#MC Framework

[vi-stri]

Listen/purchase: Windmills & Celsius 7 by Windmills

[slow-reader-reads-books]

Just finished Love for Sale by Dal Hyeonji... Choe Si-eon they could never make me hate you. Your autistic/alexithymic/bisexual aro-spec swag makes you too nuanced and complex for your average reader wanting a love-at-first-sight feet-sweeping prince charming type, don't worry I love you and so does your tall piece of ass Lee Namwoo!!!

[syluses]

𝄞 bloodhound

𓍯𓂃 hybrid sylus x female reader

(10k wc) ✦ summary: demanding, old, hostile— just a few of the warnings the man at the local shelter gave you before opening its cage. but it doesn’t matter. so long as he can protect you, all else can be forgiven. yet he’s more wolf than dog. more… man than wolf.

✦ content hybrid! sylus, nsfw/smut, hints of violence (not between mc/sylus), tension, kind of enemies to lovers-? he warms up to mc, knotting & adjusting to it, feral behavior, cunnilingus, slight somnophilia (not detailed), hinted age gap (all parties are 18+), possessive behavior, size difference,

✦ sidenote as by popular demand we have the latest installment of the lads hybrid collection 🙂‍↕️ i apologize in advance bc even as a wolf-man creature i made sylus older, because yall already know i love me a good ol’ fashioned dilf. dont ask me what bro is in dog years just know he’s scruffy! anyways do enjoy this lil thing while u wait for the caleb fic which i am busting my ass for :] 💕 ALSO sorry. he’s not feline this time… >_< this is def not my fav piece but i hope some of the girlies will like this one :] i did work hard on it it’s quite long. i gave it plot but tbh the smut is straight up filthy 😖 ig all we have left to do is hybrid rafayel! but that boy’s gonna have to wait lol :,) i do hav an idea for him tho ;D

With every step, it feels as if the walls of your apartment are closing in on you.

By your feet, at the front door you hardly have the coordination to close- blundering with the lock- lay a bouquet. Scattered. Flowers strew themselves across your hall as you kick the clasped bunch with the tip of your heel and glide from room to room, warily ducking into each one with your hand braced in front of your body, ready to beat and thrash and fight for your life.

In your other hand- a note. Crumpled, now. Shaking between your fingers.

You don’t think he’s gotten inside again- it seems the new home security measures you installed have thrown a wrench in his plans- for the moment, at least (although your spare key is still missing)- but you’re not wholly convinced you’re safe, either.

And to be clear, it’s better to be that than sorry: You’ll check each and every cranny of your little flat if it means reclaiming your peace of mind.

Your life is a different story though, as of late; threatened yet not something quite as simple to take back. Living with bated breath is no way to exist- neither with the perpetual looks thrown over your shoulder on the short trek back from the bus, the seemingly harmless creaks at night hurling you whole feet from your bed.

Because of that fear, you can hardly even bear to look down at the tiny paper in your hand to read it.

I loved that outfit on you yesterday babe. Can you blame me for taking a little from your wardrobe? ♡

Strangely, though, your drawer is just as you left it when you slide it from its framework almost fast enough to pop its screws, fearing the worst.

Clothes- your tee shirts, blouses for work and lacy bras, pencil skirts- fling across your bed, yet nothing is… amiss.

That outfit from yesterday.

With a gasp, you twist around to look at your hamper, and-

Sure enough, the lid is open.

✦

“-get a few new ones a week. Gets hard to keep up with ‘em all. All the personalities and quirks- a lot of them won’t even eat their kibble unless you look the other way.”

The cold brick walls and all the sounds bouncing off them (grunts, woofs, and nails against tile) become humdrum as the worker, waving a hand as he talks- rants, really- leads you through the pound.

The fluorescence lighting the place flares, whirs overhead. Everything about the setting is harsh. Obviously, you’re in no danger- but as you trail alongside him, you feel a sense of foreboding in your gut all the same. Like you’re walking into a dungeon.

The colorless walls swallowing up most of your vision make that silly threat seem an ounce realer.

You swallow, head on a swivel- yet not for fear, but sympathy as you pass an assortment of fenced-off pets. Some track you with a snarl. Some with eyes that plead. Still, they all share the undeniable tinge of distrust.

What an awful place, you think to yourself.

…But coming here had a purpose.

Your heels clip against the scratched floor and echo in rounds, a certain emptiness existing around you that seems misaligned with all the noise and sights.

Dogs in their cages— some upfront, teething at the metal, others: cowed to their corners, lying on thin blankets not quite as worse for wear.

To sum it up- creatures sapped of will. Defeated in life.

A distinct sorrow weighs in your chest, even as the employee happily drones on, a half-eaten tuna sandwich in one hand (the other: gesturing emphatically), hardly paying you any attention. To be fair, you’re giving him very little as well.

“-I mean, some don’t even eat at all. Picky things.”

Picky? You question quietly. Or without hunger? Their appetite for cheap, bagged kibble robbed right along with their appetite for life.

Your nails dent into your palm as you clench it.

It’s hard to get a word in edgewise as the man chatters away, but you manage to pile down your need to be polite for long enough to get in a:

Hey, excuse me, I asked what kind of dog you’d recommend for prot—

Clack, clack… Clack.

You come to a pause, dead-center in the walkway. The dull rhythm of his shoes remains where yours doesn’t.

“Heh. We got one a couple of months back who thinks this place is his own damn gourmet restaur-“

When he notices you’re not arm-to-arm, he, too, stops.

“Ma’am?” He turns.

“That one,” you breathe, just vaguely registering as the worker sidles up to you and glances at the cage you approach. The glint in your eye wins his interest.

For once since you entered the building, he shuts his mouth.

When he looks at ‘that one’ in question— a silver shock of fur, immersed in a shadow against the far wall— his eyes almost bulge from his skull.

A sharp laugh.

“Ah, little lady. Don’t wanna bite off more than you can chew, now. See-“

As he falls back into drivel (albeit, you lend an ear, curious now), you eye the pooch.

He looks a little wilder than the rest, a little more weathered, tucked to the corner of his cage but not quite ‘cowering’- no, he’s a touch too big and threatening for it to seem that way. More like… brooding.

…Yet you wonder all the same if that’s what he feels, too. Scared like most if not all of the others.

Your chest stirs again with that wisp of sadness.

If you could, you’d clip their collars to a leash and walk them all home, cramming them into your apartment with no thought and all heart. For reasons- countless reasons (having to do with your tiny home and even tinier wallet)- that’s not possible.

In a place as cold and unfortunate as this, he’d have every reason to be frightened, you think, but when your eyes soften with pity at him, his own narrow.

Thoughtfully, you blink.

As the worker rattles off his minor crimes around the playpen- and the hole he eats through their budget, what with his size- you can’t help but marvel at him.

Concerningly massive. With thick, silvery fur matted in certain areas, patchy with scars in others, and eyes that glow an unnatural shade of red- you can wholeheartedly say you’ve never seen the breed before. Less dog-like and more wolfish.

It warrants a raise of the brow, just what he’s doing here. Did he have an owner before? Was he abandoned by them? Or… was he just pulled from the street?

And if so, how many elephant-sized tranquilizer darts did it take to haul him here?

“So,” he says, stuffing his hand in his pockets, “Honestly, Ma’am, he’s probably not what you’re lookin’ for.” Giving your clacking heels and airy sundress a once-over, he sighs.

“We do have a Samoyed though- he was brought in just yesterday. Super playful. Great personality. Domesticated. He definitely won’t be here for long. Uh… this one here, though,” he snickers. “He’s unpredictable at the best of times. Growls when ya feed him- then growls some more ‘cause he’s still hungry... tsk,” he glances down at his hand, then. Evidently, there’s no mark there, but you think he’s imagining one that could’ve been.

“He’s on the older side, too. Can’t teach him any new tricks. And… big, as you can see. With his temperament, he’d probably tear a hole in your apartment. You, uh, you got an apartment, you said-?”

Right now, you should be thankful for all his advice- at the very least, relieved his chatter has become more meaningful, relaying all the pooch’s unruly habits. Yet you tune it all out, slightly cocking your head at the beast dog- a movement that, if you’re not imagining things, his scruffy one mirrors.

“He’s…”

“Yep. Like I said-“

“Perfect,” you breathe, falling to a crouch.

The man beside you coughs on his own spit. “What-? Uh, little lady, I seriously don’t think— hey, watch the hands! Don’t stick ‘em through!”

“-How much?”

You manage to pry your gaze from the ominous thing tucked a number of feet into his prison, cloaked and out of the light, to look up at the man. For all of the warnings and, really, defamation made against the animal— to his defense, he doesn’t lunge. Bark. Claw at the bars or slip his snout through to bite the harmless hand you extend in the space there.

No. With a lift of his whiskers, he watches.

Tuna-sandwich blinks. Eyes widening to twice their original size before he scrubs the lower half of his face.

Eventually, he shrugs. Takes a moment to process it.

As he does, you await the price with a hand already dipping inside your purse. I mean, you hope not to spend a small fortune during this outing- but it’s also an investment worth your while. There’s no saying when your stalker will show his face again. If tomorrow he’ll be waiting under your bed or in your closet for your return- hell, right now, the hackles on your neck are raised as if he could be lurking still.

A word relieves you of worries for naught.

“Nothing.”

…Wait- No, that can’t be right. Nothing? The- your future good boy is worth nothing?

“E-Excuse me?”

He sighs, exasperated. “You’d be doing us a favor,” is all he gives as an explanation. “You can have him for free.”

Dumbfounded, snapping your head back to the cage, you’re met with two crimson eyes that look almost hellish as they catch in the shifting fluorescence- and a pass of surprise on its face that appears almost… human.

“But, are you-“

“Haaaaah. Maybe it’s for the better. You’re like his savior, you know,” he comments, sparing a rather indifferent glance to the animal, “he oughta be thankful for you coming in here.”

And there, fucking again- like a blade wedged between your ribs and twisting—

“Too much longer and we would’a had to put him down.”

A squeeze of your heart.

Jaw fluttering shut, that morsel of information wipes the entirety of your hesitance out. Belatedly, you nod, perching your bag above your hip once more, a sense of determination smoothing out your features.

“When can we get him out of this cage?”

You ask without looking his way.

The sound of keys jingling on a ring has the silver-furred creature perking his left ear ever so slightly- a movement you track with curiosity as the beast’s chest swells in. It’s like he understands. Maybe he does. Maybe he’s seen countless people just like you filter in and out, pass him by, and ultimately land on a different pet to jailbreak take home.

“I can get you sorted right now,” he quips, helpful, “Just… You might wanna back up.”

Weirdly enough- and despite knowing you really should be cautious with a veritable beast from the local shelter, scarred to no end and skulking- all the tiptoeing around him is endearing in its own right.

He’s a good boy, you’re sure of it. Misunderstood, probably, like the rest of the poor, trembling things here— just in need of a nice, loving home and maybe a scritch or two behind the ear. And you’re positive, if nothing else, he’ll do plenty a good job at keeping your stalker at bay.

It takes a handful of minutes to loop the rope (not leash: rope) around his neck- yet the worker treats it as a pleasant surprise, muttering something about how he’s just a whit more cooperative today.

“Thank you,” you chime a bit breathlessly. Sure, your main goal in coming here was to find a suitable guard dog, but you can’t deny the excitement that flutters within as the gate closes to a now-empty cage, your new pet springing free.

Anticipation thrums in your chest as you eagerly accept the rope from him- “careful,” a snigger- and—

The ground beneath you all but gives way.

“Oh, sir- one more thing! What’s his name!”

He stops for a moment to turn halfway over his shoulder. Long, overgrown nails skittering across the floor as the leash tugs harshly and you’re rapidly propelled out the front door, into sunlight.

However, you do catch him shrugging.

“No clue.”

✦

A number of days pass. Those days drag by with an eagerness to get to know each other that seems only one-sided- and a caution on his end that borders uncanniness.

You buy him a fluffy dog bed (the biggest you could find; he’s bigger still). Quality food, not the rubbish they fed him at the pound. And you give him your patience; small, gentle smiles that you’re not entirely sure an animal can understand— but when you offer out your hand for him to smell, a sign that you mean no harm, he growls and retreats to his corner. He chooses one part of your tiny apartment to hunker down in and outright glares when you get too close.

This is your house.

This… was your house. Maybe you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. As a week moves on, you concede to your bedroom or the sofa and watch him with resignation as he watches you back- and contemplate if you made the right choice.

Does he seriously hate you that bad? How can you make him understand that you don’t harbor any bad intentions for him-? I mean, aren’t animals supposed to have that preternatural kind of instinct anyway? to spot malice?

What is he spotting in you?

Curled up on the couch, you hang your hand off the arm and release the new brush you’d bought days ago. It’s seeming more and more like a useless purchase, yet after countless attempts to bathe and brush him- all for naught- it’s only now starting to settle.

Work was long. That one coworker was grating on your nerves more than usual and you could’ve sworn you heard a second pair of footfalls trailing yours after the bus back- but you can only look over your shoulder so many times without attracting the attention of people who start to wonder if you’re batshit crazy.

But you're not crazy. That- That psychopath is, and his countless notes and uninvited visits to your apartment while you’re gone are all proofs of that.

But that’s changed, now. If your dog hates you, he’ll hate an intruder even more.

You sigh, holding your head in your hands as you lean forward. Like a flower wilted, folded in on itself, too heavy with its withering to support its own weight. You rub your temples when you grudgingly glance up to the wolf-sized beast sulking in the corner.

He stares, of course; buttery light twinkling in imposing, ruby eyes in a way that almost makes him seem tame. Mellow.

Not quite.

Still, you can’t bring yourself to dislike him, or regret taking him off the pound’s hands— for all his stubbornness, the hostility he barely conceals, you know all too well that fear manifests itself in strange ways. Like when you almost snarled at your deskmate today for leaning over your shoulder again to review your work- the proximity too startling to handle. You’re irate. On alert. Scared. And it’s making you do unreasonable things as a way to calcify your soft skin into a protective shell. You start to think that you must be hard: the climate calls for it.

The mutt that broods behind your armchair is the picture of ominous- big and bad and threatening long before his lip even curls in warning. Everything about him screams see, look at my scars- my sharp teeth and nails. Don’t touch me. Don’t hurt me.

Your heart stirs.

Tiredly, you offer a small smile. “You are perfect, you know,” folding your leg over the other as you pat the open space of the couch beside you. It can fit four to six people if they cram together, but you know he’d take up the three cushions beside you if he sprawled out entirely.

