#< for collaborative/interactive (?? words are a fuck) stuff like this

[gunpowder-arti]

hey guys

so! my 1-year anniversary of hyperfixating on rw is coming up (March 28th) and I want to do something for it (although my adhd ass is pretty bad with deadlines, it's the thought that counts, right?)

as much as I criticize rain world's fanon and fandom, I do stick around for a reason. This might seem a bit backwards, but if i didn't genuinely care about the community, I wouldn't criticize it--I wouldn't engage with it at all.

i am aware that i have been... a bit of a dick, at times (one particular occasion comes to mind), and i hope you all believe me when i say i regret that wholly and fully.

overall, my experience with this fandom has been wonderful. and as such, i am asking you all:

send me your slugcat designs!

i have an idea for a project, but i need your designs. any slugcat, or all of them--although survivor might show up a bit more than the others!

also send me your aus, dynamics, etc. i'm not sure how many i'll manage to show, but i know i'll need at least:

one mentor/apprentice or teacher/student dynamic,

one romantic ship,

and one friendship or familial dynamic

(although, if you want your headcanons to be featured, i would recommend not going too heavy on the shipping, or at least sending in something other than shipping--as much as it would be wrong to not showcase such a big part of the community in what is ultimately a tribute to said community at all, i personally am very, very aro and romance repulsed, and as such somewhat uncomfortable with nearly all ships [or at best tend to favor platonic dynamics], sorry)

you're free to send in iterator designs, too, but i can't guarantee i'll use them! this is a slugcat focused project, and while i might throw in an iterator panel or two, i can't guarantee it. ultimately my vision is very loose for this, simply due to the nature of the thing, haha

(for full transparency: it will be a lyric comic, if you dont want to see your scugs set to my music taste, you are free to scroll on by)

...that's enough rambling! go slug ur cats

#(i don't think this needs saying; but anyone whose design is used will be credited!) #rain world #lore pearl #broadcast pearl #< for collaborative/interactive (?? words are a fuck) stuff like this

[fearcicada]

I really would like to make a zine ala collaborative fandom fanzines about 1 specific idea/character except if I made a post for it it would get 3 notes and no one would see it but also more importantly when I look at previous TMA (and fandom zines in general i see LOL) zines they all seem so....serious.......idk there's like artist applications and "art standards" they want and all of that and previous zine experience preferred like holy shit I think that is more a digital magazine at that point and not what I'd refer to as a 'zine'. I just want to collectively have 1 cool TMA theme and join together with lots of people to make art pieces related to that idea and we can all go YIPPEEE and have a PDF of them all together or something. And also I can't do it because I've never even participated in a zine and have no idea what it's like to organize but from what I've seen of others it seems very #serious....

#words #ugh also maybe the topics I'd like to draw about may be a bit niche for a zine maybe i should just make my own art about stuff. #but i want to collaborate with othersss 😞 #UGH one must post their thoughts and ideas and interact with other's thoughts and ideas and art to make friends. so fucking scary #mine #so maybe what i actually want is just collaboration and connection with likeminded people #ugh

[tiredmamaissy]

Ralak te Sepwan ieyk’itan: Special Episode III

Calm After the Storm

An Illustrated Collaboration with @zestys-stuff

Masterlist ; Rut/Heat/Knotting Info

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

Hyperlinks are attached to specific paragraphs that when clicked on will lead you to its illustration by Ralak's creator @zestys-stuff.

Characters: Metkayina!Ralak (24) x Sully!Omaticaya!Reader (19)

Warnings: nsfw, smut, fluff, profanity, age gap, rut cycle, heat cycle, extreme knotting, marking, scenting, territorial/possessive behaviour, breeding kink, p in v, mating/bonding, multiple climaxes, creampie, belly bulge, actual breeding, let me know if I forgot anything?

Word Count: 6.3k

Requested: Yes || No

Author’s Note: Happy halloween guys! I know I literally fell off the face of the earth and I will make another post to address that. But I know I haven’t participated for @pandoraslxna ‘s kinktober event (I’m so sorry bby) but if I could only participate for one of the days it would be today for sure. So I definitely wanted to get this out before midnight. It’s not purely a/b/o but honestly entails all the aspects of it. I think we can all definitely tell who’s the alpha and omega here (Ralak is alpha material hands down, ofc). I hope you guys enjoy this one, and I apologize for such a wait <3 Also I feel like I’m a bit rusty, so apologies for any typos, errors, or just plain suckish writing.

ALSO a big happy birthday to my babe @neteyamsoare <3 love you and hope it was a good one!!

Synopsis: Your heat starts to subside, but Ralak’s rut is only getting stronger. What could possibly go wrong?

<- Previous -> Next

——

Only an hour has passed before you feel your not-so-gentle giant stirring behind you, waking you from your sleep. You’d both been on your sides for too long now and everywhere seems to ache. You whine when you feel his hips shift against you, tugging at the immense pressure between your hips. The bulge protruding from your lower abdomen has barely gone down and you feel almost as full as you did when he initially emptied his load inside you.

Silken strands of his hair fall onto your prickled skin as he props himself up on his elbow from behind you, perching his chin on your throbbing shoulder. He inhales deeply – longingly. His hot breath gently blows against your neck just as you feel his arm snake under your leg and yank it back in one rough tug.

“Ralak.” His name falls from your lips through a nearly inaudible croak. “‘m so full.” You barely mumble out, rolling your head to the side. Yet, the flame within you is without a doubt reigniting with a vengeance.

And he can sense it.

Simply by the way you push back into him, making that bulge in your belly protrude a little more. His large hand resting on your stomach can indubitably feel it. And the smile that it puts on his face is almost baleful, bearing his lengthy canines that yearn to sink deep into you once more. “Sorry, tìyawn [love].”

He just can’t help it.

No matter how hard he tried. The desire—no, the need—to fuck into you and claim you as his time and time again is… irrepressible. In this moment, nothing else felt better than your little, used cunt hugging his cock so tightly that it almost hurts. He yearns to fill you over and over. Again and again until your womb is overflowing with his seed. The mere thought has his balls pulling tight to his body, firming up by the second all just to flood your womb again.

“Muntxate [wife].” Ralak growls into your neck, sliding his hand down to your inner thigh. “I will try to be–” He groans slowly, his pointer finger now burrowing itself between your tied pelvises, “–flrr [gentle].”

The final accented word comes out roughly, and if it weren’t for his finger slipping past his knot and into your cunt, you would’ve probably heard it clearly. You yelp out when he traces his finger around his knot, stretching your already taut skin, attempting to work a little space to allow his bulge to slip out.

It's all consuming and you’re simply too overwhelmed with his size that you fail to realise how your body is synced with his and bearing down to push him out. All whilst he’s struggling to fight the snap of hips to avoid hurting you. But the tugging is nothing like you’ve felt before adn you can finally understand why he was so insistent in the first place.

ut there was no getting out of this now, not that you even wanted to.

“It–it’s…” You brace yourself by grabbing onto his forearm, “...t-too big.”

“Ngaytxoa [sorry]” He huffs out his fourth apology, losing himself once again as his hips finally jerk back out of his control.

Pop.

His knot slips out of you with such force that the squelch it makes is as loud as your whimper. It’s so wet and slippery that his cock follows behind his knot, sliding out of you effortlessly. He’s more than half-hard yet so heavy and hung it rests close to your knee. Then you feel it. His cum dribbling down your thigh, still warm and sticky as if he just filled you up seconds ago.

It’s such a conflicting feeling — a mixture of relief and pent up frustration. Your heat is still in full bloom, despite it being so quenched until you’re almost nauseated. It’s as if you were two pieces perfectly linked together, allowing nature to run its course with no second thought. He grunts when he feels the crisp night air against his groin, his cock now springing up to its full length in just a few seconds.

He, too, feels some sort of feverish way now. Itching to be back inside your warmth, enveloped by your gummy, slimy walls. He opts to pepper wet kisses along your neck, and then up to your jaw, lingering there as he tries to distract himself from the ache to shove it back inside you.

Until it becomes too much.

“Tanhì.” He moans into your ear, heavy lidded eyes struggling to stay open as his tongue trails the skin on the back of your neck. “Need you.” It’s his way of begging for permission. Permission to slam his cock back inside you and hammer into you until the annoying itch deep in his core goes away again. You were the only one to make it go away. To stop the hurt. “Please.” He whines out a plea of desperation, now gritting his teeth from the way his stomach is tensing. “Now.”

But that last plea wasn’t much of a question, no. It was more of a demand. A way of saying, ‘give it to me, or I’ll take you on my own terms’.

“Fuck.” You mumble under your breath, sliding your free hand down your side to hook it under your leg. You pull it back and reposition your hips to give him access to your cunt. “P-Put it in, ‘Lak.”

Ralak’s hips begin to stutter — the leaking, mushroomy tip of his cock now repeatedly prodding between your puffed up folds. His breath turns raggedy as he tries to guide himself back inside you handsfree. Your slick is overflowing, making it even more difficult for him to align himself with your entrance. The frustration brewing within him bubbles over when his cockhead glides past your swollen clit instead of sinking in your cunt. So he pulls back in one swift move and —

Thrust.

Your body jolts from how quickly he slams every inch of his cock inside you, forcing you split-open. Ralak huffs a shaky sigh of relief, his breathing growing a little steadier now that he’s deep inside his mate. Meanwhile, your mouth hangs agape yet no sound falls from your lips. Your eyes well up with tears and your ears lay flat against your skull. Your body is in complete submission to the beast dominating it and there’s nothing else you can do but give in to the pleasure.

“Your scent.” He whispers open-mouthed, tips of his canines grazing the nape of your neck. “It is driving me crazy.” You release the breath that you didn’t even realise you were holding. You didn’t even know what to say. Not like you could really say much right now anyways. You’re too lost in the fog of your own heat. For once, Ralak is doing most of the talking. “It makes me…” He snaps his hips back, only leaving half of his length inside you. “...lose myself completely.”

A deep roll of his hips.

A lewd moan dripping off your lips. 

“How do you do that?” He huffs, pressing his teeth against your neck. You don’t answer yet again. You just can’t find the words. Not right now. Not when he’s so deep inside you. “Hm?” A deep growl vibrates up his throat, his teeth just barely piercing the first layer of your silken skin.

“I—” You’re cut off by your own squeal when you feel the sting of his bite. Your breath catches in your throat and he immediately unlatches, lapping at the nicked skin to soothe it. “Sorry.” He whispers breathlessly, planting a quick kiss on each of your marks. “Sorry. Sorry.” A few more apologies flow from his mouth, as if he were drunk off of too much fermented fruit. Somewhat lucid but still so spaced. “I cannot —ngh— help myself.”

Thrust.

“‘M sorry.”

He knows he went a little too deep just now. But you feel so fucking good around his cock.

Chomp.

Another mark. Right on the bend of your shoulder, next to your first.

“Ngaytxoa [I’m sorry]”

A small cry from your quivering lips.

“S-Stop. No more apologies. I am yours to do what you p-please with.” You finally get out in one, weary breath.

Ralak’s languid, deep thrusts are laced with desperation. And with each stroke they become harsher and harsher. Faster and faster. Now he’s got your full permission he lets go once more, falling into the thick fog of his rut.

Within seconds his cock is pumping in and out of you, his half-deflated knot continuously prodding and poking at your entrance. The tip of his cock drags against your walls, putting an immense pressure right on your sweet spot. Yet still, sounds barely fall from your flushed lips. You’re too out of it. Too focused on the raw sensations rippling through you all at once. His overwhelming pheromones. His marking. His relentless pounding.

Rather, hot tears well over your eyes and stream down your face.

He can’t stop slamming himself inside you. He doesn’t want it to stop. It’s absolute rapture and he’s unapologetically drowning in it.

“Tanhì. Tanhì.” He groans needily. “y/n.”

He only says your name when he’s serious about something.

And hearing it drip from his tongue onto the nape of your neck has your hairs standing high and your clit throbbing.

“Eywa. Yes, ‘lak? T-Tell me what you need.” You blubber out, tightening your grip on his forearm.

“Haa — spread yourself.” He demands, prompting you to tuck your leg back as far as you can. His pace quickens, hips striking you with a sinful vengeance. But no matter how hard he fucks you, or how deep he buries himself inside you — its just not enough. He needs to be closer. To be deeper. To really be inside you. To knot you.

“More.” He grunts, slowing his thrusts into rocking, grinding himself inside your slippery, tight cunt.

You go to tug at your leg and meet nothing but resistance. “I-I’m trying.” You can feel it now. Perhaps it’s the bond or maybe it’s the way his knot is working you open but he’s growing more and more frustrated by the thrust.

“Mmmh. Wider.”

“I can’t. I can’t.” You’re quick to answer, feeling nothing but pressure from the way he’s trying to shove more of himself inside you.

“Agh.” He growls in frustration, pulling out of you and grabbing you by the ankle to flip you onto your back.

Ralak situates himself between your legs without hesitation and pushes them so far back your knees graze against the tips of your ears. You can barely breathe in this position and are having a hard time seeing anything else but his raging cock at your entrance. You can feel the burn in your thighs from how far back he’s shoving your knees but that sting is masked by the pleasure of him plunging himself back into your pussy.

The moan that rips from your lips is obscene and like no other. The crown of his cock is drilling itself directly into your sweet spot, causing it to swell with unadulterated pleasure. And each time he pulls out just to sink it back inside you he winds you in the process – making you sputter out absolute nonsense. Even he knows you're close, despite being in the thick of his rut.

But frankly, he doesn't care.

All he’s concerned about is satisfying his own urges.

“Not enough.” He grits through his teeth as his eyes shift to an even deeper shade of mauve. “‘ts not enough.” He pants, voice laced with something of worry. Panic that this feeling won’t go away. It makes you panic too, wondering if you’re doing enough for him. If he’s going to take even more from you. If you can manage it.

“You’re okay. Do what you need.” You try to reassure him, grasping your feet and holding them back–opening yourself up even more. But fuck, that only made things worst for you.

And by worst, you mean better. It feels like you’ll burst any second now, especially with how much pressure is on your bladder. “Fu-ck me. God, fuck–ahaa-fuck me.”

His brows bunch together as he peers down at you, beads of sweat rolling off his face to drip onto your chest. His jaw is so tense it looks as if it may fracture. He’s grunting with every push and huffing with every pull.

“Right there! Fuck. I’m close. I’m so fucking close. I-I need you to cum i-inside me. Oh—please ‘lak. Please!” Your cries are choked and muffled, breaths short and raggedy. The heat pooling in your core is unbearable. It needs out. Now.

Ralak swallows. Hard. Through his own haze he can see that you’re in need too. He shuffles closer to you, tucking his feet under him to assume a squatting position. Now he’s all but on top of you, folding you into a merciless mating press. This one shift in position has you coming undone on his cock, coating it in your thick slick as you sob from the white hot pleasure. The force of your climax has you pushing him out and only has him drilling himself further inside you. If it’s not for the way your pussy walls tighten around him surely his knot would have popped inside you by now.

He’s still fucking into you, right through your orgasm and towards his.

“Say what you need.” He panics through a tightened jaw, grinding himself inside you – pushing his knot against the resistance.

You know what he’s actually asking from you. To say something. Anything to tip him over the edge. To rid him of this maddening itch.

“Breed me.” You whisper, locking eyes with him. You watch as his pupils blow into thin rings and then constrict into nothing but dots. You try to swallow what spit you could, attempting to clear your throat. “Breed me. Please.”

“Then take it.” He lets loose a sinister growl, putting all his weight into his final push. For the first time, you feel his knot pop inside you, veiny and as thick as can be. You let out a high-pitched whimper, and feel your teeth begin to chatter. That doesn’t make him ease up, though. He continues to grind himself inside you until you feel the familiar, warm sensation of his sticky seed spraying inside you – filling your womb to the brim. His cock throbs wildly, in perfect synchrony with his own heartbeat, and soon yours too as the bond equilibrates your souls once more.

Strangely, you thought you’d be sore and overstimulated by now, but your body has never felt better. You’re full and content and more than satiated. Ralak heaves a sigh — one of pure relief. It’s glued to his face. All panic washes away and he’s feeling more at peace the longer he remains inside you. He’s rigid, firmly holding his position on top of you — ensuring he empties every single drop inside you. Yet, his heavy lidded eyes begin to close.

“I can’t breathe.” You mumble, snapping him out of his tranquil trance. His eyes meet yours and the corner of his mouth pulls into a little smirk. He exhales a breathy chuckle and carefully manoeuvres you both into a more comfortable position. He settles himself on his back and supports your body whilst positioning you on top of him.

“Better?” Ralak husks, drawing circles into your back with the tip of his finger.

You take a deep breath, filling your lungs to full capacity and then slowly release it. “Much.”

“Nga yawne lu oer [I love you]” His accented words slur together as he dozes off.

“Nga yawne lu oer, Ralak [I love you].”

