#i cannot control the warriors

[bokettochild]

Febuwhump Day 25: (alt) "I Love You"

What's this? Day 25 when I haven't even posted previous days? Yes. Warriors was giving me brainrot and this thing sort of just spit itself out last night after a pot of coffee and rotting on my couch for hours.

Heads up, this story is set in the TBBU universe, so yes, we have an original character here: Sablya. My apologies if you hate OCs, she's actually pretty prominent in this story and yes, in a relationship with a Link, so DLDR if that bothers you at all <3

Rating: Teen

Wordcount: 4,626

Summary: Hit with a dark curse, the boys must seek out a user of shadow magic in order to help them. Luckily for them, Warriors knows someone. Unluckily for him, it's his ex-wife.

-

There's a particular brand of hurt that comes from words. 

Simple words, words that once meant something precious, can turn into a knife that wrenches at the heart, and even when they’re meant with love, with care, with every amount of innocence, they still have the ability to plunge deep and strike a vein, severing sanity in their wake. 

Warriors knows this, has known this. Since his mother’s first “I’m proud of the man you’ve become” had sounded, the very day when he most dreaded speaking to her to admit what he’d done; what he’d done for her and the girls; he’s known that words full of love can cause pain. 

Words spoken in ire, somehow, cause less. 

Given the choice between the two, the captain doesn’t know what he wants to receive when he enters the house. With his brothers behind him, in need, struggling under the burden of a dark curse that’s wound its way, tight, about them, he knows the need to hurry, to not linger. There’s only person in all Hyrule who can assist them at this moment, but that doesn’t make facing her any easier than all the other times he’s dared to try and do so. 

The very concept of courage, when he stands at the doors of his own house, is a dart of pain to his pride, given how he, the hero, lacks it so just to walk through a door. 

Does he want the screams, the pain and tears, the agonized look in warm amber eyes, or does he want something warm that will pierce and burn at a heart still in pieces from when last he faced her? He’s not sure. He’s not sure which would hurt more. He’s not sure which would be easier to survive. 

“Are we almost there?” The desperation that colors words that should be annoyed, should be spoken with that signature put upon tone that’s nearly permanent from their vet, only further drives how his own hesitation is itself causing harm. The boys are all dragging, all pained, but to add the pain of their newly acquired curse to pain that already made function a struggle- he needs to get the help, and soon. 

“Just a bit further, vet, I promise.” He tries to sound confident, assuring, warm, but he falls short.  

Castletown really does bring out the worst in him, doesn’t it? He can’t even manage to be a comfort to the others while they’re here. 

Eyes follow their weary forms curiously, although some skirt away, wary of the eaten down men and boys, armed to the teeth and clearly desperate, although for what, it’s doubtful the townsfolk know. It's a sharp contrast to their usual warmth towards him in the wake of the war, but then again, his scarf is absent. 

 The blue fabric hangs from Twilight’s shoulders, supporting the weight of their smithy who, for reasons none can name, has been affected the most, and thus is worst off of all of them. In the wake of the wizzrobes attack, what must have been a week ago now, the smithy has been listless, fevered, and in enough agony that walking seems entirely outside of his ability for the moment. 

They need only last a bit longer though. They wander the streets at his tail, the boys leaning on each other heavily. Some had taken worse to the dark spell, others are still coping, and some, like the vet, are pushing their every limit to keep going. Goddesses, he can’t afford to hesitate, not with the like this. 

Still, when the door looms ahead of him, his feet stutter and falter all the same, and though likely, he could excuse it as the curse, he knows the reason his mouth goes dry and stomach lurches has nothing to do with magic at all. 

“Cap?” Sky’s looking back at him, past the blonde head resting on his shoulder, the sailor likewise struggling to keep pace having resulted in the skyloftian offering aid. Concern shines in crystal eyes, and it takes more effort than he’s got in him to try to smile back. 

“I’m fine.”  

He doesn’t even care that they all clearly don’t believe him. None of them have it in them to call him out though, and honestly, he’s a little thankful for that as he forces his feet to move again. 

“We’re here.” 

His hand stalls at the door. 

Hyrule knocks, dark eyes dim as they turn up to him, worry the only thing still shining in them. 

Goddesses, he needs to get over himself. These boys need him, need him to pull himself up by his bootstraps and ask his wife for help. For them. For their sakes. 

The door opens with a familiar creaking, and despite his every attempt to steal himself for it, the sight of her still makes his breath catch in his throat. 

Sablya is not so afflicted, and for a terrible moment, he half thinks the door will fly shut in his face, only... 

Only, Hyrule’s hand has caught onto him for support. Only, Four and Wind are hanging from their older brothers’ shoulders. Only, Legend is swaying on his feet, even with the support of a cane to keep him upright. Cold though she’s turned to him, Sablya’s always had a bleeding heart, and whatever hurts he’s caused won’t stop her from seeing kids in need of help. 

“What do you want?” 

“Help. Please.” It’s a struggle to meet her eyes, to hold her gaze knowing full well what he’ll find. For them though, he manages. “They’re cursed, it’s-” 

“Dark magic,” the words roll, accented and thick, like a cold wave over him. The door creaks again, just like it did the last time he made it inside; has she not had it fixed? “Come. Enter.” 

With what strength he can muster, he scoops the traveler up and into the house, passing her by even as she darts towards the rest, offering a weak smile and steady hands to guide the rest inside. He doesn’t watch, even though he wants to, wants to see her warmth, even if it’s not turned on him. He doesn’t though, he pushes down the narrow hall and into the main room, and there he stops. 

It’s almost like he never left. 

There are no toys scattered on the floor, but the box still remains, tucked in one corner. Pictures, books, all the same, have only moved as much as needed for cleaning. The furniture is still in its place and muscle memory urges him to wind around it to his own chair before the fire. 

He doesn’t. He settles Hyrule down on the couch, soothing curly hair absently, thoughtlessly, before dragging his aching body back towards the door. He passes her on the way, Wild curled in her arms. They don’t exchange even a look, but his heart still stutters at the ease she carries the younger hero, the familiar worried crease between her brows. 

Twilight and Sky are the least effected so far, and they follow behind his wife, bringing the smallest two after. Time though is struggling, and while the weight of him is different from only a year ago, it still feels natural somehow to loop an arm over his shoulders and whisper encouragement to the man as they follow Legend’s limping figure into the house. 

“Armor off,” is the order once they’ve made it in, door shut and the group of them gathered in the family room. It’s cramped, for ten people, but at least with the furniture as it is, but it doesn’t matter. “Tell me what happened.” 

She’s already looking over Wind, dark hands cradling his ashen face like she used to with their son when he’d fallen and give himself a bloody nose or some other such injury. 

“A curse,” Legend explains. “It was a wizzrobe. Don’t know what kind.” His breath is short, even as he’s crumpled down to sit at Hyrule’s feet, head leant against the couch arm. “None of our magic is any good and it’s- it’s affecting us physically as well.” 

Amber eyes fall to stare at the lad, brows kitting together again. “How so?” 

“Shortness of breath-” as though it wasn’t apparent “-pain-” 

“Where?” 

A shudder. “Everywhere.” 

Her skirts rustle as she sinks down to be level with the scholar, hand lifted. “Where is it worst?” 

Pink hair flies. “It’s not like that.” 

“Explain then.” Her tone is soft, but firm. 

Legend explains. He explains with words Warriors has seen in books on magic, but which he doesn’t know for himself. Sablya understands though, despite her hylian apparently still not being strong, and with prompting and feedback from the vet, she seems to get an idea of what it is that’s plaguing them. In the meantime, he leans at the couch’s back, hands mindlessly sinking to stroke curly heads and assure, as best he can, his little brothers. 

“I think I understand,” the words have relief flooding over them, some of the boys even shedding a tear or two at the sound, “may I try something?” 

“Go nuts.” Legend answers through a weary, pained smile. 

It startles them, he supposes, to see the way darkness coalesces at her command, but when her hand rests against the vet’s chest, her voice low with the command to match his breath to her own, he sees tension bleed from the lad’s shoulders, resulting in something like a soft sob. 

“Got it.” She moves to Wind next, although she orders, again, for the rest to remove their armor. “I cannot help you if there is a barrier. Take off the armor, I will help the children.” 

It’s a struggle, in their weakened state, to get it off. Getting it on had been the same, but the risk of going without was too high considering the condition they’ve been in. It takes them all helping, or at least, those who wear it help each other, the vet’s hands joining after he sees to catch a breath. 

Wind sags in relief when dark hands lift from him, and the vet moves to his side, gathering the younger up and waiting until Sablya has finished with Hyrule as well before pullng the traveler close as well. Both lads sink into him, nestling together, no longer in pain but fully drained from it’s effects. 

Four is next, and then, because it is Twilight beside him, she quickly attends the rancher, although it’s only a second before she’s done. For reasons they can’t be certain of, but which the scholar had speculated might be in relation to magic exposure, the ranch hand had been least affected. While there’s still a sag to his shoulders as the hands of the captain’s wife lift from him, it’s not so much as to stop him pulling Four close with a soft hum, supporting the weight of the slumbering hero while their savior moves on to Wild next. 

He tries not to watch, he does. He can’t help it though. He's missed her, even if thoughts of returning here have left him ill at ease and fumbling for ages. He can almost pretend, as he watches her drift between his brothers, that nothing happened. He’s home, she’s there, and save the lacking presence of a small child running about at their feet or tucked onto a hip or against a chest, it’s almost like nothing ever happened. 

When all eight of the other heroes have been tended, she pauses. He sees her eyes drift to him, has to drop his gaze when it does, but she doesn’t step his way with that brisk step, with the determination that was turned on the rest. No, she lingers a moment. 

“There are rooms upstairs. You are welcome to rest there.” 

“Are you sure?” Twilight’s the only one with it left in him to speak, but the wide eyed stares of the rest convey their doubt and wariness. 

Red hair swings free with her nod, drifting from where she’d hurriedly tucked it back while tending them. “You are guests, and you need rest. The children need to sleep, you all do, if you want to recover.” 

“Thank you.” 

“It is nothing.” Her smile is tight. “Please, make yourselves at home.” 

Eyes turn to him, but he nods. He motions them along and, while the weight of magic still hangs from his shoulders, wrapping tight and making everything a pain, he just motions towards the doorway. “Stairs are at the end of the hall. Take any room that isn’t the first one on the right.” 

The rancher’s brows raise, and the stares of the rest turn confused, but neither he nor his wife give answer. No, instead, she scoops Wind into her arms and, with a warning look nobody would dare disobey, not even Mask, she orders the rest of the younger boys to stay put. 

“No straining yourself. I will get you.” 

Such orders are not turned to Twilight and Sky, and the two men follow her out of the room, Four and Hyrule in their arms to be settled down. Usually, he’d demand they eat something before turning in for the night, but between the nausea and the exhaustion, he sees no reason to even try and suggest it. They need their sleep. They can eat when they don’t feel near ready to drop. 

 His wife is back a minute or so later, sweeping past him to gather Legend, only to be redirected to their champion. “I can last,” the teen vet assures, “get him first.” 

She tuts at that, but listens. She doesn’t fight it, likely because she’s learned through experience with him that it’s pointless. It's only a short while later though that she’s back for the vet, and by then Time has mustered the strength to stand and follow. 

 Briefly, on his way out, their leader’s good eye falls on him, silent question hanging heavy, but he just grips the shoulder of the other in assurance. “I’ll be fine, just go rest.” 

“Who is-” 

“Someone we can trust,” and they are words that, from him at least, the others have all learned are never spoken lightly, can themselves be trusted. “Just go, sap. She and I need to talk anyway.” 

There’s lingering curiosity there, but Time obeys. The man is too worn down, too tired from the last week, to likely even last through the long mess that would be answering all his questions. Time heads from the room, and while the house is a sturdy one, steps are heard overhead soon enough, signifying the motions of the boys to the rooms kept ready, at least while this house was still his home, for the presence of sisters, friends, and visiting family. 

It leaves him alone. 

Alone in a familiar room that’s his, but which feels wrong to linger in. The urge to wander, to stare, to take in the husk of the past, battles with the intense guilt of intrusion that he feels, even in his own home. Does he stay, waiting about for her to return? Does he wander freely, go where he will? He’s not been back since his first day returned from the war, and even then, he never made it past the hall. Is he okay to go to the kitchen and brew some tea for what will, no doubt, end up being a very tense night? Is he even allowed upstairs into their bedroom? Is he sleeping down here? With one of the boys? 

He drags a hand through his hair and, for lack of anything better to do with himself, sits on the couch. Here, he’s least likely to cross the boundaries he can’t see, and here is where she’s most likely to look for him once she’s satisfied that young heroes are safely abed and no longer suffering. 

Briefly, he hears steps pass. Briefly, he hears the familiar clatter in the kitchen. For a moment, the steps creak, skirts swishing up them with the brisque pace she always sets when worried or tense.  It’s a moment later when the same sounds return again, getting louder as she returns to the main floor. She’s stalling, he thinks. Tending her guests by providing medicine for pain, blankets for warmth, and no doubt water for drinking and washing both. He’s glad the boys will have it, but every time her feet pass by the door, he finds himself tensing, panicking for a moment that now is the time he has to face her, and now he won’t have them here to act as a distraction for either of them. She just heads back up though, and he’s breathing in relief only to sigh it all out again in frustration with himself. 

He needs to man up. She’s his wife for the love of Hylia! Yet even so, facing her is as daunting as walking up to face Cia, although his reasons are different. Against Cia, he was afraid for himself, afraid of her. Against Sablya, he’s afraid to shatter further what’s already so broken, afraid that somehow, he will cross the line of no return. It's not about failing with her, it’s the fact that he already has, and the question of how much worse he’ll make it. 

“Your breath is bad enough, do not make it worse with a panic.” 

Despite her words, his breath catches in his throat at the sound of her voice.  

Her feet tap on the floor as she walks, but there’s a certain hesitance to each step. There's not the usual confidence in her pace, even if she crosses the room at the same speed as she would any other time, as she did just moments before when tending their guests. He risks a glance when the steps stop, and she’s standing in the middle of the room, facing him. He can’t manage to meet her eyes though. 

