drugs, alcohol, sex, and recklessness but he DID learn a couple languages??? or at least enough to get through some pretty basic conversations in most european countries so <3 guess it’s all okay then!!!! 

anyways idk what else to put here that u won’t just find out in the family task so uhhhhhh idk lmk if u need anything else i guess

present/personality

so now grayson is just vibing at yale obviously ummm he actually got super into writing after high school, especially poetry. he used to carry journals full of just random prose about his addiction and his deepest thoughts, as well as probably some lighter stuff about his love escapades or maybe goose idk...basically he used poetry as an outlet and it allowed him to really ground himself and find his place in the world even if it didnt include who he thought it would SO with that being said, grayson got into yale due to a poetry competition he was a part of. he saw some big fancy competition being advertised and on a whim decided to submit some poem about his struggles with addiction and losing his family (a v raw piece that he didn’t expect to ever see the light of day) and he actually ended up winning! it caught yale’s attention and they invited him to apply and, knowing how much it would probably disturb his little sister, grayson very smugly applied and was pretty stoked to see he got in 

because that poem gained such publicity, it was assumed that he was a survivor of addiction and was writing from a sober perspective. he didn’t want to correct anyone, so he just went with it and has basically crafted this story about his massive success and has become an advocate for addiction treatment and rehabilitation. of course, none of the companies that sponsor him or the events that host him as a motivational speaker know that he’s snorting lines in the bathroom beforehand or dealing to half the elites, but that’s between grayson, god, and the blackmailer !

basically grayson showed back up because of violet’s blackmail being exposed. he was off in europe, unable to defend himself, and with a massive vendetta against his family so he decided what better way to reenter society than by publicly outing himself as a martyr <3333 his plan is basically to bash the family name to fulfill whatever angsty coming of age arc he has in store for him to make up for the pain of being sent away .... really angsty yeah </3 rip grayson 

anyways yeah he’s a total fake. he’s been using his status as a martyr to his advantage a lot, the best example being his recruitment into the elites. he guilted them into accepting him by discussing the PR benefits of recruiting a member that struggles with addiction and how supporting addiction treatment and second chances would be such a good look for them. like he basically threatened to publicly expose them for denying him due to his troubled past and accuse them of being exclusionary so they said boop ! ur in. now the elites are proud advocates for second chances <3333

i would describe grayson as fearless, overconfident, infamous due to his condition being exposed recently, a little gloomy, he’s kind of just got this chip on his shoulder and feels like he has something to prove....he’s gotta be better than his parents, gotta stick it to them and to violet and to everyone who doubts him. he’s a grumpy guy with a massive vendetta and a need for some kind of justice. he just doesn’t know what that is yet. despite all of the bad, however, he’s genuinely a pretty good guy. he’s really goofy and a genuine person, pretty friendly with literally everyone until they give him a reason not to be. basically, unless you are a member of the jeon family he probably likes you or is at least cordial to you (unless we plot differently ofc but u know). he’s just a big lovable dummy with some sweet drug connects and a knack for poetry. he also knows calligraphy but that’s beside the point . 

idk if this is enough to describe him but yeah if u have any questions just let me know hehe

this is probably gonna make things hard but considering violet was just exposed i think that he’s pretty new to yale ???? like probably just transferred in/started this spring semester rather than being here for the entire year/a prolonged amount of time so most of our plots will likely have to be newer/center on him first showing up OR we can establish their connections from pre-europe which is also fine w me....idk i didnt rlly think this timeline through so let’s just plot and see what happens aghbfjnd anyways i included some connection ideas to help us all just in case

wanted connections

i’d say he’s the honorary dealer of the elites aghbdfjn so literally anyone who needs a plug could be a potential connection. we can obviously tweak this and customize it to each character <3

maybe someone who met grayson in europe. they could have travelled together for an extended period of time or even just a brief encounter. he was over there for four years, so the possibilities are endless. 

building off the last one, this same connection could work with a romantic interest. maybe they were romantically involved for a time in europe and fell out of touch or maybe grayson/your muse just left in the middle of the night and they never saw each other again until now and maybe there’s some unresolved feelings/one-sided longing or need for closure. it could also be that they just hooked up whenever this person was in the area and that was that, no strings attached. 

maybe someone who genuinely believes that grayson is actually sober and really admires his strength and idk maybe they’re struggling w their own issues and seek advice from him or maybe they just make it harder for him to actually do his thing bc they’re constantly around and it’s not like they can catch him strung out and acting up 

someone in the literature department or with a background in english or writing. someone he could read poetry to, or share his favorite lines with. someone who’s taken the same professors and can tell him who to watch out for or what to expect. idk i just want him to have someone to share his passions with. maybe a little crush is forming? maybe they’re just friends who share a love of fiction? idk i’m open to literally anything 

he’s sort of a motivational speaker now bc he advocates for rehabilitation resources and stuff so like maybe ur muse saw him give a presentation or participate in some kind of seminar and they called bullshit on him after the show bc they were like,,, bro i literally saw u partying w max and avery last weekend what the fuck are u on about and now they could potentially hold that blackmail over his head hehe......

exes plots are always fun we love angst in this house 

fuck it let’s bring another family member BHJFNGKM no but grayson rlly is a nurturing guy and like....definitely develops unhealthy attachments to cope w his loss of family so he’d love all the sibling-like bonds he can get to kinda numb the pain of “””””losing””””” violet 

if none of these interest you i’m literally so down for anything pls just let me know and i’m happy to brainstorm always <333333 

thank u for reading this....smooch . 

[animeman08]

Wolverine

Wolverine (birth name: James Howlett; alias: Logan and Weapon X) is a fictional character appearing in American comic books published by Marvel Comics, mostly in association with the X-Men. He is a mutant who possesses animal-keen senses, enhanced physical capabilities, a powerful regenerative ability known as a healing factor, and three retractable claws in each hand. Wolverine has been depicted variously as a member of the X-Men, Alpha Flight, and the Avengers.

The character appeared in the last panel of The Incredible Hulk #180 before having a larger role in #181 (cover-dated Nov. 1974). He was created by Marvel editor-in-chief Roy Thomas, writer Len Wein, and Marvel art director John Romita Sr. Romita designed the character, although it was first drawn for publication by Herb Trimpe. Wolverine then joined a revamped version of the superhero team the X-Men, where eventually writer Chris Claremont and artist-writer John Byrne would play significant roles in the character's development. Artist Frank Miller collaborated with Claremont and helped revise the character with a four-part eponymous limited series from September to December 1982, which debuted Wolverine's catchphrase, "I'm the best there is at what I do, but what I do best isn't very nice."

Wolverine is typical of the many tough antiheroes that emerged in American popular culture after the Vietnam War; his willingness to use deadly force and his brooding nature became standard characteristics for comic book antiheroes by the end of the 1980s. As a result, the character became a fan favorite of the increasingly popular X-Men franchise, and has been featured in his own solo comic book series since 1988.

He has appeared in most X-Men adaptations, including animated television series, video games, and the live-action 20th Century Fox X-Men film series, in which he is played by Hugh Jackman. Troye Sivan portrayed a younger version in the 2009 film X-Men Origins: Wolverine. The character is highly rated in many comics best-of lists, ranked #1 in Wizard magazine's 2008 Top 200 Comic Book Characters; 4th in Empire's 2008 Greatest Comic Characters; and 4th on IGN's 2011 Top 100 Comic Book Heroes.

Powers and abilities

Wolverine is a mutant with a number of both natural and artificial improvements to his physiology.

> Healing and defensive powers

Wolverine's primary mutant power is an accelerated healing process, typically referred to as his mutant healing factor, that regenerates damaged or destroyed tissues of his body far beyond that of normal humans. In addition to accelerated healing of physical traumas, Wolverine's healing factor makes him extraordinarily resistant to diseases, drugs and toxins. However, he can still suffer the immediate effects of such substances in massive quantities; he has been seen to become intoxicated after ingesting significant amounts of alcohol,and has been incapacitated on several occasions with large amounts of powerful drugs and poisons; S.H.I.E.L.D. once managed to keep Wolverine anesthetized by constantly pumping eighty milliliters of anesthetic a minute into his system.

A study by the University of British Columbia states that Wolverine's healing factor resembles the axolotl's ability to regenerate lost limbs. It suggests that a novel protein—which the study's authors dubbed Howlett—found in tissue samples taken from him, and which resembles the Amblox protein found in axolotl but is much more efficient, is responsible for Wolverine's rapid regeneration. His healing factor is facilitated by artificial improvements he was subjected to under the Weapon X program (in later comics called the Weapon Plus program), in which his skeleton was reinforced with the virtually indestructible metal adamantium. While the adamantium in his body stops or reduces many injuries, his healing factor must also work constantly to prevent metal poisoning from killing him. When his healing powers were rendered inactive, Beast synthesized a drug to counteract the adamantium poisoning.

Wolverine's healing factor also dramatically affects his aging process, allowing him to live far beyond the normal lifespan of normal humans. Despite being born in the late 19th century, he has the appearance, conditioning, health and vitality of a man in his physical prime. While seemingly ageless, it is unknown exactly how greatly his healing factor extends his life expectancy.

Although Wolverine's body heals, the healing factor does not suppress the pain he endures while injured. Wolverine also admits to feeling phantom pains for weeks or months after healing from his injuries. He does not enjoy being hurt and sometimes has to work himself up for situations where extreme pain is certain. Wolverine, on occasion, has deliberately injured himself or allowed himself to be injured for varying reasons, including freeing himself from capture, intimidation, strategy, or simply indulging his feral nature. Though he now has all of his memories, his healing abilities can provide increased recovery from psychological trauma by suppressing memories in which he experiences profound distress.