——

Ralak woke repeatedly throughout the night for his fill. If it wasn’t him, it was you. Waking up in a clammy state, shaking and nuzzling into his chest from your heat. You honestly thought that the more time passed — the more rounds you went — the more he would calm down.

But, you thought wrong.

He’d start by leaving tender kisses wherever he could, whispering he’d do his best to be as gentle as he can be. Then, he’d slip a finger inside you, stretching you out in attempts to pull his knot out without hurting you. But it would always sting, even just a little bit. After that he’d beg. Pleading with you to let him back in, and apologize right after plunging inside you regardless of your answer—which was always yes.

At this point your own foggy haze would take over. Perhaps it was your body’s way of coping with the overstimulation, but you pined for every single second of it. Sometimes it would last for a few minutes. Where he’d be quick to fold you in two and growl in the shell of your ear, ‘you’re mine, haah — fuck, take me’. 

Sometimes it was closer to an hour. Where you’d both be so tired you’d take breaks, lazily taking turns fucking each other, telling him to ‘put it back in’ whenever he’d slip out. But one thing remained the same every time. You’d sob when you’d cum and then beg him to breed you. And he would, without a doubt, breed you.

Mercilessly.

And with each breeding, he’d lose himself a little deeper. Knotting you over and over. Marking you repeatedly until your body’s littered with bites. Until you were so fucked out you’d lost the feeling in your legs. Until your throat was so dry you could barely speak. Until you needed a break.

——

“Wait.” You crawl towards the bedside table with wobbly knees. “Just need some water, Lak.”

Ralak pounces on you, knocking you onto your stomach and pressing himself against you. You extend an arm out, fingers splayed out and shaking from you trying to reach the cup of water Ka’ani left there more than a day ago. Ralak grabs your hips and hoists you up onto your knees and elbows, and mounts you from behind.

“Water. Water, Lak.” You beg with a hoarse cry, only for him to line the crown of his cock up with your sopping cunt. He growls next to your ear as he stretches over you and reaches for the cup of water, filling his cheeks and putting it back down within a couple seconds. With a quick grip of your jaw, he turns your head and meets his lips with yours.

Before you can process what’s going on you’re gulping down water as fast as you can. And when he pulls away, you’re yet again met with the hazy eyes of his rut. That’s when it dawns on you that whilst your heat is coming to an end, his rut is only getting stronger.

Rather than looking away, he locks his gaze onto you, just so he can watch your face screw as he slams his cock inside of you in one, hard thrust. It works a sudden, breathy moan from your mouth, eyebrows pinching together from the stretch. He holds his position, basking in the warmth and tightness of your cunt as his breath goes shaky.

“Wait.” You mumble weakly, shoving a hand behind you to push against his lower stomach. “Please.”

For the first time, you were telling him to stop.

His jawbone flutters as his eyes search yours. Restraint plasters to his face, and the only audible thing is his heavy breathing. He nods. Just once. A firm and intentional nod. He swallows the residual water left in his mouth and tenderly pulls out of you. You hear the thud of his footsteps quiet down as he nears the marui door, and then the splash of the water when he dives into the rough sea.

It’s pouring outside.

Storming, actually. Thundering and lightning. Yet he feels this is the only way he’d be able to resist the urge to storm back in and fuck you. But the instinct to protect his mate, even if it’s from himself, is more than enough to give him the willpower to walk away.

You take this moment to just breathe, turning your head to face the plush bed beneath you as you gather your thoughts. Did he just show that much restraint? Enough to walk away from a female na’vi during her heat cycle… all whilst in the height of his own rut cycle?

“Lekye’ung [insane]” You mutter, using your trembling hand to grab and bring the cup to your lips. They, too, are sore and chapped. Having gone so many hours without any food or water, you knock it back, shaking the cup to get out every drop. Finished already? You think to yourself, looking inside the cup with hazed vision, confirming it’s indeed empty.

After setting it back down onto the table, you slump back into the bedhead, relaxing your body. You’re sore. Actually, sore is an understatement. Every single muscle and fiber in your body burns—and that isn’t entirely due to your heat either now that it’s finally subsiding. Perhaps you should be taking this time to have a look at your… condition, but you’re finding it harder and harder to keep your eyes open.

So you give in, sinking further and further into the bed as you doze off.

—

A few hours go by and Ralak returns with a net of fish thrown over his shoulder and a bucket of fresh water perched on his hip. He carefully sets down the bucket and rests the net next to the fire pit. He’s cautious not to wake you, nor come too close to you. Ralak ignites the fire and fans the flame. As quietly as possible, he prepares and cooks the fish, setting them aside to wrap in the leaves of a spartan tree.

Since coming to Awa’atltu, one of your biggest adjustments—despite the obvious—has been your change in diet. Fish weren’t uncommon back home, but they certainly weren’t the main source of food. You prefer the other foods here, your favourite being what you call ‘inland boar’, which is an animal that resembles what your father calls a ‘pig’ from his star.

But not even that, (boar) could smell better than this (fish).

The aroma alone rouses you from your sleep.

Your eyes open to a dark room and a glowing fire pit. The fire is out but the wood remains hot, shifting among different shades of orange and red. Ralak sits beside it, with his back leaning against the support beam of the pod. His arms are crossed over his chest and his knees are slightly bent. It’s hard to see more than just his silhouette with the lack of moonlight.

“That smells good.” You rasp. Ralak’s eyes fly open to reveal a familiar shade of deep blue. Like the sea. They glow and flicker before you, examining you now that you’re sitting up out of bed.

Crack.

A bolt of lightning strikes in the distance, illuminating the room. For a moment, you were able to see every single bike mark, scratch and bruise you’ve given him. It also reveals that he’s shaking. Trembling from being wet and cold, or possibly from the strain he was putting himself through from just being in the same room as you.

Ralak moves quickly, shuffling to his feet and going right for the leaf that holds a few sloppily rolled fish. He brings it to you, setting it slowly on your lap, being overly cautious not to touch you. Grabbing your cup on the table, he dunks it in the bucket and sets it beside you.

“Eat.” He whispers, backing away to sit next to the pit. You watch as he slides down the beam and into a sitting position, and then glance down at your food. Saliva pools in your mouth from the aroma wafting up your nose.

You’re hungry.

“Thank you.” You say quietly, hastily stuffing an entire roll into your mouth.

You moan as you chew, nodding your head from how good it tastes. It’s hard to swallow, given that you bit off more than you could chew—literally—but when it finally goesdown you feel your stomach grumble for more. Ralak watches you intently. A wince screwing his face with every swallow he witnesses. And when you finish, you chug down your water and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

Another crack of lightning strikes, and then a low, lengthy rumble of thunder follows.

“That was… one of the best you’ve made, lak.” You say with a wobbly smile, slowly getting on your feet to wash your hands. The bucket is nearby your mate, who is still fixed in position. Although he remains unmoving, his eyes follow your every move. You shake your hands to dry them and shuffle over to Ralak and sit next to him.

“so… how do you feel?” You ask quietly, raising your hand to check if he’s feverish. He turns his head before your hand can make contact with his skin and his gaze locks onto the charred wood in the fire pit. 

“Fine.” Ralak mutters.

Eyebrows pinching in confusion, you tilt your head to try and look him in the eye. Your brows relax when you come to the realisation that he’s already taken care of himself. And only Eywa knows how many times.

“You know, you didn’t have to do that. I would have—”

“Ma’ muntxate [my wife]”He croaks, swiftly turning his head to look directly into your eyes. “Oeru txoa livu [please forgive me].”

“Txoa? [forgive?] What for, ma’ muntxatan? [husband]”

“I have… neglected you.” He’s struggling to speak. You can hear it in the strain of his voice.

Regardless, none of his words are really making any sense to you right now. How has he been neglectful? Despite the circumstances, it’s obvious he’s been trying his hardest to be good to you. Somehow, even conjuring up the strength to pull out of you and walk away.

“Ralak. You have not. Please, I—”

“Look at yourself.” He snaps, taking a quick glance at your body before dropping his head in his hands.

Crack.

Conveniently, another strike of lightning and boom of thunder, revealing exactly what he’s talking about. For a few seconds, you’re met with the sight of your battered body—scabbed and bruised. You lift your head, staring at his shameful demeanour. But the more you stare, the more you see your own reflection.

“And have you looked at yourself?” Your words bounce as you shuffle closer to him. “I bet you can’t even feel all that damage I’ve done to you.” You coo, using your thumb to gently graze past an easy six-inch scratch mark on his bicep. “I haven’t been so gentle with you either.”

Ralak shakes his head, allowing it to sink further into his hands. “You were starved.” He mumbles into the palms of his hands.

You sigh, pulling your knees to your chest and resting your chin in the dip between them. Your eyes wander over to the fire pit, catching sight of the outline of a few fish rolls.

Has he really punished himself by not eating?

“Have you eaten?” You ask, resting a gentle hand on his back.

“No need.”

“You should, you know. Don’t want you starving on me, lak.” You say lightheartedly, allowing your hand to slide up his spine and to the base of his skull.

He lets loose a quiet groan, fighting the twitch of his ears. Your fingers smooth over the base of his kuru, playing with the braid encasing that covers it. “If you do that—”

“Do what?” You whisper coyly, quickly running your hand down the length of his kuru.

His spine immediately straightens, his head lifting from his hands. The tips of your fingers gently make their way to his tendrils, carefully teasing them as they try to wrap around your digits. He sucks in a sharp breath and closes his eyes, allowing a shiver to run through him. It feels like your fingers were inside his skull, tickling his brain in the best way possible. 

Reaching for your kuru with your free hand, you bring it up and over your shoulder. You lean into Ralak, your lips only inches away from his. You pull away your fingers to grip and pull his queue forth. The loss of contact has him sitting up straight, opening his eyes to look at you.

“I will not let you suffer alone.” You whisper, lessening the distance between the two of you, tilting your head to the side ever so slightly. He stills himself, even limiting his own breath so as not to make any sudden moves. “Okay?”

You wait for just a moment. For him to say something. To move away. But he remains stock-still, waiting for you to initiate this. You smile, your top teeth briefly rubbing against this lower lip, and lock your lips with his. He exhales through his nose, coming to life from your kiss and returning it full force. You take this as a good sign. A sign that you’ve broken through that wall once again, and bring your kurus together — making tsaheylu [the bond].

Both your eyes fly open, blown pupils staring into one another as your spirits unify. You both pull back, shoulders and chests heaving from your quick, unsteady breaths. You feel all that he feels – the frustration, the panic, the tension. It’s all fading, now finally nearing the end. He feels your subsiding heat, your soreness, your overpowering urge to care for him.

Before another second could pass, your lips crash into each other again—tongues intertwining as they explore one another’s mouth. Using his hand to support your upper back, he slowly lowers you onto the woven floor, parting your legs with his free hand. He situates himself between them, pressing his crotch firmly against yours. He’s warm, just like the toasty fire pit next to you.

I will try to be gentle. Ralak thinks to you, just like he’s been promising to be night after night.

I know you will. You smile, moving your kisses down his jawline as he slides his hands between your sticky pelvises.

——

It hasn’t even been two full weeks since the synchronous heat that had you and your mate locked away in your marui pod for a little over two days. Your back and thighs–and honestly everywhere else– still ache but outside of that, you feel like a brand new person. You weren’t able to confidently say that Ralak feels the same way, however.

Of course, he was adamant on limiting intimacy until you were ‘healed and recovered’. But, he had a bounce in his step. As if he were physically lighter. As if the weight of six years of pent up sexual frustration and self neglect melted off his back when you satiated the ‘insatiable’.

The constant aftercare was almost sickening. Even after most of your marks had faded he remained adamant on treating them with your own omaticayan herbs from back home. He praised them at every use, thanking your people for making such exceptional ’umtsa [medicine].

But as you entered the second week, after tons of reassurance, things dissipated and went back to normal. Ralak went back to his usual routine—fishing, hunting, responding to a few calls to Tonowari and your father. Ralak, without a doubt, made a vow to you and himself not to initiate anything until you were more than healed. But nonetheless clung to you in the nights.

He even, in fact, added a new step into your usual nighttime regimen. As usual, it began with the snuggles and tucking you under his arm just right, providing you with enough warmth to endure the cool night air. Then, he would release the perfect amount of pheromones to get you drowsy enough for bed.

But recently, he’s spent the past seven nights delaying the nightly routine until he’s had his fill of your scent. He’d lay himself down on your chest, nuzzling his face into your bosom and just breathe. You allowed it, thinking it was his own newfound way to wind down for bed.

Yet, the real reason was much different.

——

Right on the two week mark, Tsireya had roped you in with helping her with some of her Tsakrem duties. You were always happy to help her though, as it meant getting away from the marui pod for a little even if it meant being poked and prodded at.

And it certainly didn’t take long for that to happen.

Tsireya lets out a frustrated sigh and plops the medicinal pouch she’s weaving in her lap.  “I can no longer ignore it, y/n. You smell different.”

You lift your head, tearing your focus from your task of weaving and look at her with a puzzled expression on your face. You bring the end of your tail to your nose and sniff, but smell… nothing. “Like what?” Her brows lower and her eyes glisten with concern. She purses her lips and unsheathes the lengthy pin from its casing and grabs your hand. “Here we go.” You mutter to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut as you anticipate the sting.

Prick.

“Sss—ah! You need to be careful with how deep you go with that, you know. You could really—” The tsahik in training puts the wooden stick to her tongue and stares at you wide eyed, mouth agape. It’s as if she wants to speak but the words are lodged in her throat. “What? What is it?”

“You—perhaps I am wrong.” She stutters, quickly sheathing the tool back into its casing. “You should see my mother, y/n.”

“What? Why? Just tell me.” The words come out in a haste, and your voice is laced with panic. Do you have some sort of disease of the sea? Is there a cure? 

“You — you are with child.” Her lips tremble as she says the words in an uncertain tone of voice.

“What?” You stare at her dumbfounded, a little caught off guard by her choice of words.

“Pregnant. You’re pregnant. But I am likely mistaken. I am only in training. Which is why I said you should see my moth—”

“Oh. No. You’re… you’re probably right, Tsireya.” You swallow the spit pooling in your cheeks, avoiding eye contact.

“H-How? I mean. I know how. But how? Surely Ralak knows not to do such a thing during your heat. He can control himself. R-Right?”

“Right. If I were the only one… in heat.” You say the last few words under your breath, fixing your shawl before picking back up your task.

“What do you mean?” Tsireya leans in with a tilted head, looking a little closer at your covered shoulder. “Did you help him with his rut?” Tsireya asks bluntly. “He’s been unmated for six years, y/n. Did you reall—”

“I am his mate. Of course I did.” You nearly snap, baffled by the tone she’s having with you.

“H-How did that even work?” Tsireya shakes her head, slowly raising her hand towards you.

“What is that supposed to mean?” You finally lift your head to shoot her a puzzled, yet offended stare. “It worked like it would for any other Na’vi.”

“Y/n…” Tsireya quickly grabs your shawl, pulling it off your shoulder to reveal a large, deep and scabbed up bite mark. It looks almost infected because of the strange omaticayan herbal concoction smeared over it. “You should have just let him ease you into it. Look at you, you’re all bruised and—”

“Tsireya.” You interject, “thank you for the concern, but—” you aggressively pull up your shawl, “I feel just fine. Besides, being in heat was the best way to ‘ease me into it’…He was as gentle as he could be.” You mutter, twiddling with the twine as you think back to the way he tried to handle you with care.

“By the looks of it, he was anything but gentle with you.” Tsireya seethes, angry that the man she grew up looking at like a brother would do something like this to you.

You wince at her words. They’re like a knife to the heart.

A long, awkward silence fills the space between you and Tsireya. She reflects on everything she’s said, realising that perhaps she was a little more harsh than needed. She softens her gaze, “I’m sorry. I should not have said that. I just hate seeing you hurt.”

“I get it. I know you’re just looking out for me. It’s alright, ‘reya.”

You exchange lighthearted smiles.

“You are definitely pregnant then. After six years, he must have really filled you—”

“Tsireya!” You laugh, giving her shoulder a light shove.

Tsireya’s grin morphs into a more serious expression. “See mother to make sure. Okay?”

Your smile also fades into something softer as you nod your head in agreement. “Okay.”

#lunaskinktober2023 #ralak #ralak smut #avatar smut #awow smut #metkayina #metkayina smut #metkayina oc #oc smut #avatar oc smut #awow oc smut #sully reader #sully reader x oc #oc x sully reader #oc x sully reader smut #na'vi smut #na'vi x reader #na'vi x sully reader #na'vi avatar #smut #metkayina x omaticaya #metkayina x omaticaya smut #metkayina x fem reader #ralak x y/n #ralak x reader #ralak x you #heat cycles #heat cycle #rut cycle #rut cycles

[little-pondhead]

Eyes Of The Past - OLD CH. 2

Part 1

[TW: swearing, mentions of death, sickness, and general spookiness]

The Batfamily was in turmoil. Something was wrong with the city; they could feel it. There was a heaviness in the air, which wasn’t there before. Clouds hung low over the skyline, heavy with rain that refused to fall. Citizens didn’t bother to wander the streets, even during the day. The buildings seemed to curl in on themselves like the city was trying to form a shield between her streets and whatever was to come. Even the criminals were staying quiet! Joker hadn’t made a peep in days.