“Armor off, I said. How do I fix the curse if you have it on?” She clucks her tongue, hands settling on her hips and, no doubt, golden eyes are staring down at him. He can feel their weight, but he can’t meet them. “Tch, come now, will you make this hard?” 

The urge to remind her that the phrase in Hylian is “being difficult” rises in his mind, but he doesn’t say it. If anything, her attempts at the language are still endearing, even if her tongue is sharp as she says them. 

He shifts, moving to shed the offensive attire. He’d forgotten, in the midst of aiding Time with removing his plate, that the mail he wears like a second skin these days was still on him. It’s heavy, yes, but it’s also familiar and grounding after so long wearing it for every waking moment. It’s almost a part of him these days, and shedding it is strange. 

It’s strange to be without. 

It’s strange having her eyes on him while he does so, even despite the fact that they’re married, that she’s seen him with much, much less. It’s different now though. They’re different. They haven’t been the young, happy couple- the one that stares back from pictures around the room; that smiles, arms around each other- in a very long time. Not since the war started. 

He fumbles. Between the uncertainty and the curse that still lingers over him, his hands struggle with the buckles, the straps, never mind getting at the chain mail beneath it all. His hands tremble worse than normal, and even when he stops to master his breath, to try and calm himself, it only makes it worse. 

Sablya clucks her tongue at him, and he can hear her hair swish over her shoulders with the shaking of her head, even as her feet tap across the distance between them. She’s moving closer, but that doesn’t change the fact that when she reaches out, hands brushing his arm, he still surges back. 

She’s not Cia, she’s not, she’s nothing like. Still, he didn’t expect the contact, the hands, and all over again he must fight to re-steady his breath. 

“You will not do this. You are weak; struggling.” He needs help, he hears, and his heart bleeds for it. Despite all, this woman will still stand there and offer aid, after everything he’s put her through, made her lose, all the hurt he’s brought to her life. “Let me.” She sighs. 

So, he does. He drops his hands and only moves as she tells him, lifting his arm to let her get at the buckles beneath. In the back of his mind, a memory of her strapping those buckles herself, helping him gird himself for departure, for the war, plays in his head. Then, as now, her eyes had held a certain determination, one mixing with a sadness she refused to speak aloud.  

“How you do these things to yourself, I do not know.” She murmurs. It’s not addressed to him specifically as far as he can tell, but he can’t help wincing at it anyway. 

Does he answer? Apologize? Does he laugh it off as he might once have done to try and earn one of those wry smiles she would turn on him when they were young? Gods, he speaks like a man long aged, but the years spent courting, teasing, laughing and cheerful, they seem a lifetime ago. 

Her hands are steady as they work the buckles, pulling belts free and finally lifting his pauldron away. He doesn’t need the help with his vambraces as badly, but she still moves on to them; his arm rested on her knees as she settles beside him, knee brushing his own and skirts folding over to drape over his legs as well as her own. She doesn’t move, he’s not sure if she notices, but he does. He can’t help but notice. 

“Thank you.” He still can’t meet her eyes, and he doubts they will lift from where they work at leather straps. His own linger on her hands, moving deftly through their work. “For helping them.” 

“It is the right thing.” She states simply, pulling free the vambrace and reaching for his other hand. She catches him by the wrist, grip fleeting, gone the moment he is where she wants him. “They do not deserve to suffer.” 

He, who still sits with the curse heavy on him, perhaps does. 

“They are heroes?” 

He nods. She would know. He’s not sure how, but this woman isn’t the sort he could hide anything from, not ever. “Across time, yes.” 

A nod, sharp. Her eyes remain lowered, but long hair falls over them. The urge to push it back, tuck it behind her ear, wells up within, but he stomps it down again. Chances are, she would welcome his touch as freely as he had hers just moments before, and the risk of it, of her potential rejection... he’s too much a coward to face it. 

Silence hangs heavy between them as she removes the vambrace, setting it aside before moving, without stuttering, for his belt. It makes him pause, but he allows it. Lets her work the buckle of the baldric, his great belt, pulling them free and lying them aside. She’s methodic as she moves to aid him with his over tunic, and he lets her pull it free, shifting as he must to accommodate. 

The mail is so much harder. He has to stand for that, and she follows after, both working to lift it free in an awkward tangle that would, at one time, have made them laugh together, at each other, at themselves. He would, maybe, have joked something, he can’t remember what, but he can’t. Words catch in his throat with her standing oh so close, determined stare fixed on him, on getting him free from the heavy shirt, and despite all else changing, the way she makes him breathless has not. At last though, it is free, and he’s standing there, defenseless, unarmed, unguarded, before piercing eyes that linger for a moment, hands that, by habit, smooth the shoulders of his shirt before starting away. 

He wants to say something. Wants a word to come to him, to pierce the silence that hangs heavy between them. Nothing comes to mind though, only the urge to apologize, again, and again after, for everything. For himself, for his failures, for...until she tells him to stop. 

“Sit.” She huffs, pushing back against him with the hand not holding his shed armor. “I will put it away.” 

He obeys, sinking back onto the couch, now without the weight the mail brings to weigh him down. Somehow, he feels heavier without it. 

She doesn’t take long with the armor. Really, it’s a matter of moving across the room to set it down beside everyone else’s; a mess for the morning once they’ve got the energy and strength to tackle it, or, more likely, do it again to depart and return to their work. He can’t imagine them being welcome past what’s necessary for them to recover, and his house or no, it’s hers as well. He doesn’t want her stuck with them just because they need somewhere to rest, not when the castle isn’t far at all, and he has rooms there already. 

Her steps are slow this time as she returns, motions more hesitant as she reclaims the seat at his side. She’s more conscious, he thinks, of how she settles herself, and there is no brushing against each other save as is necessary; only her hand settling over his chest. Her breath is slow, controlled, but it trembles slightly. “Match me.” 

It’s hard. It’s so hard. She’s leaning so close, all dark eyes and long lashes and fine features he could look at for an eternity. The slope of her nose, her cheeks, the way red hair curls so softly at the ends to caress dappled skin, the spots of pale flesh interspersed over the dark, it’s got his full focus, and his breath catches repeatedly for it. 

“Focus.” She hisses, wincing the words, hand lifting for a moment from where it presses, warm, against his chest. 

He tries. 

Her chest swells, shoulders tensing, and he draws breath in. Her hair flutters, drawn lines loosening, and he exhales. In and out, matching to her and feeling the familiar weight of her magic ease around him, slipping beneath the curse’s bonds and lifting free, like a small blade cutting away awry stitching, working slowly, pulling, lifting and prying until the weight of it is gone and he’s left sagging back into the cushions, breath heavy despite no effort being required on his part. 

Her hands slips away, dragging slightly over fabric. 

He should say something. 

“You are fixed. Rest now.” She doesn’t say his name. She won’t, he thinks, and golden eyes dart away as she stands, brushing hands down her skirt and moving for the stairs. 

He should say something. 

“Goodnight.” She says to the darkness in the hall, tone clipped, yet hesitant before she slips away. 

His gaze is trapped on the walls, unable to turn to follow her. He needs to answer. 

Her feet tap away. 

 “I love you.”  

A stumble, a hitching of breath and then- the creak of the steps, the swish of a skirt, hands that fall heavy on the banister and then a shutting door.  

Blonde hair hits the old couch, worn hands dragging through. The weight of the curse was almost better than that of the silence that answers his treacherous words. Words hurt, those that love, but silence pierces ever sharper in answer to them, and devested of his armor, he is but a man before it’s blow. 

#sablya #lu warriors #linked universe #linkeduniverse #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhump #don't come for me #writing this was a fever dream #they are in control #i cannot control the warriors #or apparently sablya #link x oc

[the-owl-tree]

If hollyleaf were one of the three what do you think her power would be 🤨🎤

suggestion. i thought i was so soooo clever when i was younger when i "figured out" hollyleaf could make people do what she wanted (or at least push them to do it) but she couldn't discern her power from her regular speech. then the arc ended and i was like HA nice try erins- wait what do you mean dovewing is actually the third

#warrior cats #deer rambles #basically: mind control but she cant control it #i cannot remember any examples as to why i so heavily believed this #like i just legit thought i had Figured It Out

[bonefall]

i know that you’ve mentioned the Oakstar Pinestar Tigerstar Bramblestar leader lineage, but have you ever talked about the medicine cats, with Leafpool Jayfeather Alderheart?

I haven't spoken about them yet! I think it's because, unfortunately, I have a lot less good to say about the concept

It frustrates me that the Medcat role is supposed to be sacred, special, and the ONLY social role in the Clan that can stand up to the leader because of its separation; and TWICE in ThunderClan, unwilling cats were forced into it.

With the Tiger leader lineage, I think all of them make really compelling antagonists and there's a line of both ambition and trauma that's fun to talk about, how they end up taking that out on their families and the societies they're responsible for.

But with Leaf/Jay/Alder, Jay and Alder both did not want the position... and it comes with so many extra restrictions. The fact that two disabled characters (Jay with blindness, Alder with what could be severe anxiety) are forced into vows of celibacy so they can be 'useful' to their societies REALLY badly bothers me.

Especially Alder, because the opening of AVOS is miserable. The scene where he's forced into the role in Apprentice's Quest is gutwrenching to me, and then later in River of Fire when Velvet is in camp, Jayfeather has to try to enforce that celibacy vow and... ugh! I don't like it!

And they don't, y'know, frame it like it's a horrifying thing either, or... anything, good OR bad. It wasn't even until Thornclaw was complaining in TBC that they even made a point about all of the major positions of power being filled up by Firekin.

This rant has been really unfocused, but I guess the difference is like... the Oak/Pine/Tiger/Bramble succession adds a lot to the idea of a running prestige in their lineage that contrasts with the horrible things they did with their power.

Leaf/Jay/Alder succession felt more like the Erins being unable to stop focusing on Firekin for a SINGLE modern arc, and shoving every disabled member of the family into the den to still be 'special...' which it stops being, because 2/3 of them didn't want to be there.

#I really hope that makes sense LMAO #Alderheart #Jayfeather #Leafpool #Bramblestar #Tigerstar #Pinestar #Oakstar #Warrior Cats Analysis #For my rewrite I'm actually leaning HEAVILY towards Alderheart being raised as a kittypet and being drawn to the clans via his visions #With Velvet being more of a childhood friend he thinks about a lot #He is also not related to Firestar at all because he is the son of Jessie #AVoS my detested #I love the idea of telling Warriors with the approach that it is a flawed society yknow? I think the books are bad at doing that though #which is why I've reduxed the Medcat Vow to be something corrupted into a method of social control #Because it CANNOT exist for a legitimate reason. It's one of the most senseless parts of the entire thing. #It ONLY makes sense when you interpret it cruelly. #Alderheart deserved better #And also he shouldn't have been a main character dying on this hill #Even for the parts of AvoS I reread for this I was like ''wow I wish we were with Sleekpaw and Needlepaw rn''

[seduceme-lovestruck-thearcana]

PLAYING GOD OF WAR RAGNARÖK VALHALLA AND GUYS.

I-

I LITERALLY HAD TYR (I don’t have the little y accent) AT HIS LAST PURPLE HEALTH BAR AND WAS SO CLOSE TO BEATING HIM WHEN HE STABBED ME ONCE AND GOT ME.

I’m literally so pissed y’all. I could’ve finished it. Could’ve ended it but….no.

#me playing games #god of war ragnarok #god of war Ragnarök valhalla #I’m literally SO angry guys. I was so close to screaming ‘NO’ #but I controlled my anger and now have to fight 6 beasts all over again and go through like 3 doors and THEN #fight Valhalla’s chosen and then ANOTHER WARRIOR AND THEN TYR #I cannot take this😭😭 #I would look up the ending but I don’t want to do that

[neteyamsilly]

i will soften every edge, hold the world to its best | 6

summary ;; This is the reality of Jake Sully: the father and Olo'eyktan of the People cannot coexist, Eywa teaches her lessons in the toughest ways. PART 5 | NEXT (wip) pairings ;; dad!jake sully x reader, mom!neytiri x reader, sully family x reader genre ;; pure angst and family feels notes / explanations ;; well this took a hot minute. am back on my bs WARNING for violence and t0rture, reader discretion is advised. Please excuse my mistakes if you see any!

Jake moved on pure primitive instinct, unbridled arctic rage honing all his senses into one laser point of focus. It wasn’t survival, and it surely wasn’t prey running from predator, there was nothing noble about what he was trying to achieve. 

That avatar was going to die today, and Jake was going to make it hurt. No fair game. No warrior’s death. No respect. 

Devoid of the shape of humanity or the ties that bound him to it, he was the embodiment of a creature’s killer intent, body taking over and consciousness disappearing to the backseat as he catapulted his tomahawk at the avatar, taking advantage of the miniscule opening provided by a magazine change needed after emptying all of his bullets to a Jake luring him into wasting his resources away. 

The dull squelch of the hand-carved ax’s head plunging into flesh couldn’t be dampened by the avatar’s choked and short shout, and Jake was jumping out of cover in no time, a bull to red, advancing towards the man, footsteps not hidden out of having no concern for it at all, let him panic or try to struggle for all Jake cared. 

Opposite of what he expected, the rifle wasn’t picked up or fumbled to aim at him. The avatar, pale in the face and pupils having devoured the yellow, fear trumping the pain of his arm almost sliced off from shoulder, crawled away on his back from Jake in full speed, getting up before Jake could reach him, and started staggering into the forest, dropping the tomahawk in the process. 

Jake stopped in his tracks for a moment and picked his weapon up, the dark liquid glistening purple in the light of the Tree of Souls, droplets of blood making the moss light up as they hit the ground. His chest heaved in controlled, loud breaths, mouth pulled back in a snarl, watching the pathetic son of a bitch trying to get away. 

He was one of the lot who’d shot you, hurt you, tortured you — simply to get a reaction out of Jake. 

He was the one who pulled Jake away before he could fix his mistakes, undo the damage they had done, and get you back. 