He regards you with a microscopic flick of his ears. “Even if you don’t like me, that doesn’t change what I think about you. If you just let me give you a bath… I’ll let you sit on the couch, deal? I’m sure it’ll be comfier than what you got now,” you offer, gesturing harmlessly to the dog bed that lays unused by the table— for this reason or that, perhaps just as a way to show you he’s completely rejecting you, he’s avoided it.

Yes, he’s just a tatterdamelion, forgotten animal, operating out of instinct and whatever feels right.

Yes, you still had to mask your hurt over it.

You sigh. “I mean, I haven’t even thought of a name for you yet. And I’m sorry, I just…” Trailing off, you give your head a small shake and stand to your feet. In your mind, with no small amount of discontent, you realize you’ve reached a watershed here— one that separates your old, normal life from a sense of great uncertainty that rests on the horizon.

And you’re terribly concerned. And tired. But God forbid you start venting to a dog about it.

“Nevermind. Goodnight, boy,” you wave your doubts off dismissively, deliberately leaving the lamplight on lest he get scared in the dark. Sometimes, you think you see eyes staring back in it, too, so you put no judgement on him.

Pattering with heavy, sock-clad feet down the hall, “Sleep tight. Just tell me if you hear anything at the door-“

A labored sigh.

Nails clacking behind you— and for one awful second you fear the worst: You’ve turned your back to a beast.

Your breath hitches with the realization, yet as you swiftly spin around- half prepared to bolt or at the very least shield your head with your vulnerable, just as fleshy arms- you’re mistaken.

There, he stands, as a massive silhouette against the living room light angling into the narrow, dim hall. He’s like a bull in a china shop- monstrous, sharp claws etching lines into the lacquer of the maple wood floor, his tail sending fur gusting behind him as it falls. You become clear of two things, then:

One) you must sweep, and soon. And two)

He’s tilting his head- in an uncannily shrewd way- towards the ajar bathroom door beside you, and as he noses it open and stares at you, it’s with expectance.

Oh, and then three—

When you don’t respond right away, he steps around you and impatiently nudges you in- headstrong as ever- through the bathroom door with a throaty huff.

✦

He smells of strawberry shortcake. Vastly sweeter than what he really is, you think with a wry but endeared smile, when you extend a slow, ever-cautious hand to pet.

To your surprise, he lets you.

Call it a truce between you both. A comfier place for him to crash at for a little more peace of mind on your end.

With all the dirt and dried muck lathered out from his coat (it took an hour or so, and patience- as he flung water and stubbornly tried to readjust in the small tub- lots of it), you’re given the chance to finally see the beauty of his breed.

Chalky white fur, soft as the cashmere sweater stowed in your closet on standby for the chilly autumn weeks ahead. His hair is long, perhaps overdue for a trim- not that you’re deluded enough to believe he’d allow a groomer anywhere near him- and easily covers most of the scarring underneath.

Convincing him it was safe to let you clip his nails was an even harder task than getting him in the bath- but he… cooperated. In a looser sense of the word.

None of your limbs are missing. That’s a small miracle in itself. You’re thankful for the little breakthroughs with your new pet, even if it feels like you’re walking uphill all the while.

He hops up on the sofa beside you. True to your word, you allow it, the springs dipping beneath you both as he settles.

If the couch fell through the floor and onto the one below in a mist of crumbled drywall, you’d have no right to be surprised. None at all.

Trying not to show a fraction of your joy as he sets his head on your lap lest that deter him, you bite back a grin and rest a hand on his back. You avoid needless contact with his head- you get the feeling that’s a iffier place for him. You’d respect it, of course. Your show of patience has been nothing less than outstanding in the past week. Now that you’re finally making headway with him (and yes— his letting you bathe and sit with him is headway), you’re encouraged.

Besides…

Unpredictable. The forbidding advice of the shelter employee rings in your head.

Ahem.

It’s late.

Tomorrow, you’ve another long day of work and second-guessing your surroundings and the people in them. Whether or not you’ll be attacked in your own home by your persistent ex-boyfriend who couldn’t stop meddling with your life even if it meant saving his own.

The doubt, momentarily, is pushed to the back burner.

You smooth your hands through his velvety fur. A strange layer of peace drapes itself over you, warming your chest like a fleece as his back rises and falls, your quiet breaths punctuating his own heaving ones.

“You’re a good boy, you know,” you murmur contentedly as you lay your head back and drift off. A crimson set of eyes regards you carefully, peering up through fine, snowy lashes.

From the barrel of his chest, he lets out a deep rumble like he understands. You know he doesn’t.

Half awake, you weave your fingers along him, “You are. You are a good boy,” as if it’s come as an epiphany to you- made realer as it’s spoken.

Before you let sleep take you entirely, you murmur with a ghost of a grin, teasing despite knowing it’s ridiculous because your words aren’t coherent to him- just a swooning, soft sound to bitten ears—

“Hey… I could tell you didn’t really like Cookie, or Sweetie, or Dragonfruit, but… what about…”

A moment passes. Barely, you register his snout lifting from your thigh.

“Sylus.”

Before dozing off, you’re fairly certain- for his sake- you’d left the lamp on that night.

…But when you wake the next morning to your alarm blaring in the room over, all that lights the living space is the sun streaming through the blinds.

✦

You blink and autumn is in full throttle.

You blink and you’re trading your thin sleep shorts out for pajama pants and slippers- layering your work blouses with wooly cardigans.

Days leap over one another like cards of a rolodex— yours, on your cubicle desk: filled with doodles of the unruly pooch waiting at home for you. Idling over him is all that you can do to ease your mind as anxiety gnaws through.

You worry for him when he’s home alone. Not because you heed the warnings you were once given- ‘he’ll tear a hole in your walls’- but because you care for him, and with that brings the inexplicable want to see him as soon as possible.

Of course, he can’t speak, but he shows in his own way that he misses you too when you’re gone.

Once your shift ends, you do as you did the day before. You quickly take the jacket off your wheely chair and gather your things, waving to the select few coworkers who don’t make you want to rip your hair from the root.

Perhaps if you’re quick enough, you’ll even make it off the bus, to your complex, before the sun sets. You appreciate fall for its colors. Not for the darkness it brings far too early to be comfortable with.

Every alley appears with teeth, in those eerily quiet moments when you make the short trek back home. Cars purr beside you on the congested roads, and despite cursing traffic on the ride to your stop, you’re grateful for it now.

At least more people are out; potential buffers to stave off your crazy ex from putting his hands on you…

Potential witnesses if he does.

Damnit. Damnit damnit damnit. Every evening you can’t help but wish you could just- take Sylus with you to work. But for so many reasons that’s just not possible.

Stuffing your hands in your pockets, you breathe out a fine mist and pick up the pace.

You can’t escape dusk from falling- but you can take advantage of the early moments of it right before night comes swinging.

You nervously glance up to the sky, a fiery swatch of orange sat under starry blue, and tell yourself it’s fine.

���It’s fine- and yet you swear on all things holy you can hear boots pacing behind yours—

A gasp. You turn around and get ready to rip your pepper pray from the scabbard that is your pocket- for naught. Emptiness greets you. Sneering and quiet. In the distance, deeper into the city, a car honks. Where you are now though, you’re more or less alone.

You wet your lip where it’s dented from biting. You turn around, and press back on.

It’s okay. You’re almost home. Just a bit further. Within ten minutes you’ll be crooning to your ‘puppy’ and itching behind his ear while he rigidly thumps his tail, closing his eyes indifferently as if he wasn’t hurrying to the door as soon as he heard the lock.

Yes, that’s right. In ten minutes- on the dot (you know because you’re toying with your watch to calm yourself)- you’ll be slipping off your jacket and refilling his water bowl, tossing him scraps as you prepare a nice steak dinner in celebration of your weekend commencing. The fancy wine you’ll pair with it is to help wash it all down and pretend you’re financially better off than you are. Not to help your nerves.

…Even Sylus, the creature who doesn’t understand you even if sometimes it seems he unexplainably does, would be hard-pressed to believe such a feeble lie.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

Your heels. A dull, monotonous rhythm against pavement, one you relish now because it fills the crisp, silent air.

Then-

Tap tap tap.

Your heels- “Hey baby, wait up- where ya going?”- with the sound of another and the bone-chilling revelation that every suspicion you had was grounded—

You don’t even turn around. You don’t reason with, stick up the bird to, or even hastily shout a fuck off, creep, over your shoulder because you’re not sure you have the luxury to.

By the sounds of it, he’s already close.

“Oh no you don’t. Come on, baby, just let me fuckin’ talk to you!”

-Closer and gaining still.

Fear rattles through you. It goes from zero to one hundred in a breath- yet how to breathe becomes a distant memory as your lungs still. The pulse in your throat drums, and suddenly your cardigan isn’t enough to save you from the ice eating you from the inside out- a cold sweat already forming at your nape.

You’re in such a panic you even forget about the spray in your pocket- the assortment of makeshift blades (keys, pens that grow knives when you click them) tucked in your purse. You have a small arsenal in there. Yet your mind spins.

“Stop-! I haven’t even been able to visit you lately because of that fucking asshole- since when you’d get a new boyfriend, baby? Do you really not care about me anymore? I just wanna talk!”

No. No no no- and new boyfriend? What-? All thought is dashed from your brain, his hollers becoming static. No, just ignore him, it doesn’t matter what nonsense he spouts to try and get you back- you won’t so much as glance behind you. After all he’s done to hurt and twist and outright disgrace you and your home, you don’t think he deserves it.

You break into a sprint. The concrete path pushes beneath you. You feel like you’re running in a dream, you’re so terrified- but you do run. You run like hell. You run like a girl.

You fiddle for the key in your purse, shaking as the door opens and you slam it behind you. His hand almost gets stuck in it, the knob jiggling loudly just a millisecond after you lock it.

As the reality of what could’ve been settles, you’re horrified. Cold in the face.

Sylus is there, leaping over to reach you. You wonder if the fury you catch in his wide ruby eyes is your imagination or reality; if he has the inexplicable knowing- based on your frazzled state or the noise- that something is terribly wrong.

“Sylus-“

You breathe with relief, but you don’t linger. You skitter past to the kitchen for a weapon- a real, proper one. A snarl rips from his throat as you leave him behind you, shouts sounding in the hallway behind your door. He barks at it. Ferocious and lupine. Surely not the make of a dog, of a pet meant for four walls and a roof— no, it’s a separate beast entirely.

Hostile, unpredictable, growly- dangerous. Oh, you’ve no choice but to hope all the labels on his package are true. That he’ll rip your ex-boyfriend a new one if he finds a way in.

Hyperventilating, limbs like jelly, you stagger over. In the short span of time it takes you to turn out the kitchen and down the corridor, you contemplate either opening the door and saying go boy, go— or simply staying back to ‘defend.’

You turn the corner and blanche.

Someone’s in your house- not the creeping, painfully familiar face, however, no- and he’s naked.

And then, everything you’d been working so hard to build with your froward pet over the months, the foundation of trust and patience, the hard-earned truce made between you both… As red eyes flash at you in warning, a hand taking the shaking knife from your own before he opens the door— it all shifts.

The bottom falls through.

The man opens the door, and perhaps you should be thankful that he takes the squabble outside because you’re sure that the blood spraying from your ex-boyfriend’s nose as it breaks would be impossible to scrub from your walls.

✦

“Relax,” he grouses with a tsk, “I’m not gonna bite.”

With split knuckles, a long leg crossed over the other where he sits on your couch, canines just a little too sharp as they catch in the lamplight- that’s hard to believe.

The blade he’d taken from your hands lies on the cushion beside him, and while you don’t make a grab for it, you think he sees the way you eye it- and the knife block in the kitchen- as you clench your fist to keep yourself from fainting while you gawk.

“Y-You’re not my dog.”

One of his brows lifts with amusement- or challenge, perhaps- as you deny the truth laid out before you. It’s impossible. Of course it’s impossible. He-

That can’t be Sylus.

For a moment you believe he’ll agree. Nod his head and say, no, I’m not your dog- I’m a person; because that’s certainly how he looks. But he doesn’t.

“I simply changed forms,” he explains. “Not who I am to you.”

With nothing else to say- no real rebuttal- you can only flounder. “N-No. You’re not Sylus.”

That pulls a soft huff from him, “Oh, kitten,” he grins a tenuous grin, “I’m wounded. And here I thought your kindness had no takebacks. You gave me that name, didn’t you? Sylus.” He sighs, a heavy, affected sound- like this is no more than a theater play to him as he adjusts on your sofa.

“I guess I’ll just have to settle for something else, then… Is Dragonfruit still up for grabs?”

D-Dragonfruit? How does he…

The way he looks at you then, with a lift of his chin as he angles his brow in provocation, a smirk only touching half his mouth- makes you freeze. The little hairs on your nape rise.

…Yet he’s just as scarred as your pet, with the silver hair and the gemstone eyes— massive, over six foot tall and muscular- and the air about him is… familiar. Too much to be comfortable with.

“Y-You’re not-“

Before you can splutter out another denial, he sighs and drops the bravado. He spares the weapon beside him a dismissive glance, stretching one arm across the back of the couch.

“Look, if you don’t believe me, that’s your choice. I won’t try to convince you,” he states, “I’ll just let my actions speak for themselves in the course of the next few days.”

…What? The next few days? Does he plan to stay? What- no. No no no! This mysterious, albeit helpful stranger (helpful in the way that he shook your persistent ex from your doorstep- through violent means, of course) can’t seriously think you’ll just let him crash at your place after feeding you such a ridiculous lie. He’s not your dog. He’s- he’s not some werewolf that can shapeshift on a whim- those only exist in fairytales and teenage romance novels.

Not in your tiny apartment.

“N-No. You- you’re crazy. You have to leave. You have to! I’ll- I’ll call the cops!”

Not-Sylus seems unfazed. Perhaps even a little offended at your bluffing: the vehemence is there. But the certainty is not.

Sure, the department wasn’t having your stalker drama- but an intrusion you’re actually witnessing like this can’t be easily ignored. If your crappy ex ends up snitching (you doubt it, what with his involvement)- all the more evidence, right?

He all but rolls his eyes, saying like it’s obvious, perhaps even with a mite of amusement, “I’m on your side, kitten. Don’t get all…” he looks you up and down, and you hate the flutter of your heart that’s more than just fearful— it’s self-conscious. “Hissy now.”

You punch out a scoff of disbelief. “You’re some stranger in my house! Look- I appreciate what you did, okay? I really do,” you start. You have to pause in between to take a breath because God knows you mean the words you say- you’re just inwardly afraid that the fix was only quick, not permanent, and with the sudden disappearance of your dog? Good luck protecting yourself now. Fuck, you don’t even know where he went- maybe he booked it out through the door when you were too distracted by the chaos to notice.