So, needless to say, tensions were high.

“How’d the raid on the Lounge go last night?” Tim rubbed his face as Bruce entered the Batcave. They’d all been running themselves ragged, trying to find the source of their unease.

Bruce grunted. “Hn.”

“He was busted.” Barbara filled him in from over their loudspeakers. She pulled up footage of the previous night on the Batcomputer, letting Tim examine every pixel of the interactions. “One of the workers spotted him during the stakeout and warned the Penguin. Hood was there, too.”

“Red Hood?” Tim sipped his coffee, clicking through the fuzzy videos. “I wasn’t aware he was up for collaborations right now.”

“He was there for a business deal,” Bruce muttered, obviously sulking.

“Bruce got yelled at for ruining the whole setup.” Barbara snickered. She opened up a short, thirty-second clip of Red Hood chewing Batman out in the middle of some dark alleyway, a grumpy-looking woman in the Lounge uniform standing in cuffs next to them. “The woman is Tamia Brone, the supervisor on shift for the evening. She was seen with the employee who tipped off the Penguin. She’s being held at Gotham PD right now, but will probably be released this afternoon since she’s not affiliated with the underground part of the business.”

“So the bust was useless?” Tim summarized.

“Hnn,” Bruce grunted again. The big bat was still sulking, fiddling with his belt’s equipment. Tim sighed. Bruce always got like this when Jason got angry with him. He was all solemn and sulky and resorted to one-syllable words for communication. He wanted to look something up on the Batcomputer, Tim could tell. He was just waiting for Tim to be done.

“Fine.” Tim spun the chair fully around and popped out of the seat as gracefully as he could. “Take the chair, Bruce. What do you want to find?”

Bruce practically teleported to the chair, fingers flying over the keyboard as he cleared the cam footage except for the stuff that came from his own bodysuit. He zoomed in on the moment the employee spotted him, using a program to clean up the stray pixels for a clear face of the boy’s face.

Tim leaned over Bruce’s shoulder, watching him work. “Oh, shit,” he realized. “That’s a kid! What is the Penguin doing, hiring minors?”

Furious keyboard sounds were heard over their intercom. “There are no minors in his employee database. But there is one recent hire; Danny Nightingale, age 18. No middle name.” Barbara recited. “He fits the description of the kid there, but there’s not much on his file. It’s most likely a fake name.”

“He’s a busboy.” Bruce finally spoke up. “Here’s the conversation with his supervisor.” He typed a few last words into the computer, and the audio started to play.

“-and the boy. Who is he?”

“Boy? What the hell are you talking about, Bats.”

“The one by the dumpster.”

“Danny? Hey, don’t you even think about bringing him into this! He’s a good kid; the best busboy I’ve ever had. If you scare him off imma beat you six ways to Sunday, you hear?? I don’t care what your stabby sidekick says about it!”

“He’s not in trouble, I just-”

“Like fucking hell I’d believe that! He was the one who tipped off the boss, everyone in the building knows that! But that poor boy is just trying to do his job. That kid risked his own health and safety to warn his boss against someone who, in his eyes, threatened his livelihood.”

“Health?”

“What? You didn’t notice the poor kid had gotten sick? Some detective you are.”

“He shouldn’t be working if he’s sick.”

“Like I’d tell him that. Danny’s parents kicked him out as soon as he turned eighteen. He needs money, Bats. Gotham ain’t kind to kids like him, you know this. If he was really sick, I’d’ve sent him home.”

“So he wasn’t sick?”

“Don’t twist my words, bastard. He had gotten sick, not he was sick. Poor kid has some nasty allergies. One of the boss’ associates was wearing something that didn’t agree with him, and he threw up."

“Hn.”

“Don’t grunt at me, mister! It’s a legitimate allergy! Are discriminating against allergens now??”

“No-”

“Oracle! Hey! Don’t glare at me, I know they’re real-Oracle! Make sure to save this clip in case Big Broody over here gets his head stuck up his ass again. Maybe seeing how he’s treating a sick kid will burst his bubble sometime.”

“Will do, Miss Brone.”

“AHA! I knew they were real! You’re a real one, Oracle!”

“I’m taking you down to the station.”

“If I’m not let out before my next shift, I’m letting Poison Ivy know that Robin stores extra weapons in the park!”

As the audio faded out, Barbara giggled and Tim sighed again. “Who on earth is this woman?” He asked, draining the rest of his mug in a single gulp.

“I took some night classes with her, a couple of years ago,” Barbara answered, pulling up Tamia’s personal file. A strong-faced woman stared back at them. “She’s a spitfire, but a good person. Danny probably reminds her of her younger siblings. They died a while back, and ever since, she’s been super protective of young kids who are on their own. Volunteers at the library on the weekends for kid events, helps out at the Mystery Elf Program every year for Christmas, and stuff like that.”

“How did she know about my weapons?”

Tim swore and jumped, turning on his heel. Damian, the little monster, had snuck up behind them again. Bruce just spared him a glance and went back to sifting through their files.

“Kids tell her things.” They couldn’t see her, but they could tell Barbara just shrugged at their inquiries. “Robin has a small cult following among the younger kids in Gotham, so Tamia basically has eyes and ears everywhere.”

“So we should investigate her.” Tim mused.

“No-”

A roar of a motorcycle interrupted them. Jason peeled into the Batcave on his motorcycle, barely coming to a complete stop before he jumped off and sped to the computer. 

“Move, old man.” Jason snarled, practically hauling Bruce out of the seat to take his place.

“How dare you, Todd!”

“Shut up, Demon Brat!” Jason growled again, never looking away from the monitor as his fingers flew across the keyboard. 

Tim flinched. He knew, without having to look, that Jason’s eyes were glowing bright green right now. He was on the verge of a Pit episode. Usually, this meant he’d hole up in his many safe houses and drop off the grid for a while. The only reason he’d be in the Batcave right now was if he needed to find someone. Someone to kill. 

“Oh, good.” Jason leaned back. “You already started researching him.” Everyone looked on in dawning horror as Danny Nightingale’s exhausted and startled face looked at them, the screenshot taken from Batman’s body suit camera. 

“Jason…” Bruce started. 

But Jason wasn’t listening. “No one is allowed to go after him.” He simply announced. “I have questions for this kid, you ain’t getting in the way of that.”

“You can’t kill a civilian, Todd.” Damian challenged.  

Jason stood. Green light leaked from his mask, and his muscles were tensed like he either wanted to run for his life or throw hands. Tim took a step back. “That,” he ground out, pointing at Danny’s picture. “Is not a civilian. That is a threat.”

…

Danny felt like shit. 

It’s been two days since he frantically tipped off the Penguin to the Bat’s presence, and ever since, the Lounge has been shut down for unforeseen reasons. He didn’t know why, he was just a busboy. His boss had taken the news in stride, ordering him to book it out the back with some of the other servers. Tamia was on his heels the entire time, directing them all down a side alley with ease before getting snatched by Batman herself. Danny had screeched to a halt, intending to go back for her, but one of the bartenders had gripped his arm and hadn’t let go, hissing, “She’ll be fine! You’re the one who needs to get out of here!” Reluctantly, Danny complied, no matter how horrible he felt after. 

When everyone had split up, the bartender told him to only return to work when the boss told him to. Then, they all went their separate ways, and Danny woke up the next morning with an extra $3k in his bank account. 

To be honest, he spent that first day anxiously sneaking around the city, checking in on all his coworkers that were present that night. Everyone was okay, for the most part. The bartender who had dragged him was passed out on a shitty couch, beer bottle in hand, and one of the waiters was being yelled at by her boyfriend for having her shift cut short. Danny’s core ached at the sight. So when forgotten cans of coke in the back of their fridge exploded from a random spike of cold and cut the argument short, he hoped she didn’t mind his interference too much. 

Tamia, however, took longer to track down. To his horror, she was sitting like a grumpy cat deep within Gotham’s police station, glaring at any officer that tried to approach her. He was forced to tap into his invisibility, but he eventually snuck past security and over to her holding cell. He waited until she was alone, before letting out a tiny, almost inaudible rumble from his core, slipping through the bars with intangibility. The two shades at Tamia’s neck perked up, instantly zeroing in on him. While the older woman couldn’t see the shades, she must have felt something as well. She stiffened, glancing around subtly. 

“Who’s there?” She hissed. 

Danny shifted. He was…uncomfortable. But Tamia had done so much for him. “It’s me.” He whispered back, stepping closer and leaning close to her ear. Tamia flinched back, eyes darting to his face. He was still invisible, thank the Ancients. 

“Danny??” Tamia regained control of her expression and went back to her brooding look for the cameras. “What the fuck???”

“Sorry, Tam.” He apologized. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine, Danny. How are you here?”

“Uh…” He didn’t know how to answer that, so he just told her the truth. “I snuck in.”

Tamia gave his general location a side-eye. “You know Batman doesn’t like metas in his city.” 

And that was a tipping point, wasn’t it? Danny’s core buzzed in his ears with anxiety as his voice shook. “Are you going to report me?”

Tamia snorted, covering it up with a cough as a cop passed by. “Hell no. You’re a good kid, Danny. I’d never turn you in, even to the Joker.” 

“Ah,” he said awkwardly. “Thanks. Uh, do you want me to get you out of here?”

Tamia tilted her head. Her hair had come loose from its bun, with strands of curly hair falling into her eyes. “No,” she decided. “The boss has plans in place for things like that. I’m a legal employee and a good one he won’t leave to rot. I’ll be out of here by the end of the day. I’ll be alright.”

He sighed. “If you’re sure…”

“I am. Go home, Casper. Get some sleep.”

Danny’s face twisted at the name, but he nevertheless bade his supervisor and the two shades goodbye and walked back out the front doors of Gotham PD, not bothering to fly. Flying meant he had to go ghost, and that meant he had to deal with…other things. 

He decided to sleep the rest of the day, extremely spent from all the extra energy he had used up. Danny didn’t rise again till noon the next day, at which his stomach finally made itself known, demanding he seek out food. He lay on his bed for an extra hour, trying to desperately ignore the grumbles in his belly, but finally gave in, grabbing some cash to stuff in his pockets and making his way out of the shitty apartment building he lived in. Two kids threw rocks at his face as he passed through the front doors, but he just sidestepped and ignored them, letting the stones shatter the glass doors instead. 

The clouds are low. The Knights are away. Shades whispered and writhed at the edges of his vision. The Lady is sick.

Leave me alone. Danny groaned and rubbed his forehead. These days, the words of the dead seemed to pound at his head like a sledgehammer, relentless. An uncomfortable heat was building in his head. He ignored it. 

Danny rounded a corner and entered a gas station. “Hello!” The cashier greeted him, too cheery for the job they were working. “Let me know if you need anything!” He waved in acknowledgment and shuffled between aisles, staring blankly at the brightly colored packages of cheap food. His eyes couldn’t focus on the labels, so he just grabbed something with a cheetah on it. Danny then shuffled to the next aisle over and snatched a large bottle of something pink and bright. The cashier gave him an impeccable customer service smile, which he tried to return. 

“Personally, I like the smell of the blue flavor.” They scanned his items, and he had to nod and pretend he knew what they were talking about. “Here you go, that’ll be $6.27. Would you like a bag?”

“No,” Danny shook his head. “Thank you.”

“Have a nice day!” The bell rang over the sound of the cashier as Danny left. He was too tired and hungry to give them a proper response. 

Gotham’s skies were still dark and cloudy, which for once, Danny was thankful for. Sunlight would probably make his growing headache worse. He wandered around for a long while, just taking in the sights of the city. He didn’t know why, but less and less people had been on the streets these days, giving him a slight break from the relentless stares and whispers. He just had to avoid certain areas that were clouded with death, and he was good to go! He was free to walk around aimlessly all he wanted. 

Today, it seemed, his wanderings took him to a small, silent park. He pushed open the tiny gate and snuck inside. It was quiet as a cemetery, and looked like one, too. Hell, if Danny was in his right mind, he would have realized it was a cemetery. He’d argue later that there were no spirits around, so how could he have known? There was just a profound sense of emptiness that was suffocating the whole area, but Danny was so fed up with the rest of the city, he barely noticed. 

Instead, he simply made himself at home on a stone bench off to the side and tore open his feast, not tasting anything as he chowed down on the chips. A faint tingle on his tongue told him the chips were spicy, but how was he supposed to taste anything when his tastebuds were dead? Soon, the chips were gone, bag and all. (The only perk of being dead was that he acted as his own personal trashcan. Nothing was littered with him around!) Cracking open his heavy drink, Danny took a sip and stared at the sky. Just thinking about nothing as the day passed and the evening set. 

It’d been a long day. 

…

Jason jerked. Shivers ran up his spine, and the green in his vision got stronger. He was in the depths of a pit episode, some part of his brain told him. No one had been hurt yet. 

But someone was about to be. 

Jason jerked again and lunged for his front door, ripping off the lock Tim had put on it (trying to cage him like an animal) with his bare hands. He had no shoes, no helmet, no mask, nothing. But he bolted out the front door in a blind rage. His world was greengreengreen. 

A snarl ripped itself out of his throat as he jumped the last two stories from the main staircase to the ground level. His landing left a small indent on the tile. (How did he do that?) The front doors were already wide open, he’d left it that way. Jason tore down the street, silently thankful there was no one on the streets. 

Someone was going to die tonight. Someone had walked over his grave. 

Jason’s chest heaved as he bolted through alleyways, taking shortcuts to get to the one place he always refused to visit. There was a Bat following him now. Which one? Probably Nightwing. It didn’t matter. His hands were curled and his footsteps were loud. His heart pounded in his head, egging on the Pit. Phantom fingers ran down his arms, pushing his shoulders so he’d go faster. The city bent in on itself. Streets seemed to straighten out, letting him have a clear shot toward his target. 

He burst from the alleyways in a sudden rush, and Jason skidded to a stop to get his bearings. His feet were bleeding, he could tell. Whatever. His green eyes were glued to the tiny, limp figure of Danny Nightingale resting on a stone bench not five feet away from Jason’s grave. The one he was buried in. The one he crawled out of. The kid had walked on his grave. 

Jason rushed forward with a roar. 

“What the FUCK?!” Danny startled upright at the sound, quickly spotting Jason and scrambling to his feet. He had a half-filled bottle of pink Fabuloso cleaner in his hand but dropped that quickly when Jason lunged for him. 

“Jason!” Someone yelled, trying to grab at his shoulders. But Jason was too far gone in the pit rage, now. He was almost animalistic, growling and clawing at the kid’s retreating figure. Blood was getting smeared over the dead grass, with bits of glass from the alleyway being pushed farther into his skin. 

“Shit, man! I didn’t know this was your Haunt!” Danny’s eyes were filled with fear and worry, but his gaze was fixed solidly on a spot above Jason’s head. 

“This was my grave!” Jason managed to screech. He got a lucky hit in, and the kid tumbled away, clutching his shoulder where a bruise was already forming through his thin clothes. 

“I didn’t know!” Danny yelled again. He made no move to fight back. 

“THIS WAS OUR GRAVE!” 

Something is wrong. A sudden, clear thought entered Jason’s head. It was like cold water had splashed him awake. These were not his words. These were not his actions. Jason was not in control of his body. 

Something else was speaking for him. 

A wail ripped itself out of his throat. Danny rolled to the side, avoiding his lunge. Jason could only watch helplessly as the kid was backed into a corner. For every step Jason took forward, Danny took two steps back. The kid was too used to this. He moved with too much ease, avoiding Jason’s wild swings like he could predict every movement. 

“Dammit, JASON!” Two pairs of hands gripped at his shoulders this time, forcing him to turn. Nightwing and Orphan (when had she gotten here?) tried their best to wrestle him down, heaving with the effort. 

“No! Don’t!” Danny bolted forward, right as Jason lunged for his own family in a haze of green. Time seemed to slow, and logically, Jason knew there was no way in hell Danny would have made it in time to do anything. Jason knew he was about to hurt his family, badly. He was about to break bones and claw at vulnerable skin. He was about to look his sibling in their eyes and see their hearts shatter. Jason was bout to break apart their family. Again. 

Then Danny screamed something, there was a flash of light, and suddenly there was a wall of fucking fire separating Jason from his siblings. From the outside world. 

Jason barely managed to avoid the flames, tucking himself into a sharp roll and popping up with his teeth bared. 

His brain tried to process what had just happened. 

His body screamed in rage.

His prey had disappeared. 