Jake was so close. So close. 

You were there. You were right there. He could still feel you in his arms, his shoulder imprinted with your tears, shiest of smiles at a better future he could build with you from the burnt soil of your relationship. 

If it hadn’t been for him… 

That man was your murderer. 

He deserved the hell of a father’s making.

This avatar was a marine — and the fucking idiot was running into the oblivion blind worse than a normal civilian would in this situation, had all those years of training evaporated in one second? Jake’s steps were determined, yet lax following after the guy, nose picking up the trail of blood left behind, eyes watching the red splatters. This was all Hansel and Gretel for him, playing follow the breadcrumbs.

The sound of thumping, frantic running, bumping into obstacles, crashing into flora, all was distinguishable from the natural song of the forest Jake had gotten so familiar with in these fifteen years. No response came from the avatar, but Jake wasn’t hurrying. He would have him. Let the bastard tire himself out first — but he wouldn’t let him die. No. He could smell the fear, the blood, anger at bay, all ice, knowing the trees would carry all the sounds he needed to Jake. He could hear exactly where the avatar was. and If he was hoping he’d bleed himself out faster than Jake could reach him to save himself from what was going to happen, well… 

He’d better start praying for mercy to whatever deity held his worthless faith, because Jake had none of it. They had no mercy for you, his sinless, innocent child, all but wails and yelps and blood, and apologies for it. 

Every time Jake thought of you in that tremendous pain to the brink of delirium, he burned in his heart’s ice until he was black and purple all over. Your smile was so real, your embrace was tiny and warm in his arms and he had a chance, the only chance no parent could ever get in this life. Jake had dissolved together with that mirage.   

The part of him engulfed in flames wanted to end this quickly and painfully—to burn it all, break that man in, scream his lungs out, the other part of him, frozen fury that scalded over in the loss of you, wanted to draw it out, wanted to inflict never-ending pain, to bring the avatar back from the brink of death over and over again just to repeat it in a cycle. 

His child. His baby. 

The ties that held Jake together were getting pulled tight, the pressure building like deep water currents, thinner threads snapping and crackling, body being pulled to all five directions from all five limbs. Awareness went out and barged its way back in hot flashes, he couldn’t comprehend the passing of time and how long he let your murderer catch the delusion of shaking Jake off his tail — but, his instincts knew to reveal himself before the avatar could be claimed by blood loss. 

Dangling hope right in front of his face just to snatch it away wasn’t enough. It could never be enough compared to you who had dragged your own corpse back home, muted to your own pain cocooned between those who should have meant nothing but home and safety to you. Torture. You had lived torture in your last hours with help just one step, one word away. 

Nothing would ever be enough.  

Jake emerged from the thick flora like the grim reaper himself who would always be waiting right at the spot of the reaping wherever the soul ran away to, detached and unimpressed, blank face not reflecting the scorched soul inside. The almost passed out avatar jolted awake when he smelled the smoke from Jake’s shadow falling on him, and could only press his back further to the body of the cluster of big rocks he had taken shelter against as if somehow becoming one with it could shield him away from Jake’s wrath.  

The man’s breathing was getting louder and shakier the more Jake stood there motionless. “C’mon then,” he said between clenched teeth, spasming hand dropping from his mutilated shoulder, squaring up the last drops of his courage. “Get on with it.”

Jake’s whitened fingers were making noise against the handle of his tomahawk, but his voice was hauntingly hollow, unfeeling now that he had the man right in his palm. “Thought I should let you live what you did to my daughter first.”

The avatar began to scream. “Fuck you, man, we didn’t do none of this shit to that kid—”

Jake’s tone didn’t change, but it cut worse than a knife. “You killed my kid.”

His eyes widened, breath hitching, the reality of what was coming to him finally sinking in and Jake witnessed every panicked second of it. “Fuck…” His gaze wildly alternated between Jake and the tomahawk, raising his better, trembling hand up for feeble defense. “Look, look, listen, we didn’t kill her, alright? We patched her up, okay, she was going to be a prisoner, what happened happened because you engaged in battle, we wouldn’t do that to a—AGH!”

He was interrupted by Jake sharply shoving the head of the tomahawk into his injury, just putting it in there, not moving it further down. “Do you have children, marine?”

The man palmed at the weapon, fingernails digging into the wood, but no matter how much he pushed, it didn’t budge one bit. “Stop, stop! Fuck—”

Jake repeated again, firmer. “I asked you a question, do you have children?”

“No!— No, god, argh!” 

He spaced out for a while, watching him squirm and trash to get away with defeated, half-assed attempts, also unable to because of how much of an immovable object Jake was making the weapon buried in the open wound be. It would hit the bone if he used more strength. 

With a fixed, stony stare, Jake removed the tomahawk, waiting for the man’s deplorable whimpers to recede before breaking him the news like reading it off a doctor’s report. “You won’t get to have any.”

He didn’t look like he cared about something like that, but the man knew his fate insinuated by the words. Nevertheless,it didn’t mean he could be free from the survivor’s instinct’s mood swings his body was putting him through. Denial to bargaining within minutes. “Just kill me already, you deserter piece of—”

“Oh, no, no no,” Jake reassured, the only flicker of emotion he had shown since he’d cornered the avatar. “You won’t get to die for a long time, either.” 

The avatar grunted, head falling down before he started to shake it. “Please just let it end—man, just let it end, I’m sorry, okay, please!” A whole body-trembling begging shifted to anger the more Jake remained non-responsive. Watching. Just watching. The hole in his chest getting wider the more he fed this man’s suffering to it — it wasn’t enough. “Just fucking do it! Pussy ass bitch! Come on you blue motherfucker, kill me! Kill m—”

“Are you the one who shot my daughter?” 

“What?”

“Are you. The one. Who shot my daughter?”

The avatar’s face twisted. “It wasn’t me—it wasn’t—asshole, you already killed the guy, I didn’t fucking do anything!—”

“You... didn’t do anything?”

A beat. The forest fell silent in Jake’s ears. Just like how the noises you made had abruptly died down as he was putting pressure on your wound.

And like that, the thick haze that had Jake desensitized blew over, unadulterated anger rushed to his body, acidic and nauseating, soul stitching back to his limbs by a million needles and he began to shake, face contorting, teeth showing itself, the hiss that lacerated his throat was the most terrifying one of his life yet, it didn’t sound like it belonged to a sentient being, twisted by a grieving, demented animalistic horror. The avatar’s breath hitched, whatever protest and voice he had escaping deep inside his body, ears pinned back to his head. 

“Of course,” Jake glowered, swallowing the scorching stones blocking his throat. He closed his burning eyes, and was greeted by the image of you, opening them back again, and shaking the ax as if it was an accusing finger. 

And without a word of warning, his hand shot down and grabbed the avatar from the neck of his tactical vest, hurling him over the chest-level array of big rocks forming a pointy bed above, ignoring the cries of pain as the abused, torn open flesh of the wound dragged through the sharp teeth of the gravel, dousing them in blood. “Please, please, stop!—I’m sorry, I was wrong, that wasn’t right, shit, shit!”

Jake snatched the man’s dominant arm that was coincidentally the same one dangling by fractured bone and tendons from the shoulder. His soul had known what he wanted right from the start before his brain had processed it. “This hand,” he spat, holding it from the wrist, gnashing his teeth. “that pulled the trigger at me…” 

Murdered his daughter for a second time. 

All a soldier’s worth for. One hand to hold the stock tight against the body and one to fire. All that to take a single life.

Leaning the hand down against the rock in a sudden move, Jake slammed on the blunt, pointy end of the tomahawk on it like he was hammering a nail, the sickening crack of the bones breaking got followed by the avatar’s fractured scream. 

Jake saw you hunched, cheekily laughing in the blue and purple of the creek, freckles glowing because of the eclipse, silhouette illuminated by the floating bioluminescent bugs.  

Spinning the tomahawk in his clammy hand in a full 360 turn, he smashed it down once more, stronger. The metal broke skin and sank into spongy muscle. His ears were buzzing, ringing from how the shrill yells. 

Jake was hugging you after what seemed to be years, and your little arms were clinging to him for life — you were sand slipping from his fingers. 

Jake hammered again. 

You were telling him how mean he was to you, your voice suppressing the avatar’s. 

He brought it down one more time and felt the tomahawk recoil from hitting rock. 

You were bashful as you repeated how Jake would always love you. 

Guttural breaths getting louder with effort each hit, he kept slamming it down until everything was his beautiful little sweet girl. 

Again. 

Again. 

Again. 

Again and again and again and again and again until there was no resistance from the limb anymore and the man had gone silent and it was all mashed meat he was pounding— 

And then he almost plunged it to your bleeding, battered corpse, your stomach covered in reddish brown from the dried brown, body ashen blue, and Jake cried out in terror, jumping back and losing strength in his legs as the tomahawk flew from his hand and he fell over. 

His lungs constricted, refusing to take any breaths in and his heart ricocheted around in his ribcage, he was gaping at the wall of rock now washed red as if it was some white rose painted red in Alice in Wonderland. 

Jake sat there for the longest time, dissociated.

In those moments, he wasn’t Toruk Makto, he wasn’t Olo’eyktan, he wasn’t the pillar of a family of seven. He was simply Jake Sully. 

However, he wasn’t allowed to be stripped down to the bone until all that’s left was a mourning father. That was Jake’s reality. 

He had to cast the crippled man aside, the tragedy of his child away, and bring the leader of the People out right as your ghost rippled in his vision, watching spitefully within the forest — because all you wanted was for him to be your father, and he couldn’t even fucking do that after your death. 

This avatar was a valuable asset, a hostage to question. For the sake of his people. 

He wasn’t allowed revenge. 

A single drop of tear rolled down expressionless face. When he looked down, Jake’s hands were still stained with your blood. 

The only instance a child should be covered in blood is when they come out of their mother’s womb, little lungs being burned with existence for the first time, crying from the pain of being separated from Eywa’s arms, birth mother a complete stranger to them. 

The gore of you barely clinging to life, unmoving, drenched in your own blood, wiped and wiped to the point Neytiri had to change buckets of water until it turned light pink was overlapping with the joyful image of your newborn self she had lovingly and gently cleaned of the remains of labor with wetted mothsilk, skin too sensitive for water for the moment, the blue coming alive as the blood and other clotted bodily fluids were cleansed. 

It wasn’t the broken, ice-cold, lithe body of a young girl Neytiri had cleaned in the torment of her excoriated, unraveling mind, it was her baby’s. Her baby, her poor baby with a gaping hole in the middle of your body, memories marauding Neytiri’s lucidity. 

She lived the moment of your first cleansing over and over again. 

You were a particularly indomitable cryer, Neytiri had known you would be infamous for your battle cries right as she was brought back from the blackout of post-birth by your overly-healthy wailing — or perhaps you would best Ninat as a singer when you’d unapologetically blossom, but one thing was ascertained: her first daughter was a fierce, fiery blue ball of ardor compared to Neteyam, who was almost shy and reluctant in disturbing people around him in his weeping that a collective worry for his health had plagued the whole clan. 

As you squirmed, smeared in chunks of her flesh and blood, as if you wanted to jump off from her arms and start walking already, Neytiri had smiled up at her Jake, your father, unable to take his eyes off you, stuck between awe and laughs that came and went. “She has your heart,” she’d told him, spent and hurting, but wonderfully alive. “Strong.”

He’d traced his thumb through her drenched hairline. “Lungs, you mean?” His scent, wind and hearthfire, had enveloped Neytiri when Jake had leaned down to kiss her forehead. “I think they’re yours.” The teasing about how you had made Neytiri scream in labor wouldn’t have gone unpunished if she wasn’t on the edge of sleep held up only by your crying, so, he’d gotten a light hit on the side of his face instead. But Jake knew how to apologize, he’d always been spectacular at it. “I’d say she takes after me in appearance, look at her little ugly face.”

To Neytiri, you were beautiful, face dark purple from how strong you were screaming, and a mini-village elder with the wrinkles, swinging those little fists — things that made you lovely in her eyes. Her first daughter. 

She had learned motherhood from Neteyam, but she would learn to understand her mother and her choices through you, someone she thought couldn’t be more different from her — Neytiri, all Mo’at could have been, and Mo’at, all Neytiri might have become, once. She prayed you would love her as much as she’d begun to love you the second you were in her arms. 

To think the enormity of her love hadn’t reached you — it was one of the greatest failures of Neytiri’s life. If it had, you’d be wounded, but perfectly conscious and well in her mother’s tent. If it had, you would have been beyond comfortable telling those demons had hurt you. 

In that all-consuming devastation, the woven towel she was using to wipe the thin sheet of sweat that formed on your body slipped from her uncoordinated hands and fell on your chest, and Neytiri had to hold back the breath that spiked to become a hiccup by covering her mouth, and immediately, her curled hand was engulfed in a smaller, five-fingered one. She came eye-to-eye with Kiri after raising her head, putting her other hand on hers at the girl’s more disheveled and messy self, heart dropping to her stomach at the fatigue varnishing an extra layer of moisture in her daughter’s drooping eyes. 

“Oh Kiri,” Neytiri mumbled, caressing her cheek and brushing the tangled hair away from her face. 

“Why don’t you go get some rest, mom, hm?” 

“Even if I somehow agreed to that, I could never agree to leaving my daughter alone in this.”

“I’m fine.” Stopping to take a breath, she sighed, collecting the towel and starting to fold it. “Well, not really fine, but don't worry about me. We’re all miserable here. And that’s natural.” Fiddling with the corners of the cloth, she leaned in a bit and lowered her voice, light reflecting from the yellow of her irises making it look like they shone from within. “I… I know she’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. Eywa has bestowed us a gift she has never given to anyone before and it’s for a reason. I feel that everything will be set right.” She shook her head up and down, determined. “Dad will do it. I know he will.”

Neytiri trusted Kiri with her intuition and understanding when it came to the inscrutable intentions of Eywa, she was closer to the Great Mother than any Tsahik was — so close that she would drift away too much from her family. And deep down, Neytiri was heartsick by this invisible line that separated her from her daughter, any parent in her place would be unsettled like this.