Depictions of the speed and extent of injury to which Wolverine can heal vary due to a broad degree of artistic license employed by various comic book writers. Originally, this was portrayed as accelerated healing of minor wounds, though Chris Claremont, head writer of the X-Men comics from the mid 1970s to the early 1990s increased Wolverine's healing factor substantially, though not nearly as much as later writers would. During the 1980s, Wolverine's mutant healing factor is depicted as being able to heal massive levels of trauma, though his recovery time could extend to days, weeks or months before fully healing; often depending upon the severity of the injuries, their extent and the frequency with which they're inflicted. Wolverine has also stated that his body actually heals faster when the injury is grave or life-threatening. During the 1990s through the modern era, other writers have increased Wolverine's healing factor to the point that it could fully regenerate nearly any damaged or destroyed bodily tissues within seconds. Among the more extreme depictions of Wolverine's healing factor include fully healing after being caught near the center of an atomic explosion and the total regeneration of his soft body tissue, within a matter of minutes, after having it incinerated from his skeleton. An explanation is given in a recent mini-series starring Wolverine for the increase of his healing powers. In the series, Wolverine is referred to as an "adaptive self-healer" after undergoing numerous traumatic injuries to test the efficiency of his healing factor. Wolverine has endured so much trauma, and so frequently, that his healing factor has adapted, becoming faster and more efficient to cope with increasing levels of trauma. The Xavier Protocols, a series of profiles created by Xavier that lists the strengths and weaknesses of the X-Men, say that Wolverine's healing factor is increased to "incredible levels" and theorizes that the only way to stop him is to decapitate him and remove his head from the vicinity of his body.

It is possible to suppress the efficiency of Wolverine's healing powers; for example, if an object composed of adamantium is inserted and remains lodged within his body, his healing powers are slowed dramatically. The Muramasa blade, a katana of mystic origins that can inflict wounds that nullify superhuman healing factors, can also suppress Wolverine's powers. It has also been noted that Wolverine needs protein for his healing factor to generate tissue, meaning that if he was seriously injured and malnourished, his body might not be able to repair itself. His healing factor has also been turned off using nanites.

It has been suggested that Wolverine can be killed by drowning. He has said that he is not particularly fond of being in the water, due partially to the weight of his adamantium laced skeleton, and that he can die if held underwater long enough - his healing factor would only prolong the agony. The two-part story arc "Drowning Logan" finds Wolverine trapped underwater for an extensive period of time. The second part of the story arc hints that this experience weakens his healing factor and future health. Following "Drowning Logan", Beast reveals that an "intelligent virus" originating from the Microverse has shut off his healing factor, though not before it purged his body of the virus, leaving him as susceptible to injury, disease, and aging as any ordinary human.

Wolverine vol. 3, #57 reveals that when Wolverine is injured so seriously that his body actually dies before his healing factor can repair the damage, he returns to life by fighting with Azrael, the Angel of Death, while trapped in Purgatory because Wolverine defeated Azrael in real-world combat during World War I. However, after Wolverine's resurrection and brainwashing by the Hand, he made a new deal with Azrael that repaired the damage to his soul, negated their previous arrangement, and weakened his healing factor slightly - and the next time Wolverine sustains death-inducing injuries, he will remain dead.

Due to a combination of Wolverine's healing factor and high-level psionic shields implanted by Professor Xavier, Wolverine's mind is highly resistant to telepathic assault and probing. Wolverine's mind also possesses what he refers to as "mental scar tissue" created by the traumatic events of his life. It acts as a type of natural defense, even against a psychic as powerful as Emma Frost.

> Other abilities

Wolverine's mutation also consists of animal-like adaptations of his body, including pronounced, and sharp fang-like canines and three retractable claws housed within each forearm. While originally depicted as bionic implants created by the Weapon X program, the claws are later revealed to be a natural part of his body. The claws are not made of keratin, as claws tend to be in the animal kingdom, but extremely dense bone. Wolverine's hands do not have openings for the claws to move through: they cut through his flesh every time he extrudes them, with occasional references implying that he feels a brief moment of slight pain in his hands when he unsheathes them. During a talk to Jubilee, Wolverine reveals that there are channels inside his forearms through which the claws move when he extrudes them and that he unsheathes the claws a few times a day to keep the channels open, similar to pierced ears.

Wolverine's senses of sight, smell, and hearing are all superhumanly acute. He can see with perfect clarity at greater distances than an ordinary human, even in near-total darkness. His hearing is enhanced in a similar manner, allowing him to hear sounds ordinary humans cannot and also hear to greater distances. Wolverine is able to use his sense of smell to track targets by scent, even if the scent has been eroded somewhat over time by natural factors. This sense also allows him to identify shapeshifting mutants despite other forms they may take. He is also able to use his senses of smell and hearing, through concentration, as a type of natural lie detector, such as detecting a faint change in a person's heartbeat and scent due to perspiration when a lie is told.

On more than one occasion, Wolverine's entire skeleton, including his claws, has been molecularly infused with adamantium. Due to their coating, his claws can cut almost any known solid material, including most metals, wood, and some varieties of stone. The only known exceptions are adamantium itself and Captain America's shield, which is made out of a proto-adamantium-vibranium alloy. Vibranium alone is not comparable in terms of durability with adamantium and has been broken by Colossus. Wolverine's ability to slice completely through a substance depends upon both the amount of force he can exert and the thickness of the substance. His claws can also be used to block attacks or projectiles, as well as dig into surfaces allowing Wolverine to climb structures. The adamantium also adds weight to his blows, increasing the effectiveness of his offensive capabilities. His adamantium skeleton makes him highly susceptible to magnetic-based attacks. According to Reed Richards, Wolverine would be unable to move without his enhanced strength due to the additional weight of the adamantium bonded to his skeleton.

Wolverine's healing factor also affects a number of his physical attributes by increasing them to superhuman levels. His stamina is sufficiently heightened to the point he can exert himself for numerous hours, even after exposure to powerful tranquilizers. Wolverine's agility and reflexes are also enhanced to levels that are beyond the physical limits of the finest human athlete. Due to his healing factor's constant regenerative qualities, he can push his muscles beyond the limits of the human body without injury. This, coupled with the constant demand placed on his muscles by over one hundred pounds of adamantium, grants him some degree of superhuman strength. Since the presence of the adamantium negates the natural structural limits of his bones, he can lift or move weight that would otherwise damage a human skeleton. He has been depicted breaking steel chains, lifting several men above his head with one arm and throwing them through a wall, lifting Ursa Major (in grizzly bear form) over his head before tossing him across a room, and hauling a concert grand piano, and the platform it rests on, via a harness, while climbing a sheer cliff. Colossus and other allies use Wolverine's endurance and strength when throwing him at high speed in the Fastball Special.

During and after the Return of Wolverine, Logan has showcased a mysterious new ability where the adamantium in his claws can heat up to incredibly high, yet undisclosed, level of temperatures. The mechanics of this power have yet to be revealed; whether it is a Secondary Mutation, latent Weapon X faculty making itself known or a new power gained upon his resurrection is unclear. What is extent is that it's related to the berserker side of his persona, his Hot Claws as popularly noted being tied to Wolverines rage. This new power comes with the drawback of weakening his healing factor, however, as after using them to ward of the X-Men who came looking for him, he lost consciousness for a few weeks time afterward.

> Skills and personality

During Wolverine's time in Japan and other countries, he became proficient in many forms of martial arts, with experience in many different fighting styles. He is proficient with most weaponry, including firearms, though he is partial to bladed weapons. He has demonstrated sufficient skills to defeat expert martial artist Shang-Chi and Captain America in single combat. He also has a wide knowledge of the body and pressure points. Like many of the X-Men, he is trained to pilot the group's SR-71 Blackbird supersonic plane. He is highly skilled in the field of espionage and covert operations.

Wolverine will sometimes lapse into a "berserker rage" while in close combat. In this state, he lashes out with the intensity and aggression of an enraged animal and is even more resistant to psionic attack. Though he loathes it, he acknowledges that it has saved his life many times, it being most notably useful when he faced the telepathic "Mister X", as X's ability to read his mind and predict his next move in a fight was useless as not even Wolverine knows what he will do next in his berserk state. Despite his apparent ease at taking lives, he mournfully regrets and does not enjoy killing or giving in to his berserker rages. Logan adheres to a firm code of personal honor and morality.

In contrast to his brutish nature, Wolverine is extremely knowledgeable. Due to his longer lifespan, he has traveled around the world and amassed extensive knowledge of foreign languages and cultures. He is fluent in English, Japanese, Russian, Chinese, Cheyenne, Spanish, Arabic, and Lakota; he also has some knowledge of French, Filipino, Thai, Vietnamese, Italian, Korean, Hindi, Telugu, Persian, German, and Portuguese. When Forge monitors Wolverine's vital signs during a Danger Room training session, he calls Logan's physical and mental state "equivalent of an Olympic-level gymnast performing a gold medal routine while simultaneously beating four chess computers in his head." Much to Professor Xavier's disapproval, Wolverine is also a heavy drinker and smoker; his healing powers negate the long-term effects of alcohol and tobacco and allow him to indulge in prolonged binges.