In Danny’s place floated a young boy. His eyes were as green as Jason’s. An iron crown wreathed in flames was set upon his head upside down, the sharp points causing rivers of green blood to run down from his hairline. Iron shackles chained his hands together. Pieces of charred armor clung to his body by thin straps. There was a chill in the air, and despite the fire, ice was starting to grow from the ground in a ring around the boy, curving and sharp, like it was trying to trap him in.

The boy looked at him, and Jason saw that he was crying.

...

[oOoOoO cliffhanger~]

#danny phantom #dpxdc #eyes of the past fic #pondhead writes #angst #i just think it'd be funny if everything was food for danny #he had hot cheetos and pink fabuloso for dinner #packages and all #danny IS NOT the ghost king #then why does he have the crown you may ask? #good question i'm not telling you #adding links as i go #not beta read #no beta we die like danny #long post #oc insert #sorry about that #she's just for this i swear

[elapsed-spiral]

Pre-season 2 OFMD fic list

It's less than two weeks till we get our ships wrecked, so here's my (presumably) final pre-season 2 fic list. Have a read if you wanna pass the improbably long days before the season premieres!

This list got out of control so I added some handy symbols: 🎧 = podfic available 💜 = personal favourite ⭐ = fics you may have heard about? I don’t know, I don’t have a sense for this stuff.

Cool collaboration(s) you should read immediately:

🎧💜Work Experience: what if Ed went to meet Stede when the Revenge ran aground? And what if Ed became a member of Stede’s crew? And what if things kept escalating and… Canon AU. Mature. Co-written with Shearwater.

Really no excuse for how stupid these ones are:

Watch Out, Here I Come: what if Stede had been intentionally seducing Ed? Teen

Once More, With Feeling: what if Frenchie just fixed the season 1 finale fiasco because he’s the most capable guy on the ship? Teen

Talent Show: what if Ed was crass about his sexual preferences? Explicit

Capsize on Your Thighs: what if Ed rebounded onto Calico Jack at the end of season 1? Ed/CJ and Ed/Stede (but Ed/Stede is endgame, natch). Explicit

🎧💜Your Feedback is Important to Us: what if Stede started holding open cabin hours to allow the crew to air their grievances (but was also very repressed and horny over Ed)? Explicit

Oh no Ed’s working through gender/class stuff (but make it funny):

Finery: Ed gets to wear a dress, Stede spontaneously combusts. Explicit

Tell More Tales: Stede isn’t the only writer aboard the Revenge. Explicit

🎧💜Lovers and Madmen: Ed is hellbent on marrying Stede. Explici

🎧 Save the Date: Ed 'attends' a wedding. Unfortunately, so does Stede. Short S2 alternative reunion fic. Teen

AUs no-one asked for:

Novel/novella length

🎧💜Restructuring: modern AU where Stede loses his fortune before meeting Ed, but Ed’s still got more money than you can shake a fucking stick at. Only problem is, Stede lies and says he’s wealthy and Ed lies and says he isn’t. Like the show, it’s a romcom about trauma. Explicit

🎧💜⭐Baddy Zaddy: Bridget Jones’s Diary style, former porn star turned sex shop owner!Ed/still unfortunately landed gentry!Stede. Novel length modern AU. Explicit

💜⭐Prize Every Time: You’ve Got Mail-y secret pen pals but also business rivals. Novel length modern AU. Explicit

Conflict of Interest: lawyer!Stede/businessman!Ed (read: gangster). Modern AU. Explicit

Shorter uns

Intergalactic Tango: Space Waltz AU. Mature

🎧💜Trade Descriptions Act: bailiff!Ed/estate agent!Stede. Identity theft but make it meet cute. Modern AU. Teen

Your Favourite Song: locksmith!Ed/museum curator!Stede. Kinktober fill that somehow isn’t E rated. Modern AU. Teen

⭐Draft Letter to Restaurant Downstairs: Google Docs AU with a (slightly) interactive element. Modern SMAU. Teen

Blind Date: Stede and Jeffrey Fettering go on a blind date at Ed’s restaurant. I think you know where this is going. Modern AU. Explicit

Different Dimension: ficlet that crams four and a bit AUs into 850 words. Modern AU. Teen

Stuck Still: British holiday resort AU feat. events manager!Stede and bartender turned fairy!Ed (it makes sense in the story I swear). Modern AU. Explicit

💜On the Job: “kidnapping” meet cute (but not actually. Again, I swear it makes sense in the story I swear). Modern AU. Explicit

Starring Jason Statham: another weird meet cute, courtesy of Jack and the Fast and Furious franchise. Stede/Jack, Ed/Jack and Ed/Stede (Ed/Stede is once again end game). Modern AU. Teen

West Ham Is for Lovers: Lucius has a new job. It’s going fine. Completely, totally fine. A meet cute fic about meet cutes. Ed/Stede but also Lucius/Pete, Lucius/Fang, Lucius/Izzy and Lucius/Olu/Jim. Modern AU. Teen

💜Conventional: back in the 00s, Ed was in a very famous movie franchise. Nowadays, he does the convention circuit. Modern AU. Explicit

🎧💜Proud: Ed attends Pride to get free mum hugs, Stede attends Pride to give free dad hugs. Modern AU. Teen

KrakenAir: Stede and the crew are heading to Benidorm to celebrate Stede coming out. That is, if Stede’s all expenses spared KrakenAir flight ever departs. Modern SMAU. Teen

Very Poor, Becoming Good: aspiring Gentleman Backpacker Stede Bonnet is adventure bound when he meets fellow traveller Ed Teach at an empty hostel. Now if they could just find the owner… Modern AU. Explicit

💜Stolen by the Gentleman Thief: Ed is a lonely gay guy in his late forties whose favourite book is historical softcore porn. Luckily, there’s a weird meet cute about to happen. Modern AU. Explicit

Live Sex Show: Columnist Ed Teach recommends that Stede Bonnet shake up his monotonous life by doing something weird. Modern AU. Teen

💜Continue Making Progress: Kraken Driving School has a terrible new student. Luckily, Ed and Stede both have a lot to offer one another. Modern AU. Explicit

Oh no there’s been a containment breach (aka non-Blackbonnet fics):

💜We Do What We Like (and We Like What We Do): a brief history of Ed and Jack. Explicit (Ed/CJ)

Fealty: Stede and Izzy make one another even more miserable. Mature (Stede/Izzy)

💜Contra Proferentem: Ed is a high powered lawyer and Professor of Law at the University of Cambridge. Lucius is not a high powered lawyer but he is a lecturer of English Lit at the University of Cambridge. Stede own a very nice cafe. Explicit (platonic Ed/Lucius, Ed/Stede, no cheating involved)

#ofmd #ofmd fanfic #gentlebeard #gentlebeard fanfic #ed/stede #ed/stede fanfic #blackbonnet #blackbonnet fanfic #I just guess these tags genuinely no idea which people use

[t-w-i-l-l-e-r]

ok so this is probably the only non-reblog tumblr post i’ll ever make in the entirety of my natural life but if the world goes on w/o knowing anything about mirai komachi I will BURST.

Mirai Komachi is this vocaloid (see below) made for the VOCALOID4 engine by Bandai Namco Studios, a Japanese video game development company that is a subsidiary of Bandai Namco Entertainment which ITSELF is a subsidiary of Bandai Namco Holdings ANYWAY

from what i can gather she was kind of an accident? the vocaloid wiki describes her as an “experimental female vocal not originally meant for commercial release” which to me implies “accident”. either way they made this vocaloid n then just. released her. No announcement, no advertising, nothing. “come get y’all orange juice”, Bandai Namco said. And, unsurprisingly, very few people did. mirai komachi is a relatively obscure vocaloid, even (from what i can tell PLZ correct me if i’m wrong) in the jp community and ESPECIALLY in the english community. Minnemi’s “Every VOCALOID Described In One Word” video give mirai komachi the word “who?”. She’s not even mentioned on her parent company’s wikipedia page. only the most completionist of the completionist vocaloid nerds (me) even rly know of her existence, much less her lore. 

yeah thats right her lore. this girlie has lore!!! her origin is that this doctor guy named Hakase (yeah they have names n everything) was doing some kind of experiment that got fucked up so explosion BOOM mirai komachi appears (BTW "mirai komachi” is her name. Like, the whole thing. komachi is written in kanji while mirai is written in katakana which implies mirai is the given name and it’s just written in the western order but her website refers to her explicitly as Mirai Komachi and in an email Bandai Namco stated that mirai is neither her given or family name. Technically in most official english source material they refer to her as MiraiKomachi. weird). after she appeared in the explosion she became a researcher at Bandai Namco studios women in stem girlboss. anyway Hakase n these little robots he made r considered her sidekicks n they have a whole lil comic series of their misadventures that I CANNOT find any english translations of and it kills me. 

but either way my point is considering her lack of popularity its kind of wild how much content there is of her???? she has a youtube page w/ a bunch of original songs, almost all of which have official english subtitles and are on spotify (which is pretty rare for lesser known vocaloids n if they r there they r certainly hard 2 find). the official MiraiKomachi website is super well made and has a bunch of illustrations, an official mirai komachi 3d model, and the comics i mentioned earlier. she’s been on a bunch of japanese public transport stuff (which isnt that uncommon 4 jp vocaloids) n has this absurd but cute video collaboration with Jammu like. shes there!! shes got stuff!!!

(this whole post is rly just a manifestation of the fact that vocaloid is a very international multilingual community n the nature of very international multilingual communities is every once in a while u will stumble across an aspect of this community that u r theoretically “part of” that is completely in a language that u dont speak or in a physical location that u cannot access n ur just like “huh. there are entire aspects of this thing i care about that i will never fully understand and subcommunities that i will rarely ever interact with even if i spend actual years obsessing over that thing.” this has been existential fandom hour brought to you by staring too long at the vocaloid wikis)

uhhh anyway tl;dr mirai komachi is cute n i wish i could read japanese

#vocaloid #mirai komachi #mirai komachi vocaloid #im no longer down the rabbit hole #the rabbit hole is down me #its in my intestines kicking and screaming #(about vocaloid) #JP AND EN SPEAKING VOCALOID FANS PLZ TRANSLATE MIRAI KOMACHI COMICS #I BEG OF YOU #the music videos on the yt channel r so cute they deserve recognition!!! #i'm doing the work of the capitalists by promoting a character explicitly made to advertise a video game company but... #listen shes CUTE its not my fault #i stayed up kinda late n then woke up n found this in my drafts did i even write this???? no memory

[gem-tavvy]

IMPROMPTU TAVROS NITRAM WRITING COURSE

VOL. 2 ~ OF HEROES AND VILLAINS

(note: originally this was not gonna be a fully fledged tavros writing post. it started as just talking about tavros' culpability in jake harley's death, but later i get into some heavier stuff that i feel is worth addressing. in order to write tavros, you have to understand what he goes through in canon itself.

a lot of people will tell you that tavros was "done dirty" by homestuck, or that hussie didn't do a good job of writing him. i will not ever say this. i believe that in order to understand and appreciate tavros, you need to understand and appreciate what happens to him in canon. even the bad.

if all you see in tavros is his nice interactions with other characters, you are missing the point. tavros is a deeply tragic character who interacts deeply with a lot of homestuck's greater themes. childhood and adulthood, loss of innocence, abuse, trauma, heroism, independence. all of it.

i don't think homestuck would have been better if all the bad stuff that happened to tavros didn't happen. that would have made it a far less interesting and impactful story. and even if i would have enjoyed a happier ending for him, i understand that that was not what the author wanted to write and portray. because in the end, i did not write homestuck. neither did you. all we can do is enjoy and analyze it. we cannot demand any more from it.

before i get to the actual post, i also wanna state for the record that i think the idea that tavros didn't get a satisfying arc is just flat-out wrong. but i'll save that topic for when i get the chance to delve into GHOST tavros, because that storyline is very dear to me.)

all i'm saying is that the idea that tavros "killed" grandpa harley feels like a misunderstanding. technically speaking, the only thing tavros DID was commune with bec to redirect a bullet!

think about his wording here. "aS A WONDERFUL BONUS AND COINCIDENCE," "aND AS FORTUNE WOULD HAVE IT,"

tavros's only intent was to save jade's life. we should REALLY be blaming bec here for jake's death, not tavros. imagine if you told or asked someone to save another person from being crushed by a falling piano, and in order to do that, they threw another innocent bystander under it instead. is it YOUR fault that the person you delegated to thought a murder was the best way to achieve your goal? probably not!

and of course, when tavros recounted this tale to jade, he spoke about it as if it was a good thing. culturally speaking, for trolls - a child and a lusus is a natural familial unit, and adults are fucking SCARY. his nonchalance about the situation was understandable up until jade explained it to him.

now, what tavros is REALLY guilty of is being incredibly awkward when trying to ask a girl out. i see a lot of people take this part in a really bad faith and uncharitable light. they see him as a creepy, predatory weirdo, but that's deeply unfair.

you have to remember how much bullshit he's gone through at this point. he spent a lot of time being harassed by vriska, but when aradiabot beat her to near-death and she tried to psychically convince him to put her out of her misery, he became deeply traumatized, and fell into a deep depression for the remainder of the game. he spent more time asleep on prospit than awake.

after the trolls had to hide away in the veil, kanaya and equius collaborated to saw off tavros's legs ahd replace them with robotic ones.

this was very explicitly not something tavros asked for, but something imposed on him for "his best interest," as it were. desperate for something to ground himself, tavros hyperfocuses on his new legs as a source of self esteem. he feels awful after the vriska god-tier incident, but maybe if he can be more like her, robot prosthesis included, he'll be better! she kept making fun of him for the disability she caused. she wanted him to be like her. now he is!

that's why he tries to meddle in jade's past. why he starts referring to himself with the ableist, derogatory terms vriska used against him. why he rejects rufio and proclaims his utter fakeness. tavros is completely unraveling at this point in the story. this conversation is deeply uncomfortable to witness, not just because tavros is coming across as an awkward creep, but because this is the compounded culmination of everything vriska did to him. all her tormenting, her manipulation, over all the time she's known him. tavros is at his rock bottom, and is trying to emulate vriska in a last-ditch effort to regain some control over his life.

after tavros gets to experience the singular sensation of being on the other side of his experience with vriska's domineering advances, (though i should reinforce here that tavros backed down pretty quickly after jade's rejection and understood her feelings) he gets contacted by vriska herself.

vriska, of course, sees his attempts to emulate her for what it is. on some level i am sure it burned her just a little to know that that's how he saw her - if that's how he tried to mimic her. with jade not reinforcing vriska's method with reciprocation and vriska herself tearing him down definitively (and reinforcing the idea that she isn't really even worthy of emulation; she helped create bec noir, endangering everyone) tavros doesn't have anything left. all the walls are torn down. his childhood innocence was destroyed. his chance at a normal life, gone. romance, utterly tainted. every single fantasy and bit of joy he could prop himself up on was systematically burned to a crisp, and he had only one thing left.

anger. pure, righteous anger, the kind he should have been feeling this whole time.

it took her a long time, but she did it. she got tavros to "grow up," in some way or another. his whole life, he's just wanted to keep to himself. to play games, to rap, to have fun. to be a kid. but she paralyzed him. she traumatized him. and when the last fantasy he was clinging on to was the idea that maybe vriska was right, that she was a good person all along, that she was helping him - she disillusioned him.

this part of [s] wake is kind of the perfect summation to this. the host plush: a symbol of his childhood innocence. a game he used to play that made him happy. fiduspawn - a game in which the host plush is destroyed in order to give the a fiduspawn life. by decapitating it, tavros is at last symbolically shedding his childhood, and by using it to threaten vriska with death, also shedding his natural aversion to conflict and violence.

if this were any other story, tavros would have triumphed over vriska, slaying the treacherous bully and being all the more heroic because of it. but this is homestuck. tavros was heroic, sure, but being heroic isn't always a good thing. sometimes being a hero is the worst thing you can be. vriska was a hero. bro strider was a hero. bro strider's heroism broke dave - made him loathe the idea of heroism. sure, dave never accomplished his destiny, but he's happier.

tavros was being heroic in this scene. but there's a reason that gods in homestuck can only ever be killed by heroic means or just. heroism is a heavy burden.

that's one of the most important lessons in homestuck.

#homestuck #tavros nitram #writing #this is more volume 1.5 than volume 2 but w/e

[galacticgraffiti]

20 Questions!

thanks for the tag @corvod (i dont know why it won't let me tag you help) (I also have to put this under a readmore I am incapable of short answers)

How many works do you have on AO3?

I have 20 works right now... so many are unfinished I am hiding my face.

What’s your total AO3 word count?

331,532 (gahdamn)

What fandoms do you write for?

I used to write exclusively Star Wars, but I have somewhat lost motivation for that, at least for now. Currently, I write a lot for BG3 and I'm working on some TLT stuff!