But then… why the hell would he leave? He- He’s never done that until now!

You rub your face and stare at him. The fear lends itself to a distant echo the more you realize you’re no longer in immediate danger. The guy is an unwelcome (and flashy, literally) intruder, yes, one your pooch would waste no time in maiming, but he’s not an active threat... You just have to figure out how to get him to leave.

“But my dog is a dog. Not a human. Not… you.” That you even have to say it out loud is ridiculous.

Even if, the longer you stare, the more you begin to believe it.

The scarred skin, the unmistakable, red eyes, and the somewhat bitten ears- his body weathered from what you suspect to be years of tussling in underground fights (evidently: winning them, not without the cost though)…

And that arrogant little air he carries with him, the one that first endeared you so.

Sylus, it all says.

But no. No- this is insane. Months of being stalked and living like a bug under a microscope have made you worse for wear. Impaired your judgment.

He draws you back to the present with his rumbling voice. “Your dog is more than just some animal,” he huffs. “Don’t tell me after all you’ve experienced with the stalker that you’re… frightened of this side of me? Really? Of all things?” His chuckle is as rich as it is short as he shakes his head.

Frightened? No… that becomes a more distant word. You’re more so stunned than anything else right now as the pieces start to fall in alignment with each other.

“Well, how about this,” he offers at your silence, waving his hand. “Let the week pass. By the end of it, you can decide for yourself if I’m real or truly just a figment of your imagination, sweetheart… You…” he lowers his gaze, then. Uncertain, almost.

“You can even decide if you want me to stay.”

He rubs nothing between his fingers, glancing up again with a pointed brow. “Deal?”

And if you say no? If, on the off chance you’re wrong and you kick him right back to the curb- to a sorry life of abandonment and bloody illegal brawls and God knows what else?

Your mouth wavers. “I- I don’t believe it.”

You do believe it. But it’s crazy.

He almost snorts. “You’d better start. But with that pest taken care of now… I think you’ll catch on quite fast,” he grins. “I’m here for you, kitten. Isn’t that what you wanted me for? Protection? Don’t tell me once I serve my use you’ll throw me out?” He laughs. But then he sighs right after, pursing his lips and looking down to his lap where he makes no effort to adjust the thin blanket that covers his nakedness as it nearly slips.

Headstrong. Cocksure. Bored with his surroundings in a way only mature folk really tend to be. The sage advice of that employee flashes in your mind— ‘he’s on the older side, so naturally he’s a bit grumpy, snippy’; really, you shouldn’t gasp at his temperament but with your current situation it’s a little hard not to when he clips out-

“So? Do we have a deal or not?”

And, well, what’s the harm in giving him your couch for one night?

Or several.

✦

A wintry chill pricks up your neck. Along your arms. Down your limbs where they bundle beneath the covers- to the tips of your toes as you respond with a shiver.

It rattles you in tandem with pleasure.

Upon waking, a few things blitz through your mind too fast to catch. For one, you’ve woken before your alarm- meaning you’ll be miserable in the minutes or hours of consciousness before it actually does go off. Secondly, the bed feels heavier.

…As do your bones.

Third— Sylus is not on the couch like he’s been for the past few months. He’s with you, in the comfort of your own bed, and as the wooly blanket slips down your upper half- leaving you to the cold air- it reveals to you a head between your thighs.

Pried open. One held up for a soft kiss while the other is pinned down— both wet. Sticky with- with you.

You gasp. “Sylus-“

You’ve no time to even rub the sleep from your eyes, big weathered hands anchoring you in place, because he lifts his head from his plate for a millisecond when you try to stop him and does something he hasn’t for months.

He snarls.

“Quiet. I’m eating.”

Protective. Territorial. That isn’t your pussy he eats from, lapping fervently at it as if it wasn’t just a number of hours ago you were hand-feeding him steak cubes from the cutting tray— no, it’s his.

He blocks your hand from interfering when it slips beneath the cover. So when that doesn’t work, you attempt to clamp your legs shut (quavering, you realize, on either side of his lupine face). All your efforts- bogged by sleep and the simple fact that he was leagues stronger- are for naught.

‘Good try’, his eyes seem to tease, though, glittering devilishly at you as his tongue flicks your clit. And then, when you hesitantly lie back and rest a hand in his hair- ‘that’s it, kitten.’

“Good girl,” he practically purrs.

He’s got a big appetite. You’ve known that.

Not as much as you do right now.

“Sylus, wait wait wait,” you moan. Life has thrown so much your way, especially in the past year or so, but you never went belly-up for it. You fought and resisted and squared up.

But right now, half of you almost wants to take him lying down- let him take his fill of you and then pin you down to take some more. Let him have his way with you, whatever that may entail.

But you- You have work tomorrow, and- and responsibilities—

“Hush,” he goes, voice muffled, having some preternatural ability to tell just what you’re thinking. He drifts a hand up your belly to splay over the valley of your breast. Your heart thumps beneath his callous palm like a metronome. Like a ticking clock, counting down the seconds or hours before you need to get up and get ready. Start a day in which you leave home, leave Sylus, and spend the rest of it longing to get back.

“Just take the day off.”

Grudgingly, you lie your head back. It’s… not a great idea, but as your rationale clouds, it seems like your best one.

“O-Okay.”

As a hot, long tongue stripes up your pussy and then his other hand, the one he used to comfort you in his own weird way, slinks downward again- the ceiling becomes too boring to bear.

So you glance down.

He’s handsome as all get out. Really, a couple months ago when he first appeared to you as a human, that was all you could think as days passed and you became grossly aware that you were sharing a confined space with a man. That you had been all along— and your prancing around the apartment half-naked was just one of the countless spectacles he’d seen.

He never pounced, though. Never lunged. Never bit you like a dog or hurt you like a man, even when every bit of his crude exterior screamed hazardous. He was a good boy. And you don’t care what form he takes; he took you as you are, didn’t he? When you were scared of your own shadow and a little snippy because of it. He let you hold the leash to his heart and snarled at anything that came too close- protected you against your piece of crap ex without prompting. Turned your fear into a mellow thing.

Warmth prods at your heart. Loosens your legs up where they clench around his head.

That day at the pound turns in your memory like a spindle.

You could’ve lost him. He- He could’ve been gone forever hadn’t you showed.

…But you did show. For the shitty time you’d been having, Sylus was your one silver lining. You were there for each other as a shoulder to lean on and a hand to hold.

Your fingers tug gently on his scalp. Fruity shampoo breathes out from the blanket when you flip it over his head to allow him better access. Nerves eat you from the inside out. You’ve seen the looks, the hungering glances and felt the fingertips that linger in seemingly innocent touches:

Finally experiencing the culmination of his quiet longing is a whole different game, though.

Slurps ring out from your thighs. Your sighing, candied words- spoken in that ridiculous tone reserved only for him- make his ears perk atop his head.

“Good boy,” you breathe. “Y-You’re perfect.”

He rewards your obedience with a finger, thick and delightful. You gasp and arch your back into his hands- or, his one hand- a throaty moan rippling from his open mouth. The several little muscles in his face go lax when you coyly guide him deeper into your cunt and he melts.

“You taste delicious,” he whispers. “Sweet girl. I can-“ a deep, shivering inhale. Not from you- from him. “I can smell how much you want it…. You’re soaked.”

You mewl his name and almost reach full relaxation ‘til you glance back down and, with the covers off, spot where his other hand disappears. He’s naked- not in the boxer briefs and sweatpants you’d bid him goodnight in- and holds his fat, upright cock in his hand.

And his hand is big. Can dwarf every part of you with its hold.

His cock is somehow bigger.

Your heart leaps from your chest as he eyes you. He’s daunting. Every bit intimidating and then some- especially as you realize he won’t be just content with kitten licking your pussy, delicious as it is, and ending the intimate moment right afterward.

Dogs will always take the bowl if you slide them one: and then look to you later for seconds.

Point is- he’s insatiable.

You shiver as raunchy images flash in your brain— rough fingers pinning back your thighs as he rams inside you, setting a relentless pace as he bites and sucks and claims.

In your imagination, he doesn’t pull out when he comes.

…What really takes your breath is the engorged knot at the base of him, though, flushed an impatient red. Fattening by the second.

Cum- not pre- dribbles from the tip. For how long he’s been at this, you don’t know.

“Sylus-!” You mean to shriek it, but you can only manage a whispering scream. “Wait, wait, wait! what do you have in your hand-!“

A grin plays at his lips. Crooked, recalcitrant.

Challenging.

He’s hardly lucid, what with the delicious heat emanating from the slick lips he stuffs a second finger in, to acknowledge your question, so it’s surprising when he pulls back a centimeter to make an answer. Lust grips him tight— the need to fuck and take and mount— but that concerned, cute little bump in your brow is one he wants to smooth.

It’s the least he can do.

“Take a guess,” he sussurates, licking slowly up your inner thigh. Torturing you. “It’ll be in yours soon though, kitten, so get ready.”

Your eyes bulge from your skull.

His response: a low chuckle paired with a moan.

From that point on, even as he suckles expertly at your puffy clit, working you to a sniveling mess as you scream on his fingers, you’re focused entirely on what he’s doing below the blanket. He palms at himself- it’s all he can do to relieve the ache as he wrestles with his fraying self-control- massaging his balls and knot as they throb.

When he withdraws his digits from you, eyes drooping at the cream coating his knuckles before fluttering back at the taste of it— you lie back down and gulp.

Taking work off today is a good idea. You can already think of a few excuses. Not being able to walk properly is one of them. Being unable to get out of bed… Feeling so sore and feverish after he’s fucked you into pyrexia that you can’t even move an inch without being reminded of it.

He straightens. The cover slips off him entirely and he’s tall. Hulking. Painting you in his shadow- but the moonlight brings out the sheer hunger on his face, and you alight with warmth all over again.

You hope he’s primed you. You pray he’s done good to prepare you for what’s to come. Because oh, it’s coming. You know that.

“Now,” he heaves, dragging your legs either side of him as he kneels. You can tell he’s not well off, trying to muster a cocksure grin but failing as he perspires at the temple. “To the good part.”

You frown at that, almost- a pang of hurt weaving through the haze of desire and the smell of your musk on his fingers as he licks them clean again, ever thorough. He notes the flicker of your brow with a thoughtful pause and then a sigh, shaking his head as he grabs your jaw and angles his front down.

He chuckles, and you experience a singular flash of softness when he goes, “Oh, so sensitive… Don’t pout. I thoroughly enjoyed the opening too, kitten.”

You’re shaking. Insides molten with the pure want for him to just- to just do something already. There’s no opportunity to come down from your high because you feel his cock bob against your tummy as he sets himself up, and you burn anew.

Oh, you love him. You really do. He’s endearing in all the places he shouldn’t be. He’s charming and strong and willing to fight for you. So you don’t care if he’s a little old and slow on the uptake when it comes to new tricks- territorial and intimidating. He’s yours.

Eyes half open, you lift your hands to trail from his pecs to his firm, scarred belly. With a hiss, he trembles. Catches your wrists and tuts at you a second later, saying, “It’s better to keep those at your side. Once you get me going, I won’t be easy to stop.”

And you’d be half tempted to tease him some more, you know, but fuck if he isn’t massive. And fuck if you aren’t a little scared for it.

So you clutch the sheets as he drives himself inside with a grunt, and settle below him. You trust he’ll take care of you.

The entrance is, at first, surprisingly smooth, what with the natural lube you’ve provided for him. You let him lift your ass and bend you into a bow-shaped thing so he can hit deeper- and that’s when there’s some turbulence.

Your fingers curl into the cotton fabric. You brace and wait for the sting to subside. When you realize your eyes are clamped shut, though, you open them to see his expression and pall at the sight of him.

He’s gorgeous. Even when he looks like he’s ready to sneeze- brow scrunched and jaw slack as he dragoons himself inside, tormentingly slow- he’s nothing less than charming through your lens. But you’re thankful for the time he gives you to adjust because you need it.

Frankly, if he intends to put his knot inside— and he fucking won’t, there’s just no way— the walls of your pussy need the patience on his end.

For several seconds, Sylus does not breathe. You’re sizzling hot; when he eventually bottoms out, he can’t tell where he starts and you end- all he knows is that it’s gooey and warm and so fucking tight his balls throb. He deliquesces between your thighs. You welcome him, your body like a landing pad.

He supposes, right then, you’ve always been very hospitable.

Sylus curses. “Ngh, you’re tight... Loosen up,” he presses his forehead to yours and hisses out through his teeth. His eyes glitter like rhodolite in the dark. Reverent hands run down your side and clasp your hip. With your slick still coating his lips- tangy sweet, you find, as he presses them to yours- you realize he’s worshipful. The moonlight pouring in the blinds makes his silhouette glow a true blue.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, swiping over your bottom lip with his tongue. “Sweet, and soft. And a very good girl. I’ve got your back. You know that, don’t you?” Then, he draws his hips back and—

Your little bed judders. But the squeak that sounds out is yours as he ruts back inside and your labia brushes with his knot.

He won’t put it inside. He won’t. You’re sure of it. Mutts only do that when they’re mating. Mutts only do that. Sylus is- is so much more than that, and….

“Mmm,” an uncontrollable moan escapes you as he begins to move, like really move, and your eyes roll.

With some difficulty, he continues. “You’re naive. Plucking something like me from its cage. But I admire your bravery, kitten, so— f- uck— let me just show you, hm? How far my loyalty goes?”

Void of words, you nod.

The reindeer-patterned bedsheets aren’t enough. Your hands leave them in favor of Sylus, grasping around his back so tight your fingertips can make out the raised scars there. Planes of muscle flexing with divots with every thrust forward.

Offhandedly, he hits that sweet spot inside you. Your nails dig in by accident, and you say his name, stringing out the syllables in a delightful, dizzying mewl.

The floodgates- they burst open. Something in him gives.

He rams forward, abandoning his restraint altogether as his furry, salt-and-peppered tail whacks the mattress beneath you. That fat swell below his cock teases at your sweltering hole with every pump inside, and Sylus burrows his nose into your sweaty neck to whimper.

You’ve never heard such a noise escape him before. Huffs, grumbles, long, exaggerated sighs he makes whenever he finds a nice spot to lay down (usually on you), as if he pays the rent around here— but never that.

He whines, words strained, “Think you can take my knot? Hah… Nod your head for me, kitten- because I don’t think that I can stop it. I can’t wait any longer. I need you to…” he shudders, “take it.”

One moment you’re nervously glancing down to monitor him- and the next he’s nudging your head back with his nose before crashing his lips to yours. Your eyes widen when he flips you over, presses his chest to your back, and thrusts inside with vigor.