She was also hog-tied to close the distance growing between them because of the human boy Spider and how she would find camaraderie in him in their ‘orphan’ status as she called it. Kiri was already faraway in her obscure existence and unwittingly separated herself as if she didn’t see herself as a real part of the family some days, and Neytiri hated that the ‘kinship’ she’d formed with Spider was planting these ideas into her head when she was her and Jake’s daughter, no more, no less. To overwrite those feelings, she tried so hard to reach Kiri, but was unsettled by the feeling of being hated sometimes, again, more or less for her stance in placing Spider at the outskirts of their family. 

But oftentimes Kiri would express her affection through small, otherwise unnoticeable actions, just like this one, a caring touch and reassurance that could melt an ice cube — and Neytiri basked in the babiest of steps between them. And maybe this was how Jake had it with you, too, she had never thought about it like this before. 

Taking in Neytiri’s solemn silence, Kiri grumbled, suddenly agitated about something. “I just… I just wish I had isirka resin and xhikul seeds for this paste and cover her wound with it. Grandmother’s extract isn’t enough to stimulate the bone marrow and ugh—” The girl groaned with the obvious guilt at groaning in the first place, as well. “I’m sorry, mom, I don’t know what—”

“It’s alright, Kiri,” Neytiri said, weariness blending with tenderness, knowing you’d agree too. You would have probably told her to not waste her energy and wait around when there wasn’t anything left to do anyway. “Maybe it’s you who needs some rest. You’ve worked hard. Harder than any of us. You do need rest, too.”

Kiri was quick to refuse. “I’m trying something new, I can’t go anywhere.”

“I’m sure one of your brothers—”

Her earpiece buzzed alive. “Neytiri, do you read me?”

The unexpected timing of it caught her off guard, her hand flying up to the device, drums of alarm going off in her head by the croaky, despondent note to his voice. The impact of their previous argument evaporated from existence just by hearing his distress. “Jake?” She focused on you, not observing any difference, and frowned in worry, her pulse picking up pace as Kiri also locked her attention to her the moment she heard her father was on the line. “What happened?”

“I have here one of Quaritch’s dreamwalkers—whatever they are.” Neytiri’s mouth opened and closed at the reveal, forehead creasing. “Alive. Somehow survived to get to the Tree of Souls.”

Her hand instinctively descended to touch your cool and clammy arm closest to her. “Tree of Souls…? But you were—”

“Yeah. Yeah, he… I couldn’t. I couldn’t…” 

She stared at your face, all thoughts draining from her mind. “What are you saying, Jake?”

Silence.

“Jake,” Neytiri implored, her voice snuffed out towards the end. She tried again. “Jake, I don’t understand. What does this mean..?”

“Son of a bitch pulled me out before I could… before I could finish talking to her.” Kiri reached for her when she let out an incoherent, disbelieving voice, getting more panicked as Neytiri clawed at her tightening chest with his next words. “I failed, Neytiri. I couldn’t… She…” 

Neytiri was physically helpless to respond, and Kiri couldn’t hold back from inquiring seeing the state she was in. “Mom? Mom! What’s wrong?”

“This man, if it wasn’t for this man, I had it.” Jake kept talking at an increasing speed the longer Neytiri didn’t say anything. “I had her right in my arms, making future plans, smiling, everything was perfect, and then he—” His breath quivered. “He fucking—” And he stopped the sentence abruptly to get some semblance of control back because Eywa knew Neytiri was losing it ever so slowly. “I need you here with me right now, please. Please, I…” 

Neytiri refused to acknowledge what Jake couldn’t say out loud. You were still breathing, she felt your chest rise and fall even if the pattern was weak. You had life left in you. Jake saying he failed made no sense to her, she didn’t believe it. 

“Neytiri, I need to question this… this filth, need to learn all I can about what’s going on, but I can’t do it on my own. I’ll kill him. In a heartbeat. I want to squeeze the life out of him with my hands right this moment and I— I can’t… We have to know how they could have gotten this far, what they’re planning—and now right to the Tree of Souls too, and…” The rambling that got chaotic and disconnected faded off eventually, as if he’d lost his voice. “Shit.”

And throughout all that, Neytiri had gone from confused, in denial, at the threshold of grief but not nearly in there anchored by your pulse, and lusting for blood within minutes. Kiri was taken aback by the anger radiating from her. “Bring him here!”

“I can’t. He could have a tracker on him—they could have put it in his body. I can’t risk that.”

Neytiri stood up with only one thing in her mind, and it didn’t match Jake’s. “Where are you?”

“You gotta let me pass, buddy, come on! You wanna take my head off or something? Why are you being like this!” 

Hands up and quick on his feet, Lo’ak was trying to negotiate. 

With an ikran of all things. Not even his.

Yours. 

Mom storming out like a wronged, vengeful spirit had been the perfect chance for him to do a quick supply run sneak off, but your overgrown big bird with the exact same attitude as you was getting in his way and blocking Lo’ak off by snapping its jaw at his head and opening its sunset fire tinged wings every time he attempted to cross over to his own ikran. They were basically at a standstill and he had no idea why. 

Lo’ak just wanted to help. Help you. 

“And where do you think you’re going?”

Shit. 

Neteyam. Making his way to him with such speed that got his braids swinging and of course he’d sniffed Lo’ak out like a nantang. Followed the odd silence, probably. Eywa, he should have thought this out better. 

“Skxawng, do you not remember what dad said?”

“I do,” Lo’ak hummed and hawed, and that was the problem. He’d never felt this guilty about disobeying dad’s orders before, it was making him squirm. “But look, Kiri said she needed isirka resin and xhikul seeds or whatever to treat her, I’m going—”

Neteyam’s jaw had flexed when he said whatever, but there was no visible agitation after he gave a sharp breath through his nose.  “So let’s call mother or—”

“They’re busy with some sky person dad caught—”

“I know. The same ones who did this to our sister. I know, Lo’ak.” Neteyam aggressively gestured to the exit of the cave system, shaking his arm while speaking. “What do you think will happen if you go off on your own and land yourself in bigger trouble than she did? Huh?”

Lo’ak threw resentful looks at your ikran. “I can’t stay put like this. I have to do something.”

“This again? There is nothing we can do.” He hadn’t said that in his normal drilling of dad’s orders — Neteyam had the same pain of acceptance that were Lo’ak’s bruises etched onto his face.

And that made Lo’ak want to throw up all over the place. He’d experienced countless sicknesses his siblings had fallen to over the years, none of those were as fatal as this and he didn’t know what the fuck to do. What was he supposed to do when his sister was dying? What did one do when a family member was in this situation anyway? Nothing seemed right to him. 

And something was finally, finally within his power — and Lo’ak would of course rise up to the challenge without hesitation. He wasn’t just going to sit down and let that possibility of your salvation slip by. “But there is. Kiri said—”

“Lo’ak if you leave right now and somehow get caught dad will never trust you again. He was the most open he’s ever been, don’t betray him like that.” 

He was getting annoyed that Neteyam was ignoring the whole point, though it wasn’t as if Lo’ak didn’t know. He was fully aware, and that’s why this was supposed to be a secret. Dad couldn’t be hurt by what he didn’t know now, could he? Not only were you getting Kiri’s remedy, which he was sure as his name was Lo’ak that would end up most effective, but he also wasn’t breaking his promise to dad when the tiniest thread of trust in his son was knotted by the man just recently.  

Neteyam grabbed him by the top of his head in a brotherly manner but his hold was of steel, the boy tried to grumpily push him off but he didn’t budge, staring right into his soul. “Use what’s in this for once and just tell dad or mother, they’re down in the forest already anyway.” When he let go, Lo’ak stumbled back, rubbing the sting off, and the semi-playful older brother was back. “And one of them will actually know what to look for.”

His immediate response was refusal. “I know what I’m looking for—”

“What does isirka look like?”

The sounds your ikran was making was eerily close to laughter and Lo’ak felt heat rush up to the tips of his ears. “It’s a tree.”

Neteyam didn’t have brow hair like Lo’ak did, but the way he raised the lines was always more expressive than how he did it. “Xhikul, then?”

“Flower, skxawng.”

“Wrong.” Lo’ak’s tail started beating the air at the condescending tone. “Kiri is talking about the fruit. Xhika is its flower.”

He rolled his eyes, turning away. “Whatever—”

“Is it whatever?” Neteyam grabbed Lo’ak by the shoulder and spun him around so rough that he got dizzy. “Are you calling my sister’s life whatever?”

Lo’ak was going to explode from how wrong this was going and how insistent Neteyam was to twist his words. “That’s not what I meant bro!” 

“You are so careless.” Neteyam’s tail had shot up ramrod straight, the little bush of hair at the end of it all puffed up, ears perking in all directions. He wasn’t necessarily yelling but was tense all over, something he did whenever they were playing back in the day and he was about to pounce after staying still enough to implant a false seed of safety. “You don’t even think about what can happen if you were to bring a completely different ingredient! You don’t think!”

“Sorry that I’m trying to help! What are you doing?”

“Keeping us safe. Keeping you safe.” He pressed his lips together on a thin line, but couldn’t hold back whatever was bubbling inside. “I’m not losing another sibling, Lo’ak!”

Only a small gasp escaped Lo’ak when he opened his mouth in retaliation. He couldn’t have found his voice even if he found something to say to that rawness in return, anyway. 

The gut-churning guilt doubled. 

“Hey… I—”

“Go,” Neteyam whispered, tilting his head together with the lone word. “Since you’re dying to help, help Kiri. She’s exhausted. I don’t think grandmother will refuse.”

“What about you?” And there he goes again. Wrong words. Neteyam was looking more closed-off than before. “I’m not accusing or anything—”

“I can’t go in there.”

“What?”

“I can’t,” Neteyam took a deep breath and loudly let it go, tail deflating, the arch of it depressing as hell for some reason. “I can’t look at her.”

Neteyam just gave a forlorn smile in return to Lo’ak’s heavily concerned looks demanding he continue but not knowing how to word it, his back looked weirdly lonely as he was tending to your significantly calmer ikran to join back the horde. 

Buried in negative thoughts all the way back and ignoring the pitiful looks from the rest of the clan, he met Kiri outside of the healing tent talking to Spider, and he could see Tuk’s back covering the view to you in his peripheral.

They were whispering about something and it was obvious even from a distance where they were nothing but stick figures. At least try to look less suspicious, Lo’ak thought. 

The only part he caught from the conversation was Spider saying, “Just describe them to me,” — Kiri was really leaning in towards him. 

“What’s going on?” 

The two looked like they were caught in the middle of scheming, and it clicked almost immediately. 

If Lo’ak had thought of going off on his own, so had they. 

“You aren’t going anywhere, bro,” he said, draping his arm across the human boy’s shoulders. “Neteyam’s literally patrolling.”

“You have to be kidding me,” Spider groaned, visibly disappointed. It warmed Lo’ak’s heart to see he was totally down for sneaking off the camp for you. “You said your dad told him to rest.”

“Yeah, he did. Except Neteyam never rests. He has a dancing glow worm up his ass.”

The conversation couldn’t continue because Kiri did a double take at something. 

“Tuk!” Kiri took a few steps aside, squinting as if she didn’t think she was seeing it right. Then her expression burst into panic, her hands flying forward as she ran to the tent, Spider and Lo’ak could only stare, baffled. “Tuk, oh Eywa, what are you doing!—” 

“I’m giving her water, she’s thirsty.”

“What?”

He actually rushed to the entrance of the tent, nearly falling headfirst in, having stumbled on some rock. Your mouth was actually open. And Tuk was really trying to get you to drink from the bowl she was holding against your mouth.

You choked at one point, still unconscious, but it was a sign of life. Lo’ak didn’t know if the shocked screech came from him or Kiri.  

taglist: @ihonestlydontknowwhattonamethis @alohastitch0626 @jackiehollanderr @lucciera @qvrcll @iloveavatar @velvtcherie @ssc7514 @goldenmoonbeam @neteyamforlife @itsluludoll @jakesullys-bitch @blubrryy @sully-stick-together @arminsgfloll @alice121804 @noname2246 @justthingzsblog @eywamygoddess @m-1234 @ellabellabus07 @hellok1ttycake @dakotali @bluefire12348 @abbersreads @yellooaaa @aimsro @octavias-next-meat-bite @nikqdn @nao-cchi @spicycloudsalad @yeosxxx @heybiatchz @winxschester @elegantkidfansoul

@eichenhouseproperty @kakimakiloh @dueiosy @liyahsocorro @dimplesxx @tigresslily@n8ivatar @strnqer @lillybbyy @jakesullyssluttt @r3dc4ndy @myheartfollower @gcldtom @bunnyrose01 @aceofheartzzz @ghoulbli @slasherfcker505 @ducks118 @megsthings @graykageyama @gwolf92

@thotd-f1 @httpjiikook @nipoxe @fussel9913 @gloryekaterina @nxptury @thesheelfsworld @heyyitsmaiaa @anyasullyyy @rey26 @in-luvais @em-100 @n7cje @kpopslur @holysaladapricothero @dedicateeverythingtomilkshake @maviee @grxcisxhy-wp @me-marilm @n39ro-chann

#dad!jake x daughter!reader #dad!jake sully x daughter!reader #dad!jake sully x reader #jake sully x reader #jake sully x daughter!reader #sully family x reader #mom!neytiri x reader #neteyam x sister!reader #neytiri x daughter!reader #lo'ak x sister!reader #kiri x sister!reader

[occamstfs]

Terracotta Turmoil

Another muscle growth racial TF! I went with phonetic Chinese rather than using Chinese characters as it feels hotter to me to be able to read the phonetics! Hope y'all enjoy! -Occam

Chase was beyond excited for the opportunity that his museum has recently secured. It didn’t seem possible, and perhaps the provenance isn’t exactly strictly clear or legal, but some donors have ensured that an exhibition is soon to begin. Before that though Chase simply had to sneak a look and wandered into the exhibit’s worksite to closely observe the artifact. 