What are your top five fics by kudos?

(1) Veman'alor (Boba Fett x reader) (2) October Thots (various SW characters x reader) (3) Ad'ika (Wrecker x reader - my very first fic!) (4) Big Love Ahead (Halsin x reader) (5) Daddy's Home (Boba Fett x reader)

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do my best to respond to comments, especially on AO3 because that's all the interaction with the author that people get, so I try to make them feel appreciated for taking the time. I'm horrible at keeping up with comment-reblogs on tumblr, even if I try very hard. My brain gets overwhelmed sometimes.

What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Hmm I have a Boba Fett x reader somewhere that I remember being pretty angsty but I can not for the life of me remember where I shoved it. The most current one I have is I Am Nothing (Like You Thought I Was) in which I put all my feelings about Ascendant!Astarion and abusive relationships.

What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Nearly all of them - I can't make my characters suffer without making them happy in the end apparently. Also I never finish anything lol

Do you get hate on fics?

I've gotten a couple of comments that were, if not hateful, still unkind towards me. I block very liberally these days :))) If people don't want to understand that you can simply Not Read what you don't like then they can fuck off.

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Not exclusively (anymore), but a lot, yes. A lot of x reader, though I do enjoy writing about my OC(s) as well. Oddly enough, I really like writing about male characters even if I'm a lesbian.

Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I don't really. I admire people who have the braincells for it, but I settle in a universe and stay where I feel comfortable.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I am aware of.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Someone once messaged me asking about it, but I never heard anything else so... no?

Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

I have not! Collaboration is fun but so much work.

What’s your all-time favourite ship?

I don't really have one. Wait no, that's a lie. It's Gideon Nav and Harrowhark (I would die for them)- and thanks to Leo, it's now also Bloodweave (Gale x Astarion from BG3). I am consumed by them.

What’s a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

So many. Way too many. I really wish I could finish them all, so I'm willing it into existence instead of telling myself I won't lol

What are your writing strengths?

I love dialogue very much, I think I'm decently good at dirty talk specifically lol. But what I like the most is worldbuilding in the sense of making an existing world my own.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Typing things out that seem so clear in my head lmaooo

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I love it! I'm a huge language nerd, so I do it whenever possible, it feels more immersive to me that way. I appreciate translations being provided though.

First fandom you wrote for?

I think Star Wars may honestly have been it - I was never really active in a fandom before.

Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

Oh damn a whammy at the end, huh? That's so hard. It's always the fic I'm currently working on the most, I think- so right now, it has to be Big Love Ahead. It feels so warm and comfortable to me.

This was so fun! I apologise to everyone who has tagged me in games and I haven't done them, I get real overwhelmed sometimes. No pressure tags for some mutuals @purgetrooperfox @certified-anakinfucker @baba-fett @ulchabhangorm @atriursa

#tag game #20 questions #writer ask game #gala tag games

[rharyx]

As a court licensed Kingdom Hearts Hater™, I will always complain about Nomura's decision to exclude Final Fantasy characters on the premise that there "isn't any room for them since there are so many original characters in the main story already."

This new interview (6/14/2022) has Nomura repeating the same thing, but what makes it harder to swallow is that in the same interview he also says characters from the previous side-games, like RAX and TAV, might not be super involved in KH4 since their arcs are done.

So it's like...

If the issue is that there isn't room for FF characters since there are so many original characters...yet you're also sidelining a bunch of those original characters...how is there still not enough room for Squall or somebody to show up and say hi?

If you have room in the plot to introduce a dozen more black coat-wearing dudes with stupid names, then there's enough room for Leon to link up with Rinoa, or Tataru to open a shop in Twilight Town.

Furthermore, side quests are a thing. If there isn't space for FF characters to help out in the main story, you can just relegate them to background stuff like synthesis tasks or minigames to fill up the journal. (This can also be applied to characters like Dilan or Aeleus, who have said a total of 0 words since 2012.) There are going to be NPCs anyway, so just make some of them based on FF characters and give them a few voiced lines. Or have them cameo in Disney worlds like Auron and Zack once did, since a lot of the Disney worlds don't have major "main plot integration" in the first place -- it's just fun side stories where Sora gets to goof off.

If the concern is that there's no room for them in the main story, put them someplace where the main story is taking a break. Pooh Bear or Jack Sparrow have nothing to do with the main story, but they still show up and get to fuck around with Sora for a little bit.

Part of the interview has him saying that he doesn't feel like he agrees with fans when they refer to Kingdom Hearts as a "Disney x FF crossover," and it's like...okay, it's your series, if that's how you feel that's how you feel -- but at the same time, if you understand that a *large* part of the fanbase DOES view the series like that, then what you think doesn't super matter.

Like,

the first game is predicated on the concept of Sora interacting with FF characters. You wake up on a beach with Tidus, Wakka, and Selphie, then get blasted to another world where you meet Squall, Aerith, Yuffie, and Cid. You fight Cloud in Olympus, and you even encounter Sephiroth as a superboss. KH2 and BbS ups the ante by adding more. So even if you don't view the game being a collaboration between FF, you can't blame a fan for thinking otherwise when the original games were scripted the way they were.

You're the one who made the games that way. I get it was done to boost popularity by drawing in a bigger audience by showing off well-known characters, and that's not something that necessarily needs to be done these day. But that's what a lot of people know the series for -- for being "that Disney game with FF characters."

It honestly feels like a bait-and-switch to hear Nomura say things like "this isn't a collaboration between Disney and Final Fantasy characters," when it quite frankly 100% was.

By this point, the FF cast are established characters and should honestly be treated the same way as character like Hayner, Pence, and Olette.

I personally didn't even know what FF was when I played KH1, so Leon and them were original characters from my point of view (they still kinda are anyway, as they're not actually the same people they're paying homage to, besides maybe Auron), so them being missing in KH3 was pretty sad. Cuz for the most part, they're not just cameos. They have their own lore here. Leon isn't Squall from FF8 -- he's a resident of Radiant Garden, for example.

I don't think anyone's saying the series *needs* FF characters, but I think a good portion of the fanbase would say they would still very much like them to be around. No one thinks the series won't be able to thrive without Final Fantasy characters or something ridiculous (that's just a real off-the-mark bad faith take) -- we just want them because they're fun.

Same as wanting the Disney cameos.

This is a fanservicey, crossover franchise from the ground up. Half the fun of the series is seeing who you're going to bump into along the journey. And the FF cameos are one of the pillars of what initially made the franchise iconic and memorable, and it's part of its identity and character. It's charm. It just feels disingenuous to remove them completely, especially if the excuse is something feeble like the ones Nomura gives in interviews.

At the end of the day, Kingdom Hearts is a video game. There's an infinite amount of space for characters (well, within data limitations or whatever), since you aren't confined to some arbitrary runtime like a movie or TV show. You can have side quests, you can have minigames. You can even have branching story arcs with less important characters. I will just never believe there's "no room" for FF characters when a lot of games have just as many characters as Kingdom Hearts and still make room for all of them.

And personally, I think KH is at its best when you have FF characters interacting with Disney characters. Seeing Leon's group help take out the MCP and save Space Paranoids is fantastic. Zack and Hercules training together? Super fun. Kingdom Hearts needs fun wacky moments like this to counterbalance all the main story depression. I can't think of a single positive from removing them.

As a side-note before wrapping up, I don't like seeing the sort of "revisionist history" approach some people take to this whole topic, saying that it's fine the FF characters are being removed because they were "never important anyway." It's like...my brother in christ, did you not play KH1? Because if nowhere else, they sure as hell were important there -- they were Sora's main lifeline and the only recurring characters beyond the original cast and Donald, Goofy, and Maleficent. Sora wouldn't have even been able to keep traveling worlds without Cid upgrading the Gummi Ship. Ansem and Maleficent were introduced via Aerith and Leon. And then they go on to fix up Radiant Garden to its former glory (something which they get no credit for since they were not involved in KH3 and the apprentices reclaimed the castle).

It's an argument that only spawned because people saw those that were upset about the absence of FF characters in KH3 and they wanted to write off their [completely valid] disappointment by acting like schmucks about it (possibly just out of an extension of KH fans being super defensive about criticism in general). If FF characters *had* been in KH3, everyone would've been fine with it, even those saying they were never important. It's just a super weird stance to me, one that feels like people are gaslighting themselves, and I don't get where it comes from because FF characters were obviously integral once upon a time.

Sadly now, thanks to Nomura putting in his two cents with this interview, I'm already seeing people acquiring this false sense of entitlement from being "right all along about FF cameos" and using it to dismiss a very reasonable complaint about the evolution of the franchise. Which is super frustrating. "Hah, you're wrong about FF characters. Even the creator agrees with me! If you liked them, too bad, so sad~! If you want FF characters, go play FF!"

Anyway, this is way longer than I though it was going to be when I started typing, so I'll sign off now.

In any event, I do hope some Final Fantasy characters show up in KH4. I mean, we're traveling to a city literally named "Square" that features a 104 building and a Noctis knockoff. If there aren't any cameos from other Square Enix properties, I feel like they just aren't taking advantage of the playground of an idea that they've created to its fullest potential. I'd be pretty disappointed.

#kingdom hearts #final fantasy #kh4 #tetsuya nomura #squall leonhart #cloud strife #kh1 #kh2 #kh3 #aerith gainsborough

[tutuandscoot]

Hey, you seem to be one of the few sane vm fans left, so i wanted to talk to you about something. I also believe the two of them aren't romantically involved and quite possibly never even were. I have a feeling that the reason why they don't do public collaborations and in general distanced themselves is bc the fans were so crazy. The only way they could have a normal life was to separate themselves so people would leave them alone. So people who so desperately wanted them together actually contributed to them distancing themselves from each other (at least publicly). I don't know why people think they hate each other now or don't talk at all. I think it would be smart of them to keep their interactions private since people can't behave themselves. I 100% believe they are still friends but prefer to keep it quiet so they can lead their lives without constant whispers and everyone analyzing them for the slightest clue they are together. I look at old blogs from 2018 and i cringe so badly, i cannot image how awful it was for them to see all that crazy. To have a wonderful relationship questioned at every turn and to feel like they can't be themselves because someone will interpret it a different way. It makes me sad, we kinda brought this upon ourselves. They felt the need to distance themselves because there was no other way for them to have a normal life. If they toured today people would still talk about their relationship and trash morgan and jackie. It is maddening. Sorry, this was kinda a rant, but i had to get it off my chest.

OMGGG Anon you have no idea how much I agree with this!!!!! This is so ridiculously on point and tbh I was actually thinking similar things the other day. Also… I LOVE RANTS so you’re rants are welcome here. Now settle in for one of mine ✌️

So firstly- while I wasn’t on blogs/Twitter any of that before like November last year- and in 2018/19 my extent of following VM was just following them on Insta. Basically everyday I’m so glad I have a blog about them NOW rather than 4 years ago coz I would not be able to handle it. I’m so sensitive and feel a lot about the people I admire (not just VM, others too: dancers, mentors, etc) and I would not be able to handle the hate- much like you even now with the small samplings it makes me sad. I have an VM Insta page as well and the other day someone just decided to drop into my DM’s and say ‘how could they have broken each other’s hearts’ and it made me so angry. I just deleted the msg coz I wasn’t gonna waste my time. 🙄

I 100% believe they were never romantically involved. I’ll do my best not to lay out all my points in another 5000 word essay but essentially what I see that others may constitute as ‘too lovey, familiar, comfortable with each other, etc..’ I put down to two things.

1. They are dancers. I’m a dancer and I’ve had to do similar stuff to what they do some programs (carmen, MR) with people I’ve just met, let alone known for 20years or was romantically involved with.

2. They are very very close friends who were by each other’s side for 22 years. They’ve been through everything together. They are so comfortable with each other. They love each other, they care about each other, but they can also be silly together and tease each other like best friends do. They themselves say they are each other’s family. Each other’s parents, siblings are as much their’s as their own.

But especially what people would freak out about during and post-PYC, the TTYCT and RTR, (according to some of the more toxic blogs) is they are mature adults who are obviously very secure in their sexuality. They know how to control themselves but are also very aware of their physicality and interactions together. And honestly, I think they are attracted to each other- they just don’t want to fuck each other. This along with the fact they had been partners for over 20 years. I think that’s the main thing people would forget when they blatantly objectified them: that VM don’t know any different. Being so close is all they know and if they were to have that taken away from them- not by their own choosing I think would utterly crush them. [The way they have managed it so well and are so at peace with it is because retiring was their decision and they did it exactly how they wanted] That’s how they show and express their love and after 20 + years of being under the microscope and so heavily scrutinised by judges, coaches, audiences and internet trolls, they become each other’s safe place. For ex: all the hugs/cuddles at the end of MR:

The soft face caressing and almost kisses (chore or otherwise):

Lovingly staring into each other’s eyes during interviews, endless complements for each other:

X X

That’s not them being romantic. That’s literally them being in their safe space. The figure skating world is harsh enough, let alone add on all the internet a**holes trolling coz they have nothing better to do with their lives. Those cuddles and caresses and looking into each other’s eyes is like home for them. I was thinking earlier how when they take their bows + leave the ice (more during shows but I guess also competitively) they almost always very quickly retreat back into each other. I don’t get the vibe they are overly comfortable under the spotlight (literally the rink lights but I guess also just in the public eye). They love performing, acting, dancing, skating and telling a story together, but I don’t think they crave that audience appreciation. Some performers do, which is fine. But they don’t. They do it for each other. So when a program ends and they cuddle/kiss/hold each other close, squeeze hands and tap tushies, etc, they are just being grateful for each other and probably do it as a comping mechanism for the screams and cheers and the odd feelings that causes. It’s like they say- they could not cope with being singles skaters. The only reason the do what they do is each other, and because they only feel safe in those uncomfortable environments because they have each other.

Now I’m not a therapist/psychologist, whatever, and I’m not trying to implying that people are dumb, but why is it so hard to accept that that closeness and affection is something more special and even more intimate than being romantically involved?? Maybe, as rare as it is, it’s something even more special that should be admired instead of criticised and probed at endlessly.

I truly don’t get the obsession with making up fake relationships between real people on the internet, I don’t get the point of it, especially when I’m the case of VM in ended in “heartbreak” and anger for the people “shipping them”. What is the benefit of making up and spreading shit about people you don’t even know? How low is that. Why are people so obsessed with people they don’t even know having sex they feel the need to bully people about it? That’s so fucked up to me.

I think it definitely contributed to them becoming more private. I also I think as they prepared for retirement it was a natural evolution. I pray they don’t know the extent of some of the trash online about them- I don’t even know the worst of it and I never want to coz like I said- it really upsets me. I think about that short video of them answering Twitter questions and one of them was ‘what’s the craziest rumour about you’ and the way which Scott says ‘there’s some nasty stuff out there’ in retrospect, breaks my heart, coz there’s stuff that he knows that he considers nasty. And that’s probably not even the worst if it.

They did not/do not deserve any of that. What did they do to deserve this? I hate when people say “it’s their fault, they bring it on themselves”. And while I don’t think everyone commenting that meant it literally- it’s was just more hyperbole, my limited knowledge of the extent of the toxic nature this place used to be says there were people who meant it- and used it as permission to objectify them.

As much as I often comment things like ‘omg just let me live’, I’m not thinking of it in terms of their ‘romantic relationship’ I just mean they are incredible performers, artists, and their partnership/existence together is so beautiful it makes my heart beat faster. And they are so brave for being who they are, with each other despite all the trash talkers.

So yes anon. I think you are very on point in that it contributed to them distancing themselves publicly. And I fucking hate that that’s a possibility. I don’t think it would ever, ever affect their feelings for each other tho. If anything, I think they would mutually feel that it was for each other’s wellbeing and safety, that they didn’t want each other to be affected by any trash.

And after everything they’ve been through, I think they are truly relishing in figuring out their friendship not only removed from skating, but from the public eye. I think that’s something they always looked forward to figuring out and exploring together. They are courageous, brave and creative people who aren’t afraid of new challenges, and while in the physical respect they aren’t as close as they use to be, I think in other ways they are learning to be even closer, and/or understand each other better. And that’s amazing after 22+ years of skating together, 25 + years knowing each other, that there is still more they get to learn about each other, and they aren’t sick of knowing each other. That’s amazing. I could not have more respect for them if I tried.

Something I had talked about recently/while ago, wtevr, was can people not comprehend that T&S know better than anyone in the world where they stand in terms of their feelings for each other. After that long together do people really have the audacity to think they can tell T&S how they actually feel about each other, that they know more, understand more about what T&S have been through. And that T&S deciding to be with other people romantically spits in the face of what everyone thinks is true love.. and them deciding to be with other people means point blank that they hate each other??? WTAF???