With the new angle, you stretch around him with a mewl, but every bone in your body locks when his hips slam flush to your ass and—

His knot pops inside with a gasp.

Throwing your hands to the strong ones he latches around your midriff, you wail. He clings to you like a limpet, his thighs trembling behind yours as he moans endlessly in your ear. Pointed teeth graze at the nape of your neck. He doesn’t bite- but amidst the warp of pain and a pleasure so intense it gives you vertigo, you distantly realize that he probably wants to.

He holds himself off. Breath hitching as his pelvis claps into you. Euphoria rolls across him, shocks him like a static bolt, every fiber of his being awash with it as his jaw falls open and he succumbs to you.

When he comes, it’s so hard his ears ring.

The walls of your pussy become less hospitable, then, clenching around him so tight as you both cum that for a moment, he can’t even say a word to ease you. He aches inside you- you can feel it. The girth of him twitching as your heat swallows him up with a spasm. His knot takes all thought from your brain. Stuffed inside your poor hole, tumid and veiny.

You feel him coalesce with you, too. Eagerly rutting his seed inside (ensuring it sticks, you realize when he drops a finger to your folds, checking for leakage), releasing rope after rope of hot cum as you go limp and take it.

You offer up a choked mewl when he kisses at your spine, brushing your hair aside just to access your neck where he licks and sucks. You trust Sylus not to get carried away with a bite if he did, to lose out to what he’s been taught.

Evidently, he doesn’t trust himself.

Your fingers dig into his thick, scarred forearm and he sighs behind you- a long, feeble sound. He’s barely able to keep himself draped over you- let alone support your own position beneath him, what with the soup you’ve made of his brain- but he manages.

Silence sprawls out as you attempt to steady your breaths. All that comes in between it is the occasional, wet squelch and the gusting inhales he takes at the column of your neck.

“It… hurts. So good…” he hisses after several beats. Only marginally brought back to reality, you flutter your eyes open and offer a yip back. “You’re doing so well, though… Just-“ He twitches inside you, then, throbbing like a second pulse point, his cock undulating in your walls, greedily taking up all the space.

“Fuck. Stay still, sweet girl,” he grunts, harebrained. His eyes crinkle and close. “I want it all inside. Don’t wanna see so much as a drop escape that perfect, tight pussy. Hah- you hear me?”

“Y-Yes,” you quiver back. Speaking is too difficult, you realize a second later, shoving your open mouth into the pillow as you pant for air.

Yet, you can’t help but ask with a slur, “Sylus- when- when will it be over?”

He moans, right in your ear. Goosebumps run up your naked body- all that clothes you.

“It’s too big,” you cry.

“No,” he quips. “It’s just right.”

As if on cue, your cunt gives another squeeze around him, milking him for all he’s worth. In response, he bows his forehead into the crook your shoulder and jaw make to bury a whine, and your mind spins when you register his balls, hanging fat against your ass, lurching. And oh, you’re spilling, you can feel it, beginning to ooze profusely from your puffy lips even as he keeps it plugged; really, even if Sylus wanted to separate from you (he doesn’t), he couldn’t.

There’s nothing in him that wants the distance. The idea of self-autonomy. The idea of independence. No- he’s all yours.

“We’ll wait it out,” he breathes. Coasting a hand along your belly in an effort to placate you. He knows it can’t be easy for you. But the world— that stupid, irksome ex-boyfriend of yours— needs to understand where your heart belongs. There’s no better way to show that than to demonstrate it first with the body.

And you—

(Bitten by his branding kiss, supple skin covered with the divots of his teeth, your belly full of his veritable seed-)

Well. Nobody should look at you, he decides in his spirit right then, and come to any other conclusion but the one that you’re his.

Unmistakably, irrevocably, his.

“It’ll subside soon enough,” he soothes with a peck to your throat, a surprisingly chaste move. He loops his arms around your waist again and carefully- mindful not to exacerbate the heady ache- maneuvers on his side, pulling your back to his front. He whispers at your ear, “So long as you don’t move or stir me up, we’ll be fine.”

Yet, a set of canines brush at your jugular, and again- there’s that inkling, this time in better clarity, that passes your conscience. You know he wants to bite. To mark. To claim. You know it and have the vague idea of all it entails, yet he… won’t.

With a frown, cursing as you turn ever so slightly and his fat knot shifts inside you, you hazily meet his eyes.

His are practically glowing, laying heavy on you. Charting across your face the moment they make contact, observing every brief flicker of your expression to try and assign a feeling— happiness, he hopes, contentedness— to it. His lashes totter and you burn with shame when a lewd suck rings between your legs, his cock wet all the way down to the slight plush of his abdomen.

You don’t mean to pout, “why won’t you-“

“Not yet, Kitten,” he scolds. Trying to swallow down a pit of self-consciousness in your throat, you murmur, “What, do you not want me?” Sylus huffs as if offended. His eyes drag from your lips to your searching eyes.

“Really, kitten? …What, should I give you an equally stupid answer?”

Oh, you’d tug his tail if you had the luxury of moving right now-

“Of course I want you. Can’t you tell?” He sighs, then, burrowing his nose into your neck almost to hide. His ears droop along his head, donning a relaxed look.

“So. Did you like it..?”

“Y-Yeah…” you murmur, carefully looping a hand back to stroke behind his fuzzy ears. “But, I just… I thought you’d really do it, I thought you’d really tie us together-“

He chuckles richly. “We’re already tied together, kitten,” peppering another kiss below your jaw, licking appreciatively at the sweat that clings to soft skin. “I’ve belonged to you for some time now, haven’t I?”

Your heart skips a beat when you realize he’s right.

“I- I guess so. Yeah.”

“So no more whining,” he lifts his chin to sample your lips, this time- his knot still throbbing white-hot and insistently inside you (albeit the ache is lessening)- eyes lidded as he conveys his affections.

“I’ll do it when we’re both ready. When…” He pauses to swallow.

In that short frame of time before he next speaks, you’re drawn to all his scarring. The faded ligature marks around his neck, the seemingly permanent gnashes along his body (which was a touch too lean before you familiarized him with good food). The nip taken from one of the ears sat atop his silvery, mussed locks. In that moment, you don’t see the misshapen, loveless thing he was beaten into— but rather the softness he worked to regain for you.

“When I know it’s manageable.”

If he feels unsure of himself- whether he can remain… civil, for lack of a better word, amidst the fervent haze that a mark would bring about— then you suppose you could wait for a bit longer.

“Okay,” you murmur with a faint, understanding smile, caressing one half of his face dotingly. You tilt your head slightly to plant a firm, benevolent kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“But you’ll always be a good boy to me, okay? I trust you. I told you before- you’re perfect-“ Rather roughly, he noses your head back into the pillow, readjusting his iron hold around you as he grumbles into your hair.

“…Hush. Now close your eyes and go back to bed. I’ll tell you when it’s ready to pull out.”

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, + 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 ♡

[hahahafangirl]

[WBK Character Analysis] Suo Hayato and the Crisis of Contact [Part 1]

EDITs

5/29: Added commentaries to Suo v. Oobiki and minor edits.

This is yet another contribution to the well-made observations that: Suo does not eat with others in a story that emphasizes eating together; his fighting style is predominantly evasive amidst a narrative of fighting as a conversation; and all the deflections he deploys in response to any attempts to know him deeper. All in all, an avoidance of contact and any violation of boundaries — the literal boundary of bodily contact and symbolic boundary of knowing.

Overall, most of the observations here are… not that new. However, there are a few things I have personally seen less discussed in details: humor as deflection (both in the story and its effect on the fandom), Suo’s arrogance and disinterests in his opponents, and his subtle detachment from his peers… even if he loves and cares for them.

The language of this analysis is heavily based on Anne Carson’s essay Dirt and Desire: An Essay on the Phenomenology of Female Pollution in Antiquity. Unfortunately, I am too much of an insane Anne Carson stan to discuss this in any normal way (deeply sorry for that). Regardless, I will try to be as clear as possible, despite my general insistence in uh. using the words that I do (bear with me). Because I am absolutely insane, have a table of content:

Contact as a crisis; dirt; leakage (Part 1)

Suo's general (habitual) deflections (Part 1)

Suo's emotional intelligence and approach to emotionality (Part 1.5)

Teenage arrogance and disinterest in Others

Suo's relationships to other people; or, the disparateness between Love and Relationship

Suo versus Sakura

Note that much of these are interpretations/extrapolations outside of things that are explicit in canon.

I will try to keep each post about 2-3k or less; this total analysis will be split over multiple part. Part 1 (this one) will focus on point 1) and justifies its connection to Suo (and WBK) and point 2), which are primarily textual evidences.

Crisis of Contact: so what the hell am I talking about?

This portion will be on Anne Carson's Dirt and Desire essay, as to provide the context in which I framed this character analysis. I will try to be as brief as I can while being understandable. The original essay itself, as the title revealed, is mostly about the construction of female gender (roles) in Greek antiquity, but its discussion of Touch, Dirt, and Leakage proved to be very useful frameworks!

First, on Touch:

As members of human society, perhaps the most difficult task we face daily is that of touching one another---whether the touch is physical, moral, emotional, or imaginary. Contact is crisis. As the anthropologists say, "Every touch is a modified blow."

This is what I mean by the "crisis of contact." Every contact itself is a mini-crisis: when we exchange blows, our skin touch, thus violating a closed and fixed physical boundary; when we converse, our words and minds touch, thus breaking open our worldviews and preconception; when we connect with other, they (and we) shattered the walls we constructed in our mind and permanently nestled themselves into our minds and hearts. These are all the things that Sakura, our beloved MC, is challenged by the narratives to learn how to do-- and succeed. His blushing embarrassment, in this framework, is a response to these "crises" of violations.

[Sakura blushes nearly every time he learns how to communicate and recognize his feelings... lol]

[the mortifying ordeal of being known]

on Dirt:

"Dirt" may be defined as "matter out of place." The poached egg on your plate at breakfast is not dirt; the poached egg on the floor of the Reading Room of the British Museum is... Mary Douglas calls pollution "a particular class of dangers which are not powers vested in humans but which can be released by human actions."

A little more background: the Greek antiquity conceptualize men as "hot, dry, vessel" and women as "cold, wet, liquid (to be contained in a vessel". So, dirt as "matter out of place" equates to "liquid not being properly contained". As Mary Douglas puts it, being "dirt" is not anything inherent to human or even women in particular; we all just have the ability to displace matters and make them "dirt" -- including ourselves. Sakura was treated, as we can put it, "less than dirt" for being "out of place." Same with Kaji's unrestrainable anger -- until Hiiragi figured out a way to help him "contain" it. Umemiya, as a child, felt that his own grief was displaced, his own life and his family's lives misplaced between who die and who gets to live -- his entire existence as "dirty". We can formulate any ostracism and troubles in Wind Breaker into displacement and dirt -- it's a fun exercise! But it will be more helpful if we put this construction of "dirt" into use.

How does any of this relates to Suo? We already noticed that he avoids, and, if he cannot, minimizes all contacts-- avoiding all the crises that everyone else, especially Sakura, go through. Most of these have lead to immense character growth. Maybe it's just not Suo's time to go into it yet. But for a deuteragonist, on a similar level of screen-time and importance as Nirei, Suo's arc thus far remains glaringly stagnant. One thing that he perhaps "grew" in is holding in his ruthlessness better after Sakura refocused Suo's vengeance in a more productive way (fight off other opponents and not beat one guy to death) during the KEEL fight. But we haven't seen a situation that actually "proves" that growth in a fight yet. So far, no contact, no crises yet, to grow, while Umemiya has explicitly said: "You need a little bit of conflicts to grow." Thus far Suo's "vessel" remains completely intact and its contents unseen (unlike Sakura's and Nirei's anxieties and trauma).

Where does dirt comes in? On a more literal sense, we have seen that Suo... never get dirtied after a fight. There is one (1) chapter where his face is scuffed (ch145)...

... significantly less than others, and it magically disappear in the next chapter. I think it's innocuous enough to be a mistake in Nii-sensei's part (either to remove or to add it), but, there is another interpretation: Let's remind ourselves that stories are about narratives, and that character, their design, their physical and mental states, are tools of the narratives*. Suo's (minimally) scuffed state is more symbolic of the Bofurin kids engaging in Sakura's struggle to pull him out of it -- a collective contact, willingly be "dirtied" to touch and pull Sakura out of drowning -- rather than Suo finally getting injured in a fight, after all. In addition to this, it will be visually jarring if Suo remains untouched here (note that this is not to dismiss what I said right before that).

*(Nii-sensei has such a command of details and themes in WBK that I must allow everything to be Symbolic-- there will be more on this in other topic)

Although this is a counterexample, it is to emphasize that, well, we noticed that Suo has never been dirtied or "touched" in any way in a fight. In a work where people routinely gets injured, bleed, violently got their face smashed in (I'm still in pain thinking about the Kaji v. Banjo fight), Suo never has his boundaries breached the way others has. No contact, no dirt. A closed room. He never let anything "out of place" be on him and is never actively being "out of place" himself -- even in the Red Light district, he does not seems frazzled (out of place) the way Nirei or Sakura were. No crack in the vessel, no leakage; nothing is leaving him either. No substantial personal fact is known-- for a deuteragonist, that's quite unusual.

The only "secret" we know? Natto. It is honestly lighthearted enough to be a joke (that is not to dismiss its importance or factuality!). It becomes a gag in the fandom! Purely because of how little else we know about Suo!

AND SUO DOESN'T EVEN NEED TO SUCCESSFULLY DEFLECT IT HIMSELF. THE NARRATIVE DID IT FOR HIM!!!!!

LIKE. LMFAO. OMFG. WE HAVE ALL BEEN PLAYED!!!!!!!!

THE NARRATIVE WANTS SUO TO BE AS INSCRUTABLE AS POSSIBLE.

GO HOME. THERE IS NOTHING FOR US.

JK! WE ARE STILL DIGGING OURSELVES INTO IT FOR ANY GRAIN OF INFORMATION THAT WE CAN!

We have some textual evidences already. Let's go for more.

More on Suo's habitual deflections

Let's begin by making a list of his deflections:

Fighting style: predominantly defensive; "pushing away" instead of "smashing in"

Personal information: humor to deflect from (what could be) his insecurities; reveal-not-reveal origin of his fighting styles, or details about his master; the "diet"

Emotionality: "I'm not usually this emotional"; disquiets hiding underneath maturity

Clothing: no skin?.megamind

Narrative/Production deflections: why is Suo the only person whose room is not revealed? lmfao?