Wolverine is frequently depicted as a gruff loner, often taking leave from the X-Men to deal with personal issues or problems. He is often irreverent and rebellious towards authority figures, though he is a reliable ally and capable leader, and has occasionally displayed a wry, sarcastic sense of humor. He has been a mentor and father figure to several younger women, especially Jubilee, Kitty Pryde and X-23, and has had failed romantic relationships with numerous women (most notably Mariko Yashida). He also had a mutual, but unfulfilled attraction to Jean Grey, leading to arguments with her boyfriend (and later husband), Scott Summers. He also married Viper as part of a debt, then later divorced her. It has also been implied that he and Squirrel Girl had a relationship at some point in the past. Wolverine has had an on-again, off-again romantic relationship with longtime teammate and friend, Storm.

[rapedmaid]

1. What fetishes do you have?

lots!

2. What is your favorite fetish?

ddlg & rape play

3. Have you indulged in all your fetishes?

only online/sexting

4. What fetishes are you yet to experience?

somno, but i hope i get to soon !!

5. Are there any fetishes you don’t have yet, but may be interested in?

not that i can think of

6. Have you experienced BDSM? Do you practice it?

only a small amount irl

7. Are you a top/dominant a bottom/submissive or a switch?

submissive!

8. What is it about BDSM that you like?

someone having complete control over me

9. Have you experienced being tied up or restrained?

yes!!! i love it sm!!

10. Have you experienced rope play?

yes!!

11. Do you enjoy long, extended teasing/edging sessions?

very much! yes!

12. What is the longest you’ve been teased/edged?

6-7 hours

13. Do you enjoy teasing and denial?

LOVE

14. Do you like to be denied?

yes !

15. Do you have a panty fetish?

idk

16. Have you ever purchased panties from a woman online?

no

17. Have you ever used panties to masturbate? (Stuffing/Wrapping/Etc.)

yes i’ve used mine before

18. Do you have a hosiery fetish?

i don’t know

19. Do you like pain?

i love it sososo much yes

20. Do you like spanking/being spanked?

YES

21. What do you prefer to use to spank? (Paddles/Hands/Whips/Etc)

paddles & canes

22. Do you like to hit or be hit? How hard?

i love being hit, slapped, or punched! very hard!

23. Do you enjoy choking or being choked? How hard?

until i can no longer breathe!!

24. Do you like to bite or be bit?

bit, yes!

25. Do you like to slap or be slapped?

slapped!

26. Do you like pulling or having your hair pulled?

having my hair pulled

27. What is your safe-word?

gum drop

28. Have you ever done a cum-walk? (Walking in public with cum on your face/clothes/etc)

yes

29. Would you do a cum-walk?

yes obviously hehe

30. Are you an exhibitionist?

yes very much!!

31. What was your best exhibitionism experience?

my ex using me in the woods!

32. Are you a cuckold?

no

33. Are you a cuckqueen?

no, i’m not

34. Are you a bull?

i’m not

35. Would you like to watch your partner have sex with another person?

i would absolutely hate it

36. Would you like to have your partner watch you with another person?

not at all

37. Have you ever been cuckolded?

nope

38. What is it about cuckolding that you like?

i think the idea is really cute but it’s not for me personally

39. Do you like to be humiliated?

i absolutely adore it

40. Do you like to humiliate your partner?

i like teasing but not humiliating them

41. Do you like to be humiliated while cuckolding or do you prefer a friendly environment.

a friendlier environment!

42. Do you like to be forced into crossdressing?

i honestly don’t know

43. Have you ever fisted?

no

44. Are you a swinger?

no, i’m not

45. Have you ever been to a swingers club (with a partner)?

no i haven’t

46. Would you ever go to a swingers club (with a partner)?

i don’t know if it’s really my thing

47. Would you ever participate in an orgy? (4 or more people)

orogys are so cute!

48. Would you ever participate in a gang bang? (4 or more people)

YES PLEASE

49. Have you ever pegged/been pegged?

no i haven’t

50. Do you enjoy large strap on dildos or smaller?

both!!

51. Do you enjoy sucking or having your strap on sucked?

sucking!!!

52. Do you like incest?

as a kink, yes. otherwise absolutely not

53. Have you ever experienced incest?

i have trauma, yes.

54. Do you like face-sitting/smothering?

i love it

55.Do you like weapon play?

i absolutely love it

56. Do you like rape play?

my favourite kink

57. Have you experienced rape play?

yes i’ve roleplayed rape play!

58. Do you like to be dominated?

very much

59. Have you ever been dominated online?

yes

60. Do you enjoy pet-play?

def top 3 kinks

61. Do you like daddy dom/little play?

also top 3

62. Do you like to be worshiped?

not personally

63. Do you like to worship?

adore it

64. Do you like to be spit on or spit on your partner?

being spit on!!

65. Do you like to keep the slave play in the bedroom or carry it over to real life?

i would love to serve someone!

66. Have you ever been suspended while having sex?

yes

67. Do you like to be told what to do?

i absolutely love it

68. Do you enjoy giving/receiving JOIs? (Jerk Off Instructions)

yes!

68. Have you ever given or received a foot job?

no but i would give one!

69. Would you participate in a bukkake?

i would love to

70. Do you enjoy brat play?

yes but i’m too polite to stay bratty for long periods of time

[wanderingforgod]

Roads Go Ever On

“The Road goes ever on and on

Down from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone,

And I must follow, if I can,

Pursuing it with eager feet,

Until it joins some large way,

Where many paths and errands meet.”   --J.R.R.Tolkien

The last 40 years has taught me that ministry is – among other things – leaving.  It seems that the minister is always leaving – one church for another church; one focus for another focus; one ministry for another ministry. Relationships die – which is to leave, then new ones emerge to fill a void – somewhat.  Groups disband, but an individual remains.  

Committees such as Worship and Mission and Evangelism are always saying that we have to change what we do and how we do it, which is a form of death – leaving the old behind.  Of course we all know how that plays out when the minister puts such a course of action into practice – his or her leaving.

I’m currently serving in my 9th church.  My plan following number 3 was to serve a church 20 years, then retire.  God laughed.  My plan was to minister with a congregation for a long committed ministry, all the while preaching the Word and just being the Church.  God said “No.”  My plan was to love and be loved by a precious group of Saints who would pursue where Christ led us over an extended period of time.  God said “Ain’t gonna happen.”  My plan was to be a symbol of stability in a time of change.  God said “Really?”  

Taking me out of “Called” ministry and placing me into Transitional Ministry, I have been forced to learn how to leave.  I have had to leave one town or one city for another; old ways that I love have been left behind; dreams I looked forward to have been left as dreams; stability left begging in favor of constant shifts and modifications; new friends left on the doorstep of my heart.  

More than anything though, I have had to leave my natural desire to be an established, deep-rooted anchor for a family of faith and become God’s agent of remaking, reworking, and redoing.  The old saying is: Change does not occur unless a sufficient amount of pain is caused to force it.  Leaving behind the old conflict avoidance me, and learning to be the conflict causing me was, and continues to be a very difficult ask.  

I was asked the other day by my “supervisors” what I plan to do after I leave this church.  I said that I was open to talking about it and considering various places where my ministry is needed.  Obviously, I am not ready to leave active ministry, but then God will have His way and I will leave when He says so.  

“The Road goes ever on and on

Down from the door where it began.  

Now far ahead the Road has gone,

And I must follow, if I can,

Pursuing it with weary feet,

Until it joins some larger way,

Where many paths and errands meet.  

And whither then? I cannot say.”  

 “The Road goes ever on and on

Out from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone.

Let others follow, if they can!

Let them a journey new begin.

But I at last with weary feet

Will turn towards the lighted inn,

My evening-rest and sleep to meet.”  

[jamalexlee]

Black Sails Gift Exchange

This is a fic for @bisexualpirateheart

I hope you like it! Here’s a link to it on AO3

Silver sits staring into the waves ahead of him, stretching out seeming infinitely in all directions. Yet it wasn’t the possibilities those waves offered that held Silver’s focus - he was barely seeing his present - he was too lost in the past. Wondering on all his best intentions and how it had led him to this place…. It truly began shortly before this Christmas period. 

December 6th

Silver honestly doesn’t know what possessed him to do this. Honestly nothing was less like him. The discovery, courtesy of his working relationship/friendship/whatever with Max, that perhaps a certain long-lost, long missed former Lord and lover of Captain Flint pre-Flint, was not in fact dead and perhaps merely hidden from society and the world at large, in a plantation in Savannah of all places - a little over a week if the sea was in the mood and the weather allowed for speedy land-travel.

When he’d first heard of the possibility Silver had dismissed it. They were in the middle of war - they had no time for checking on the possibility of long-perhaps not deceased persons who could be used against Captain Flint. And honestly if said former Lord was alive the captain would never forgive Silver for dragging someone he loved so much into a war as bloody (if brief) as theirs had been. 

So to pretend he hadn’t heard, to pretend there was no possibility of it being true, seemed to Silver the sanest thing to do. But as time moved on and things became more and more stable Silver found he no longer believed himself. If the Captain had remained simply that, Captain Flint, and nothing more, Silver could have clung to that idea forever. But against his better judgement, against every instinct that had ever served Silver in his survival, selfish though those instincts could be, Silver found he couldn’t keep that secret to himself. Couldn’t keep the possibility of a living Thomas away from James. 

Despite the slight panic humming through his veins Silver found himself pleased at how accurate his calculations had been - from Savannah to Nassau in time for St. Nicholas Day, in time to give Flint a Christmas present he could never have expected to receive. 