Upon seeing it Chase is less than impressed with the artistry and history of the object instead thinking of what a score they have wrung from whatever schmuck had it. Chase begins counting dollar signs in his head as he approaches the statue, getting close enough to touch it when he sees a flash in the statue’s lifeless eyes. Keeping his mind ever focused on financial gain his eyes race to meet those of the terracotta statue in front of him where he finds naught but the cold rage-filled gaze of a warrior.

He rolls his eyes and begins to step away to plan the promotions for the exhibit when suddenly he hears a voice in his head, in a language he cannot understand, “Rúguǒ nǐ yào bǎ nǐ de yìzhì qiángjiā gěi wǒ. Ránhòu wǒ huì bǎ wǒ de qiángjiā gěi nǐ” (If you shall impose thine will upon me. Then I shall force mine upon you.)

Chase suddenly scans the room for whatever coworker must be pranking him, though he is sure that none of them know Chinese anywhere near the fluency of his voice. His eyes flicker to the door as it slowly creaks closed with a click, the lock turning by itself. Chase turns with a suspicious look to the statue. His concentration flickers as he once again sees a glint in the statue’s impenetrable eyes. Chase is not a superstitious type but something unnatural was occurring and he wasn’t to be caught on the back foot. 

He is mousy and short but tries to stand tall and puff his chest up at the statue as he starts to engage, “Your, uh yìzhì?”(Will?) Wh-” Despite his meager attempt at bravado he immediately falls back in shock finding himself speaking in a tongue that he never even had a passing desire to know. He stumbles back away from the statue, still facing it. The lights dim in the room and the glitter of the statue’s eyes begin to glow outright, “Wǒ bù xǐhuān shǐyòng nǐ de shēntǐ, nǐ zhège chètóuchèwěi de shǎguā. Dàn nǐ jiāng chéngwéi wǒ líkāi zhèlǐ de ménpiào." (I take no delight in using your body, you utter fool. But you will be my ticket out of here.)

Chase is compelled to make eye-contact with the merciless eyes as they burn a hole into his mind. He is immediately beyond confused and dizzy, no longer sure of anything in the world besides the fact that his condition is only to rapidly deteriorate even further. He feels himself lose control of his mouth as drool begins to pool within it. Little loss though as he is rapidly losing the ability to form any thoughts in English anyway. 

He falls to his hands and knees, mouth agape as he spits up onto the floor. The floor shines like a mirror reflecting the light above as a spotlight onto him and making evident the sinister shine of the statue’s eyes as they continue to burn. He stares at his hands clenched on the floor struggling to latch his mind on any thought that remains. As he struggles suddenly a thought appears through the fog as if it were the most evident thing in the world, Diāoxiàng bù shǔyú zhèlǐ (The statue doesn’t belong here.) 

Chase isn’t even taken aback as his mind starts to return, now using a language he’s never learned. If his thoughts are all in Chinese there is no conceivable explanation beyond that it is the language that he was raised in, but he was gweilo(western) no? He brings his eyes to look at his reflection in the recently waxed floor to see something immediately jarring. His mouth is still ajar, still slightly leaking drool, but his reflection looking back at him has an unmistakable scowl and smirk. 

He recoils, though staying on the ground, as he notices that his short messy hair is starting to grow and straighten. His sandy blonde locks swiftly begin to darken as they lengthen into something far more fashionable. He feels his face respond to the unconscious worry in his mind at seeing his appearance change. In response his reflection bares its teeth as the scowl becomes crueler, the eyes beginning to glow just as the statue’s did. 

He forces his eyes shut to avoid them being penetrated by the burning gaze once more. He is no longer able to open them as he feels his eyelids throb and tighten. Chase grunts and clenches his teeth as pain surges through his face before he forces his eyes back open and is once more greeted with unfamiliarity in his reflection. Impossible to miss were the epicanthic folds that now hang over his blue eyes. He continues to stare at them, seeing his skin begin to pale and smooth as his hair turns black to the roots and his eyes begin to darken, slowly turning brown.

Chase stares at his own irises as they almost move beyond brown to instead be as pitch black as his hair. At the same time a laugh that Chase still recognizes as his own rings through the exhibition hall, though each echo as it returns back to his ears is deeper than the one that came before. He clutches at his hóujié (adam’s apple) feeling it throb larger into his hand. He gasps sharply, feeling more air rush into his lungs as he takes a breath deeper and more labored than ever before.

Now with only one hand keeping him from falling to the ground Chase watches as the eyes of his reflection glow with a rage centuries old, challenging him to not fall on his face as he feels the force of gravity upon him ever-more difficult to ignore. Just before totally collapsing he wrenches his hand from his neck to catch his fall. Struggling against the weight of his body as it feels heavier by the moment, Chase feels his arms begin to strain the sleeves of his dress shirt. Sweat drips from his hair to stain his reflection as his biceps force themselves larger than his shirt could possibly hold. 

Drawing off all the remaining will, or yìzhì rather, he has to resist. He pushes himself higher from the ground rising further than his arms should be able to push him. His biceps burst with power as they grow to the size of a lesser man’s thighs. Sweat drips down his massive arms trailing from thin but present black hair now filling his pits. Chase looks towards his chest and no wonder his breaths were suddenly nigh-impossible, the buttons had already burst from his dress shirt as pecs had forced themselves from his chest and below them abs defined as those you see on only the most prodigious bodybuilders. 

Chase smirks to himself seeing how he has grown. He knew he simply could not let himself fall, his people were zhànshì (warriors) after all. His proud smirk is now truly mirroring his smug reflection. Chase flexes every muscle he can in his more powerful body, feeling the strain of his strength as he tests the limit of each newly formed muscle group. His whole body convulses in pleasure as he becomes acquainted with the power now within him. He feels his hitherto ignored cock grow firm as he feels nothing but pride for his body and his homeland.

He pushes himself fully off the ground to land on his ass as it too grows to break past the limit of his pants. No longer looking at his reflection Chase feels his thighs tear through his jeans and his feet grow large enough to make finding any replacement shoes impossible. His briefs struggle to hold his still growing erection as he continues to bask in his body and power as he finds himself once more sitting in front of the terracotta soldier. 

Rather than seeing it as the financial boon that he intended to when he walked in. Chase now sees it as a testament to the artistry and history that his home country deserves. He feels a fire burn in his chest as rage begins to fill him at seeing such an extraordinary artifact of his culture being subjected to this tourist trap of a museum. His eyes twitch as the last attachments to his old life fade beyond even his subconscious as he remembers the life and history of his real identity. 

Chen was not going to sit around and let this relic of Chinese opulence and power be disgraced by this sorry show. He looks down towards his reflection one last time and sees his face now perfectly mirrors the proud smirk that it has displayed since he first saw it. Chen laughs the same laugh he has always known, one deep and slow, as he stands to prepare his repatriation of this terracotta soldier. First things first though, he’ll need a few new friendly faces, a few new countrymen. He makes for the door whispering to himself as he feels his cock surge in his pants, “Dàodǐ shéi lái zǔzhǐ wǒ” (After all, who is going to stop me.)

#male tf #mental change #racial change #muscle tf #race change

[reyrapidsbutgayer]

Ranking All Elden Ring Bosses by Fuckability

It was only a matter of time until I made a post like this.

In this hypothetical all of the bosses can be reasonably communicated with and are not actively trying to kill you.

Repeat bosses not included, duo bosses counted seperate.

It should also be assumed that all of these bosses have access to their magic/items/resources to benefit them in bed.

Explanation of Grading system:

Ineligible: (Cannot give consent)

These characters are not sentient enough to communicate consent, or are physically incapable of sex.

Unfuckable: (Can give consent, but does not DESERVE sex)

Character sucks so badly that they do not deserve to experience pleasure in any shape or form.

Uninterested: (Can give consent, does not WANT sex)

These character are fully capable of sex but would never participate in sex due to lack of interest or overabundance of moral convictions.

Not worth it: (Can give consent, is terrible in bed)

I mean, you COULD have sex with these characters but why would you?

Acceptable: (Can give consent, would be fine in bed)

These characters are average in bed, nothing crazy or noticeable. Some might end up in this category because they ARE good at sex, but the entire process would be inconvenient or uncomfortable to initiate.

Good Time: (Can give consent, would be great in bed)

These characters are good at sex, give or take a few points depending on their mood or situation.

Knock your socks off: (Can give consent, would be amazing in bed)

These characters excel in giving pleasure and would be well worth the time and effort involved.

Sex God: (Can give consent, would be the best in bed)

These characters would be so good at sex that all other factors are irrelevant. They are serving and we are here for it.

Evil Sex God: (Can give consent, is a terrible person but you’d make an exception.)

These are characters that should fall lower in the rankings, but their sexual prowess supersedes their inherent awfulness to a noteworthy degree.

Full list below the read more. Obviously it's not going to be sfw.

Ineligible: (Cannot give consent)

Dragonkin Soldier:

Mindless beast

Astel, Naturalborn of the Void

Weird rock alien, doesn't/can't understand.

Fia's Champions:

Ghosts, simps.

Regal Ancestor Spirit

Animal

Erdtree Avatar

A plant

Great Wyrm Theodorix

Mindless beast.

Ulcerated Tree Spirit

A plant, no junk

Tibia Mariner:

Skeleton

Red Wolf of the Champion:

Animal.

Full-Grown Fallingstar Beast

Weird rock alien, doesn't/can't understand.

Abductor Virgin

First off, just some snakes in a robot. Second, virgin.

Erdtree Burial Watchdog

Stone gargoyle

Crystalians

Non-organic

Mad Pumpkin Heads

Unable to consent due to madness.

Cemetery Shade

Unable to consent due to mind controlling parasite.

Spirit-Caller Snail

Animal

Runebear

Animal

Miranda the Blighted Bloom

A plant

Guardian Golem

Stone gargoyle

Starscourge Radahn:

Unable to consent due to madness

Unfuckable: (Can give consent, but does not DESERVE sex)

Elden Beast:

Too catholic.

Sir Gideon Ofnir, the All-Knowing:

Dick game weak - unironically posts joker memes.

Omenkiller:

Basically a cop.

Necromancer Garris:

Killed his family, not a good husband.

Royal Revenant:

Won't stop screaming (in an unsexy way)

Godrick the Grafted:

Incel - Also all that murder and torture business but mostly the Incel stuff.

Uninterested: (Can give consent, does not WANT sex)

Valiant Gargoyle:

Could probably have sex if it wanted to, but is kinda going through a lot right now. Ya know, that whole "Is made of several corpses mashed together" thing.

Malenia, Blade of Miquella:

Look, I ALSO wanted her to higher up on this list, but let's be honest here. Her body is rotting and falling apart, she just isn't up for sex in her current form. In her prime? She'd be top of the list. She's the daughter of Marika and Radagon, she'd be playing fuck/marry/kill with every warrior who crossed her path. (in that order)

Death Rite Bird:

I think it might be physically capable of sex, but is too busy burning corpses to bother with stuff like that.

Black Blade Kindred:

Same reason as the Valiant Gargoyle but you might have like 2% more of a chance because they are goth.

Maliketh, the Black Blade:

Would normally be a sex god, but is too religious. Probably took a vow about this sort of thing.

Morgott, the Omen King:

You kidding me? This guy has the same energy as a repressed youth pastor. He's gonna be a virgin till the day he dies. The dude sided with the same religious order that locked him a sewer and tried to kill him. He's not out there getting phone numbers he's too busy praying and judging others for their 'impure thoughts'.

Draconic Tree Sentinel:

Married to his job, also physically chained to his horse. He ain't taking off that armor anytime soon.

Wormface:

Too sad, leave him alone his face is full of worms.

Tree Sentinel:

Same as the Draconic Tree Sentinel but he's a tiny bit more naive so you might have a better chance.

Elder Dragon Greyoll:

Too sleepy, but still kinda a milf.

Grafted Scion:

There might be some genitals in there somewhere but I don't think they know how or even want to use them.

Not worth it: (Can give consent, is terrible in bed)

Esgar, Priest of Blood:

No sense of hygiene, is always covered in blood (in an unsexy way)

Mohg, Lord of Blood:

This loser is dripping with all the least sexy bodily fluids and he has sharp horns sticking out of him. Even if you got him in bed you'd only enjoy like 5% of it. Plus you just know he'd be all needy afterwards and try to get you to join his MLM.

Borealis the Freezing Fog:

Too cold, not a snuggler.

Elemer of the Briar:

The armor stays ON during sex.

Kindred of Rot:

It's like all the worst possible aspects of alien biology, it won't be nearly as fun as you hoped.

Sanguine Noble:

Same as all the other Mohg followers, too sticky and too smelly.

Decaying Ekzykes:

He's sick right now, leave him alone.

Acceptable: (Can give consent, would be fine in bed)

Loretta, Knight of the Haligtree:

I'm sure she'd be a decent lover. Maybe a little overzealous but she'd has good intentions.

Grave Warden Duelist:

I mean these guys are hot and probably fuck like a truck but they are not the most caring lovers, also they are covered in live snakes so there is that.

Night's Cavalry:

If you like goth knights I'm sure they'd be fine.

Onyx Lord:

Their skin probably feels like stone, but I bet they can pull off all sorts of freaky zero-g sex stuff if you ask them.

Alabaster Lord:

Same as the Onyx Lord but slightly more goth.

Fell Twins:

Once you get past the horns and stuff I bet the Omens are actually pretty good in bed, just watch out.

Demi-Human Queens:

I feel like all Demi-humans are pretty good lovers but their biology probably has some unexpected drawbacks.

Stonedigger Troll:

If you can get past the texture and the size I bet they could be decent in bed.

Flying Dragon Greyll:

A surprisingly unsexy dragon, but a dragon is a dragon and still worth at least a one night stand.

Glintstone Dragon Adula:

A dragon willing to kill racist magic users, earns them a few extra points.

Beastman of Farum Azula:

On one hand the Beastmen probably have crazy mating skills, but they are also zombies, which detracts some points for all the decay.