Ok. I think that's everything.

Fighting styles:

Suo is a predominantly defensive fighter. In a fight with non-fighters involved, he naturally steps into a protective role by default. The only time this changed was when Nirei volunteered to take that role and encouraged Sakura and Suo to go on the offense. Defense or offense, Suo deflects moves and takes down opponents by their offensive momentum — if they pass out hitting their head on concrete, great! He does not contribute his own force into the fight; no horse in the race, no input to the conversations.

Compare to, say, Sakura and most others, who charges ahead, moving into their opponents' space to attack; Tsugeura, whose virtue involves allowing opponent one (1) hit and then... German suplex them; or Kiryu, whose fighting style is most similar to Suo — except he often disables his opponents with what looks like accupressure. Perhaps the most relevant difference is that Kiryu does charge ahead to fight, and some of his moves involve pulling the opponents in. Suo does none of that— he waits until they violate his space and pushes them out.

Pulling in...

Pushing out. Note that Suo does not reach for his opponents— he waits until they are in his space.

The only time we have seen Suo "attack", per se, is 1) KEEL and 2) against Oobiki, where he needed to wrap things up quickly and this isn't an opponent who would go down with deflection. That's the literal, in-text explanation at least. Symbolically? I'm not sure! Maybe Suo did in fact get close enough to Nirei and his classmates to expresses something about himself— not deflect, but rather, physically engages in the fight. That will take me more time to think about.

EDIT: Hey, this is also the fight where Suo finally reveals something about himself— specifically, his philosophy and focus on teaching, “discipline” as passing down knowledge (and, side notes, not as “punishment” — this is something I’m exploring in a fic actually xP). We even got the first visual of his Master! So, yep, he contributed something in this conversation here. This is the very first step in advancing towards Suo’s backstory; Nii-sensei is telling us to be patient! We got a similar visual (the back of the head) of Akari ~200 chapters before Kiryu’s arc, after all.

And this is also the same fight where Suo's untouchability and INSCRUTABILITY ("I can't read you at all") is explicitly addressed— by a fighter that is approximately Noroshi's caliber; or at least, much stronger than KEEL or Kanuma.

In KEEL, his aggression was taken as unusual/"the wrong decision". Against Kanuma, he didn't even mean to hit for real— only to scare/shock the opponents. Suo is an incredible fighter, acknowledged by Nirei's intels, Hiiragi and Umemiya themselves, and Sakura wanting to fight him. And, from his untouchability, literally (as in, not symbolically) we have yet to actually see Suo's full, current capability at all! And that is A LOT to hold out on when every character, one after another, get pushed to their limit. Suo's avoidance of initiating fights is narratively convenient to this end and also... says something about his refusal to initiate a "conversation".

2. Personal information and humor

We have seen this before with natto! His easy-going demeanor, ability to diffusive and deflect ("This conversation is about Sakura!") enables him to stagnate the conversation until the narrative ended it for him. As for reveal-not-reveal: I want to note that we do know things about Suo; quite a few things, in fact. Suo does not never say anything about himself, but give enough information to satisfy/shut down the conversation without providing anything revealing about himself. "Oh, I can't personally tell you what my fighting style is-- my Master is self-taught." (You have a Master? What are they like? How long have you been practicing? What?) "Oh, I'm on a diet." (What kind of diet? What can you actually eat and not eat? Why aren't you eating anything at all?)

Suo has been demonstrated to be an incredibly socially-capable person; his self-selected main role as vice-captain is negotiation and people-dealing. He has shown an incredible level of emotional intelligence, sensibility, and sensitivity to other's thoughts and feelings: being able to tell that Sakura is not used to other helping him, therefore knowing that it will be difficult for them all if Nirei and him continue to push; repeatedly being able to use Umemiya "against" Sugishita to get the latter to do things. Suo knows how to start and end a conversation, what to say, how to steer the interaction one way or another, how to stall— his social skills and suaveness are vitals in all these social deflections.

Notably, humor plays into this a lot (yet another example of social-capability). His eyepatch is the biggest mystery by far— and he was able to shut down any speculations or focus on it by bringing it up before anyone else can, therefore being in control of the topic.

Note that he brought it up out-of-nowhere, already anticipating the curiosity: "By the way..." and quickly changes the topic to Sakura

The constant, mysterious "diet" is also introduced under humorous connotations (Suo agreeing with Nirei's about the unusualness of the context of the meal, then immediately subverts expectation by reveal that should he be able to eat, he would-- he is just on a diet).

He blatantly lies — for innocuous things such that they are humorous — and gets out of explaining anything; like why he does not want to go into water

(My theory on this is quite innocuous: depends on how recent Suo's eye injury is, healing can be quite slow and touching sea water is... bad for that. It'd just ruin the mood if we bring it up.)

With the eyepatch and the water, is there a chance that Nirei is too polite to push it? Absolutely. And that is another "manipulation" of social situation Suo is capable of: he gives non-answer that is tonally appropriates such that it is impolite/insensitive should anyone tries to push. Boom, nobody knows anything. Closed room, no leakage.

3. Emotional disquiets

Suo's "veneer" of calmness and maturity is so constant and iconic that the smallest ripple sends the narratives (and us) to ruin! And this contrast is emphasized by the narratives— I'm only showing here the more subtle signs in each "incident", and we already feel the disruption!

(Note the look of disdain in this one— we will come back to this later)

Suo is not as "mature" or unperturbed as he paints himself to be; he is, after all, a human, and a 15 year old child at that. In a story that emphasizes realistic emotional responses, it is extremely unrealistic to paint a 15yo boy as having it all together (orewing wrote an excellent post on this subject). Maturity, in this case, is a mask and therefore another deflection— hiding away his emotions and disdain until it came bursting out of him, ignoring his emotions to prevent others from seeing and "interacting" with it — vision becomes another mode of boundary violations (yes, this is in the Anne Carson essay). Now, the interesting question here is: Why is this the case? Unfortunately, that is outside the scope of this research <3

4. Conservative clothing: no_skin?.megamind

It's not about being revealing, it's about his wardrobe being so distinctly old-school and especially jarringly conservative in the beach trip that brought to attention how uh. tall the wall is. Funnily enough, recently there was a fake-merch post going around on Twitter that people immediately spotted as fake because Suo reveals his upper torso in that one (lol) and the official one, coming out the next day, has him covered from head to toe. Symbolically speaking, this is yet another visual hint that Suo is extremely mysterious and elusive. Fashion and personal styles are extremely important to WBK's characterization and narratives. Everything design-wise is very intentional— including Suo's secrecy.

It's highkey just funny as a gag at this point. There were theories about secret back tattoos (I think primarily motivated by Nii-sensei once posting a character design hiding elaborate back tattoos under normal school uniform that does looks suspiciously like Suo's initial design, now that I think about it.) I don't know if I believe that; scars theories are more likely, but I don't think tonally WBK is trying to tell a more violent stories than what normal people within 1-1.5 standard deviation of the Bell curve will experience. In other words, I don't think the narrative looks to tell what is implied if Suo's back is elaborately tattooed or viciously scarred. I am not saying that HCs about these are invalid, just that— who knows what is in store! It is possible that Suo, with all of his evasiveness and general strangeness from the narrative, is in fact the one representing the "exorbitant" violence in the world.

5. Narrative deflections: Nii-sensei is holding out on us.

Here is the final straw: It is no coincidence or innocuous chances that all of these deflections and overall sense of detachment is overthinking. Nii-sensei seems to be extremely involved, by usual manga standard, into (at least evidently) merch and game adaptation of Wind Breaker. Wanijima, I'm pretty sure, was introduced as a WBK game character prior to his "adoption" into the manga. All the merch strictly sticks to Suo's visual conservativeness. And, very intentionally, Suo is the only main class 1-1 member whose bedroom is not shown in the artbook. What is Nii-sensei hiding? A lot, it looks like.

What does that means besides confirming that we aren't all extremely delusional? Nii-sensei seems to be deflecting us, too. Well, it's actually way too late at night and I have spent too long writing this to overthink this point. I can only be certain that there will be a lot in store for Suo's character developments, arc, and that I trust Nii-sensei's pen. Amen.

That's it for now! Part 2 will hopefully cover the last three points (maybe only one or two each) depends on how much I have to say. Evidently, I have waaaaay more to say than I thought. Thanks for holding out if you reach this point, and let me say that we did most of the heavy lifting/justifications here :thumbs-up: The discussion of dirt, leakage, and crisis was hopefully constructive/interesting!

I would love any feedbacks/thoughts AND FEELINGS on this, including if my writing is absolutely unreadable (and yeah feel free to use anon questions should you desire to). Would be beyond happy to clarify anything I wrote, and discuss more!

See yall in Part 2, which may come out earlier than I or you want or expected.

[thebekerslegecy]

👑 MEDIEVAL MODS + CC | The BEKER LEGECY

I am currently playing Morbid’s ULTIMATE Decades Challenge. Below is a list of all of the Mods + CC I am using in my game🐝

🍯 MODS: Wicked Whims (+18) MC Command Center MC Woohoo More Traits in CAS Royalty Mod Medieval Interactions Ye Olde Cookbook + Stoves +Fires Require Wood  + Hunting & Foraging ModHome Region +Townie Demographics by Kuttoe Fashion Authority 2 by Lot51 Functional Broom Functional Loom Functional Pottery Wheel Archery Skill Blacksmithing Skill Historical Simolean Override - English Shillings Children/Toddlers Can Die of Anything Playable Harp + LuteFunctional Horses & Carriages, No Helmet Create Campfire Bonfire Anywhere Arranged Marriages Custom Farm Animals Purchase Custom Animals Zero’s Historical Mods (pickpocket, disease, etc.) Phone to Notebook Replacement Sippy Cup + Toys Default Replacements Stuff for Pets Natural Knitting Stuff PreTeen LittleMsSam Mods ( Pick what you want) Sims4me

🐝 CC:

🍯Build:

TSR Ye Medieval - Ligna Windows Set TSR Ye Medieval - Timber Frame Walls TSR Ye Medieval - Framework Walls TSR - Broken Wood Door TSR Ye Medieval - Soil Terrain TSR Ye Medieval - Hay Ground Terrain

🐝Objects:

Lili’s Palace - Folklore Set No. 1 Linzlu’s Frontier Items TSR Ye Medieval - Peasant Homelife 1 TSR Ye Medieval - Peasant Homelife 2 TSR Ye Medieval - Peasant Homelife 3 TSR Ye Medieval - Peasant Homelife 4 TRS Ye Medieval - Tristan Bathroom TSR Ye Medieval - Tavern Part 1 TSR Ye Medieval - Candle Holder TSR - Skara Stool TSR - The Old Garden Boat TSR - The Old Garden Quay Fish Market Decor Fish Rack Fish Crate V1 Fish Crate V2 Bohrium Vegetables I Old Rustic Well (“Eco Living” version) Stable Set by Moriel Rustic Animal Shed Rustic Chicken Coop Rustic Bee Box Bassinet + Infant Crib SimsHistoricalfinds tumblr (directory) SIMS 4 MEDIEVAL CC TheSenseMedieval Allhistorical cc tumblr Medieval & Fantasy Mods List | Notion Kosmic Hippie's CC Finds — 👑 MEDIEVAL MODS + CC | The Sims 4 antiquated plumbobs : Directory CC Finds Navigation

🍯CAS:

TheSimsResource (Ye Medieval) TheSimsResource (Sifix) Simverses  Melancholy Maiden | creating Historical Sims 4 CC | Patreon satterlly | creating The Sims 4 CC | Patreon

🐝 SAVE FILE:

Srsly’s Blank Save Map Replacement Medieval Windenburg Medieval Map Replacement

🍯MY SIMS 4 MEDIEVAL WORLDS:

How to change sims4 world names (for existing save)How to change sims4 world names ( for new save)

Kingdom of France – Willow Creek’ Mali Empire – Oasis Springs’ Kingdom of Norway – Newcrest’ Inca Empire – Granite Falls’ Holy Roman Empire – Windenburg’ Kingdom of Denmark– Magnolia Promenade’ Republic of Genoa – San Myshuno’ Kingdom of Hungary – Forgotten Hollow’ Grand Duchy of Lithuania – Brindleton Bay’ Aztec Empire – Selvadorada’ Kingdom of Sicily – Del Sol Valley’ Ottoman Empire – StrangerVille’ Hawai’i – Sulani’ Kingdom of Scotland- Glimmerbrook’ Duchy of Milan – Brightchester’ Maya city-states – Evergreen Harbor’ Tatooine– Batuu’ Goryeo– Mt. Komorebi’ Kingdom of England – Henford-on-Bagley’ Republic of Venice– Tartosa’ Duchy of Burgundy – Moonwood Mill’ Kingdom of Aragon – Copperdale’ Mongol Empire – San Sequoia’ Mamluk Sultanate – Chestnut Ridge’ Kingdom of Ayutthaya – Tomarang’ Kingdom of Castile - Ciudad Enamorada kingdom of Moldova - Ranvenwood

[obstinaterixatrix]

a little ambiguous, the li is with other women exclusively so far but imo doesn’t really express romantic/sexual attraction to any of them (definitely framed in more of a ‘he knows what to say to get people smitten and gets companionship out of it’ way than a mutual relationship way) and the mc is trying to find a girl to date but is extremely hung up over the li and has been since childhood. I think in this case it’s one of the ‘They Only Have Genuine Attraction To Each Other’ romantic fantasy rather than a work that has… established thoughts on each character’s orientation.

I’d agree in the social sense, in that I feel like polyam stuff is a lot more spoken about in western cultures, but I definitely don’t have enough knowledge on non western polyam scenes to actually back that up. on the other hand, I feel like the prioritization of monogamy feels kind of the same across the board, but I haven’t been into western media lately so I don’t have anything specific to back that up. well, I haven’t seen any western media with polyam endgame, but I have read 3 bls and a yuri oneshot. excluding harem/reverse haram for every category. I feel like there’s been a lot of yuri harem lately.

reading a bl where the mc is extremely monogamous and the li is in a lot of casual open relationships but 1) it’s framed by the mc as ‘cheating’ and I can’t tell if it’s an overall narrative thing or just a character thing yet, BUT since the endgame is certainly going to be a monogamous relationship between mc and li, it doesn’t really feel like the author’s going to really hit on the actual nuance of cheating as a betrayal of trust vs open relationships meaning informed consent between all parties (the girls in the manga seem chill with it) UNLESS the trajectory of the narrative is to make this distinction clear and remove the barrier to mc & li’s relationship, but even if that were the case it inherently reinforces the dominant narrative of monogamous relationships as inherently more valuable and endgame which frames polyamory/open relationships as inferior/temporary. 2) even though there seems to be informed consent with the li’s open relationships, I do feel like he talks a lot about his female partners doing things for him so he’s kind of a leech, he kind of sucks

[sundayeleith]

Ok I need to talk about the origin change and MC's uselessness and not very neutral description in the demo. I'll talk about the rest of the updated demo and the positive stuff in a later post. Here I want to at least reiterate concerns and criticisms others already expressed, and that I haven't shared here yet. It is very important to put this out there since there is sadly no feedback survey and so the devs know that a lot of us are bothered by the change and why.