Silver stood and watched as their men approached the Captain with a man that he didn’t recognise by sight but from Flint’s descriptions could only be Thomas Hamilton. A little older no doubt than Flint would remember him but even from further away Silver could tell the man was very handsome. 

The captain for his part wasn’t looking in the right direction. He was focused entirely on the carpentry he was working on it wasn’t until the men stopped in front of him and clearly addressed him that Flint even looked up. Silver could only watch as if in slow motion as Flint realised who was standing mere inches from him. The confusion and then joy across his face as he reached for the man who, with an equal amount of joy, was reaching for him. Their embrace so heartfelt, joyful and desperate seemed as if it was without end, especially when they moved in to kiss while managing to remain in contact the whole time. 

Silver did his best not to react to the shock of the men surrounding Flint and his no-longer lost love. He could understand their confusion. After all Silver had sent them to retrieve the man that was now kissing his lover. The lover that never was so open in affection with Silver. Noises that they didn’t bother to smother in the night from the privacy of the Captain’s cabin or elsewhere wasn’t the same as this open declaration where everyone on the island could see it and all others would no doubt hear of it before long. 

Silver started when he heard his own name and refocused to find Flint turning to look at him - and damn that man that even with all they’d shared he could still hide what he was thinking from Silver when he really wanted to! Silver hoped the shock he could detect was the good kind as Flint and the former lordling made their way towards him.

His lordship arrived first, “John Silver I presume?” 

Another one with gorgeous eyes that seem to see right through to your soul. In lieu of saying this or indeed any of the other thoughts about the attractiveness of the man before him Silver extended his hand. Only to find himself engulfed in a hug. 

Panicked Silver’s eyes shot to Flint only to find him looking mildly amused. Slowly he moved to return the embrace. “Welcome to Nassau, Lord Thomas Hamilton.” 

A laugh is huffed against his neck and Silver found himself staring into deep blue intense eyes, “I think we both know the title “Lord” hasn’t been mine for sometime,” his smile is genuine if sad before turning mischievous, “though I would love to hear how you came by the “long” before your name.” If Silver didn’t know better he would think he was being flirted with. “Thank you Mr. Silver.” And this time he does take Silver’s hand. 

“John,” he replies automatically and then carefully wrenching his gaze from those intense orbs, “It was nothing really. I did it for the Captain.”

There was that smirk again, “I have no doubt. And by all means please do call me Thomas.” Thomas turns to face Flint once more, “James you surely don’t make John call you Captain on all occasions do you?” 

He doesn’t make me but I like the effect it has on him in the bedroom Silver shook his head as if to shake that thought from his head and definitely from his mouth only to catch sight of a decidedly pink around the ears Flint giving the Lordling Thomas a look. “Thomas-”

“No really do you? Or is it worse? Does he have to use your surname as well? And as we’re on the subject I haven’t heard of a feared pirate captain with the surname I knew you as and since I have every faith that you would always excel at anything you do you are a feared pirate captain. So it’s Captain…?”

“Flint.” There’s definitely a wince as he says this and grimace as he looks up at Thomas because he’s that tall and to the former lordling- Thomas’ - credit he reacted with only a blink and a slight widening of the eyes. 

As he opened his mouth to speak however, “Thomas if you want this story we are going to have to relocate to somewhere with liquor - a lot of it,” 

***

Seeming to have realised he hit upon a touchy subject the lor - Thomas had stuck to lighter subjects on the walk to the tavern. Silver had dropped slightly behind the couple, he told himself because he needed to talk to their men about events at the Plantation and any compensation needed, but honestly Silver needed the space to quietly observe the difference Lo- Thomas had on Flint. 

Flint usually stomped around Nassau but now he strolled - fast because Flint but still… The easy smiles, the adoring looks, ease that seemed to exist in his posture all of a sudden - and how even when someone seemed about to set off the explosion that was Flint’s temper a simple touch from Thomas would cause Flint to calm. Silver had seen that calmer side of Flint, had been the cause of some of his peaceful moments - but never had he seen him like this. He wasn’t sure what to make of that either. 

Twilight had begun to fall as they reached the tavern and the men wandered off to their own pursuits leaving Silver to close the distance between himself and Flint and L - Thomas. 

“Thomas, could you grab a table? I’ll be right in.” Flint said. 

“Of course, Captain” replied Thomas in amusement, “I’ll see about getting all that liquor you requested,” with a final smile in Flint’s direction Thomas entered the tavern. 

Silver took a deep breath, “Well he seems-” and with that found himself for the first time in a long time being roughly shoved against a hard surface by an irate Captain.

“What the fuck were you thinking? Bringing Thomas here? The war might be over but Nassau is Nassau! What on earth is a former Lord who by rights should be inheriting this island supposed to do here? What do you think the new ruling classes are going to do to him when they realise? For fucks sake Silver why????”

It was saying something that SIlver had rarely seen Flint so angry. Even in the early days when he didn’t trust him and seemed half a move from killing him at all times or even after the Urca fiasco before Silver came clean. Even as he tried to process where Flint was coming from he felt his own temper flare at the injustice and ingratitude being displayed at what Silver considered one of the few genuinely selfless acts he had ever committed. 

“Why? Why what? Why rescue an innocent man from a life he never should have found himself in? Why return your long-lost former lord lover to you? How can you ask me that? Do you truly believe I did this to hurt you? Hurt him?” Silver closes his eyes in pain, “I did this for you. I did this because from the moment II heard of the possibility of him being alive,” Silver throws Flint a look, “and that was some time ago - the war was still happening - I couldn’t let it go. I debated. I argued with myself. I tormented myself with this decision and it came to this. It came to this,” he softened his look and shared deep into those ridiculous green eyes that in his rage looked closer to black, “I couldn’t in all conscious keep Thomas Hamilton from James a minute longer than they’d been kept from each other already.” Trying for levity Silver quipped, “next Christmas I’ll just get you more books.”

Flint’s anger seemed to drain from him almost immediately to be replaced with fear and sadness, the kind of fear and sadness Silver had seen when he first realised Flint actually cared what people thought of him despite all he’d done and was planning to do. And in that moment Silver realised as he had then what was actually upsetting him.

“I’m not James. Not the James he remembers.” Flint looks at the floor suddenly so vulnerable, “There are things Flint has done that are unforgivable.”

“You don’t get to decide that,” Flint’s eyes flash up to Silver’s face, puzzled, “Only Thomas can decide what is unforgivable or not. Only he can offer the forgiveness you need, but…” Silver brings his hand to James cheek fingers lightly playing with the loose strands of hair there, “you can only receive his forgiveness if you tell him the truth.” Silver locks gazes with Flint, “I saw the truth of you - I’m sure he will too and love this new you just as much as the one he loved before.” 

Flint nuzzled against Silver’s hand seeking and receiving that closeness, that reassurance that Silver happily supplied. He gently caressed Flint’s cheek before turning his hand to cup the same cheek and rub his thumb along his lips. Flint looked up through his eyelashes in a way that should be impossible for a man taller than him and Silver felt any anger he had draining away being replaced by the deep heartfelt affection he felt for this impossible maddening man. He leaned forwards-

“Darling,” the lordling’s voice rang out, “organised a table and a decent amount of liquor… Oh I interrupt something?”

“Not at all,” Silver stepped away as quickly as his half a leg would allow, “simply conferring with the Captain about certain matters with the crew. Nothing world shattering.” Silver couldn’t look at him, at them, he just couldn’t, he started walking away, “if I’m needed for anything ship related I’ll be back on The Walrus.” 

*** 

Night had fully fallen by the time Silver made it to The Walrus but Silver wouldn’t let the tears that threatened to fall. He won’t, he can’t be seen to be weak even in this. 

Entering the captain’s cabin, the cabin he’d long thought of as theirs, Silver was assaulted by memories. Some that had happened right here others that had happened elsewhere but had led them to here - wherever here was. 

Going to the Captain’s cabin on the Spanish warship after Flint once again officially held that title with the intention of having a private celebration with Flint had never seemed to Silver a great idea - honestly he thought it would ultimately be the worst one - but at the time it had seemed like the thing to do. To offer himself as a trophy almost, a well earned prize, certainly one that was interested in what such claiming would look like. Honestly Silver had gone into it half expecting to be rejected out-right - possibly with a punch or worse for the insult of suggesting he would be interested in that. 

Which Silver had been in no doubt Flint was. He’d seen Flint eyeing up the men, Billy and himself in particular, when The Walrus had been beached. He knew Flint was inclined in that direction but that didn’t mean he would be willing to indulge. Still he was surprised to find himself being kissed and touched with such passion and skill. Flint had brought him to places and sensations he hadn’t known he’d had and all the while encouraging him to let go - he’d almost felt sorry for the crew that night - they couldn’t have gotten much sleep - especially when Flint had woken him at the crack of dawn the next day with a blowjob and another round before donning his Captain mask once more and beginning his day. 

Silver had felt the phantom of Flint all day. Had avoided sitting down most of the day though the one time he’d forgotten and yelped in pain the crew members were amused but not rude. Honestly most had seemed to be happy with the slightly less grumpy Flint had that materialised that morning. 

Silver doesn’t know, even now, what truly processed him to return the following night. Sure at the time he’d told himself someone that good in bed was simply worth repeated goes. But even then the spectre of danger was trying to warn him off - that and the idea that it wasn’t something that could possibly last. Who they were, what they wanted, how they saw the world surely it was too different - and in any case Silver had intended to be gone from that world the second he got his share of that gold. 