Scott committed to Tessa the day of their first competition when he fucked up the steps and she stayed with him. As long as Tessa wanted to do this with him, he would be by her side. He would not be the one to let this incredibly special girl down. Tessa gave up the national ballet school for Scott at just 9 years old because she had committed to him, and she would not break that commitment and because she was already starting to feel a special connection with him that the idea of dancing with one partner and creating these stories together appealed to her more than a ballet career. He stayed with her through her injuries, she helped him through the hard times leading up to Sochi, and they returned to competition TO BE WITH EACH OTHER. How do you just reject and forget all of that as soon as you stop spending every day together. So I don’t know if these online trolls are really that dumb, or just enjoy contributing to the destruction of perfectly stable relationships coz it’s fun.

They may not be able to find the words to define their relationship, but they know what it means to them, and they know it’s one of the most important things in their lives and they will always have each other. There’s no way in the world everything they have experienced together can be undone. And I hate that people can’t just accept that the famous people they wish had some perfect, typical love story don’t, and what T&S have, as unusual as it is, is not only better, but it’s what Tessa and Scott want. And if you claim to ‘love’ them, to be a ‘fan’ of them, you should genuinely care about them and want them to be happy, even if it’s not want you think is perfect for them- how would you know.

Hope this satisfied your feels anon ❤️❤️

*most of these gifs aren’t mine-full credit to owners

#sorry this is stupidly long but I just love this ask I wanted to cover all bases #I’m so glad there’s others on here who ‘get it’ #I didn’t know who isolated my opinions and feelings were till I started exploring tumblr #then I discovered the disgusting toxisity #and I felt so alone #but they I found friends and those who share my love for VM and it has become such a happy place for me #so thank you to those- you know who you are #and thank you for this ask #anon #ask #also please read the comments my friends are making some fantastic points

[inky-eclipse]

disassociating and dissociating

man. my hand hurts. it hurts to type a little bit. this shit isn't symbolic, i just wanted to vent about it. as for the title, i remember i saw some texts talking about how there is a difference between dissociating and disassociating. i feel like those two words really sum up the past two weeks.

let me tell you what's really been crawling under my skin. i've been trying to get something passed by my other organization members, and one of them has been taken forever. the thing is, it would take like maybe ten minutes for this person to just look the document over but nooo this person's taking their sweet ass time. let me be so for real, i didn't want to ask these fuckers for their approval, but i need it so that the document can be passed without my ass getting in hot water for moving forward without everyone being in agreement. i didn't want to ask them about it 'cause idk where they stand and i really strive to avoid getting more pissy white folks on my back but i must be honey with the way i'm attracting these white fruit flies. god speaking of white folks, i don't know. you ever just not feeling the right vibe with some folks? there's this other organization i'm kinda with and like. it's just not it. like you'd think you'd be able to be friendly with folks that you're collaborating with even if you aren't staying in their organization, but that's not the vibe i've been getting as of late. i'm gonna do something about it soon, i just gotta buckle down and do it regardless of how it's perceived. i just read that and that sounds intense but i'm just describing leaving the organization. i'm being very strong and brave ngl.

i guess that touched on the disassociating part. i don't fully fuck with these two organizations i guess. it's like i'm a puzzle with multiple, very different pieces to me and every time i interact with some orgs, i realize that there are more pieces to me and that those pieces could never really connect with others in those orgs. man. i hate when people are nice just to keep you in the org. just be real man. i need to get some physical items that i normally use my phone for so that i don't have to keep my phone on my all the time. i wanna throw my phone into a big ass puddle outside. forget burning bridges they're being flooded. i don't even know how to talk about the dissociating part. well it wasn't really dissociating in the ways that i used to do it in. it was more like daydreaming for hours and hours. so yeah not healthy but not dissociation in the way i understand it. clickbait ass title. i've never daydreamed like that before as far as i can remember. i usually distract myself with books, shows, games, etc., but i've never been stuck in my little world. it's stopped now, but it was really disruptive when it was happening. i'd set timers to try to snap myself out of it before i had tasks that i couldn't skip, but sometimes i'd be too engrossed to leave my mind. i wonder if it kinda goes back to how i've been struggling with orgs and maybe my brain finds the daydreaming stress-relieving. i don't like thinking back to this, but the daydreams weren't even creative. it'd just be a few scenarios played out again and again with some variations. i'm a mouse on a wheel somedays. i don't know. i don't even know what mental health and/or neurodivergent stuff i got nowadays. i don't even know if there's anything new that's wrong with me. it'd be worse if there's nothing wrong with me. i can't fix nothing. there's still stuff i'm motivated to do at least even if i'm frustrated. somebody the other day asked me if i was okay. "are you okay?" first of all, stfu. if i waited to be okay before doing the things i wanted to do, i'd be waiting for the rest of my damn life. i should go to the garden soon.

#vent #writeblr #writing #depression #anxiety #social anxiety #maladaptive daydreaming

[sunny-ghosts]

intro to my OCs just for background as I will be posting them

I have two WIPs, one solo and one with my best friend. The solo one is called Star for now and the one I'm collaborating on is currently nameless and I refer to it as 'the comic' which is incredibly specific and great for categorical tags (I'll probably just tag it with a sun emoji tbh).

Star takes place in a post apocalyptic world featuring two very queer very mentally struggling main characters who might kiss or might just cry a lot (follow me to find out!)

The comic takes place on a cool island summer camp with magic (if this reminds you of lumberjanes, that was the inspiration, I wanted to make a story about queer kids interacting with magic, sort of like escapism cause it's all positive and fun) and has a pretty diversely queer cast (I love them all deeply)

My OCs for star

Tristan- transmasc (he/him most likely), unlabeled queer in terms of romanticism, and probably asexual idk. Autistic coded imo. Really likes plants, pretty depressed. Strong believer that everything is bad and nothing good will ever happen and the world is over

Orion/Ori (or-ee)- transmasc, pretty chill about pronouns but generally prefers he and maybe they, as long as it isn't she he doesn't care. Achillean. In denial about everything and very optimistic. Pretty high energy and outgoing

My OCs for the comic (I swear we'll name it sometime) not exhaustive but this should be the ones I reference the most

Atlas- he/they, transmasc aroace, AuDHD, his main special interest is magic and magical beings and stuff like that. Knowledgeable and passionate about this to the point where he will correct adults who study magic if they're wrong. Also very into plants and plant identification and just nature stuff in general. Dude could write a handbook.

Alexander/Alex- he/him, brother figure for atlas. He's got a big sword and might be the reincarnation of king Arthur (he found the sword in a cool lake). Has no inclination to be the king of britain or whatever. Bi? Gay? Who knows. His love interest is a man

Lee - he/it/whatever honestly he doesn't care, devil (got some rad horns and shit, he can't fly) who likes to play at being a villain, pretty harmless and honestly just likes to fuck with people. Would wear a dress. Has worn a dress. Will wear a dress. Queer (he says that he's 'gay for every gender'). Gives his boyfriend (above) regular heart attacks (its. For his health. You know)

Athena - she/her probably, transfem and of questionable romantic orientation. Descended from a god, probably a minor god of summer or spring or something. She can set stuff on fire and glow and whatever. She's figuring it out. She also rarely puts on shoes

Angel - he/him but doesn't mind neutral pronouns, probably wont realize that neo or xenopronouns are referring to him though. He's the group counselor and generally just sort of tags along and watches to make sure they don't die. Has a lot of faith in them and encourages them to do stupid shit he thinks is funny. He does keep them safe but like. He lets them have fun. Polyam, bi with a very strong preference for men. Has rad wings (his name is incredibly on the nose)

Vince (he/him) and odyssey/essie/s(any but prefers masc words referring to them): angels boyfriends who don't actually show up much but I feel very strongly about them and I think they're all very cute together. Vince is the golden retriever, essie is the black cat, angel is the orange cat.

anyways if anyone actually read all that, that's rad!! I hope you like them. I will probably be posting a ton about them soon if you're interested!

Have a great day!

#intro post #writing #my ocs #oc #ocs #oc stuff #oc intro

[tiredmamaissy]

Ralak te Sepwan ieyk’itan: Chapter Three

An Illustrated Collaboration with @zestys-stuff

Masterlist ; Rut/Heat/Knotting Info

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

Hyperlinks are attached to specific paragraphs that when clicked on will lead you to its illustration by Ralak's creator @zestys-stuff.

Characters: Metkayina!Ralak (24) x Sully!Omaticaya!Reader (19)

Warnings: nsfw, smut, fluff, angst, ptsd/ flashbacks, profanity, age gap, sexual tension, size difference/kink, praise kink, jealousy, scenting, fingering, recollection of non-con trauma (for the plot), alcohol consumption/drunk character, let me know if i forgot anything?

Word Count: 6.3k

Requested: Yes || No

Author’s Note: Sorry this one took a while, been a hell of a week. It's got a lot of angst, so prep yourselves guysss. Ends with smut, ofc. I hope you guys enjoy 🤍

Synopsis: Your family seeks uturu with the Metkayina in the village of Awa’atlu. You have a difficult time adjusting, and are assigned your own special teacher, Ralak.

<- Previous Next ->

“Y/n. For the love of Christ, you better tell me that the storm held ya up last night.” Jakes voice rings in your ear, waking you up.

Oh shit.

You look to your left to see the first rays of sunlight shining on Ralak’s sleeping, naked body, chest heaving slowly from his unfaltering breaths. Perched on his side, his face sits in his palm, as if he’s fallen asleep partially sitting up. Two fingers still nestled inside you, his facial muscles are slightly tensed, like he’s ready wake up any minute and tend to your every need, just like he’s been doing all night long. 

“Get your ass home. Now.” Jakes irate voice brings you back to reality.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

What were you going to tell Jake? That the storm did keep you up? He’d never believe that. Not for a second. Either way, if you didn’t go now, this man would skin the love of your life. Unmated, in his bed, all before your second iknimaya? He’d try, at least.

“Sst-ah.” you let out a shaky breath, grimacing as you pull his fingers out of you. They’re covered in your cum, so much so that a thick string of slick connects you to his fingers when you pull your pelvis away. You scramble to your feet, wiping yourself up with the already damp cloth next to his bed.

I’ll be back, my love. You think, looking over at him one last time before rushing out of his marui.

On your way to the cave, you try to assess your state. It’s hard to tell, given the fact that your heart is pounding at a speed only an ikran could attain. Anxiety streams through your veins, but otherwise, you feel fairly normal. Maybe a little bit like you did after your first iknimaya, when you passed your dream hunt and had one too many glow worms. But nothing unmanageable.

Guess it’s over.

Finally arriving at the cave, frantic eyes search the body of water for your loincloth. It’s floating at the far end of the lake, so you dive in. As you’re swimming, you catch a whiff of your own scent, mixed with Ralak’s. You bring your arm to your nose and take a deep breath. “Fuck.” you curse under your breath, submerging your entire body in the water, trying to bathe his scent off you.

You knew you scented each other, but you didn’t know that it would linger this long. You scrub your body, paying extra attention to your chest and neck. Time is going faster than you can move. But it’s like the more you scrub, the more you rub it into your skin – into your essence.

“Forget this.” you huff, grabbing your loincloth and swimming back to sand. You wring it out, slip inside and tie the knot hastily. One last look back on his marui pod, and you’re gone like the wind – quick and silent.

The trek back home is nerve-wracking, you feel so uneasy that you could feel something in your throat. A lump. You swallow repeatedly, trying to get rid of it, but it grows a little bigger for every step you take. By the time you’re at your marui door, you feel like you can’t breathe.

Neteyam smells you first, wreaking of a male na’vi, nose scrunching at the odour. He huffs a harsh breath through his nostrils, attempting to rid the lingering scent from of his lungs. He examines your condition – clammy skin with little colour left in it. Eyes trailing up to your face, he could see the fear written all over it, along with something else. Something like –

“Jesus, what the hell were you thinking?!” Jake hisses through clenched teeth.

“D-dad. I-I can explain.” you stutter, throat so tight you can barely speak.

Jake pulls his head back, eyelids blinking furiously. It’s as if the scent quite literally hit him, square in the jaw. With his suspicions confirmed, his lips stretch into a thin line, his go to expression of disapproval. The type that makes your ears lay flat against your skull, and bottom lip jut out.

“I can smell him on you.” Jake brushes past you. “Stay with your brother.”

“Dad, please.” your voice is strained, fighting against the lump in your throat. “Where are you going?”

He stops dead in his tracks, back still turned to you, a hand flying up to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose. “To Tonowari, kid. Tsireya will teach you from now on.” He heaves a heavy sigh and walks away.

The anxiety quickly morphs into anger, bubbling in your veins and sizzling your skin. Your short fuse blows. How could he take this away from you? You weren’t a ‘kid’ anymore. You had passed your iknimaya back home, and you’re on the brink of passing it here, too. Despite that, he always treats you like this, like the late bloomer you are. He didn’t even care to know what really happened.

“Not a fucking kid!” you shout after him, only for him to shake his head and continue walking.

“Sis.” Neteyam mutters, gently guiding you into the marui pod by your arm.

You shrug him off, storming past him to dive into your bed, burying your face into your pillow – damp from last night’s tears. It only becomes wetter as your fresh tears stream down your face. You couldn’t help it, you cried whenever you felt overwhelmed with anything. Sadness. Happiness. Anger. Frustration.

The sound of your privacy curtain being drawn back snaps your head up from your pillow. It’s Neteyam, standing over you with a face of concern, a bowl of steamed fish in one hand and a cup of water in the other. He sighs quietly, crouching down to come eye to eye with you. “You were in heat, weren’t you?” He states, already knowing the answer. “You should eat and drink something.” He places the bowl and cup on the floor next to you.

You sit up, supporting your torso with your arms behind your back. Neteyam. The older, caring bother, always looking out for everyone but himself. Of course, he would be the one to care enough to find out what you’ve been through the past day. “Yup. Late bloomer finally got her heat.” you speak of yourself harshly, taking the cup of water and chugging it.

“You smell gross.” he chuckles breathily, nudging the bowl of fish closer to you.

“Thanks, big brother. Appreciate it.” you giggle between cries, nudging it back to him. “Not hungry.”

His arms rest on his knees, braids swaying in his face as he looks behind him before dropping his head. “Agh.” he lifts his head, staring at you for a few seconds, as if he were contemplating something. “You should not have done that. Not before your iknimaya.”

“I didn’t! Nothing... like that happened, Tey. Ralak isn’t like that.” your head hangs low as you utter the words. “He’s... a gentle giant.”

Neteyam scoffs, straightening his spine. “Gentle giant? He looks like he eats na’vi for breakfast.”

“Hey –” you sniffle, glaring up at him, “I like him, Tey. A lot. He’s good for me.”

Neteyam’s features soften. As if hearing your words plucked a string of sympathy in his heart. As much as he wants to help you, he can’t. Not with a direct order from his father. He shakes his head, eyes closed, and brows furrowed.

That’s his way of saying, ‘Sorry. Can’t’.

You sigh, bringing your knees to your chest to hide your face. You can smell Ralak’s scent now that your nose is near your thighs. It fills your lungs with every breath you take. His pheromones. His aphrodisiac. His arousal. He left it all on you, rubbed into your skin so deep it seems to have altered your own scent.

Is this what scenting does?  

Soon you’re breathing heavily, trying to savour what left you have of him – of last night. It makes you heavy in the head, like all the strength has left your body. You feel your face warm up, the heat spreading to the tips of your ears. You’re tired. Defeated.

“Neteyam! Neteyam!” Lo’ak’s faint voice sounds frantic.

You hear Neteyam shuffling to his feet to go and check what his brother is on about. “Stay here, got it?”

“Mhm.” you hum, too tired to even lift your head.

The sound of Lo’ak yanking back your privacy curtain makes you jump out of your skin, nearly knocking over the bowl of steamed fish. You stare up at him wide eyed, to see him motioning over to the door of your marui. Your brows kiss in confusion, unsure of what’s going on.

“Heard you were in... hea-a situation. Just gonna borrow big bro for a second, cool?” he raises his brows, nudging his head towards the door in an emphasized manner.

A smile pulls at your lips once you realize what he’s doing for you. You wipe your puffy eyes with the back of your hand and shuffle to your feet. “I owe you, Lo’.”

Ralak’s POV

Ralak rouses to an empty bed. He sits up quickly, scanning his marui for any sign of you. Nothing. The only thing that remains is your potent scent flooding the room. The only proof that you were ever here. “Oh, y/n.” he groans, head slumping into his hands.

You were gone. Gone like you were never here to begin with. Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, he tried not to assume the worst. But what if – what if it was the worst? To be used and discarded like an object. All over again. Surely, there’s no way that you would do this to him, not after opening-up to you like that. Not after last night. Not after the words you uttered to one another before going to sleep –

‘I love you’.

But why does it feel the same? The same as that day. The day he was in a marui pod like this one, young, bare skinned and short haired, kneeling before his own karyu. His chest tightens, the walls of his throat closing in on one another. He can feel it creeping up his spine. The flashbacks. The tremors. The nausea. Rushing to his feet, he makes his way over to the shelf well-stocked with bottles of ‘fermented fruit’ – pxir [beer; alcohol].