Edit : I made another post to talk about the positive stuff right here !

For that, I do hope the devs open a feedback survey for the demo V2.

That said. Do not send hate to the devs, nor be hateful or insulting towards them. Criticism should always be respectful to the effort put into the work people have done and the people being it, as well as civil. Nor me nor others in the fandom want to see the patreon backlash hate wave be recreated ever again.

Before I start, I want to say I respect RSS and their work. As a backer, I can attest they are working hard on this game and show proof of it each update (or at least talk about it). I know they are doing their best to give us the best experience possible and put this banger game out there for everyone to enjoy. I do hope the devs will take these feedbacks to heart while understanding it comes from a place of love ✨ 🫶

/!\ Minor spoiler warning for the updated demo /!\

At first the background change was a good surprised. I was hyped. Also the general hype about the update itself had a part to play in it. As I was playing, it bothered me more and more up until I talked about it with others.

Cutting the Hound origin for the Exiled was a bad idea. Let me explain.

First of all, RSS used the Hound in the marketing of the game for the past 2 years minimum, including for the KS. It was also still present in the demo V1 for 2 years. Almost everyone who made fan MCs used the 3 origins as a framework/blueprint/prompt to shape their characters and backstory around, if not simply assigning one of the 3 origins to their OCs. People got not only used to it but after that much time had the time to build intricate lore around their characters. Cutting it like this so abruptly upset and overwhelmed a lot of people who just saw their storytelling of 2 years being discarded. For a lot of people, me included, TS is a mean for escapism and comfort, and also linked to usual fandom creative hobbies (art, writing, rp, cosplay etc...). So I totally understand the emotionnal distress some people felt.

Second of all, no one was warned and I think that it was not the best move. The origins are put in the forefront and made seem important by the dev team (emphasis on "seem", cause it's not so far). For the reasons above, at least communicating on it and asking the community for feedbacks about this change would have been better (and if not asking the whole fandom, asking the KS backers could have been an option).

Third of all, this change is useless in the current state of the game because MC was unchanged. Not only lines for the alchemist backstory are also on the 2 other routes (prob an error/bug), but why present a survivalist origin if MC still cannot fight at all ? In the demo V1 and V2, MC seem to be an after thought in writing, which is not bad in itself if not for the origins being put in the spotlight that much only to be the most useless choice of the game. Aside a handful of lines being changed there's no difference in how MC acts or interract with the world. It's not that big of a deal tbh, but then why present the origins as if it's going to bring major changes to the game when it doesn't (at least for now) ? Maybe it becomes more relevant in the full game, but that is an aspect of the game that should be noticeable from the start with how important they make the origin seem to be. Also I think they should either fuse Exiled and Hound OR bring back the Hound and flesh them out more (that's my opinion tho).

Then I have two other points that bothers me about MC. Their helplessness no matter the origin and the fact they are assumed to be small and dainty. What do you mean alchemist and houd/exiled MC cannot fight and get the whooping of their lives against a Soulless ? In a world that unforgiving I assume for the Alchemist to use spells and at least try to defend themselves and for the Hound/Exiled (esp the Exiled tbh) to know how to keep their ground in a fight with a Soulless. If Mhin can kill a Soulless that easily despite them being average sized and looking not that strong, then MC sure can too. I get that Mhin needs to be introduced but it doesn't need to be because MC is useless as hell. They could jump in not to miss on the bounty. Or cause MC could be in a tight spot and despite being able to win Mhin jumps in. I'm sure there's other examples too. Now on the size markers many people complained about in the past being unchanged is a bit of a shame. It could be easily fixed by removing any mentions of MC's size (esp with Ais, but with Kuras too that would be nice) or akin to the pronoun choice menu let people chose between at least 3 sizes (small, average and tall) and make dialogue changes according to that choice. Now, it's easier said than done which is why the first option is more feasible and the one I would chose (also, less work).

These issues aren't "that big of a deal", but the one about MC's size is actually the worst one. I know not everyone is under 6 foot not skinny. Sure the descriptions matche me and my MC, but wasn't it the goal to be inclusive ? Seeing friend mutuals and fellow fandom members yet again not feel represented and acknowledged in a game they love when they already have so little representation is sad to say the least. I stand in solidarity with you guys, and your concerns about this are valid. I know that RSS didn't do that to be malicious, but it is time in 2025 to truly keep everyone in check in terms of inclusivity (again, no hate while doing so else it's just bullying)

[childrenofcain-if]

Has there been any instances where Mc and C did work together other than the fake baby thingy?

the science lab was filled with high schoolers scrambling to set up their projects, all of them either too caffeinated or not caffeinated enough for the stress of the prestigious state science fair in washington.

the tables were crammed with an impressive array of projects: models of volcanic eruptions, elaborate circuits blinking in synchronized colors, experiments with soil composition in tiny terrariums. but none of them held a candle to your table, and you knew it.

you worked quickly, your fingers deft as you adjusted the components of the intricate apparatus. the machine—an elegant contraption meant to demonstrate clean energy storage using solar capacitors—was you and C’s brainchild.

they had done the research, the design, the equations scribbled out with ruthless precision in their sharp handwriting. you’d handled the practical end of things: soldering wires, programming the software, ensuring that their theoretical masterpiece could actually, you know, work.

you didn’t notice the way C stood a few feet away, arms crossed tightly, their posture as stiff as a statue’s. their chalcedony green eyes followed your every move like a hawk watching its prey, catching each adjustment you made, each tool you reached for.

finally, they cleared their throat. “you’re doing it wrong.”

you sighed without turning around, tightening a bolt on the panel. “good morning to you, too, lacroix. nice to see you’re in a supportive mood today.”

“supportive?” their voice had that sharp, clipped quality it always took on when they thought you were being deliberately obtuse. “i’d be supportive if you weren’t—” they made an exasperated noise, gesturing vaguely at the machine. “look, the angles on the solar panels are all wrong. the light’s not going to hit them efficiently like that. it’s basic geometry. i explained this to you yesterday.”

“okay,” you said evenly, glancing at them over your shoulder. “anything else?”

C blinked, their expression flickering into something almost like confusion. “you’re just... accepting it? like that?”

“well, yeah,” you said, shrugging. “you’re the brains behind this, aren’t you? if you’ve got more suggestions, i’m open to them.”

C suddenly seemed at a loss for words. the tips of their ears turned a faint pink, and they glanced away.

“well, i, uh...” they began, before scowling at you like it was somehow your fault they’d stumbled. “fine! move the reflector two inches to the left.”

you did as they asked, your motions slow and deliberate. “happy?”

“stop talking to me,” C snapped.

you blinked at them, incredulous. “you’re the one bossing me around!”

C ignored you, their nose tilting upward in that infuriatingly haughty way they’d perfected.

***

when the judges arrived at your school’s section, the air grew thick with anticipation. there were four of them—an engineer from spacex, a college professor from MIT, a tech startup CEO, and some local entrepreneur who had been introduced as a ‘philanthropist.’

they moved from table to table with an efficiency that made your stomach churn. you’d been rehearsing your answers for days, but there was something about the way they scribbled on their clipboards that made even your confidence waver.

but the presentation began smoothly enough, much to your relief. C handled the technical explanations, their voice steady and precise as they guided the judges through the intricacies of your design. you handled the broader picture, spinning a compelling narrative about its real-world applications.

but when the judges started asking questions, something shifted.

“so, who came up with the original concept?” the engineer asked, pen poised over her notepad.

“well,” you started, “it was—”

“me,” C interrupted, their green eyes glinting. “i developed the initial framework.”

you gave them an irritated look. “what they actually meant to say was that it was a joint effort.”

“sure,” C drawled sarcastically. “you jointly borrowed my calculations and then messed up the assembly two separate times.”

you bristled. “maybe if your diagrams weren’t as convoluted as your personality, i wouldn’t have had to ‘mess up’ anything.”

“convoluted? that’s rich, coming from someone who thought capacitors and resistors were interchangeable—”

“that was one time, and it only happened because you mislabeled them!”

the judges exchanged glances, two of them clearly trying not to laugh, the other two looking mildly alarmed.

“would you say you two work well together?” another judge ventured cautiously.

“oh, absolutely,” you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm.

“can’t agree more,” C added, voice as flat as a table.

the judge raised an eyebrow, scribbling something down.

by the end of the presentation, both of you were red-faced and fuming, but the machine worked perfectly, and the judges seemed reluctantly impressed.

***

after the presentation, you and C sat side by side in the waiting area, the hum of chatter and distant applause filling the space. your hands rested in your lap, but when you shifted slightly, your fingers brushed against theirs. the accidental contact sent a jolt of heat up your arm, and you risked a glance at them.

C was staring angrily at the floor as if it had just demanded to drain their bank account, half of their face buried in the high collar of their dark green turtleneck. the tips of their ears had turned even more pink. their foot tapped against the floor in rapid, agitated beats.

when the winners were announced, your names rang out together, tethered like an inevitability.

you and C locked eyes, both startled, before standing up in unison. the applause was loud, but all you could focus on was the awkwardness of walking side by side to accept the award.

you still fell into step beside them, the trophy handed over in a flurry of handshakes and flashes from the crowd’s cameras.

the microphone passed between you two for the acceptance speech.

“we’d like to thank our school for supporting this project,” you began, glancing at C.

“and, of course, this wouldn’t have been possible without the cooperation of my... partner,” they added, their jaw tightening as if the words physically pained them to say.

you were tempted to laugh at how they looked like they were having a particularly bad case of indigestion, but managed to keep a straight face for the cameras.

***

after the ceremony, the two of you lingered near the refreshment table. C cleared their throat awkwardly, avoiding your gaze.

“you did... good,” they muttered.

you cocked your head, thinking you misheard them. “what?”

“i said you did good,” they repeated, louder this time. “you didn’t embarrass us. much.”

you snorted. “thanks, i guess. you weren’t too bad yourself.”

C hesitated, their eyes darting to the trophy in their right hand as their other hand fidgeted with the edge of their aldervale prep blazer.

“you’re smart though,” they said finally, their voice softer than usual. “you would’ve won without me.”

the admission startled you. “was that... a real compliment?”

this time, C’s cheeks turned pink as well, and they huffed loudly, turning on their heel. “i’m leaving. and i’m taking the trophy.”

“wait, what?” you snapped out of your stupor and hurried after them. “that’s not fair, lacroix! we both won!”

“too bad, starkid,” C called over their shoulder, their tone maddeningly smug. “you want it? come and get it.”

you groaned, chasing them through the crowd. “lacroix, get back here!”

and for the first time all day, C’s smile was genuine enough for their dimples to show.

[shepherds-of-haven]

when it says mc is 13 during The Incident, is that in blest years or our years? Also regarding that, are blest years mentally and physically equivalent to ours e.g. like is an 18 year old in blest the same to an 18 year old here in terms of maturity and physicality?

Loving the twine ver sm 😩 Impeccable

MC's age of 13 is in Blest years, and yes, Blest years are generally mentally and physically equivalent to ours. Like a 20-year-old* in Blest would essentially have the same connotations as a 20-year-old on Earth, because everyone's experiencing the same relative years in the framework of that world. So when we say someone is 13 in Blest years, it means they’ve lived through 13 full cycles of the Blest calendar, which is equivalent to how we count years on Earth. So Caine is a thirteen-year-old to the people of Blest in the same way that a thirteen-year-old is a preteen, half-adolescent child to us; he's predicted to live around eighty Blest years, so the ratio of years lived vs. years expected to live is the same, regardless of the actual length of those years.

*That said, of course, different races in Blest do have different aging processes, which is where it gets trickier. As you may know, Mages, Ket, and Elves have longer lifespans as well as slowed aging that stretches out their "prime" years. A Mage might live anywhere from 150 to 200 (or even longer if they're crazy lucky) Blest years, and their biological and cultural aging is treated accordingly. A 40-year-old Mage might be seen and treated more like someone in their mid-twenties because of where they stand in relation to elders of their own race, and a 70-year-old Mage might be somewhere in the ballpark in their forties or fifties in terms of biology and Mage culture. But these disparities from how Hunters or Norms think of 70 years is part of what caused the Castigation in the first place! Hope that makes sense!

[astracora]

The Nightmare

Characters: Sylus x gn!mc

Warnings: Nightmare, spoilers for main story (Chapter 4), hurt/comfort

Word Count: 803

Written: 2nd January 2025

Notes: Established relationship Sylus/MC, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. Unnamed MC, but using my personal MC's basic appearance and adjusted backstory. I take some liberties with what the game offers me. I had the mental image of wolf Sylus trying to devour mc, except his jaws never closed, so I ended up just throwing this out. Something something I earn a dime, something something capitalism, something something post fic on company time.

Masterlist AO3

You watch as the flames lick their way through what's left of the house. Eating its way through framework. Chewing and splintering shattered glass. If you look closely you can see a dragon. Horns twisted and broken, tail sharper than a scorpion sting. Claws gouging out the ground as it moves.

Closing your eyes doesn't stop the heat touching your cheeks, it doesn't make the image go away, so burned into your retinas you can see its shade against your eyelids.

The beast moves, uncaring of you, through the remains of what had been your home. Through memories you'd wanted to cherish more than you had.

To time you wished you'd not wasted.

It slips out from underneath you, the ground swallowing you whole, and as you look back up you see the bright red eyes spearing you. Wavering flame and scorched earth.

The fall isn't long, but the landing is hard. Knocking the air from your lungs, and sparks fill your vision. Rolling to your side, you force a hand to push you back up. It's colder here, there's no devouring beast, tearing your life from you. Instead just endless dark, snarled trees.

Unfamiliar forest that stretches past the edges of your mind. You are still alone, but despite the chill in your bones, this is a better place to be stuck… than on the edge of the abyss.

Your legs are unsteady when you stand, trembling steps pushing you forwards.

Whispers flicker out of the trees.

Alone.

Broken.

Worthless.

Stupid.

You turn, looking for the speaker, but the voices are different and there's no one lurking behind branches.

You think you recognise them, the calls. Familiar, intimate, but they're twisted. Believing that the voices would call you such things… It feels worse than the flames licking your skin.