Silver tapped lightly on the Captain’s cabin and without waiting for acknowledgement or answer went in. “Captain.” 

Flint’s eyes flicked up briefly before returning to his maps. “Silver.”

Silver moved towards the desk, smirking to himself remembering what had happened on that obscenely large desk only the night before, and leaned forward placing his hands on the desk. “I think we both know why I’m here.”  

Flint’s eyes were subtle but flicked up nonetheless. “No.”

“Oh I agree,” murmured Silver, “It’s an awful idea. Truly. Awful.” A barely there smirk - victory. “So how about we decide to agree this is a truly awful decision that we mutually agree to keep making for the foreseeable future?” 

The bad decision turned out not to be the sex but the feelings that came with it. Those showed up later but by the time Flint was planning to return to the sea to search for Vane he and Silver had come to The Walrus purely to finally make love, for that’s what they did that night, accepting all that they were and all they could do to each other, cementing their new partnership even as Flint went off on what they both knew could be a simple suicide mission. Please try not to get yourself killed while you’re gone? I’ll try.

And it was that night, in this cabin, knowing they had changed from what they were to something that could last, could mean something, that had Silver finally break down. The tears fell and Silver cried desperately in the bed he’d shared with that beautiful contradictory man, for while he’d given Flint, given James, something his soul needed desperately in doing so he might have lost the love of his life in the process. 

***

It had been a week and Silver had decided he truly hated former Lord Thomas Hamilton. 

Having taken his advice Flint had confessed, apparently everything. And sure the lordling didn’t exactly approve of James’ actions as Flint but he understood. Apparently he and his wife had once agreed James was the living embodiment of Coriolanus before he’d gone off and actually followed the plot of the second act. So he honestly hadn’t been that surprised. The murder of his father was actually something Thomas was fine with, as was the ending of Peter Ashe (if not the town - bought with the blood of their pain or not) - the death Thomas had had issues with was Miranda and though he’d raged that pain and grief was something he could share with Flint. If anything it brought them closer together. 

As for Flint’s prediction that the island would have issues with the former lordling turned out to be untrue. His honest interest in people and general ability to cause people to be at ease in his presence had made him many friends and allies - also his habit of “Darling”ing Flint went he was about to be well “Flinty” (the Lord’s word for that) and stopping him dead had endeared him to many and caused much amusement to Jack, Anne and Max. 

Silver though. He had always been the one with the words. That talent to command the attention of a room and hold it. To know what to say, how to move, how not to get the room, the people, to do as he, or who he was currently working for, wanted.

But next to this man, to Thomas, Silver was an amateur. This island was filled from top to bottom of people who should hate him, should wish him ill and yet he had captured their hearts easily. He got on with the pirates, the barbarians, the merchants, the inlanders - hell despite his white aristocratic background him somehow managed to get on with the Maroons - Madi certainly seemed to like him but… he just bugged Silver.

Sure the Lordling had so many great qualities. His great breeding was evident in his walk, his stance, how he sat. He always seemed as if he was about to give some grand speech and all were rapt and ready for it. After a word with Max and Jack he was dressed in a fashion more to his liking and though it should have made him inaccessible to the general crowd it suited him so thoroughly it seemed to only make him more him… 

Silver supposed for a man in his late forties L-Thomas was a moderately attractive man. His blonde locks had some grey but for some reason they suit him. He has a ridiculously strong jaw - it shouldn’t look that good. He was so very tall - almost as tall as Vane had been (if he was ever once again in the Captain’s private circle he’d bring it up) and obviously strong. But so gentle and delicate in his movements like a dance, a performance. It was a shame the current fashion called for such tight breeches. Silver had tried not to notice but he had - Thomas was… well endowed. It wasn’t even a proportion thing - it was just… big. Those lips he really needed to stop biting, licking, when searching for the next word, next thought. And christ those eyes. So deep blue, so intense. And if Flint saw his soul Silver worried Thomas saw further than that - he could barely be in his pretense. Especially since he was usually with Flint. 

The only thing worse than being in love with a man in love with a man that wasn’t him was realising he was deeply truly and completely falling in love with the same man. Silver truly hated Thomas because if he’d known him otherwise he’d have loved him totally and completely but he didn’t know if he had any place or any right to even want Thomas…. Especially since he still wanted and loved Flint. Fuck he should have just got him books. Well only books. 

***

A few days of avoiding Flint and the Lordling later Silver found himself cornered by that self-same former Lord - Thomas. 

“I want to thank you John,” he said, crowding him against a wall.

“You did already,” he gasped, “the day you arrived,”

“Oh not for my rescue from that plantation, or indeed what your men did to it, but for what arrived at James and Miranda’s former home yesterday,” Silver doesn’t speak. “The books. Quite the present. We’re both biblophiles. It was clever of you to bring the collection from the plantation to here - honestly this island needs a proper library.”

Silver quirks an eyebrow at that. Thomas sighs. 

“You are exhausting. Almost as much as James.” Thomas stares at his hands, fiddling with them, “I think you need to come by the house.” Silver opens his mouth to object, “It's the Christmas season even if the Caribbean doesn’t fit the official ideal of the season and friends visiting during this time is traditional.” Thomas flicks his eyes up to him and its impossible, he’s taller than him but suddenly he’s looking so much smaller than him. “Please can you come to the house? For supper? Tonight? Say yes.”

Thomas fixes him with that intense stare and he is lost, “Yes. I’ll come.”

Thomas smiles as brilliantly as the sun and Silver finds he can’t remember why this is a bad idea. 

***

It's a long trek to the home that had previously been Flint and Mrs. Barlow’s home. But Silver endures it. He arrives just as dusk is falling and taps on the door.

“Quartermaster,” breathes Thomas, “I believe that’s your official title? Dear John,” he throws the door open wide, “do come in.”

Silver enters gingerly. But there is no one else in the immediate area except Thomas placing the last few finishing touches to the table and occasionally stirring at the supper on the fire. 

“Would you excuse me for a moment? The water pail is empty and that won’t do for our needs tonight.”

“Of course. Do you need me to do anything?” Silver says as he removes his coat. 

“Not really. Perhaps keep half an eye on the pot. But its unlikely to need any help - its pretty much done.”

Thomas ducked out of the door dragging a coat over him as he went. 

Silver wandered over to the pot of stew and gave it a half-hearted poke knowing he’d likely do as bad as good in doing so. 

“What The Fuck Are You Doing Here?” That deep and strong voice was unmistakable.

“I was invited.” says Silver simply. “By your paramour. Apparently as thanks for the books from the plantation.”

Flint ducks his head at that. “Yes. Thank you. God knows what we would have done if Thomas had only my tiny collection to sustain him. I shall still need to expand the number of books on this island if I’m to feed his need.” Flint’s eyes flick once more to Silver’s face and stay there boring into him as before. “Why are you here?”

“Because I was invited,” replies Silver tiredly, “and it was nice to be wanted.”

Flint’s face hardens. “You believe you are unwanted?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Silver snaps. “Since he returned I have seen nothing of you!” Silver looks at the floor, “And that’s fine. You were his truest love it makes sense he is yours. And I knew it. When I brought him here I knew I’d lose you to him. It shouldn’t hurt but it does.” A tear escapes and rolls down his cheek, “And worse than that I…. I think… no I know I love him too. He’s… he’s just… he’s so… I shouldn’t. Even more than you I know he’s bad for me but I…” Silver wipes his face, “It’s fine. It’s my problem. Tell him I got sick. I’ll go back to The Walrus and leave you guys to your happiness…”

Silver is grabbed from his attempt towards the door and turned hand to cheek towards Flint, “Do you think me so an inconstant lover, partner, that the return of Thomas would mean I would no longer have no feeling for you? Have I been so bad a lover, partner that you think I have no true feelings for you? Silver, John… Do you not know how much I loved you? Love you? And love you all the more because of what you gave me? How can you think you can give me something I believed no one was capable of giving me and think I’d love you less because of that?” 

Silver desperately searches Flint’s face for any signs of lies and finds none. Only desperation, sadness, love and hope…. Silver sags and finds strong hands keeping him upright. 

“I’m sorry,” whispers Silver, “I thought… I thought-”

What Silver thought was cut off as Flint brought his lips gently to Silver’s in a questioning kiss. Silver pressed back desperately - god how he’d missed this man. Missed the simple touches that sent such fire through his veins. And now with the confirmation that his devotion, his love, was not one-sided, that even the return of this great love of his past could not change his feelings for him, the fire was not just a burn of passion but the glow of a warm fireside. Silver happily sank into Flint the kiss just beginning to be greedy when-

“Finally,” Silver practically jumped a foot backwards at the sound of Thomas’ voice behind him but was prevented from fleeing by the strong embrace of his captain, his lover, who only allowed him enough movement to turn towards Thomas. “I thought I might have to tie you together in room overnight to get the pair of you to talk to one another. I had truly feared we would be here until the next Christmas period.” 

Silver’s blood thumped in his ears but Thomas was smiling, his eyes intent on he and Flint still loosely in an embrace with Flint flush against his back and thumbs rubbing lightly against his stomach. 

Thomas moved with ridiculous grace towards them, something that could only have been taught from birth, yet the approach had an edge to it. He’s stalking towards me came the thought out of nowhere and now thought it was clear this was what Thomas was doing. He stopped just short of actually touching Silver but close enough he could feel each breath exhaled, those deep blue eyes hypnotising in their intensity. He was studying Silver, searching for some answer and apparently found it as he closed the final distance between them with a hand to his cheek and a gentle but thorough kiss. 