A poison to many, but an antidote to him.

Dust had settled on the bottles since the last day he reached for them. The day you became his tanhì. That’s why he had never brought you up here, he never wanted you to see the truth. The way he copes with his emotions – bottling them up and then chugging it down when they became just too much.

The bottle opens with a pop, strong, bitter scent wafting up his nose, replacing the scent of you in his lungs. He takes a quick swig, baring his teeth from the sting of it trickling down his throat. “Ahh.” He sighs a breath of relief, feeling the alcohol already taking effect, loosening his chest, and clearing his throat.  

Yet he can still feel the shiver of his spine, and the churn of his stomach.

“Shit.” he curses, taking another swig. Cursing himself for trusting another after he made the vow to never trust again. Another swig. For facing the part of him that he’s denied since he came into adulthood. Another swig. For letting someone in. Another swig. For allowing himself to love you.

Alas, a clear mind and body – rid of the memories of his past.

He readies himself for his bath, something he often did to relax. Just like he did last time you left him.

----

Time is of the essence. With no idea of when Jake will be back, you move quickly. You weave through the webbing of the mangrove roots, ducking and dodging those that jut out. You take a short cut, bouncing over the netting of a cluster of marui pods on the way to Ralak’s.

Eyes guardedly stuck to your feet, you bump into Ka’ani, the man who replaced Ralak’s role as fisherman – faceplanting into his bare chest. Arms instinctively wrapping around you, he holds you close until you regain your balance. Admittedly, he’s a little too close for comfort, his face nestled in the crown of your head. You hear quick, nasally breaths, muffled by your hair.

Is he... sniffing me right now?

You shove him off you, probably a little too rough to be considered friendly, and take a few steps back. “Sorry, Ka’ani.” you mutter, gingerly walking around him.

“No problem, at all.” he smirks, raising his hands and making space for you to leave.   

With a quick shake of your head, you continue making your way to Ralak. The closer you get, the more a giddy smile spreads across your face. Though you were the bearer of bad news, you can’t ignore the flutters in your stomach. The same flutters you had when you first laid eyes on him – the day Eywa herself told you he’s the one.

Your mate.

Your legs move faster, as fast as they can go, until the sand slackens your steps. Silky, fine sand – always the first thing to let you know that you’ve arrived. You can’t help the excitement bubbling from your tummy and up your throat. “Ralak!” you blurt out, eager to find your love.

A tall figure in the distance catches your eye, it looks as if he were going into the cave. You wave your hands above your head, shouting his name as you lope towards him. “Ralak!”

The figure stops, turning around to acknowledge your calls. He stands still for a minute, before walking towards you with a stagger in his step. Tail perking up instantaneously, your hand flies to your bare hip, searching for your medicine pouch. You’re running on the tips of your toes again, concern and worry replacing the flutters low in your belly.

“Wha-t is it?” you shout, voice wavering as you close the distance between your bodies.

You crash into him with a smack, making the typically sturdy giant wobble. Now your ears art alert, perturbed by his odd behaviour. Gently pushing you away, his large hands grip your upper arms, fingertips touching once another. Blue, hazed orbs peer down at you, extra glossy and lidded.

“Are you sick? Wounded?” you question, resisting his gentle pushes to search his body. 

Nostrils flickering above his pursed lips, he leans into your neck. He pulls back with a huff, blowing hot air through his nose, onto your face. Your eyelashes flutter, face of concern quickly morphing into one of confusion.

Everyone is sniffing me today.

Head snapping to the left, his eyes search the webs of the mangrove roots off in the distance. A guttural growl rumbles deep in Ralak’s chest, thinned lips curling over his canines, flashing them before your eyes. You watch in awe as his brows lower, knotting together to turn his eyes beady. Ears flat against his skull, the scent of another na’vi scrunches his nose.

That’s a new look.

“Ralak.” your voice is breathy and small – laced with fright.

His growl grows louder, coming from the pit of his stomach, deep and powerful. Lengthy fingers tightening around your arms, he spins you around and tucks you behind him in one swift move. His name slips off your tongue once more, quick, and unsure. He has one hand perched on the dip of your waist, holding you close behind this towering frame.

“Come out.” he growls gruffly, straightening his spine to present at his full height.

The two words double-knot your stomach, sending you wiggling into the sink of his back, face peeking through the crack of his arm and side. Your eyes flicker from side to side, looking for whatever – whoever he’s talking to. Meanwhile, your fingers grip the band on his loincloth, the only thing available on his body to hold.

Silence.

“Or I make you.” He rasps the warning through his four, pointed fangs.

Perhaps if Ralak wasn’t here the knots in your belly would have tightened by now, to the point where you would feel queasy. But the hiss fizzling from the back of his throat puts your nerves at ease – your body sensing its safety in his presence.

Out comes a brawny, wide na’vi, from behind the large, thick roots of the mangroves. His hands are splayed out, representing something of caution. No – surrender. He approaches Ralak slowly. Warily.

“Sorry, brother. I did not know she was yours.” Ka’ani says impishly.

Jaw snapping open, his hiss comes out full force. It’s loud and thick, almost grating. Much like a roar. Though you knew it wasn’t for you, it shook you up, tugging at the string in your grip as your body jolts forward into his.

“She belongs to no one.” His top lip twitches as he spits the vile words, stinging your heart in the process. Am I not his? What about last night? You think, tightening your grip on the band of his loincloth.

“It looks as if she belongs to you, Tak.” Ka’ani leans to the left, chin jutting out as he tries to catch a glimpse of you. “Look at her, holding on to your –”

“Lewng! [shame]. Tracking her scent.” Ralak hisses, turning his body to hide you from his predatory eyes. “Leave.”

“Ah. Come on now, brot-” He spreads his arms wide, walking around Ralak towards you.

Ralak takes a step forward on his last word, nearly coming chest to chest with the shorter na’vi. A moment of silence passes between the two, as Ralak stares him down with vengeance in his eyes. A hand flies up to his hip, gripping the knife sheathed in its casing. “Now.”

Ka’ani straightens his back, eyes flickering between Ralak and yours that peek from behind him. His hands retract, hovering either side of his head as he retreats. Ralak maintains his position, with a hand keeping you tucked away whilst the other rests on his hip. Once Ka’ani’s figure is no longer visible, Ralak sighs, and turns his heel to make his way back to his much-needed bath.

“Thanks...” you huff, walking close behind him.

“You women and your heats.” he mutters as he walks faster, ripping his loincloth out of your grip.

“Ex-cuse me?” your words bounce as you try to keep up with him. “You have no –”

“Do you understand what would have happened had I not been here? Do not be so reckless.” He tsks, as his feet come to a halt, balling his hands into fists.

“Reckless? All I did was walk here!” you shout, almost bumping into him again.

“Because you left to begin with.” he whispers through clenched teeth.

“What?” the question is breathy, hands perching on your knees to rest.

He turns around quickly, prompting you to stand at full height. Breathing heavily, he presses his warm body against yours, chin tucked into his chest to peer down at you. Instinctively, you perch on the tips of your toes, eyes lidded in anticipation of a kiss. Instead, he brings your wrists up to his nose, heated lips pressing against your supple skin.

“He scented you.” he mumbles quickly, lips pulling into a thin line before letting go and backing away.  

“Why? How? I only bumped into him.” you walk towards him, watching him turn his heel again. “Hey –” you reach out for his arm to pull him back around.

First you leave him this morning, then come back scented by another na’vi. He shrugs you off, hands now fiddling with the knot above the base of his tail as he nears the entrance of the cave. The knot of his loincloth comes undone, heavy, sheathed hunting knife silently making impact with the sand.

“Because he wants everything that’s mine.”

So, I am his. You think, one corner of your mouth curling upwards into a smirk.

“Oh, Ralak.” You stand at the cave’s opening, waiting in silence for a response.

He continues to keep his back turned to you, dips of his clenched glutes on full display. Despite last night, seeing him naked still makes you shy, cheeks turning red and hot from the blood that rushes to them. You watch him hastily put his hair in a sloppy bun as he submerges himself in the water.

“I need to speak with you about this morning” you mumble, eyes locked onto the ripple of his back muscles.

“No need. I understand.” he answers lowly, shimmying over to the bottle of fermented fruit propped on a rock in the cave.

“Understand what? It’s about –”

“You made a mistake. It was your heat. It is fine.” he mutters quickly, taking a swig at the last word.

A mistake? My heat?

The realization hits you, hard. You’d been so out of it, so delirious from your heat you hadn’t given a second thought about his confession. His trauma that he confided in you, in this very cave. It’s like stones in your heart – no, boulders. Weighing it down so heavily that it feels like there’s a pulse in your stomach.

How could you be so cruel? So thoughtless? So insensitive? To not even wake him and utter the words to his face. To allow him to wake up to an empty bed after letting down his walls and being so vulnerable to you. To be so caught up in your own head you couldn’t even bat an eye at the man who helped you through your first heat.

“Oh. Oh, Lak. No. No, it’s nothing like that.” you sputter out a trembling voice, sliding into the water to rush over to him. You rest your hand on his upper back, taking in the warmth of his skin. He feels feverish – hot to the touch.

What is he drinking?

You rub his back gently, bioluminescent freckles dancing from your caresses. Yet, he’s rigid. Cold. Distant. He’s not the Ralak you know, swaying side to side as he brings the lip of the bottle to his mouth.

“Stop, my love.” you coo, sliding your hand up his raised arm as you walk around him.  Pulling the bottle away from his lips, you cautiously place the pxir on a nearby ledge. “Ralak.” you whisper, staring up at him with worried eyes.

The sound of his name falling from your lips tilts his head back ever so slightly, like it pained him to even look at you. Curly, loose stands of hair frame his face, accentuating his angular features. He attempts to fix his mask of indifference to his face, but you can see through it. You see the anguish glossed over his lidded, inebriated eyes.

Ocean blue eyes.  

tw: flashback

His mind is elsewhere, dissociating back to the day of the incident. The night of his iknimaya celebration, where his own karyu cornered him in his family marui, engulfing him with her pheromones. Manipulating him with her heat to take care of her. To touch her.

He can hear the waves crashing into the shore, the pitter-patter of the rain on the roof of the marui, the roll of the thunder – her whispers in his ear, ‘I’ve been waiting too long for this. You are officially a man now. Make your karyu feel better, right here...’.

The smell of her pheromones is suffocating, more potent than any fermented fruit he’s ever had. It frightened him, feeling like he had no self-control. No way to stop his movements, no matter how much he screamed at his body to move, run – anything.

It is what made him vow to never lose control of himself. His composure.

He can feel the heaviness of his body. The lethargy. The way his lungs refused to fill, no matter how hard he tried to breathe. When he woke, he was alone, sitting in the corner in a pool of his own sweat, curled in on himself. His karyu left, to never return. Leaving nothing but the lingering smell of her heated scent behind. 

tw: end of flashback

“My karyu” you hum softly, placing his hand on your chest.

When you first called him that, he almost grimaced. But as time passed, you made the word bearable. You gave it a new meaning, a new feeling. Eventually filling him with eagerness to hear it fall from your flushed lips. In tones of excitement, frustration... pleasure.

You hold his thumb, and give it a squeeze, trying to bring him back from wherever he is. Your heart weighed even heavier, seeing him drift away and detach when he’s right in front of you. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here. Feel me. Feel my heartbeat. Focus on it and come back to me.”

The words echo in his skull, reverberating between the thick bone. He can hear you, feel you. With each thump of your heart, the heaviness of his body lifts, the scent of her fades, the pitter-patter of the storm subdues until nothing, but that thump can be heard. His eyes finally flicker down to yours, ears and brows twitching at the pulse of your heart.

Only a bottle could do that for him. Bring him back. Yet, you did it with the mere sound of your heart.

“I’m sorry, Lak. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I was so thoughtless. I’m sorry... that happened to you.” the words are shaky, flowing over your quivering bottom lip. “I would never. Ever. Ever. Ever –” you blubber, shaking your head, “Ever, do that to you. I-I had to leave because of my father. He’s punishing me. Forbidding me from seeing you. Having Tsireya teach me instead. I should have woken you.”

Another arm snakes around his waist, bringing him in closer to you. You slump your head into his chest, letting the tears flow and stain his skin. “I don’t regret a thing. I meant everything I said. I-I see you, Ralak” you sputter, breath hitching from the crying.

“Tanhì” he croaks, kissing the crown of your head as he wraps his arms around you to hold you closer.   

“I love you” The three words are said in unison as you cling onto one another.

Alcohol still coursing through his veins, Ralak’s heavy body slumps into you, slowly shifting you both against the cave wall. He presses your back against the rocky surface, unwrapping his arms from your waist to support his body weight with a hand on the wall. He leans in, brushing his cheek against yours.

“I will miss you.” he whispers huskily next to the shell of your ear.

“I’ll miss you, too.” you whisper back, head pulling back to meet his gaze.

Your eyes lock for a moment, an undeniable tension now budding in the air and making your breaths quicken. He inches even closer, lips brushing against yours as you exchange the same hot breath until you’re light in the head.

He kisses you roughly – sloppily.

Tongue slipping into your mouth, you get a taste of what he’s been drinking all day. It’s a little sweet, with undertones of various fruits native to the reef people. But once the sweetness wears off, the bitter aftertaste makes your brows gather. He pulls away, revealing heavy-lidded eyes with thin blue rings for irises, flickering side to side as they stare into yours.

Chests heaving in synchrony, you both struggle to catch your breath. Hands cupping each other’s face, your lips crash into one another again, body language hungry and desperate for each other’s touch. Ralak shoves his knee between your legs, providing you with the friction your body has been begging for. Your body moves on its own, humping at his thigh as best you can in the water.

“I-I want... you.” The desperate words part your bruised, flushed lips, hand sliding up his back to caress his kuru [queue].

He shakes his head, brows gathering tightly. “Not now. Not here. We do it the right way.”

“Then...” you pant, voice laced with desperation as your hands make their way to his hips, dainty fingers wrapping around his hardened girth, “...give me something else.”

Breath turning raggedy, he struggles to maintain his composure. The influence of the alcohol surging through his body proves it to be an even more difficult task. He takes a deep breath, withdrawing his knee from your legs to spin you around in one quick motion. Ralak tries his best to be gentle with you, shoving you into the wall to press his aching cock against you.

A soft moan parts your lips; thin, fuzzy tail wrapping around his thigh in attempts to bring you closer. Eywa, did that push him closer to the edge. Your tail had been one of his favourite things about you from the day you first locked eyes, so slender and delicate. Nothing like his. It not only fascinated him. It aroused him.

It makes him push into you even harder, tip of his cock throbbing against your lower back. He craves to be even closer to you – to be inside you. To rut into you until your voice becomes so hoarse from screaming his name. Over and over. Again, and again. Fingers hurriedly fiddling with the knot of your loincloth, he pants a few greedy, rough kisses along your upper back.

“Oh! Ralak, I-I think –” you moan lowly, his touches throwing you into a daze.

“What?” he huffs, fingers coming to a halt in fear that he’s being too rough with you.

“I think I’m still in heat.” you lie, or maybe it wasn’t a lie. You feel so woozy in the head that you’re not even sure what’s going on anymore. All that sits at the forefront of your mind is him claiming you as his.

“Is that so?” he lets out a breath of relief, a chuckle if you will.

“Yes. Can you help me?” you pant, trembling voice feigned with innocence.

“Ah. Let me check, little one.” He buries his face into the nape of your neck, pulling back with a loud sigh through his nose. A growl rumbles in his chest and up his throat. “I can still smell him.” The scent of another so deep into your skin makes him want to mark you. To sink his lengthy canines into your neck for the smell to seep out, only to be replaced by his.

“Then fix it.” you breathe, head dipping forward to open yourself up to him.

“Oh?” he smiles open mouthed, brushing his pointed fangs against your silken skin, making your back arch on instinct. Submitting to him and his touch. Open mouth lingering over your neck, his jaw closes to graze his teeth against you. He sucks lightly on your skin, puckered lips pulling off with a pop.

Of course, he’d make you wait for that too. He was only ‘helping’ you, right now.  

He kicks your feet apart, spreading your legs for him to settle in closer behind you. A string of your slick connects your thighs together, breaking apart when he rubs his cock against your bare cunt. He begins rubbing his face into the back of your neck, scenting you as his.

“Mine. Yes?” he growls, thrusting himself against your slippery slit.   

“Yes.” You spread your legs further apart, standing on the tips of your toes to provide him with better access. “Please.” You let out a pathetic mewl.

He grunts in frustration. He wants nothing more than to thrust himself inside you, stretching your pussy out with his huge cock. And with those little, sweet pleas, it’s almost too hard to resist. But he does. He pulls away, gaze snapping down to the rope of wetness connecting your most intimate parts together.