Moving forwards is the only option available to you. If you stop, if you stall… your terrified mind thinks you might slip back into the ground. Too scared to know what else will be waiting for you.

A growl ripples through the trees, turning to a snarl. You step forward, ready to run, but ice crawls up your leg. Freezing your skin, pulling you to your knees. Stumbling until you're on your knees. Your lone hand stabilises you before that too is encased in ice.

A huge white wolf stalks out, molten eyes and dripping canines. It approaches you, sniffing like you're its next meal.

Judging by the way its tongue lolls out, to pass over the skin of your neck, you might be.

You want to close your eyes again, escape, be anywhere else, but it keeps you captive. Jaws open, and you try to pull away but its head is too big.

The heat of its breath against your skin, the dripping saliva on your neck as it closes around you.

Of all the ways to die, you didn't think it would be a beast in the forest.

Your heart, likely, maybe a wanderer's sword… you'd take the unlikely dream of it being in your sleep, at an old age, in the arms of those you love.

Instead, it will be a creature, as beautiful as it is dangerous, devouring you in a forest where no one will ever find whatever is left of you.

As the fangs dig into your skin, blood trickling, soaking into your clothes… you wait for the snap.

"Kitten."

Shaking.

"Beloved, come on."

Heat against your face.

"Wake up."

You gasp, lurching forwards. Falling into the heat of a familiar embrace. The scent of Sylus, wrapping around you, the feeling of his lips pressing to your neck. Over where the wolf fang's still sting.

Hand clasping at his hair, tangling in silver locks.

"You're safe, I'm here." He hums into your neck. Easing the ache in your chest, the heart that thunders too quickly to be safe. It is home. Eased with the chaotic beat of his against yours. "Breathe, kitten." His thumb rubs constant pressure into the back of your neck.

When your heart settles, and the fear skitters back to recesses, you pull away enough to bump his forehead with yours. Peering in at jewel-like eyes, painted in concern, but a hearth of comfort. The beasts in your nightmares disappear, hand placed on their brow, easing them back, lowering their hackles.

It is not a nightmare that waits for you when you wake, it is a warm bed, warm arms, and gentle affection.

A drink is placed on the side table, steam rising from hot milk and honey, another kiss is pressed into your head, and your eyes drift closed.

You're safe.

You're home.

There are no beasts here. No monsters to hurt you…

And when you wake up, you will greet the love of those around you, and find comfort in warm arms.

[neigepomme]

this post got a bunch of really sweet feedback, i'm so glad people resonate with my thoughts on caleb's character 🥹🥹 i'll share some more of my interpretations!! he's such a fascinating character to me, and i have a soft spot for flawed characters who just try their best and are clumsy with their expressions of feelings..

i added it in the tags of the linked post above, but caleb's expressions of love are somewhat unhealthy because he never had love shown to him if that makes sense? all of the LIs have their flaws and whatnot, but a lot of caleb's characteristics stem from the fact that he doesn't really know how to express his love.

xavier and sylus have lived for a long time, both having experienced mc's love through past lives or alternate timelines.

rafayel has lived numerous lives, has his memories from each of them, and is from lemuria, a civilization which put love above everything.

zayne might seem more unassuming since he doesn't have memories of his past lives, but he's always lived surrounded by love. he is the only LI with a healthy and loving relationship with his parents — and even though he's yet to have experienced romantic love from mc, parental love is so very important for a child's development that it can't be dismissed.

caleb, on the other hand? he's an orphan who was brought to EVER for the purpose of illegal experimentations. neither him nor mc have been shown love in their early childhoods, and they're implied to be used as lab rats, if not weapons. caring for mc came to him as an instinct — his human nature coming through despite never having been treated humanely. it's genuinely mind-boggling how he's capable of caring for another person, despite having more than enough issues to handle himself.

i think him latching onto mc and assigning himself the role of someone who cares for her, gave him a will to keep on going. a motivation. i'm not saying that the codependency coming from this whole ordeal is a good thing, but it was to be expected. he never had a proper framework for how to express love, thus, he does it clumsily, in ways he thinks are good. caleb's got a lot to unpack, but i think it's important to understand that his intentions are never coming from a place of selfishness, and even though he manifests some very unhealthy obsessive tendencies, it's never to please himself. it's always done with mc's well-being in mind.

gwah. i love caleb. maybe i'll sit and make a video essay out of my thoughts one day..

[thydungeongal]

just had an acquaintance reach out to me asking for a recommendation for a ttrpg that is:

1. friendly to beginner GMs (which in your parlance i would interpret to mean "does not place an inordinate expectation of prep and labor on the GM"),

2. capable of being played virtually, and

3. lends itself to improv.

any thoughts?

Games in the Powered by the Apocalypse framework lend themselves to improv by both mandating that everyone play the game to find out what happens instead of trying to put the story on rails, while also being very minimal on the prep for the MC. These games are also usually open to sharing narrative agency so that all players have some editing power over the fiction, like adding details and characters into the world when prompted.

My favorite PbtA games are Apocalypse World (the game that originally spawned the framework), Monsterhearts (melodramatic teen monster romance, one of my favorite games PERIOD), Dungeon Bitches (lesbians getting fucked up in dungeons; very raw and uncompromising) and Fellowship (a fantasy adventure game about a fellowship of people standing up against an evil overlord: works as a straight action game, but also promotes fighting against the evil overlord by winning hearts and minds), but there are so many to choose from.

If your friend is looking for something familiar to D&D players there is literally a PbtA D&D pastiche called Dungeon World, which is okay but doesn't quite do it for me.

Quest is another good option: it's free adventure RPG very much meant for the "minimal rules, play a silly adventure game while occasionally rolling dice with lots of rooms for improv" playstyle. Very much in the broad genre of fantasy adventure.

If that doesn't do it for your friend let me know, maybe with a few more specifics.

[merrycrisis-if]

QIU IS SO HORNY. IDK WHY IM SO SHOOK BUT I AM. The shallow breathing through the nose?? The STARING?? I expected Shay’s lunch to be the one with sexual tension but it was just wholesome 😭😭 meanwhile Qiu was 5 secs from throwing it all away AT THEIR WORKPLACE. MC will literally be the one on the plate when they do dinner at Qiu’s house. +1000000 points to house Qiu, we love when the ex that got away comes crawling back with feral levels of horny

HAHAHA I love this, and it's so true.

The only thing I have to add to this is that I think where I wanted to go for the lunch with Qiu and Shay is showcasing some unexpected dimension of their feelings for MC.

For Qiu, their attraction for MC has always been kept under wraps- sanitized, made to "fit" into their logical frameworks, their other priorities etc., it's also very much "simmering beneath the surface" (e.g. in class) or hidden behind a veneer of nonchalance/professionalism (or literally behind closed doors/a secret, when it comes to Qiu's mom). But following the incident and the aftermath and the years spent apart, I think Qiu's trying to demonstrate that they no longer want to bottle up their feelings, and want to be a lot more... open about them. Hence the apology in front of everyone (if so desired) at the class reunion, the horndog levels of kissing at their workplace etc.

With Shay, their relationships - at least recently - have always been primarily and almost solely physical. While they very much are also physically attracted to MC and (for MCs who are not asexual) you already see their rapid physical connection in the earlier part of the IF. But as their feelings develop, it turns into something deeper and more wholesome, than they or MC fully expected. Hence the desire for the lunch to be mostly about them chatting and getting to know each other (and also the fact that MC gets to taste/have a glimpse into all their interests + gets introduced to everyone Shay cares about -> which is something very different from what Shay usually does with their casual flings!) In other words, I wanted the lunch/boxing session and biking session to really showcase how Shay and MC interact when sex or physical intimacy isn't necessarily in the picture/the main goal.

Thanks for the interesting message :)

[leonardhoee]

William Rex MBTI Analysis

I just finished William’s route for the 4th time and wanted to write this since I see a ton of people on the personality database website mistyping him.

William is a classic Entj 8w7 tbh and I think the reason people aren’t clocking it is because of the stereotypes surrounding that personality type. Not every entj 8w7 is a demon war criminal with no feelings or morals. As one myself I saw a lot of myself in William with the way he thinks and operates and his values. He also reminds me a lot of Sylus from Love and Deepspace and that’s what made me start questioning the typing they have for him right now. Both him and Sylus are “healthier”representations of that personality type and are more in touch with their Fi.

If this makes sense to you guys please go to the PDB website and vote ENTJ 8w7 for Will so we can get it corrected.

Analysis under the cut.

1. Extraverted Thinking (Te):

Te is the primary way TeNi’s interact with the world around them. Te is all about efficiency and getting things done. It is the TeNi’s primary decision-making process, which means that if a decision is needed in the moment, they will rely on what makes the most sense logically.

William’s Te is at the forefront of his personality. Most of the info about him comes from the full love bonus story from reading both endings. In that story something that really stuck out to me was his statement, “I will make this power obey my will, control it, and tame it,”. He’s saying this in response to his moral dilemma about his power being able to take away people’s freedom. Rather than lament his ability to control others, which he considers a contradiction to his core values, he chooses to impose order on this chaos. A true monarch. His immediate response is to take control with no hesitation. His fate should’ve been a threat to him so his response is to become the master of his own curse.

On top of that, his sense of justice is incredibly firm but at the same time he believes in the ends justifying the means. He uses his powers as a tool for punishing those he deems to be oppressors, stating that those who trample on freedom are “unforgivably evil.” Furthermore, his Te ensures that his sense of justice is actionable. He doesn’t just hold abstract ideals; he transforms them into concrete systems, and actively uses his powers to enforce justice for those who violate his moral code.

Basically, all his decisions and values are rooted in clear, rational frameworks, where he sees himself as the ultimate arbiter of morality. This efficient, results-driven perspective is absolutely Te dominant.

2. Introverted Intuition (Ni):

Ni is the way that a TeNi perceives their inner world, it dictates the way they store information and how they perceive that information. It also heavily dictates the path that their train of thought will take.

William’s Ni is interesting because it shows up in his fixation on the concept of destiny and freedom. He recognizes the irony of his existence: born to value freedom above all else, yet cursed with powers that inherently strip others of theirs. But because of his age dominance, this contradiction doesn’ paralyze him but instead motivates him to enforce his moral philosophy with conviction and to use the hand date has dealt him to do so. His Ni allows him to create a unified vision of justice and morality, framing his powers not as a curse but as an opportunity to shape the world according to his ideals. His long-term perspective is evident in his acceptance of his role as a “villain,” choosing to happily shoulder the consequences of his actions rather than compromising his vision. This is evident throughout his whole route when he asks MC to record his sins as an irredeemable villain to make sure that the legend of the self righteous monarch lives on for generations even after he’s met his end.

3. Extraverted Sensing (Se):

Se helps the TeNi use their senses to understand the world around them. They enjoy living in the moment and are capable when it comes to dealing with things that they can experience and touch in addition the purely hypothetical. This is because their Ni and Se fall in the middle as far as preferences go, so they’re able to flip back and forth to use each one as it’s needed. Se is also what drives them to search out playful new sensory experiences.

William is shown to take pleasure and satisfaction in the way he delivers his punishments. The route makes a point of describing his eyes and the way William takes pleasure in his own ferocity during these punishments. He doesn’t just want to “get it over with” he wants to have the full experience of commiting the sin. His ability to focus on the tactile and sensory aspects—the sights, sounds, and even the emotions evoked—demonstrates a strong tertiary Se. And this tertiary Se doesn’t only manifest in his violent acts—it also shows in his appreciation for beauty, art, music and even sex (Ex: the scene of him eating strawberries in the cafe with MC, his passion for music, his interest in connecting with people from all walks of life). He’s the type of person to savor physical pleasures and immerse himself in the present moment of those things.

4. Inferior Introverted Feeling (Fi):

Fi is the ENTJ’s last function. Fi helps them to assess situations to see how things match up to their values and beliefs. They may think of their Fi as their “gut instinct”. It helps them learn to be sensitive to the values and feelings of those around them. It can act as a warning system when they think a decision makes sense logically, but somewhere inside, Fi is the alarm saying it’s a bad idea. However, because Fi is the TeNi’s weakest function, they will often act with the swift decisiveness of Te first, before considering how their actions might affect the feelings of others or taking time to think about whether their decision lines up with their values.

So there’s 2 points that can be made regarding this. The first part is about his morals.

Despite his rational exterior, William’s deep internal conflict over his powers points to his inferior Fi. He considers his ability to control others a profound moral contradiction, as it conflicts with his core belief in freedom. However, instead of sitting and agonizing over this emotional struggle openly, he rationalizes it through his Te-dominant framework, and to simply become its master. Also his repeated acknowledgment of contradictions in his existence shows the tension between his powers and his values. He says in the bonus story, “I gave them freedom and found joy in watching them love that freedom, yet I would be the one to take it away again.” This self-awareness highlights his internal struggle, but his default response—to let people go for the sake of their freedom—reflects his Te- dominance rather than an emotionally motivated decision. He will let them go even if it breaks their heart.

This leads me to my second point about this. When falling in love with MC, William was faced with a dilemma. Being with her would, in his point of view take away her freedom which is a sin he refused to commit. However instead of spending the time unpacking that he immediately jumped to his ate function and did what he deemed rational in that moment which was to decide to leave as he always does. It’s interesting because his inferior Fi shows up in both ways, staying true to his values, but also having a massive oversight on MC’s feelings and desires in that moment and causes her a lot of pain. And that oversight remains until she (in ch 18) almost takes control of the situation even above him and shows him what she wants through a very blunt display (getting stabbed).

Enneagram Analysis: 8w7

William’s need for freedom and disdain for oppression are hallmarks of Type 8. He refuses to let fate, his powers, or external forces define him, asserting instead, “I couldn’t let something like fate deny me of being my own master.” This fierce independence drives his actions, from punishing oppressors to letting others go to protect their freedom. However, his control is not limited to himself; as an 8, he extends his authority outward, enforcing his moral vision on those he deems unjust and encourages everyone around him to become their own masters as well.

Between 8w7 and 8w9, William would be a 7 because of his Se. His boldness and ability to captivate others with his convictions make him a natural leader. This wing also amplifies his avoidance of emotional vulnerability, as seen in his tendency to rationalize rather than process his internal contradictions.

Why William Is Not an ENFJ or INFJ because those are the other 2 I’ve heard people saying.

Both ENFJs and INFJs are defined by their reliance on Extraverted Feeling (Fe) and a focus on interpersonal harmony. William, by contrast, prioritizes efficiency and justice over emotional connection, ruling out both types.