Silver wanted to touch, wanted to put his hands on Thomas, but his body seemed unwilling to obey - honestly the force and shock of that kiss had Silver sure he would have been on the floor but for the men holding up close and sure between them. Perhaps they knew just how deeply affected he was by this moment - had they struggled to keep the Earth beneath their feet the first time they had kissed too?

Slowly Thomas drew back and once more pinned Silver with his gaze. “From the moment I heard the name of my rescuerer I was curious. Who would go to such trouble for an apparent stranger? Have the resources to send men so far on so little information and with such loyalty and devotion? And then I saw you - saw how James looked at you - and I knew I had met a man I would have to know much better.” a pause, “Intimately.” There was that mischievous look again. “You have said I have thanked you already but I feel my thanks have been rather insufficient. After all when I was on that plantation I had often said I would get on my knees before the person who would free me from that awful place,” Thomas hands were now at Silver’s breeches, “Your exceptional beauty makes what would have been a simple benediction a true pleasure.” 

Gaze locked on Silver Thomas opened and slid down his breeches before sliding down in turn all the time his eyes on him. Flint’s hands too were busy seeing to Silver’s shirt and in confusion Silver turned to him for an answer only find himself drawn into another deep kiss of passion. 

A shift yet deft stroke of his member brought Silver’s attention once more to Thomas and, definitely no mistaking it now, he was smirking, “Definitely Long John Silver.” 

Silver didn’t bother to hide the eyeroll, “That ridiculous nickname was given with regards to my memory. I promise you the man who came up with it wouldn’t have-” he broke off with an inelegant and incoherent noise as Thomas’ talented mouth joined his hand on his cock. 

And what a sight Thomas was on his knees, those lovely smirking lips sucking lightly at his head as the agile fingers of one hand teased and stroked. Silver was sure he would have sunk to the floor himself had it hadn’t been for Thomas’ remaining had pinning him in place against Flint. Flint for his part had found his way to Silver’s nipples and was caressing them in a way that was frankly distracting - and that was nothing to what his lips were busy doing to Silver’s neck. 

It was Thomas suddenly swallowing his length down that spurned Silver to motion. With a wail, eyes closed, he brought a hand to each man’s head, fingers digging in and grabbing handfuls of hair, desperately needing something to anchor himself in the moment. 

Silver opened his eyes briefly as Flint’s lips left his neck only for them to close again as Flint captured his mouth in a possessive kiss, moaning, his own condition being made apparent by the hardening length at Silver’s back.  

It was too much. Thomas’ mouth insistent at him, swallowing him deeply now before withdrawing to the tip before engulfing him once more, his fingers at his hips no doubt leaving marks, Flint’s fingers pinching at his nipples and exploring his chest in turn, mouth never leaving his skin, pressing desperate kisses and nips everywhere they touched. Silver pulled strongly at Thomas’ hair in warning but succeeded in only causing that maddening man to suck all the harder. With a strangled and broken noise Silver came gasping into Flint’s mouth, kept from the floor only by his two lovers holding him steady in the moment. 

Silver came back to himself as Thomas stood once more before him reaching towards James as James leaned towards him. They shared a scorching kiss over Silver’s shoulder as he stared still floating in his orgasm haze. James licked his lips wickedly as they parted, Silver groaned  as his body tried valiantly to stir once more back into action despite the short respite it had had. 

“I should have guessed you’d be a noisy one,” murmured Thomas into his hair, nuzzling slightly. 

“Oh I can assure you he hasn’t even begun to be noisy Thomas. You should hear him once he really gets going,” James once more attached that damned mouth to Silver’s neck and whatever smart remark had been playing round Silver’s mind slipped away. 

“Perhaps relocation to the bedroom would be in order, hmm?” suggested Thomas as he took Silver’s hands and began walking backwards. 

A single step on his left leg though had Silver nearly pitching forward in pain. Bloody leg. Luckily with the hands of both men on him he was kept mostly steady. Thomas quickly once more bent to remove his breeches completely hesitating at the buckles holding his iron peg in place. 

“Please don’t,” Silver said. “I don’t… I’ll do it.” 

Thomas stood and pressed a kiss to Silver’s lips before retreating to the bedroom, throwing heated looks over his shoulder at the two men still left. 

Silver looked down and awkwardly began to bend to remove his peg when Flint’s hands stopped him. “We once agreed pride should not be an issue between us. I hope that hasn’t changed. Let me help… let me care for you, John.” 

Overcome Silver could only nod and steady himself on Flint’s shoulder as he moved to remove the peg. As it came away Flint grasped it firmly before sweeping Silver into his arms, the strength of his captain always a surprise but one that in this instance felt safe and warm as Flint carried him through the house towards the bedroom. 

Silver got rid of what remained his clothing as he was carried, feeling impatient all of a sudden to return to the heated moment that had shared only moments before. Upon entering they found Thomas already disrobed and waiting for them on the bed - for all those clothes show they hide even more Silver couldn’t decide where to look first he really his so large all over. 

As he was deposited on the bed by James he was taken quickly into Thomas’ embrace fingers threading into Silver’s curls and face guided into a deep kiss. Thomas broke the kiss rubbing his nose against Silver’s and nodding at him to turn to look behind him. James was undressing, somewhat subconsciously, a light flush about his face. 

“Doesn’t he look divine John,” stated Thomas, somewhat louder than was perhaps necessary to reach John who was skin to skin to him and obviously aimed at James as much as him, “I should have an issue with his shyness of his form if that blush didn’t improve the view for the better.” 

A deeper red flooded James’ skin even as he glared and Thomas huffed a laugh into Silver’s hair. That blush really did look wonderful on James skin - even if it made his freckles harder to see from a distance. Really all that meant was they had to get closer. 

James finally naked as the day he was born quickly joined them on the bed and went to Silver’s arms kissing him gently, “I’ve missed you.” 

Silver smiled, “You’ve not been lacking in company surely, especially here?” Silver stroked a hand down Thomas’ thigh purposely avoiding his considerable length, “and such grand company to boot.” 

Thomas caught his hand bringing it to his lips, “Your lack of presence was felt all the same. I much prefer this solid and stunning version of you in our bed rather than the ghostly version of you that has been hovering unseen ever since I returned.” Thomas kissed him hungrily hand returning to Silver and stroking, “Besides this is something James would miss terribly.”

James groaned, “I should have known allowing you two to converse would be dangerous. Enough talking about your cocks already. Action is what needed here gentlemen.” 

“Oh so forceful James. Or is this Flint?” Thomas said teasingly. 

Silver snorts. “It’s James. Flint is never this talkative-” 

Silver broke off with a shout as James engulfed him to his root sucking strongly causing Silver to harden once more. 

Flint smiled his sharklike smile at Silver, “Thank fuck you’re young. I have truly missed this,” Flint teasingly stroked, “especially riding it. And after Thomas thanked you so thoroughly I was worried I wouldn’t get the chance.” 

Flint’s other hand, streaked with oil, quickly coated Silver’s cock and then Flint immediately sunk down - Oh god Thomas must have fucked him only shortly before I arrived. Bastard planned this. Silver could only groan his pleasure at the warm heat surrounding him. He had missed this - missed James. 

For a moment James simply sat there before he slowly began to grind down on Silver, hands coming to the headboard for support, shifting, fucking himself, slowly a look of pure bliss on his face, Silver brought his hands to Flint’s hips needing to touch him while he looked so beautiful, so free. Thomas for his part was watching James too. 

“He looks wonderful sat on your cock, John.” came Thomas’ voice near his ear. “He could come just like that. Slowly fucking himself on you until he came. You wouldn’t though - he’d make sure he’d get another ride before you came again.” Thomas’ hands were wandering Silver with purpose now, “But I imagine you know this. He will take charge if you don’t. Perhaps you should do something about that.” he finished with a nip to his ear. 

Silver decided to take the hint and began to push up into Flint causing them both to make obscene noises. While Flint was briefly distracted by this Silver surged forwards and now James was below him hands grasping John’s shoulders for purchase and eyes urging him to move. Which Silver happily did. 

Silver had barely made two thrusts when he let out a moan that had little to do with James and everything to do with the tongue now working its way into him. Silver grabbed at the hand on his hips and squeezed and both his thrusts and the ministrations of Thomas’ tongue began in earnest. 

It was just as well he had come already as the duel pleasure of Flint surrounding him and Thomas’ tongue invading him had would have made this whole venture over far too quickly. It was offered a slight respite when Thomas’ length replaced his tongue - god that man was huge. But Silver had always adjusted quickly and now he had Flint surrounding him and Thomas filling him he wasn’t long before they were moving together all hell bent on the same course. Silver had stopped trying to guess which hand was whose and only knew which lips by the angle and beard as he rode his pleasure fucking and being fucked by these truly astounding men he had fallen for. It was beautiful and perfect and a tragedy it couldn’t last forever. When Silver came back to himself he was cleaned and between his men being nuzzled and cuddled and just plain cared for. 

Thoroughly sated and curled between his lovers Silver was happily planning on falling into happy lustful dreams when he felt Thomas stirring at his side. 

“He wouldn’t have what?” 

“What?” 

“The man who gave you your nickname? He wouldn’t have what?” Thomas’ fingers trailed idly across Silver’s chest. “You were in the middle of saying something about it before we distracted you.” 