Battlemage Hugues:

Contrary to popular belief, Wizards are not very good at sex. They spend all their time studying instead of partying, at least Hugues is willing to get his hands dirty.

Commander O'Neil:

Seems like a decent guy, but probably won't shut up about his time in the military. Also he is infected with scarlet rot so that might be a mood killer.

Bloodhound Knight Darriwil:

The bloodhound knights are probably pretty wild in bed if you can earn their loyalty, but good luck with that.

Adan, Thief of Fire:

The dude committed heresy, that has to earn him some sexy points.

Soldier of Godrick:

He's a good boy, he's doing his job so throw him a bone.

Flying Dragon Agheel:

One of the first dragons you encounter, so he earns some points for style.

Demi-Human Chief:

Same as the queens, but probably a bit rougher in bed.

Good Time: (Can give consent, would be great in bed)

Lichdragon Fortissax:

A much sexier dragon, you know they were hooking up with Godwin. Only loses some points for all the death rot.

Crucible Knight Siluria:

A bit gloomy, but I bet the crucible knights can do all sorts of freaky stuff with their animal body parts.

Mimic Tear:

A slippery liquid shapeshifter, need I say more?

Commander Niall:

A way better guy than O'Niel, plus he just a bit more daddy energy.

Fire Giant:

Once you get past his size, his sadness and the giant fell god of destruction in his chest, I bet he's got something going on.

Ancient Hero of Zamor:

Gives me Hercules/Amazonian vibes, I could be into it.

Cleanrot Knight:

Lesbian activities detected.

Crucible Knight:

These guys have tails, horns, wings and big old throat sacks. Imagine the possibilities.

Glintstone Dragon Smarag:

Has a sword. If you hear "Dragon holding a sword" and your pants aren't already off, we can't be friends.

Bols, Carian Knight:

He seems like a good boy.

Scaly Misbegotten:

I feel like the Misbegotten have some really interesting possibilities with their animal biology. I bet they have bonobo type societies and that could be fun.

Leonine Misbegotten:

Same as the other Misbegotten.

Misbegotten Warrior:

Same as the other Misbegotten.

Knock your socks off: (Can give consent, would be amazing in bed)

Crucible Knight Ordovis:

Has all the desirable traits of a Crucible Knight but I also imagine they are super into threesomes.

Perfumer Tricia:

She seems really nice, and would be a super attentive lover. Plus she probably has access to crazy drugs and could hook you up.

Nox Swordstress & Nox Priest:

You just know that the Nox were getting up to crazy hot and crazy unethical experiments in their underground cities. These two probably get up to some wild shit and they are inviting you to join them.

Rennala, Queen of the Full Moon:

As she is now, I bet she'd be too sad to really be in a relationship again. But she kept up with Radagon and you just know she has some tricks up her sleeves that could make you abandon the golden order.

Sex God: (Can give consent, would be the best in bed)

Dragonlord Placidusax:

Has two male heads and three female heads, imagine...

Ancient Dragon Lansseax:

Formed a whole freaky dragon/human cult and you just know they got into some eyes-wide-shut orgies behind those doors.

Godfrey, First Elden Lord (Hoarah Loux):

We all knew he'd be this high on the list. He was just a normal dude but he managed to keep pace with Queen Marika (Who is basically a goddess of fertility) for a good long while. He will fold you in half (on the battlefield and in the bedroom.)

Evil Sex God: (Can give consent, is a terrible person but you’d make an exception.)

Radagon of the Golden Order:

He sucks in all the worst ways, but I mean... You can't NOT. Both Radagon and Marika are the embodiment of evil but they managed to suck and fuck their way across an entire continent for generations. You HAVE to give a try at least once.

Godskin Duo:

Oh my god will it be awful with all those flayed human skins, but you know you are still gonna have to. They can stretch and do all sorts of freaky stuff with their bodies, plus they kill gods and nothing is sexier than heresy.

Vyke, Knight of the Roundtable:

The dude is a mad killer but... he can still probably get it, might as well give it a try.

God-Devouring Serpent / Rykard, Lord of Blasphemy:

Personally I wouldn't, he's a loser and will probably kill you. But he is also a giant snake made up of squirming hands doing all sorts of sexual experiments, I can't blame you if you want to give it a taste.

Black Knife Assassin:

They committed a whole lot of treason but the power of armored lesbians is too hard to resist.

Patches:

If you are already having sex with from software characters, you gotta give Patches at least one attempt. When you wake up he'll have robbed you, but you knew what you were getting into.

#meme #shitpost #do not take seriously #Elden Ring #Elden Ring memes #Elden Ring Fuckability #Elden Ring Ranking #Elden Ring Shitpost #Ranking #monster fucker #from software #tw: sex mention #Dark Souls #Radagon of the Golden Order #Godskin Duo #Vyke #Knight of the Roundtable #God-Devouring Serpent #Rykard #Lord of Blasphemy #Black Knife Assassin #Patches #Dragonkin Soldier #Astel Naturalborn of the Void #Fia's Champions #Regal Ancestor Spirit #Erdtree Avatar #Great Wyrm Theodorix #Ulcerated Tree Spirit #Tibia Mariner

[prickly-paprikash]

Something cool about Blue Eye Samurai is how sex is juxtaposed with the end-goals.

I really love how our three protagonists are all obsessed. And that obsession defines them, torments them, and are subsequently reborn through their obsessions.

Mizu, of course, is obsessed with the concept of revenge. It's not even about getting even or getting justice as some might use to justify the bloody road taken—it is simply about seeking satisfaction for Mizu. She cuts a bloody swathe across Japan because of what the Four White Devils did to her mother and herself. She does not concern herself with the ramifications of her wrath but merely charges forward, leaving behind a trail of viscera and gore behind her.

Like I said before, her vengeance and obsession with satisfaction is not painted by the show as wrong. It is how she allows it to affect others along the path. It's why the episode with Madame Kaji is so enlightening; Mizu should not tackle this quest as a vengeful revenant; an onry��. She has let the world define her as a monstrosity and so she embraced it, when Swordfather and Madame Kaji knew what the correct path was to satiate her need for vengeance. Treat her sword as the Artisan's tool it truly is. Treat her body the way an Artist would treat their canvas.

Madame Kaji and Swordfather are both outcasts, for being a woman and a blind man. Yet they found strength in their exclusion, becoming single-minded in their fields of art. Because sex is art and swordsmithing is art. It's what makes Mizu's body writing scene so fucking good.

Artistic vision becomes stagnant when one pulls from only one source. They become rigid and unbending when Mizu, like her namesake, must be fluid. She has shown fluidity in her use of her gender and her morals, but cannot apply that same flexibility towards her goal. Throughout season one, she was becoming an uninspired artist, merely painting the world in hues of scarlet. In a world that forces Women to be either Wives or Whores, Mizu chose to be a Warrior—but a warrior fights for a cause, whether it be just or otherwise. A soldier fights in an army. Mizu is neither of these things. She is an Artist first and foremost, and her medium is Death. Sex, something Mizu was at first hesitant before her failed marriage, and something she actively avoided afterwards, is what gives her a new perspective. Like an Illustrator studying life to better draw their intended worlds, taking inspiration from wherever one can find it.

Taigen and Akemi are also equally affected by the artistry of sex, as befitting of Mizu's fellow protagonists.

Akemi is quite obviously Mizu's narrative foil. Mizu chases after revenge like a bloodhound whereas Akemi longs for freedom like a bird in a cage. Both are fierce women who are unsatisfied with their lot in life, with their sex and gender being used against them in their lives. Literally, the episode "The Tale of the Ronin and the Bride" is a fucking triple entendre:

Mizu is the Ronin as well as the Bride.

The play showcases the tale of the Ronin and the Bride.

It is also Mizu as the Ronin and Akemi as the Bride.

And when Mizu finds her center as she melts down her blade and engages in body writing, this scene of enlightenment is juxtaposed with Akemi laying with her new husband Takayoshi. Both, in this moment, are taking control of their lives through sex. They are both taking control of their futures through the ways Madame Kaji taught them. Mizu and Akemi are both rebels against this oppressive society, and are both talented artists with their body. Whether that be sex, politicking, or ass-kicking.

Taigen, like the two women before, finds freedom through it but in a more subtle manner.

Where Mizu and Akemi are narrative foils, both using sex as a form of art and escape, Taigen finds liberation through his awakening.

Like the closeted bisexual man he is, he begins his journey of self-realization when he first encounters Mizu at the Dojo.

Every single battle these two have is purposefully rife with sexual tension. All his life, Taigen has been taught that a man must live with honor. That he must take control of his life and his identity, or he will have failed and that he is better off dead than to live with such shame.

Taigen is just as much a victim of the Patriarchal society around him. Mizu rails against it violently. Akemi seeks to run away from it all. And Taigen, with the privilege given to him by his manhood, chooses to become a perpetrator, enabling the vicious wheel of society to keep moving forward.

His obsession with honor leads him to hunting down and even protecting Mizu. Mizu is no doubt the better warrior, but even she knows she owes so much to Taigen. The blockhead not only did everything to protect her in the valley, but also sealed his lips shut even under the duress of torture. His obsession with honor becomes an obsession with Mizu.

His regrets over tormenting her over her looks and ethnicity as a child. His shame in having lost so decisively in his own dojo. Taigen was a man born with nothing and climbed up to the top with every advantage he could muster, and suddenly it's all ripped away by this one vengeful spirit passing by.

Taigen learns to surrender control around Mizu. He begins to discover his own sexuality and purpose around Mizu, redefining what honor really means to him now that he, as a man, has a budding attraction towards the man who beat him.

Mizu's Vengeance. Akemi's Freedom. Taigen's Honor. In all three, Sex becomes a catalyst in redefining what each of these concepts truly mean to them all. It's not just sex of course, but it is undeniable how the writers keep juxtaposing sexual acts and thoughts with massive character moments.

It changes how Mizu chases after her Vengeance. It recontextualizes how Akemi can be Free. It showcases the absurdity of the Honor forced upon Taigen.

It's so fucking refreshing seeing Sex not used as fanservice or shoe-horned in just to further a stale, poorly written cis-heterosexual romance; but used as a plot point that cannot be ignored. An impetus that fuels the narrative.

Moving forward, I'm curious as to how sex will be used.

The next few ideas aren't as sound or organized because I'm neither Asexual nor Genderfluid, so please if anyone reads this who understands it better, feel free to point it out.

I think it'd be cool if Mizu met the inverse of Madame Kaji. A person who is apathetic to sex. Sure, Swordfather has shades of this, but I'm tired of the person with disabilities also being on the Asexual spectrum. And I'm not saying that Ace or Graysexual people with disabilities don't exist! But they always tend to be written as having some form of disability (Varys from ASOIAF) or a Robot.

Just as artists need a variety of sources to pull inspiration from, I hope in the next seasons we get to see different perspectives on sex and gender. In London, it feels like Mizu finding the other half of herself, and with that having a better way of tackling her own identity. Whether it be gender, sex, combat, etc.

Basically what this inane rambling amounts to is that Blue Eye Samurai tackles sex and violence and revenge and obsession in ways that most media has yet to truly do. So that was pretty cool.

#blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai spoilers #blue eye samurai season 2 #mizu #mizu blue eye samurai #akemi #taigen #metal #media analysis #character analysis #blue eye samurai meta #netflix are cowards for not announcing season 2 immediately #come on dickheads #the fans and the creators have been fighting for the green light #hand it over #you cocks #paprikash ramblings

[siancore]

The dream sequence from 1.01 was astounding on so many levels. The sweet cuteness that we’ve all craved. Charming Rick. Beautiful Michonne. I loved it all. I especially enjoyed the part where Michonne said, “I believe in you.” It was a nice way to weave this thread that has been at the core of their first meeting right up to them being warrior lovers: Believing in someone and needing to be believed in.

All Michonne ever did was show Rick that she believed in him. Even before they had met. She had heard Andrea talk about the group at the Prison and the crazy asshole who was leading them; who was protecting them. Michonne understood crazy. She also understood that you did whatever it took to protect the ones that you love. She understood why Rick did not trust her from their first meeting and she respected that. She believed in him, in the notion of someone like him when she showed up at that fence.

When Rick took Michonne on the run to his hometown with Carl, she showed him that she believed in him again. It wasn’t just about ‘common interests’. When he asked, “Do you have a problem with that approach?” And Michonne replied, “No, Rick. I don’t have a problem.”

He was kind of shocked because for the longest time, his people’s faith and belief in him had been shaken and fractured. They questioned every single decision he had made to help keep them alive. They found problems with his ‘approach’ at every turn. But Michonne, she understood Rick. She understood what it took to do the things that he had done to protect the ones he loved. She believed in him.

When they were separated out on the road after the Prison had fallen, Michonne reverted to old ways of protecting herself. Walking with the dead; not being around others because that’s when you truly get hurt. The hurt of losing those you care about is pain far greater than anything anyone, alive or dead, could inflict on you. But Rick and Carl had brought her back from that once before. She believed and trusted that they could do it again. That is when she found them. That is when she truly chose them.

When they reached Alexandria, and Rick was spiralling out of control, Michonne telling him that she was still with him was her, once again, believing in him. Her letting him keep his gun was her believing in him. Believing that he would do the right thing to ensure their protection and survival. Took him a little while, but he found his way.

And that’s the crux of their relationship: Michonne’s belief in Rick to do what is needed to get shit done, and Rick needing her to believe in him so that he can find his way. I cannot wait to see what other aspects of their friendship and love are weaved through the narrative of them finding one another, again, and getting home to their family. I believe in them.

#richonne #towl spoilers #richonne show spoilers #twd towl spoilers #twd spoilers #rick grimes #michonne grimes

[theemissuniverse]

Can I request a smut prompt where Liu Kang almost loses you to Shang Tsung, but after he retrieves you back, he’s furious and upset with himself, but you knew just how to calm him down?

Also congrats on 200 followers!!! You definitely deserve it, your writing is amazing 🩷🩷🩷🩷

“MY LOVER, MY LIGHT” LIU KANG X FEM!READER

A/N : Thank you! Hope you like it!