• Not ENFJ: ENFJs are people-oriented leaders who seek to unite and inspire others. While William’s charisma might seem ENFJ-like, his approach to supporting others is far more authoritarian and pragmatic. He enforces his ideals unilaterally, without the Fe-driven need to create collective harmony or prioritize the feelings of others. He says so himself in the bonus story that the things he does are out of self righteousness only. Entjs and enfjs can often get confused but the differentiation is that he helps others because he’s honoring HIS desires. He’s not doing it because of some grand desire to help others.

• Not INFJ: While William grapples with moral contradictions, his struggles are rooted in rational frameworks, not emotional exploration. Furthermore, INFJs tend to avoid direct confrontation, whereas William thrives in it. Additionally INFJs are Se inferior which is the main reason it’s ruled out. William is not Se inferior at all.

Why William Is Not a 7w8 or 1w9

• Not 7w8: While William’s charisma and love for freedom might align with 7w8, his motivations do not fit this type. 7w8s are driven by a desire to avoid pain and seek enjoyment, whereas William’s actions are rooted in a need for control and justice. His moral philosophy is too rigid for a 7w8, which would prioritize adaptability and personal pleasure.

• Not 1w9: Type 1s are perfectionists who pursue moral ideals through discipline and self-restraint. William is the opposite of self restraint. While he has a strong moral code, it is not driven by a desire for perfection or self-discipline but by a a self righteous desire. He says many times throughout the route that if MC thinks he is evil she is free to punish him how she wishes. He has never said he is a good or moral person and in fact says the opposite. He’s a villain doing what he values. His willingness to accept his role as a “villain” further supports his ENTJ 8w7 classification. He views himself as a necessary force of justice, even if it means being seen as cruel or self-righteous. His statement, “I followed my heart and chose to commit sins as a villain,” reveals his willingness to embrace moral ambiguity in pursuit of his ideals.

So in conclusion he’s an obvious ENTJ 8w7

Here are some screenshots I used as evidence

[linkons-most-wanted]

I can't believe people are taking the car scene to mean Sylus is into choking again 'just for MC' 🙄

Ohhhh boy. It seems like people need some kink education.

Gather round, lovelies--class is in session! 👩🏼‍🏫

Note: This post discusses sexual topics in a factual and educational way. Specific sex acts are not discussed. Specific bondage/kink acts are discussed.

Why it matters

I think this topic is particularly important because choking is dangerous and there's really no safe way to do it. So when we talk about Kink frameworks like "safe, sane, consensual" (SSC) or "risk aware consensual kink" (RACK) it is really, really important that people are fully informed on the level of safety (or lack thereof) of the kinks they're interested in.

Now, to be clear, I do not personally care if anyone wants to write Sylus choking fics, have a whole head-canon, go OOC, etc. (I would one million percent rather you spend your time writing choking fics than going out and engaging in under-informed under-negotiated kink IRL where you could get permanently hurt.) However, when it comes to character analysis, I think there is a lot to be gained by embracing this boundary that Sylus provides and a lot to be lost by flattening him into "he's the kink character so he likes all kinks".

What do we even mean by "choking"?

What we see in the Death and Rebirth cinematic scene is not choking. Now, I'm not trying to be pedantic--clear communication is vital when we're talking bout kink. If you and I have different definitions of "choking" and we don't hash that out, someone will get hurt--and not in the fun way.

What we see in Death and Rebirth is pinning/wrestling. A forearm across the shoulders and collarbones does not restrict breathing at all. This is a form of bondage, not a form of breath play. For your own safety, when you say "choking" you should understand that you are talking about "breath play".

So, if you're reading this thinking, "well, I don't see why you have a problem with choking, nobody's breathing is being interrupted" then what we have is simply a vocabulary problem. Sylus clearly loves being on both ends of wresting/pinning/bondage play. He even doesn't mind a bite to the Adam's apple (lookin' at you, Bloodnight Blaze). But breath play is a totally different story. More on that in a sec.

Why boundaries matter in kink

Part of what I pick up on in this discussion is this idea that "Sylus is the kink character so he must be into all kinks!"

This is fundamentally wrong. There is no such thing as being into all kinks. Being into more kinks does not make you a "better" or more "experienced" kink player. The best kink players are very, very clear about their boundaries.

This relates to a common misconception that doms want subs with no boundaries. Only abusive, under-qualified doms want subs with "no boundaries". Good doms always want subs who are clear and specific about their boundaries. (It's OK to explore those boundaries together, you don't have to know everything right away, but you MUST assume boundaries exist.)

Now, when it comes to fiction, and to what extent authors (especially fanfic authors) are/aren't responsible for depicting healthy kink--I don't have an answer for that. Nobody does. But, as a professional smut author talking to y'all OOC for education, I want to be as clear as possible.

Writing provides an opportunity to explore realistic and healthy elements of kink and can positively impact people IRL. I'm not trying to take anybody's favorite fantasy away from them, but maybe I can give you a second thing--a better picture of what experiencing those fantasies can look like. Imo, we gain a lot as writers and as people by engaging with these questions.

The writers for Sylus are doing something important in writing a kink-forward character like Sylus who has clear boundaries. This is actually so, so refreshing to see when many mainstream kink representations are extremely unhealthy (50 Shades of Grey, Secretary, Babygirl, etc.) ((Again I'm not commenting on whether such depictions should/shouldn't exist, I don't have an answer for that. But they're objectively unhealthy examples.))

Sylus having boundaries doesn't make him "less kinky". If anything, Sylus having boundaries makes him a more kinky character.

An aside on breath play

Something that frustrates me a bit about why "choking" got so trendy is that it is adjacent to a much safer form of play that (and I am super biased here) is much more fun.

Full disclosure, I am not personally into breath play, and I love a hand necklace. That may sound contradictory, but this is the power of clear communication! More on that in a sec.

So, what is breath play? Generally, breath play is any activity that controls/restricts breathing. This can range from very mild (brief moments of restriction, such as a hand over the mouth and nose) to extreme (cutting off oxygen to the point of passing out). I don't want to do any undue sensationalism, but I want to be very clear--breath play is very dangerous. It can cause permanent brain injury and death. (More from RACKwiki.) Hypoxia (oxygen deprivation) can cause euphoria and arousal. There are so, so many other ways to access euphoria and arousal that don't carry this same level of risk.

What is a hand necklace if not choking?

It is very, very possible to enjoy the bondage, control, and leverage that come with being constrained in the neck/shoulder/chest area without the risks of breath play. Now, this is not going to be a how-to. Any play around the neck area carries some risk, and I am not qualified to detail that here. Please do your research.

What we see in Death and Rebirth is a great example of wrestling/pinning play. The forearm across the shoulders/collarbones is a common hold because it distributes pressure in a safe way while also reserving leverage. I'm also not qualified to go into detail on wrestling play, but I've had the delight of attending a workshop that covered the basics.

Pressure along the collarbones or light pressure around the neck (but not restricting the trachea) can be delightful moments of power exchange or subspace triggers. (Ask me how I know.)

Part of what is titillating about a hand around the throat (without breath restriction) is knowing that the potential for breath restriction is there, hypothetically. If you've negotiated the scene and made a boundary, part of your brain knows that your breathing won't be restricted, but the rest of you can enjoy that thrill. As we see in Magnum Opus, it only takes light touches for Sylus to enjoy that element of the thrill. Anything beyond that is past his boundary, as-written.

That being said, what we see Sylus respond positively to has a lot more to do with wrestling. When appropriate boundaries are in place (this is VERY important) wrestling can be a relatively safe activity (again, do your research, know the risks). Wrestling offers a lot of opportunities for give and take--surrendering leverage only to take it back later, the ability to apply more strength when topping your partner without extreme risk (such as by giving them the position of greater leverage), the opportunity to witness and enjoy aggression and violence from your partner, etc. All this is Sylus's bread and butter--remember what he says in LAR, "I truly enjoy watching my little prey struggle". There's a reason I write it into a lot of my Sylus fics. There is a delicious sadomasichism and power struggle inherent in wrestling.

Wrestling includes a lot of movement restriction, as does bondage (which we see him opt into in No Defense Zone (I am convinced this is canonically a shared "dream")). So, we see Sylus written as a character who enjoys movement restriction (a novel challenge for a physically powerful person) but not breath play (a legitimately dangerous threat).

The importance of clear communication

I want to reiterate that I'm not trying to take away anyone's fun, and if someone has a choking fixation, I would SO much rather they write fanfic about it than go out and recklessly engage in it.

That being said, it really worries me to see such an extreme risk kink become so "trendy". (I'm not the only one.) And I think that's partly due to a lack of vocabulary and understanding around kink and good kink practices. (I wonder how many people write/pursue choking just because they believe it's table-stakes for a kinky relationship.)

It is 100% valid to say, "I like it when you put your hand around my throat, also, NEVER restrict my breathing." That doesn't make you vanilla, or boring, or a bad sub. It means you're someone taking responsibility for yourself and what you do/don't like, and that is the essence of great kink. This shit is about having fun, getting to know ourselves, and y'know, ideally, not dying.

That doesn't mean you can't enjoy resistance play--you just communicate that clearly, as with everything else. "I think spit is gross, so I'm gonna fight you, but it's hot when you pin me down and spit in my mouth anyway, so until I tell you otherwise or safe-word it's OK for you to do that." Or, from my own life, "If I'm not in the mood, you know what buttons to push to make it happen. I like it when you do that. If it's really a bad time, I'll safe word."

This applies to fiction too. By being honest with yourself and others that you're writing a character OOC, you're engaging in clear and healthy communication that allows others to be informed when deciding whether or not to read a fic/book/story/etc. In fiction, the consent that matters is between author and reader, and that's why content notes are so, so important to informed consent.

In conclusion

IRL, if you interact with a Dom that ignores your boundaries, that assumes you'll be into something "just for me", that takes an attitude of "I can make you like it" when you've expressed a clear boundary, run the fuck away. If you interact with a Dom that says things like "if you were really kinky, you'd be into X" run the fuck away.

And, on the off chance such a Dom is reading this, please get your shit together before you hurt somebody. Great Doms are proud of how well they respect boundaries. It takes a stronger Dom to stay fully in control, to respect all the boundaries, to build a great scene. Be a great Dom. Don't be a shitpile.

[s-che]

Monsterhearts 2: Plotting Anti-Plot

Last week I had the fortune to MC (and play) Monsterhearts 2 for the first time as the Dream Library begins a unit on monsters, monstrosity, and monsterfucking which will carry us through November, and boy howdy am I glad we managed to do it. 

For those who (somehow) don’t know, Monsterhearts is a game that bills itself as being about “the messy lives of teenage monsters.” It cites Twilight, Buffy, Ginger Snaps, The Vampire Diaries, and The Craft as media touchstones, it’s not joking when it says that these monsters are 1. messy and 2. teenagers. Monsterhearts is angsty, horny, frightening and, above all else, extremely fun to play. On top of that, Monsterhearts is also one of those games that, if you’re in a certain sector of the indie RPG scene, people will remind you is extremely fun to play all the fucking time. It feels sometimes like every designer I know has a good Monsterhearts story, and as much as Avery Alder’s reputation on a larger stage has been defined by The Quiet Year, I get the sense that for people who like what Monsterhearts is doing it’s an extremely hard game to beat. 

So to be totally honest, I was more than a little anxious MCing for my first time actually playing the game. There’s a sense in which hosting a game which you know is great can be way harder than hosting games you think might be bad — after all, if the session goes poorly, there’s nobody to blame but yourself. On top of that, Monsterhearts moves through some tricky territory: underage sex is a core element of the game, and the eight “Small Towns” (short, pre-prepped settings for quick starting the game) all deal more or less explicitly with histories of racism and colonialism in communities across North America. While these are interesting places to go in play, the idea of taking them on myself as host made me shy away a little bit (and I’m excited in the next session to look at things from a player’s perspective). 

All in all, though, I think the session was a resounding success. I went in with basically no prep and as much familiarity with the book as I could get (not enough to realize the quick reference sheet we were using for the first half of the session was from Monsterhearts 1, but so it goes), relying on the game itself — which leans away from strictly organized plots and encourages you, in true PBTA fashion, to let characters and their needs bounce off each other until the conversation goes somewhere interesting — to get us smoothly into play. I would call my efforts there a mixed success: while Avery has a real skill for writing pedagogically, giving you the explicit frameworks you need to get into play (if you’ve never begun a session of The Quiet Year by reading the rules book aloud to each other, you should go fix that now), the session was hampered a little by some awkward pacing and uncertainty: partially driven by my chronic tendency to waste time on slowly establishing things in one-shots rather than swinging as hard as I can in the first five minutes and letting the players lead from there and partially by player character relationships that lead to clear, decisive actions... which left one of our players bored at work while the other two went off adventuring. We ended up taking a moment, after returning from the normal mid-session bio-break, to chat and refocus ourselves, figuring out where we wanted to go and what we wanted to see in the last hour or so of the session, and then jumping back in and — thankfully — playing hard to reach a strong conclusion. In the end, I’m not interested in tracking down exactly where the first half of our session lost its footing (although I have some ideas for how I could have hit harder as an MC). I’m more interested in celebrating the way the table was able to come together, talk explicitly about what we wanted, and get the game somewhere satisfying for everyone involved. We closed on, among other things: an underwater fight between the Fairy (Mermaid?) Queen and a Kraken-Leviathan-Hellmonster, a throuple sneaking off from a beach party to hook up, and the messy end of a South Jersey summer (complete with a tsunami and a beached whale front of the boardwalk). It was a good time. 

Most striking to me in this moment, however, is the way thinking about Monsterhearts as a plotless game positions both me as MC and the other players. It really speaks to the way that capital-T The capital-C Conversation works in Powered by the Apocalypse games (good ones, anyway) to let play flow not according to the rules of a paced narrative, but along lines of player interest and highly-charged emotional incident. It is, I think, part of what makes all the PBTA games we’ve played in the Dream Library sing (in no small part because we pruned the last unit and didn’t play any PBTA games I think are bad, but that’s a different conversation) and it suits this game — with it’s emphasis on sex and messy desire — extremely well. It also fits in nicely with a point I’ve heard a couple of people make recently: that thinking of RPGs as first and foremost collective narrative engines is, at the very least, a narrow view. 

Anyway, this week I’m fortunate enough to be joined by a new host (hi @jdragsky) so I can check out MH as a player, then we’ve got a couple of two-shots planned for the end of the month before we move on to our next monstrously intimate game: Bluebeard’s Bride. You want in on an upcoming game? Have a link. You want to hear more about Monsterhearts? One of my players wrote up some of her thoughts as well.

Otherwise, well, get out of here. Scram.