Silver gave a snort, “You’re lucky I have the good memory he named me for - anyone else would have had that thought and a good many others fucked from them by the two of you.” He turned onto his back to look at Thomas, “I was about to say, ‘he wouldn’t have realised the sexual connotations of that nickname. He certainly had no knowledge I was long in something other than memory - and I doubt the fact would have registered for him if he had.” Thomas looked puzzled so Silver continued, “The man was known as Billy Bones here. He had been boatswain and quartermaster, among other things, on mine and Flint’s crew and in all the years I knew him I never knew him to have a sexual impulse - at least not an obvious one. He didn’t even seem to realise James fancied him rotten,” a dig was delivered to Silver’s side, “Well you did.”

“Never did a thing about his attraction I presume?” came Thomas’ not quite question as he threw a slightly exasperated look in James’ direction. 

“You know him well enough to know the answer to that. Honestly if I hadn’t had made that first move our attraction would have gone unexplored also.” Thomas smirked knowingly at that, “You too?” 

“Absolutely. Miranda too. Left to James none of it would have ever happened.” 

“It wouldn’t have been appropriate to bed Billy, even if he had been interested himself,” growled James, clearly not keen on the direction this conversation was taking, “He was very young [“and how old is John, darling?”] and he was all but a son to my quartermaster at the time. It all would have been too complicated - also why I didn’t begin anything with John, among other reasons,” Flint shot Silver a look while Thomas laughed so he’d told him all that too, “but Silver was very… persuasive.”

“Perhaps if you had bedded him you would have had an easier time with him. Did it not frustrate you to know he had an attraction to a foe that perhaps he could have turned into an ally in such a way?” Thomas asked Silver. 

“Oh that wasn’t Billy! If I’d have wanted to maneuver him into that sort of an arrangement I would have sent him in the direction of-” the name Vane was kept from being spoken by James’ very insistent lips, pressing him back into the bed and hands moving to clearly with the intention of ending this conversation immediately. 

Oh well - I doubt Thomas will remember to ask about this as well. 

Christmas Eve

Silver returned from the cliffs just in time for the sun to begin setting. Entering their shared home Silver narrowed avoided hitting his head on one of the lower hanging kissing boughs (“So you can easily reach them, dear”) and reached into the heavily scented greenery to retrieve a sprig of mistletoe bearing two berries. 

Silver glanced around him happily taking in the various evergreen decorations that had appeared in their home earlier this morning including the hazel strewn yule log burning merrily away despite the entire lack of cold within. Silver wandered over first to Thomas with his sprig receiving a slightly distracted kiss in return so lost was he in his book before turning to the hearth working full capacity on the goose and the other components that would make up their Christmas feast that evening where a somewhat frazzled James was working. 

Undaunted by James’ mild glare Silver held his mistletoe high and received a somewhat grumpy kiss in return. 

“I see you have arrived just in time to avoid working due to spiritual reasons,” James groused poking seemingly randomly at the food cooking before him. 

It was true, he was shortly to light the menorah after which all work was forbidden for an hour afterwards, but Silver hardly thought this mattered. 

“You won’t let me cook remember?” Silver smirked happily, “Don’t trust me to poison everyone with ‘my entire lack of ability ‘.” he quoted and both he and James looked over at the snort from Thomas.

“You did rather shoot yourself in the foot with that story about the pig, darling,” Thomas said eyes still firmly on the pages before him. “You can’t take it or the comment about “where ever did you learn to cook?” back just because you’ve backed yourself into a corner for the Christmas feast.”

Flint did glare at that comment, “I didn’t invite half the island here for dinner either.” 

Thomas does look up at that comment, “Four extra people is hardly half the island, James. And feasts with friends and neighbours are part of Christmas. Just because you don’t like people doesn’t mean I won’t be inviting them over.” Thomas returns to his book. “Besides Max et al are hosting Boxing Day and Madi is overseeing the 12th night celebrations so don’t be a grump.” 

James huffed and returned to his hearth muttering about inviting former enemies into his home under the guise of celebrating as Silver wandered over to the menorah in the windowsill. 

Night had fallen and Silver reached for the shamash* and began murmuring the half-remembered blessings as he lit the first three candles. Silver wished he could be sure the words were right but after so many years he had only dim memories to guide him but he was sure the effort was worth something - if only to the memory of those long gone. 

As Silver finished intoning the blessings and left the candles to burn Flint spoke up again, “This will be able to be left to its own devices in an hour - and there’ll be space if you…?” 

“Of course,” Silver smiled over at the blushing captain prepared to agree it was the heat that made him so pink if questioned. 

Ever since he’d dared to cook and prepare the latkes Flint had become addicted. Even If the blessings had been only half remembered the method of making latkes had stuck. As did the flashes of long dark curly hair and eyes like his smiling down at him from seemingly ridiculous heights. Silver shook his head to remove them - the past still wasn’t his friend but some parts he was trying to allow to come back to him. 

Silver began to walk over to Thomas only for Flint’s voice to stop him, “On the table. It’s for you. It’s late. I’m sorry. My delivery men were not as efficient as yours.” 

James was definitely blushing now. All the heat in the world wouldn’t have caused that familiar deep red that travelled down his neck and (though it wasn’t showing now) far beyond. Silver went to the table and found a box decorated lightly with evergreen and holly. He opened it to find a beautifully tooled hardback entitled Les Mille et une nuits. Silver excitedly turned to the flyleaf page and read the carefully inscribed message: 

To my real-life Shahrazad, 

You need never fear the dawn

Your James 

Silver’s eyes flicked to the back of the determinedly not looking at him Captain. That colour was never going to fade now. Silver made his way over in any case and pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

“You remembered?” He was staring intently at the goose now, “I love it. Late or not.” 

As Silver turned to go he was grabbed back for a deep kiss and nuzzle. Before a swift smack was delivered to his backside. “Now shoo. Go bother Thomas and leave me to cook.” But James was smiling shyly as he turned back to the fire. 

Silver for once didn’t argue and turned to join Thomas on his perch. “Whatever did he get you? He absolutely refused to allow me to see it.” Silver showed happily passed the volume to Thomas, “Ohh and one I haven’t read.” Thomas flicked it open. “Shahrazad?” 

“Married to a blood-thirsty, tyrant king with a dawn death sentence over her head Shahrazad avoided her fate by telling elaborate and neverending stories.” Thomas looked over with amusement at James but he was still not looking and not listening at all. “And the book is the stories she tells all filled with people outsmarting powerful curses and getting themselves in and out of trouble almost in the same breath.”

“How very you! You read French?” Thomas queried. 

“I do. Not as well as I did. And I didn’t read the book originally in French.” Silver leaned his head on Thomas’ shoulder, “Can you read it well enough to translate? I don’t believe our dear captain has much French.” 

A soft, sad smile played across Thomas’ face and Silver realised he had managed to remind Thomas once again of Miranda. He wondered at what it was he had said and made a note to ask later as Thomas opened the book to the first page. 

“I think I can manage dear… A long long time ago lived two kings who were brothers...”

Silver closed his eyes as the words of the familiar story washed over him along with the warmth and security that only came when he was with his loves. Silver had never expected when he decided to retrieve Thomas for Flint he would have resulted in Silver gaining such a precious thing - not Thomas though he was unique and wonderful of course - but a home. And Silver knew in his bones in a way he had never known before he would never be wanting for one again. 

***

Okay so some notes on the story: 

-First off I am a total goyim. I researched how one goes about celebrating Hanukkah on a Jewish website but if I got any details wrong its my fault and no offense intended. On that note the shamash is the ninth candle of the menorah - the “helper” candle used to light the other candles since you are not supposed to use the other candles in anything but worship. Latkes are a kind of potato pancake treat made during this period. Silver is lighting the 3rd candle because Hanukkah begins apparently on Dec 22nd. 

-So in Georgian times Christmas gifts were exchanged on St. Nicholas’ Day, the 6th of December, which was the start of the Christmas season in this period - which is why Silver was so keen to have Thomas there on that date. Twelfth night was (and as far as I know still is) Jan 6 - which is the ending of the season celebrated by a very large feast and party. Madi is going to be busy. 

-Evergreens and greenery were part of decoration for the celebration of Christmas but it was considered bad luck to bring it into the house before Christmas Eve. The Yule log was also retrieved on Christmas Eve and decorated with Hazel plants before being set alight and left as such for as long as possible during the season. A small piece of it was kept back to light the following years one. 

-I totally stole the idea of Les Mille et une nuits being a favoured book of Silver’s from another fic - though which I can’t remember at the moment so sorry if its yours! - because it is so perfect for him. But it is a bit anachronistic - technically speaking it wasn’t translated into French until between 1704-1717 - by which time Silver was already on Nassau and probably didn’t have time for casual reading so to make it something he could have read when he was younger I’ve had him claim he read it in a different language. His vague background sort of makes it possible - but I can’t claim I know for certain Silver would have known Arabic!

-That post going round where a guy pins a guy to wall and the wall is another guy? Yeah this was my attempt at that. Hope it worked for everyone! 

-Sorry for the need for extra notes - I’m a former History student with a degree and a big geek besides. 

Hope you enjoyed it and a very happy holidays to all!

[bestgamingchair-blog2]

Are Gaming Chair worth it?

Play chairs often have a lot of stick. But, people continue to invest impressive amounts of money in them, year after year. So, that made us think: are gaming chairs worth it? Or have we just been conditioned to want them because they look impressive?

We wanted to look at how gaming chairs are made and whether they can really improve your game or even your health. I set myself the task of learning everything I could about gaming chairs for this very article, and let me tell you that I've learned a lot.