WARNINGS : MINORS DONT INTERACT. praise kink, p in v, m receiving, f receiving, fingering, temperature play, some stuff I probably forgot

MASTERLIST

Shang Tsung almost took your soul. Lucky for you, Liu Kang, your husband, was there to put a stop to it. Even though it was already over, Liu Kang was beating himself up about it.

He should’ve stopped it sooner. He should have never put you in harms way to begin with. In his mind- this was all his fault.

Liu Kang was getting ready for bed. He had his boxers on and was completely shirtless. He was cleaning off his wedding ring as it was bloody from the damage he had done to Shang Tsung’s face.

You walked in the bedroom. You had your red set of underwear on with your red rope tied around you tightly. You watched as Liu Kang cleaned his ring. “Come on, baby. I made dinner. It’s your favorite.”

“I am not hungry, love.”

You tilted your head at him. You hated when he got like this. Guilt-ridden and self loathing. “You can’t starve yourself because you feel guilty. I’m fine.”

Liu Kang finished cleaning the ring. He placed it back on his finger. He did not dare to look at you. “You almost died.”

“Sorry to tell you, honey but that’s the price of being part of Earthrealm’s warriors. Stuff like that can happen.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to be part of Earthrealm’s warriors anymore.”

Your eyes had widen. You were shocked. You were one of, if not, the best Earthrealm warrior. You walked further in the room. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” Liu Kang finally turned to you. “(Y/N), I am immortal. You are not. I cannot have you forever. I do not want you to…to fall so soon.”

“I understand but there could be other factors. Like illness or even just everyday accidents. Am I suppose to live my life afraid?”

“Are you suppose to speed up the process of your  demise?”

The room fell silent. Liu Kang sighed at his harsh tone. He sat on the bed and rubbed his forehead to get rid of some tension. “I cannot lose you.”

You sat down next to him. You rubbed on his shoulder to comfort him. “I can’t lose you either. But if we think about all the ‘what if’s’ and the ‘what might’ then we’re gonna drive ourselves crazy. You told me yourself that we needed to focus on actions and not the outcome. It’s all that we can control.”

Liu Kang looked back at you lovingly. It was hard to tell if Liu Kang was crying because of his glowing orbs but you saw tears slipped past his cheeks. “Oh, Liu…” You kissed some of the tears away.

“I love you more than anything. More than myself. More than life itself.” He told you.

You always knew of the strong emotional hold you had on Liu Kang. Liu Kang had revealed to you that in the previous timeline, he was in love with you then and he ended up falling in love with you all over again.

That’s why he was so attached to you. He did not want to lose you again.

“I love you too, Liu.” You gave him a passionate kiss on the lips. Liu Kang immediately kissed you back, cupping your face.

The kiss meant something. The two of you had a hold on each other and you never wanted to leave.

You pulled away from him. You gave him small kisses on his neck. Liu Kang closed his eyes, loving the feeling of your lips on his body.

Liu Kang was already sitting on the edge of the bed. You got off the bed and sat on your knees on the ground. You then started to take his boxers off.

“Love-“ He started to say.

You shushed him, knowing what he was going to say. Although, Liu Kang always appreciated when you went down on him, he’d much rather just go down on you.

You kissed all over him. Liu Kang always got hard very quick when you touched him softly.

You wrapped your lips around him and started to suck on his dick lightly. Liu Kang moaned some. You continued to do this before taking all of him in your mouth and starting to go up and down on him.

Liu Kang, despite being a God, was always sensitive to touch. “(Y/N).” He moaned. When you sucked on his tip sweetly, he flung his body back on the bed in pure bliss.

More moans escaped his mouth. You knew that Liu Kang was more so the slow paced type so you always went slow with him. You rubbed on his thigh as you sucked on him.

The noises of slob each time you sucked him off turned him on even more. “You taste so good.” You said with all of him in your mouth.

Liu Kang felt himself twitch when you said that. He sat himself up on his elbows and watched you as you took care of him. “You look so beautiful.”

You moaned around him at the compliment and it made him twitch even more. It was true. You were amazing to look at.

Liu Kang bit his lip as he watched you undo your robe. The robe fell to the ground and he saw his wife in the red underwear set he had got for her.

You sucked his tip again and he rolled his eyes back in pleasure. “My love…”

You removed yourself from his dick and looked up at him. “You ready for me to ride you baby?” Liu Kang nodded eagerly and you stood up. You took your underwear off. Liu Kang scooted more to the center of the bed.

When you got on top of him, Liu Kang licked his fingers and stuck them in your pussy to see if you were wet enough from pleasing him. You weren’t.

He pumped them in and out of you slowly. You threw your head back in pleasure. Liu Kang watched you as you started to ride his fingers. He loved when you did that.

“Oh baby.” You moaned.

Liu Kang kissed your lips softly. His fingers found your clit and he rubbed it in circles, making you moan in his mouth.

Your hands tugged on his hair and he grunted in your mouth. “Please. I’m ready.”

Liu Kang made sure to feel all of you before deciding you were ready to ride him. He licked his fingers to get the juices off and leaned back.

You got into position. Liu Kang’s hands were on your hips. You slid down on him gently and you both let out a moan.

Your hands lay on his chest and you started to ride him slowly. “Oh yes. You feel so good.”

Liu Kang’s hands started to wander your body. His hands lit up with fire but he was careful not to burn you. He made sure rub all the parts you loved when he did temperature play with you.

“Oh my gods. Liu, you know that turns me on.”

Liu Kang just smiled at you. He helped you ride him up and down while his hands still produced light heat. You were starting to go at a much faster pace. Liu Kang panted slightly. “You know just how to ride me, love.”

You felt the heat die from Liu Kang’s hands which meant it was getting hard for him to concentrate. You continued moving at your fast pace while you undid your bra and threw it down on the ground.

Liu Kang watched your breasts bounce with each time you bounced. He groaned at the sight. “You look so beautiful.” He was close to his release but was holding it for you. “You’re so good to me. I don’t deserve you.”

At that, you leaned down to kiss his lips. “You deserve everything, baby.”

He moaned at your words and gripped on your hips tighter. He panted even more. The feeling of your pussy clenching on him was all too much for him. “You were made for me.

Something about Liu Kang always complimenting you turned you out. You felt love overwhelm your heart. “I love you.”

Liu Kang was always an emotional man during sex so having you tell him you loved him as you rode him turned him on. A lot.

He gently grabbed you before flipping you over so he was on top of you. Liu Kang kept the same fast but sensual pace. He gave you passionate kisses on your lips. “I love you more.”

Liu Kang’s right hand interlocked with yours as he fucked you. He gave you beautiful kisses on your neck and sucked on your sweet spots.

You should’ve been used to how loving Liu Kang was but you still weren’t. Tears welled up in your eyes as he made love to you. When Liu saw this he kissed the tears away.

You felt yourself start to become close. Your hand raked along his back. “I’m so close, Liu.”

Liu Kang kissed your lips once more before speaking. “Cum on me, love. I need you.”

With his words, you instantly came on Liu Kang. When he saw you came on him, he allowed himself to release inside of you.

When the two of you were done, he pulled out. Liu Kang saw the cum slipping out of you and he made it go back inside of you with his fingers. “I cannot lose you.” He repeated but this time with full love.

You pulled him down to your level and kissed him. “I can’t lose you, either.”

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #liu kang #mortal kombat 1 #kitana #kung lao #mileena #raiden #johnny cage #mk #mk 1 #liu kang x reader #mk smut

[karinzany]

SPOILERS: Chapter 1094 of ONE PIECE

We've finally seen St. Jaygarcia Saturn's real form on chapter 1094, and it is absolutely diabolical. It seems to be inspired by a yōkai called Ushi-oni. So I went back to chapter 1085 and tried to connect the rest of the Gorosei with other yōkai. Here are my predictions:

Ushi-oni: In Wakayama Prefecture, ushi-oni are mountain-dwelling beasts. Legend says when a hiker or traveler makes eye contact with the ushi-oni, the person cannot avert his or her gaze. The person's soul or energy is drained and he or she dies. This is called “Kage wo kuu (影を食う)” or sometimes "Kage wo nomu (影を飲む)", which translates to “eating the shadow” or "drinking the soul".

Aosaginohi: Aosaginohi, or Aosagibi (青(あお)鷺(さぎ)火(び), "blue heron fire") is a phenomenon illustrated by Toriyama Sekien in his Konjaku Gazu Zoku Hyakki. It depicts a night heron with a mysteriously illuminated body. Folklore built around the phenomenon tells a story of an old black-crowned night heron transforming into a yokai. The herons' feathers fuse into shining scales that give off an iridescent blue light in the dark of night. The yokai's breath is also said to release golden powder into the air that collects to form a heat-less fiery light, though this light eventually dissipates in the wind. The harmless creature is said to flee from human contact, retaining a normal heron's shyness. Legend also warns to not confuse the glimmering blue-white light with onibi lights.

Baku: Baku (獏 or 貘) are Japanese supernatural beings that are said to devour nightmares. According to legend, they were created by the spare pieces that were left over when the gods finished creating all other animals. They have a long history in Japanese folklore and art, and more recently have appeared in manga and anime. The Japanese term baku has two current meanings, referring to both the traditional dream-devouring creature and to the Malayan tapir. In recent years, there have been changes in how the baku is depicted.

Benzaiten: Benzaiten (shinjitai: 弁才天 or 弁財天; kyūjitai: 辯才天, 辨才天, or 辨財天, lit. "goddess of eloquence"), also simply known as Benten (shinjitai: 弁天; kyūjitai: 辯天 / 辨天), is a Japanese Buddhist goddess who originated mainly from Saraswati, the Hindu goddess of speech, the arts, and learning, with certain traits deriving from the warrior goddess Durga. Due to her status as a water deity, she was also linked with nāgas, dragons, and snakes. Apart from being a patron of music and the arts, she was eventually also worshiped as a bestower of monetary fortune and was reckoned as one of the Seven Lucky Gods (Shichifukujin).

Ōkubi: In Japanese folklore, Ōkubi (大首) are giant heads of either men or women. An Ōkubi appearing in the sky is a sign of impending disaster, which may be a typhoon, earthquake, tsunami, or fire. These disasters are often attributed to the Ōkubi. Ōkubi are otherwise harmless and will disappear soon after the first sighting. They are thought to be sky spirits who protect the sky's or people who died during a natural disaster. They are said to protect people from the natural disasters and protect the sky from demonic sky spirits. It is said if one does not pay respect for the Ōkubi, they will be turned into sky spirits and their face will appear in the sky immediately. Those who do pay respect are said to get good fortune and gifts.

PS.: This silhouette probably belongs to Imu themselves, but I can't figure out what yōkai or supernatural being it represents. What are your theories?

EDIT: Thank you @ozo-blog and @marimo-kyun for your suggestion!

On chapter 1069, Vegapunk said that Devil Fruits earned the ire of Mother Nature, which is the Sea itself. The name Imu can be read as Umi backwards, meaning "Sea" in Japanese. So, maybe Imu has a power that controls the sea? Umibozu would be on theme for them.

Umibōzu: Umibōzu (海坊主, "sea priest") is a paranormal phenomenon or yōkai from Japanese folklore. Other names include Umihōshi (海法師, "sea priest") or Uminyūdō (海入道, "sea priest"). Little is known of the origin of umibōzu but it is a sea-spirit and as such has multiple sightings throughout Japan. Normally, umibōzu appears to sailors on calm seas which quickly turn tumultuous. It either breaks the ship on emergence or demands a bucket or barrel from the sailors and proceeds to drown them. The only safe way to escape an umibōzu is to give it a bottomless barrel and sail away while it is confused.

Alternative: I've also seen another theory that says Imu could be Satan (from the Bible, yes) because he has a Red Dragon form that could relate to the Celestial Dragon's symbol, a red dragon hoof.

Red Dragon (Biblical Satan): The Red Dragon is a form of the Biblical Satan, otherwise known as Lucifer, the former Seraphim that rebelled against the Creator and became evil in Christianity and Hebrew religions. His alias, the Red Dragon, was described in the Bible to have seven heads, ten horns, seven crowns, and a massive tail that knocks one-third of the stars out of the sky. The Red Dragon is mentioned to have other names like the Serpent of Old and the Devil. It is said in the Bible that Satan will take the form of the Red Dragon and will along with the Antichrist, the False Prophet, and the Beast, deceive most of Humanity. After that the Red Dragon will be set free upon the world in which he will rule alongside demons for three long years. After that God will cast the Red Dragon, demons, and other dammed evil souls into Lake of Fire, thus finally destroying the evil of Satan forever.

During the time-skip, we've seen Brook being accidentally summoned by a Satanic cult, which implies the existence of Satan in the One Piece world. Now, on chapter 1094, we've seen again a summoning circle, this time for St. Jaygarcia Saturn. I think it's pretty obvious the connection between real world devils and the Gorosei and Imu.

It's all going to come to the ironic conclusion that the D. clan, the enemies of the Gods, are Gods themselves (like Nika) and the Celestial Dragons, the Gods of the world, are actual Devils.