Cocking a brow, his hand comes between your sticky pelvises, fingers coiling around the string of slick before they glide over your pussy and spread your folds. Your wetness drips down his digits, pooling in the palm of his hand. “So wet. Maybe you are in heat.” he mumbles, pressing his lips against your back, peppering kisses down the curve of your shoulder.  

Ralak fondles with your puffy clit, rubbing tight circles into it with his slickened fingertips. Your hips squirm around from the white-hot pleasure tightening your core. It’s just not enough. Perhaps it’s just residual heat, but you feel so, so empty. A yearning deep in your womb, to be filled and stretched. Your hips buck forward, slipping his fingertips to prod at your entrance, before pushing back on him to try and sink them inside you.

Needy body language riling up the giant behind you, his harsh kisses move their way up to your ear. “Say it, tanhì.” he groans lowly, positioning his finger at your tight hole.

“I n-need you inside of me!” you cry desperately, shoving yourself back into him.

“You listen so well, paysyul.” he exhales a hot breath into the shell of your ear, sinking his thick finger inside you, twisting his wrist so that he can curl it right into your sweet spot.

“Oh, shit.” you moan breathily, cheek pressed firmly against the rocky wall.

“That is why you learn so quickly.” He fingers you roughly, expertly working out a squelch with each curl of his digit.

The feeling is like heat, shooting down your spine and pooling in your pelvis. It makes your hips spasm, chasing the fiery sensation in hopes to put it out. His finger brings relieve, satiating the itch as your sweet spot swells from pure bliss. He knows exactly where to touch, and how to touch.

Yet, it still isn’t enough.

“More! ‘ts not enough!” you cry, writhing underneath him.

He finds your little cries amusing, letting a chuckle evade his lips. How could something so small act so mighty? He slides another digit in, feeling your tight pussy walls stretch to accommodate him. He hears the little whimper bubbling up your throat, letting him know you need a moment to adjust.

“Taking my fingers so well, hm?” he praises you with a shaky voice, planting a gentle kiss behind your ear.

“Mmmn! Please!” Another plea falls from your lips, a plea for him to move – to make you cum. He sets a relentless pace, stimulating the sensitive spot in your gummy, hot walls, working lengthy moans and mewls from you.

With the way he’s fingerfucking you, it feels as if your nerves are on fire. The coil tightly wound in your core ready to snap any second now. Your brows pinch together in fervour, mouth falling open to allow heavy, hot breaths to escape.

“Close! So close! Gonna! Gonna –” Your words catch in your throat, leaving you breathless and tense around his fingers.

“Make yourself cum.” he orders gruffly, stopping all movement once he feels you tighten around his digits.

You gasp, hips moving on their own to chase the orgasm he just took away from you. “No, no. You know I can’t. Please.” you sputter, pushing against the wall to ride his fingers.

“You can. And you will.” he growls, bending his fingers as encouragement.

You quickly accept your fate, holding on tightly to whatever pleasurable feeling remains and running with it. You push back on him, squirming around as you try to make yourself cum. Closing your eyes, you tune into your body, feeling what feels good and where. But the position that you’re in makes it even harder to do it yourself.

“Just fuck me!” you cry desperately, frustration so pent up you couldn’t help the outburst.

“Language.” he hisses, shoving his fingers so deep inside you that your slick coats his knuckles.

“Fuck! Please.” you beg, reaching behind you to grab his wrist.

“No.” he smirks, looking down at how your cunt sucks in his digits, listening to your pleading and begging.

He just wants to hear a little more. To hear how badly you want him. He loves the way you squirm around, sputtering nonsense from being so fucked out by just his fingers. He loves the little noises your pussy makes for him and can’t wait to hear how they’ll sound once his cock is stuffed inside you.

“Ralak. Please. Please make me cum!” you cry, using his wrist as leverage to fuck back into him.

He slides his hand down your stomach, fingers playing with your swollen, neglected clit. He’s pumping his digits in and out of your dripping cunt, feeling your slick dribble down his hand. It doesn’t take long for you to near your climax, pussy walls clamping down around his fingers.

“Let go. Cum for me.” he groans, swollen tip of his cock oozing beads of precum onto your lower back.

“Oh, fuckfuckfuck!” you let out a hoarse cry, entire body shuddering underneath him “Cumming! Cumming!”

“That’s my girl.” he hums proudly, scissoring his fingers open to stretch you out.  

You let out a high-pitched whimper, hint of pain making your eyes water. Then a wave of ecstasy ripples through you, leaving your legs trembling beneath you. He snakes his arm around your waist, holding you up while you ride out of your high, sprinkling your shoulder with kisses.

Once you come down from your high, you lean back into him, resting your head against his chest. Huffing and puffing, you try to catch your breath as you turn around to cup his swollen balls. “My turn to make you feel good.”

To your surprise, he rests a hand on your arm, pulling it away from him. He looks down at you through blown pupils, arousal plastered all over his face. Beads of sweat trickle down his temples, wet strands of curled hair stuck to his cheeks, he sighs the words. “Not today, tanhi. I must get you back, now.”

#ralak #ralak smut #avatar smut #awow smut #metkayina #metkayina smut #metkayina oc #oc smut #avatar oc smut #awow oc smut #sully reader #sully reader x oc #oc x sully reader #oc x sully reader smut #na'vi smut #na'vi x reader #na'vi x sully reader #na'vi avatar #Ralak te Sepawn ieyk’itan #smut #metkayina x omaticaya #metkayina x omaticaya smut #metkayina x fem reader

[stealiesjam]

J. Robbins (Kreative Kontrol Interview)

For the complete interview click here

Notes by Paula Beltran. I had the chance to get swept away by the Discord community since my friend Charles, a HarDCore pioneer, did not stop talking about his concert experiences back in the day. We even watched Salad Days together with his wife Claudia who is also a dear friend of mine back in their Arlington home (Charles has it been that long?). I've always been attracted to that level of mysterious coolness. Turns out they are! Here are my notes from the interview. Edited in order to be published here. They highlight life philosophies and fun fact about J. Robbins. Good stuff.

No regular commitment

We don’t hate our customers. We love them.

Gov issue bass

Financial donations with a healthy history that leads someplace cause it’s worth it and there’s love

Everyone works from home in dc

24 years of marriage

Cheapest places to live. Grow your own garden. Community.

Maryland Institute College of Art

Connect with people and be active of finding the cool stuff. Dig.

🐯🖕🏼💘

DISCHORD community are so modest 🥹 suuuuuper cool

J. Robbins is 56 years of age.

Living our moment the young ones

Always do it better. Expand palette.

Excited for things he can’t imagine yet

Influences hi Jules 🍻

90s: post hard core

Passion and finesse 

Hi hat opens and closes and has many sounds

We discover music different ways: shows, zines, etc

Resurrection: putting the band back together 

Listens to the same albums for three months or something

No plan, listen what it wants to be

Music growing up: Beatles, Black Sabbath, other stuff

He was into films and film making. He was obsessed with soundtracks. Soundtrack music manipulates your emotions. Heart rate.

He studied things on his own weird way with headphones and weird stuff

Punk saved his life that nothing had to be official (credentials)

XTC - solid song craft 

WHAAAAAAAT YOU GUYS KNOW ME 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

Not a lot of live band interaction during pandemic

No end in sight. Get a studio.

J's band hit record on spot: [please buy something before meeting me, me]

“I just want you to like me” we turn them off / DISCHORD 

Different time

There are things that the more you listen to them the more things you discover about them. (me when I accidentally closed the podcast on my phone and had to rewind it on my computer)

You’re just being nice, you’re my friend

Paula's style bobservation: Perfectionism about art is hell. But hey it happens to j robbins and it’s just a bobservation,

GENIOS 🖕🏼🖕🏼🖕🏼🖕🏼🖕🏼🖕🏼🖕🏼🖕🏼

Relief to see friends at the end. We’re not worried about the fate of the world.

People work at different paces

Me: I’ve always dreamed of this. Community-minded-chemistry present excitement. Cool feeling 💘

Collaborative vs dictation

Rhythm

Poet on drums 🪘 

Lois Carrol 

Hi Jerry 🍻

Flowing in right direction. There’s only one way to go and that way is forward.

Facebook posts have good material for songs

Getting older and not taking things for granted

Dictation for things to go like they were: it never happened.

Can we not learn from this? (Totally evil means and ends)

I’m not a fascist (they are) I am a good person with good intentions 

Me: Live and let live. Respect the written word. Learn how to read.

Fuck you kaiser

We'll just deny it happened ALL IS GOOD IN THE HOOD 🌈

Simplicity is real.

Just be a bee 👖

I’m gunna post this

Yay

Sharing experiences is the goal.

Home and marriage: nourishing 

New record on DISCHORD CHECK IT OUT!

J. Robbin picks dead eyed god as recommendation 

He wrote it very easily and he is proud of himself because of that. More about J. Robbins: "J. Robbins has been the singer/guitarist and principal songwriter in several DC-and-Baltimore-area post-punk rock bands since the late 1980s, most notably Jawbox, Burning Airlines, and Channels. He is also owner and operator of the Magpie Cage recording studio in Baltimore MD."

[elapsed-spiral]

OFMD fics (so far)

Time to update my fic list again (again, again), check it out under the cut.

Currently posting:

Restructuring: modern AU where Stede loses his fortune before meeting Ed, but Ed's still got more money than you can shake a fucking stick at. Only problem is, Stede lies and says he's wealthy and Ed lies and says he isn't. Like the show, it's a romcom about trauma. Explicit

Cool collaboration(s) you should read immediately:

Work Experience: what if Ed went to meet Stede when the Revenge ran aground? And what if Ed became a member of Stede’s crew? And what if things kept escalating and… Canon AU. Mature. Co-written with Shearwater.

Really no excuse for how stupid these ones are:

Watch Out, Here I Come: what if Stede had been intentionally seducing Ed? Teen

Once More, With Feeling: what if Frenchie just fixed the season 1 finale fiasco because he’s the most capable guy on the ship? Teen

Talent Show: what if Ed was crass about his sexual preferences? Explicit

Capsize on Your Thighs: what if Ed rebounded onto Calico Jack at the end of season 1? Ed/CJ and Ed/Stede (but Ed/Stede is endgame, natch). Explicit

Your Feedback is Important to Us: what if Stede started holding open cabin hours to allow the crew to air their grievances (but was also very repressed and horny over Ed)? Explicit

Oh no Ed’s working through gender/class stuff (but make it funny):

Finery: Ed gets to wear a dress, Stede spontaneously combusts. Explicit

Tell More Tales: Stede isn’t the only writer aboard the Revenge. Explicit

Lovers and Madmen: Ed is hellbent on marrying Stede. Explicit

AUs no-one asked for:

Conflict of Interest: lawyer!Stede/businessman!Ed (read: gangster). Modern AU. Explicit

Intergalactic Tango: Space Waltz AU. Mature

Trade Descriptions Act: bailiff!Ed/estate agent!Stede. Identity theft but make it meet cute. Modern AU. Teen

Baddy Zaddy: Bridget Jones’s Diary style, former porn star turned sex shop owner!Ed/still unfortunately landed gentry!Stede. Novel length modern AU. Explicit

Prize Every Time: You’ve Got Mail-y secret pen pals but also business rivals. Novel length modern AU. Explicit

Your Favourite Song: locksmith!Ed/museum curator!Stede. Kinktober fill that somehow isn’t E rated. Modern AU. Teen

Draft Letter to Restaurant Downstairs: Google Docs AU with a (slightly) interactive element. Modern AU. Teen

Blind Date: Stede and Jeffrey Fettering go on a blind date at Ed’s restaurant. I think you know where this is going. Modern AU. Explicit

Different Dimension: ficlet that crams four and a bit AUs into 850 words. Modern AU. Teen

Stuck Still: British holiday resort AU feat. events manager!Stede and bartender turned fairy!Ed (it makes sense in the story I swear). Modern AU. Explicit

On the Job: “kidnapping” meet cute (but not actually. Again, I swear it makes sense in the story). Modern AU. Teen

Starring Jason Statham: another weird meet cute, courtesy of Jack and the Fast and Furious franchise. Stede/Jack, Ed/Jack and Ed/Stede (Ed/Stede is once again end game). Modern AU. Teen

West Ham Is for Lovers: Lucius has a new job. It's going fine. Completely, totally fine. A meet cute fic about meet cutes. Ed/Stede but also Lucius/Pete, Lucius/Fang, Lucius/Izzy and Lucius/Olu/Jim. Modern AU. Teen

Oh no there’s been a containment breach (aka non-Blackbonnet fics):

We Do What We Like (and We Like What We Do): A brief history of Ed and Jack. Explicit (Ed/CJ)

Fealty: Stede and Izzy make one another even more miserable. Mature (Stede/Izzy)

Contra Proferentem: Ed is a high powered lawyer and Professor of Law at the University of Cambridge. Lucius is not a high powered lawyer but he is a lecturer of English Lit at the University of Cambridge. Stede own a very nice cafe. Explicit (platonic Ed/Lucius, Ed/Stede, no cheating involved)

#ofmd #ofmd fanfic #my fics

[spreens]

got any spare entity grian hcs? spare hcs, no?

anon come kiss me. this videogame was my fixation for like two years straight I hope you're ready for this absolute nonsense. liberal use of fanon below

SO! As a quick primer for any hermitcraft fans who don't know what DBD is, it's an asymmetrical survival horror. You either play as a survivor in teams of 4, or a killer playing solo. Your goal as a survivor is to complete the objectives and escape without dying, and your goal as a killer is to kill all the survivors before they can escape. It's a lot more gory and complex than that but it's a basic overview.

We're putting those guys aside for now, because our focus is on The Entity. The Entity is the big bad force driving the trials (games) and is the one that forces both survivors and killers to participate. The Entity feeds off strong emotions to survive and grow in power, and is generally Very Fucked Up and Very Bad.

(Art by Inkary. as seen, very fucked up and evil looking)

The Entity is also full of hubris. This is where game canon stops and we head into hc territory. In this au, The Entity is a dimensional creature in it's infancy, and did what it had to do to survive, re: the trials. This brutal method proved to be so successful that it overextended itself and brought far too many survivors and killers into the fold, stretching it's influence and making it impossible to recognise the whispers of dissent between survivors and killers alike.

The Entity at it's core is a biological thing, so with much effort the survivors and killers managed to collaborate and escape, leaving The Entity stretched thin, damaged, and without a food source. (The concept of escaping/biological entity is explored in these fics. 50k and 1.5mil words respectively, not exactly an afternoon read)

This leaves us with a very weak, starving Entity. The Entity remakes itself, drags itself into the bottom of an untouched world, and waits- either for someone weak enough to feed off of comes along, or for itself to die.

Along comes a certain voidwalker by the name of Xisuma scoping out the world. The Entity strikes, desperate, and fails. This world abides by rules so alien and unfamiliar that it's not hard for Xisuma to subdue the sudden threat and investigate further. With the interaction of Administrator magic, the world recognises that The Entity is something that isn't meant to be, and fixes the outlier by turning it into a player, something that is both The Entity and also it's own being.

This player is (the beginnings of) Grian. There's a bit of inbetween stuff but here's some loose headcannons for the soul:

- Grian's body is largely maintained by Xisuma's magic, both as a voidwalker and administrator. He's getting the hang of maintaining his own body with the energy he receives, but it always ends up looking just a little spidery, pointy, and doll-like, much to his chagrin.

- Grian isn't all that powerful, despite horrifying appearances. The laws of the world work against him constantly, and it's only through his status change from glitch to player does the world not unravel him entirely.

- Grian is still an emotivore, but the passions of the Hermits for their projects and each other is a sustainable enough food source for him to live normally with a little hunger.

- Xisuma is the only one that knows what Grian is or truly looks like. Some of the more perceptive hermits (or those in the wrong place at the wrong time) may have a vaguer idea of his origins.

- Xisuma tentatively trusts Grian not to ruin everything, and in turn Grian trusts Xisuma to maintain his human form and rein him in if he shows signs of slipping.

- When not maintained, Grian's hitbox is MASSIVE. This clues the redstoners and mechanic-exploiters into the fact that something Might Be Up.

- The passive emotion from the hermits sometimes isn't enough, so Grian whips up these massive events and games to get the blood pumping and fuel up his reserves.

- As seen, they're usually pretty tame and lighthearted. He toed the line with Demise though, and ended up feeling really bad about it at the conclusion.

- He's emotional and feels as alive as any other hermit. He wrestles with his past and gradually learns to accept his old actions as something he originally did, and vowed to never do again. Not when this all felt so good. Guilt moments over decades of torture while being an instinctual dimensional being.

- 3rd Life was... something bad. Will explore more on it later.

#entity!grian #grian #word vomit momence :sparkles: #hermitcraft #chirps #text #tw body horror #sort of? #for that entity pic #hc #asks #anon