Are gaming chairs worth it?

As someone who doesn't own a gaming chair (I think I'm the only one in the office who hasn't managed to hook one yet), I was walking into this article completely blind. But, I was the first in line to try out all the chairs that came through our doors recently and enjoyed hours of a comfortable session as I plunged into research mode.

Go on, ask me anything. Now I'm like the Stephen Fry of game chairs.

What makes the perfect game chair?

Let's start by looking at what makes the perfect game chair. When you choose a new gaming chair, there is a long list of factors to consider, some more important than others.

Comfort Obviously, one of the important factors to consider when choosing a game chair is how comfortable it is. Chances are you're going to be parking your butt for a while, so make sure it provides enough comfort to keep you focused on your gaming rather than progressive numbness in your butt.

Game chairs are built with comfort in mind: manufacturers are aware that US players have no time limit when it comes to attacking the Alliance in WoW or fighting through Battle Royales in Fortnite, which is also related to ergonomics.

Does the chair have enough lumbar support? Is it designed for someone of your height and build? Are the armrests adjustable? There are many ergonomic factors that can damage your alignment when sitting. Game chairs are designed to fight them and keep you comfortable as long as possible, so make sure that's what they're doing.

Material When it comes to play chairs, you'll see the three most popular material options: leather, fabric and mesh. Each has its own benefits and drawbacks, so it all comes down to personal preference.

Leather: Leather is the best for aesthetics, as well as being easy to clean thanks to its easy-to-clean texture. But, it is often less durable as it is usually PU instead of genuine leather.

Fabric: fabric is usually more comfortable and durable than leather or mesh play chairs. However, it can be much more difficult to keep a fabric play chair looking clean and fresh, as stains harden more easily and usually cannot be cleaned.

Mesh: Mesh definitely does not win any beauty contests. However, thanks to its high level of breathability, it does a better job of keeping you cool and sweat-free while you play, and the lightweight material can often be positive for some.

Style If you're buying a gaming chair, you'll probably care about the aesthetics of your gaming configuration. So style really does play a role in the selection process. We will go into the different styles of gaming chairs in more detail below. But, the most common types are PC gaming chairs, racing chairs, rocking chairs and pedestal gaming chairs.

Deciding which design will work best for your style of gaming, and how you plan to use it, will make choosing the perfect gaming chair much easier.

Durability Finally, we have durability. Play chairs are, historically, quite expensive. Therefore, you should make sure you get as much life as possible. The durability of a chair is affected by a few different factors: material, construction, style and use.

Fabric chairs tend to be the most durable material, and PC gaming chairs generally outperform other styles. But how you use it and how you care for it is just as important. Take the time to learn the best way to keep your chair in top condition, and you will extend its life considerably with minimal effort.

Features Every game chair is different, and they all come with different features. Many chairs come with speakers in the headrest so you can really immerse yourself in the gaming experience. Others come with brackets for controllers or other accessories. While others have more customization options when it comes to configuration. Deciding which of these additional extras are most important to you is vital in narrowing down your list of possible seating options.

Things to consider When you have narrowed down what type of game chair you are looking for, you can begin your search. As you browse through the many options available, here are the things you should consider before making your final purchase.

Price The Big One. How much are you willing to spend on a game chair? For a high quality chair, you're looking at a few hundred dollars, which may be out of the question for many players. There are cheaper options available, but you can't always guarantee a quality product if you hold the purse strings too tightly. Just keep that in mind.

Reviews If a president has a long list of negative reviews on the web, you can bet it's not worth your time or money. It is now easier than ever to check these things out, so you should always take the time to investigate before making a large purchase like this.

Whether that means reading reviews of practical chairs (like our review of Noblechairs Epic or Secretlab The Omega), or just checking your star ratings on Amazon: listen to those who came before you.

Purpose How do you plan to use your chair? You will have to decide if it will be purely for play, or if it will also function as an office chair. Does it have to fit in with the design of your living room, or does it go in your own playroom? Not all chairs translate well into other areas of life, so be sure to decide on this from the outset.

Improving performance Most game chair companies like to talk about how their chairs can help improve our gaming performance, but how much of what they say is true?

Posture One of the great benefits of using a play chair is that it can help improve your posture while you are playing for long periods of time. Specifically designed with that in mind, the built-in lumbar support helps you avoid ending up with a backache, the headrest keeps your spine in alignment, and the armrests mean you won't end up leaning too far forward.

All of this means you can continue to concentrate on your games and won't feel the need to take so many stretching breaks, so you can play longer.

Comfort It may not seem like much, but being comfortable while spending long hours in front of a PC can make a big difference. If you're not focused on that pain in your back, or how your neck needs a good crack, then you can concentrate more on your games.

Long-term effects Sitting in a poorly constructed chair for hours can leave a more lasting effect on your body. You may find that you spend less and less time playing because of its configuration. You may develop back and neck problems, and begin to fear another long gaming session in your standard office chair. Obviously, this will also begin to have an impact on your gaming over time.

The evolution of gaming chairs

When was the first game chair invented? How have game chairs changed over the years? Well, young padawan, I'm glad you asked because I have hours of research to show.

The first game chair was created in 2006 by DXRacer. As a company, they worked primarily on developing seats for luxury racing cars, so gaming chairs generally look like racing seats (and are labeled "racing chairs"). These racing style chairs came with a higher backrest than regular chairs, providing more support for the back and shoulders for long periods of time sitting.

When DXRacer started making their racing chairs, there wasn't really any competition to worry about. The idea of gaming chairs was still a foreign concept to most players. That is until Twitch was released a year later and people started streaming their games on the platform. It became a big part of the platform to have an attractive setup, so more and more people started investing in their own game chairs.

Types of game chairs

We mentioned earlier that there is no longer a single type of game chair. The niche has expanded to include a variety of design and style options, but which style of gaming chair is right for you? Well, let's take a look.

PC gaming chairs

For PC players, it makes sense that a PC game chair is the best bet. These chairs look like normal office chairs, but with some notable differences. They come with a bucket style seat, higher backs and a generally more ergonomic design. Compared to office chairs, PC gaming chairs come with many more customization options to help the chair fit your body as best as possible.

They usually come with adjustable armrests, exceptional lumbar support, and even speakers on the headrest. All designed to give you the best possible PC gaming experience.

Racer chairs

As the name implies, these seats are specifically designed for racing games and simulate the type of car seat you would find in a racing car. While you can use this seat for any type of game, it has been specially designed for those fast and furious racers who have you spinning around corners and cursing yourself for oversteering.

They are quite similar to PC game chairs, only they put more emphasis on the design of racing cars that we know and love.

Rockers

If you are more of a console player than a PC player, chairs and runners are usually not the best option for you. They are designed to be used at a desk, not in front of a TV screen. Rockers are designed to sit on the floor and cradle your body so you can enjoy hours of console gaming. They often come with space to store your controllers and speakers in the headrest to ensure that you can fully immerse yourself in whatever game you're playing.

Pedestal Chairs

Like rockers, these chairs are more suitable for console games. They sit on a pedestal that lifts them just above the ground but have a similar style and design to rockers. Whether you prefer a rocking chair or a pedestal chair really depends on your game settings and the height of your TV screen.

Other chair designs

In addition to the main varieties listed above, you can also find companies that produce a wide range of different game chair designs. There are chairs with bean bags (which, let's be honest, are just expensive bean bags), gaming couches with space for controllers and built-in speakers, and even inflatable gaming chairs (can't you hear the furniture squeaking?). Most of these have yet to be understood in a big way, although I'm not exactly surprised by that.

How are gaming chairs made?

How do these companies actually make a chair that offers such exceptional levels of support and comfort? It takes a lot to make the perfect chair. So let's take a look inside a typical gaming chair to see how they are made.

Table Think of the frame as the skeleton of the chair. It sits deep inside where we cannot see it, but it is responsible for holding everything together and giving it its structure. The material this frame is made of ultimately influences how strong and durable your play chair is. Most chairs use strong but flexible materials such as steel to provide the best possible support.

Base Right at the bottom of your chair is the base. Many manufacturers of gaming chairs use five-foot bases to ensure that their weight is evenly distributed and does not cause the chair to become unbalanced. There will also be wheels on the bottom of each of the feet to make it easier to maneuver the chair around your play configuration.

Cushioning Where all the comfort comes from: the cushioning. This layer is on top of the frame and is what helps you stay seated comfortably during your play sessions. Most brands of gaming chairs will use some type of foam as cushioning, allowing you to sink into the chair without causing indentations over time.

Cover Keeping all that memory foam inside is the cover. This varies from chair to chair and can be made of fabric or leather. The thickness of this cover and the seams used contribute to both the design and durability of a chair.

Armrest There wouldn't be a good game chair without adjustable armrests. The best chairs will come with four directions of adjustment: backward / forward, left / right turn, left / right adjustment and height. Some armrests will be solid made of metal or plastic, while others will be padded for extra comfort.

Now, you've learned everything you need to know to find your own perfect game chair. But, the question we wanted to answer in this article was "Are gaming chairs worth it," right?

They're not always worth the money you spend on them. They won't make you a better player, you can probably find a good office chair for less and spend the money you save on more games. But who wants an office chair as part of their setup?

Game chairs are worth it because we love them. Because they look great and are comfortable to sit in for hours on end. In my opinion, they're always a great addition to a game setup. And hey, if we don't spend our money on fun, but on things that are a little useless, what kind of world would we live in?