#one piece #jaygarcia saturn #1094 #one piece spoilers #op spoilers #opspoilers #egghead #egghead arc #gorosei #1085 #one piece chapter 1094 #honestly the one i'm most certain about is aosagibi the blue heron #the other ones are very difficult to understand #one piece theory #one piece 1094 #one piece 1085 #im sama #imu sama #nerona imu #my post

[vigilskeep]

i was discussing some of these a while back with @v-arbellanaris but they’re still on my mind... some ideas for dragon age subclasses...?

mage:

hedge mage - you have spent much of your life on the run from chantry control, and survival has been a better teacher than any dusty book. a “jack of all trades, master of none” ability lets you learn limited spells from other specialisations, and you have access to a stealth skill tree

glyph scribe - you are a learned expert in the arcane, and glyphs are a second language your enemies won’t understand until it’s too late. you have access to a unique skill tree of glyphs that react when your enemies step on them. you may cast one—or more, as you level up—during the pause at the start of combat

primalist - fire was your childhood plaything, the earth is putty in your hands, and lightning always strikes twice if you ask it nicely. you have increasing bonus damage in your element of choice. your elemental AOE attacks have wider range, you may ignore enemy resistances to elemental damage, and your elemental spells cause no friendly fire no matter the difficulty

rogue:

templar hunter - you were once a deadly weapon in the hands of the templar order, bringing back its most feared apostates dead or alive. whether or not you regret the past, you cannot leave it behind. you have access to a templar skill tree, some of its abilities exclusively possible to use at long range

vampire - you were temporarily possessed by a voracious demon, and it left its mark. it left its hungers. you may drink your enemies’ blood to regain health or fuel demonic abilities

arcane trickster - while blades or bows are still your best allies, the trace of magic in your blood gives you limited access to spellcasting. unable to create anything real enough to touch, you manifest illusions that bemuse your foes. you have access to a unique skill tree of primarily defensive buffs and disorienting spells

warrior:

dog lord - like all great fereldan warriors, you are never better than with your trusty hound at your side. you gain an animal companion, though unlike rangers, you level up your mabari as you progress rather than unlocking different types of animal. you can also equip kaddis warpaint on yourself instead of a helmet, providing further buffs to you and your mabari

enhanced soldier - you were born ordinary, but that doesn’t mean you have to remain so. you supplement your skills with powerful potions brewed by secretive alchemists or your own careful hands. you have access to a unique skill tree, with a variety of potions that temporarily boost your stats and attack speed or allow you unnatural power. to improve them even further, collect special ingredients from areas of the map where the veil is considered thin

half-golem - you are a failed experiment. attempts to recreate the golems of old left you with thick stone skin over parts of your body. you cannot equip armour or weapons. instead, you equip crystals that help you inflict and resist different types of damage, and have access to a unique skill tree that supports your natural armour and powerful unarmed attacks

#for fic ocs or for future games if they were good you know how it is #i would love to hear more ideas.... if anyone cares abt me.... #anyway vampires exist in that one codex and they WILL let us in one day. or so help me

[star-anise]

now, hold still—

I'd kill for some resources on body image in the context of disability, chronic pain, and having grown up with a complicated and intense medical history. I think I've exhausted my local library's offerings. Yes, I'm seeing a counsellor who focuses on this, and he's probably got recs, but I'm pacing my cage and lashing my tail in between sessions.

"Body image" has a particular connotation most of the time, because it comes out of the field that deals with eating disorders. Which is great and I'm glad for the people it works for, but its basic principles and assumptions are for completely different problems than the one I have.

I can't track down who said it first, but in my reading I keep coming across this narrative of, "I saw my body as something to be disciplined and controlled, an object only seen by external eyes. Now I've learned to take joy in what my body can do and experience, and to see it as a site of pleasure."

...Sounds fake, but okay.

My body is a site of pain. It cannot do or bear the experience of many things. I have to exercise a huge amount of discipline and control just to get out of bed every day. I can't imagine my body being a visible object that other people might find pleasing; it's incredibly hard to look up from my continual tooth-and-nail fight getting my body to let me live to imagine what someone who doesn't live with all this shit might see.

When I was a child, I learned to hold myself very still. For a hairdresser, or photographer, or a dentist, or someone who wanted to measure my height, or an injection, or a doctor who wanted a demonstration of how one of my joints looked, or an X-ray, or an IV inserted, or a CAT scan, or to have a cast taken off, or a PET scan, or to have a wound treated, or an MRI, or to have a pin pulled out.

And you know, I got proud of that. I felt like a brave warrior in a fantasy novel. I learned to take deep breaths, and take myself in my mind away from the anxiety and unpleasantness, until I could shut down my reaction to it. So that I didn't flinch or scream or cry. Because there was something wrong with my body, and doctors knew how to fix it.

When I was getting assessed for fibromyalgia, this new doctor told me he was going palpate areas in my back, arms, and knees. I get a lot of massage; I knew what was coming. I slowed my breathing, concentrating on the long outbreath. I took myself away from my reactions and thought continually, obsessively, about letting my body droop, weightless, like the moment when your aching limbs meet a solid surface and fresh cool sheets.

"Hm, I dunno," he said. "A lot of this checks out, but your trigger point exam was totally negative. Most people, when I touch those points, they have a big reaction. Some people even scream and jump off the table."

"Well, no," I think I said. "If I'd done that, it would have hurt way more, for like, hours." And I was polite about it, because you have to be polite to doctors; doctors know how to make you feel better. But what I felt at the time, and still feel today, is a kind of outrage I labelled was unreasonable the moment it was born: You wanted to hurt me, and it's my fault for not letting you?

How do you learn how to ask for things, when you've taught yourself to lie still and cry quietly because the nurse who said they'd be right back is helping someone who suddenly needs the help more? How do you express yourself, when you've spent your whole life gritting your teeth?

The problems I have about my body are not about being attractive or thin. They are, however, about being small. Learning to cry less, scream less, and ask for less. About feeling like my body is a burden to anyone who comes to know it, and like that's a burden I can't ask other people to take on unless I'm staggering under the weight of it.

Right now, what I've got is this:

Remember, you weren’t the one who made you ashamed, but you are the one who can make you proud. Just practice, practice until you get proud, and once you are proud, keep practicing so you won’t forget. You get proud by practicing.

#staranise original #chronic pain lyfe #gore tw

[lola-lovebug]

Obligatory warrior cats au anybody? (caine’s design takes off years of me studying character designing but oh well)

I haven’t really developed this au much but from what I’ve got so far, they’re all not actually in a real clan and got stuck inside some sort of dream realm in which they cannot escape from. They can’t go back to their regular clans because they cannot wake up whatsoever.

-Caine (Toothstar) in this au, instead of an ai, is a figment of everybody’s imaginations and is the only one who can control what happens in the dream. His very strange deputy is a poodle named Bubble who will fortunately never become leader after Toothstar because they are not real and cannot die.

-Pomni (Poppyjump) is still the same, except she is a completely fish out of water character since she is the only kittypet out of the bunch. Yes, Jax bullies her a lot for that.

-Ragatha (Ragbloom) is still the same as ever, and is still afraid of centipedes in her moss bedding no thanks to Jax. She has a soft spot for kittypets and kits and is the first to help them.

-Jax (Harestride) continues to be the bully out of the bunch, and the youngest. Before getting stuck in the dream realm, he had just gotten his warrior name and is bitter that he never got a chance to be an actual warrior

-Kinger (Woodtwitch) has been in the realm the longest. He used to be with Queenie (no warrior name as of right now) until she got abstracted or whatever is the same thing in this au. He is the only elder, and his fortress is the realm’s elder’s den, which he used to share with Queenie. He’s still into insects.

-Zooble (Scrapclaw) used to be a kittypet like Pomni but due to unknown reasons, they were forced to fend for themselves as a rogue/stray outside of the clans, hence their worn out collar. No one really knows how they ended up in the realm, but for some strange reason they are the best warrior/fighter there despite never having training.

-Gangle (Tanglepelt) is still very soft-spoken and often cries a lot. She was unfit to be a warrior, and preferred to become a medicine cat, which she does best at. Jax often bullies her because she’s an easy target, but Scrapclaw is quick to protect her and teach her how to defend herself.

#artists on tumblr #fanart #gooseworx #tadc #the amazing digital circus #warrior cats #tadc au

[robertreich]

Is Donald Trump a Fascist? 

I want to talk to you about the F word. No no — not that F word.

I’m talking about fascism.

Is Donald Trump really a “fascist,” as some would claim?

Is “authoritarian” adequate?

The term “fascism” is often used loosely, but you can generally identify fascists by their hate of the "other," vengeful nationalism, and repression of dissent.

To fight these ideas, we need to be aware of what they are and how they fit together.

Let's examine the five elements that define fascism and what makes it distinct from, and more dangerous than, authoritarianism.

1. The rejection of democracy in favor of a strongman

Authoritarians believe strong leaders are needed to maintain stability. So they empower  strongmen, dictators, or absolute monarchs to maintain social order through the use of force.

But fascists view strong leaders as the means of discovering what society needs. They regard the leader as the embodiment of society, the voice of the people.

2. Stoking rage against cultural elites

Authoritarian movements cannot succeed without at least some buy-in from establishment elites.

While fascist movements often seek to co-opt the establishment, they largely depend on fueling resentment and anger against presumed cultural elites for supposedly displacing regular people. Fascists rile up their followers to seek revenge on the elites.

They create mass political parties and demand participation. They encourage violence.

3. Nationalism based on “superior” race and historic bloodlines.

Authoritarians see nationalism as a means of asserting the power of the state.

For fascists the state embodies what is considered a “superior” group — based on race, religion, and historic bloodlines. To fascists, the state is a means of asserting that superiority.

Fascists worry about disloyalty and replacement by groups that don’t share the same race or bloodlines. Fascists encourage their followers to scapegoat, expel, and sometimes even kill such “others.”

Fascists believe schools and universities must teach values that glorify the dominant race, religion, and bloodline. Schools should not teach inconvenient truths about the failures of the dominant race.

4. Extolling brute strength and heroic warriors.

The goal of authoritarianism is to gain and maintain state power at any cost. For authoritarians, “strength” comes in the form of large standing armies that can enforce their rule. They seek power to wield power.

Fascists seek state power to achieve their ostensible goal: achieving their vision of society.

Fascism accomplishes this goal by rewarding those who win economically and physically, and denigrating or exterminating those who lose. Fascism depends on organized bullying — a form of social Darwinism.

For the fascist, war and violence are means of strengthening society by culling the weak and glorifying heroic warriors.

5. Disdain of women and LGBTQ+ people

Authoritarianism imposes hierarchies. It’s about order.

Fascism’s idea of order is organized around a particular hierarchy of male dominance. The fascist “heroic warrior” is male. Women are relegated to subservient roles.

In fascism, anything that challenges the traditional heroic male roles of protector, provider, and controller of the family is considered a threat to the social order.

Fascism seeks to eliminate homosexuals, nonbinary, transgender, and queer people because they’re thought to challenge or weaken the heroic male warrior.

These five elements of fascism fit together and reinforce each other.

Rejection of democracy in favor of a strongman depends on galvanizing popular rage.

Popular rage draws on a nationalism based on a supposed superior race or ethnicity.

That superior race or ethnicity is justified by a social Darwinist idea of strength and violence, as exemplified by heroic warriors.

Strength, violence, and the heroic warrior are centered on male power.

These five elements find exact expression in Donald Trump. His uniquely American version of fascism is rooted largely in White Christian Nationalism. It is the direction that most of the Republican Party is now heading in.

It’s not enough to call Trump and those promoting his ideas authoritarians when what they are really advocating is something far worse: fascism.

#youtube #fascism #Donald Trump #politics #election #video #videos

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Under Cotton and Calicoes

Pairing: Osferth (The Last Kingdom) x f!reader Warnings: Orgasm control, outdoor sex, smut. Word count: ~1.6k

Summary: In the space between darkness and light, her and Osferth discover the freedom to be exactly as they are.

Author's note: Day eight of the Smuffmas prompts - "sunrise and orgasm control". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

She climbs the grassy embankment, picking each step carefully in the darkness. The dew drops that cover the soft surface dampen the bottom of her skirt, but she finds the coolness of it against her bare ankles refreshing.

This is her favourite time of day, the hours that linger between darkness and light, when the sky hovers over the horizon with muted hues of blush pink and lilac. She often finds herself in this spot, looking out over Wintanceaster as it still sleeps, her mind flooded with all she had hoped for when she had first arrived here, and all that this place has stolen away from her since.

When she had left her father’s small farmstead she had been in search of freedom, an escape from the mundane. Wintanceaster had seemed lively and exciting, full of opportunity, though she swiftly learned that this only applies if you are a man.

She had taken a job at the alehouse to begin with. She is not quite sure how she ended up in the employment of the local brothel, a temporary arrangement for additional coin that had somehow become permanent. She cannot deny that the money she stashes away now is a larger sum than what she had earned serving flagons of ale and bowls of stew, however, with every man that molds their flesh to hers she cannot help but feel she has simply escaped one entrapment to fall into another; the scenery has changed, yet the shackles remain the same. Once the money beneath her pillow reaches a sufficient quantity, she will leave this place. For now, she is resigned to looking upon it in the cold light of dawn.

In the empty space she occupies in the twilight hours, she is not the daughter of a farmer, she is not a whore, she is simply her, free to think on her dreams as the sky lightens and the day begins anew.

Her head turns, the rustle of footsteps alerting her to a presence beside her.

“Forgive me, my lady, I did not mean to startle you. I thought I was alone.”

She recognises him. A holy man that has accompanied the warriors that travelled here a few days prior. Though his piety is not without question, when she considers the two visits he has made to her place of employment since arriving here. The two women he had laid with had fought viciously over him.

“Hmm,” she smiles softly, “I thought I was alone too.”

He swallows thickly, blue eyes averting their gaze as he clasps his hands behind his back. “If you’d prefer to be alone, I can always–”

Ordinarily, she would balk at the idea of being alone in the darkness with a strange man, but she feels perfectly safe in the gentle presence of this one. He means her no harm.

“Stay,” she interjects, “there is room enough for two. You are Osferth?”

He nods and enquires after her name, bowing slightly as she tells him. The formality of the gesture almost makes her want to laugh.

“I see that sleep evades you too, my lady,” he says, moving to stand beside her, cocking his head as he glances sideways at her.

“It often does,” she sighs, looking out at the horizon. “But I prefer this time of day. It is freeing to not feel obligated, to simply–”

“Be yourself?” He finishes for her, with a raise of his eyebrow.

“So you understand. Is that why you do not sleep either?”

“I understand more than I’d care to admit,” he tells her, scraping his boot against the ground, an obvious gesture of discomfort.

“But you travel in the company of Uhtred of Bebbanburg, what could you possibly have to escape from? Heroism?”

She chuckles drily, causing him to frown as he bows his head, pursing his lips tightly.

“I am a bastard,” he states simply.

“No shame in being a bastard,” she says with a shrug.

“So I am told, but I am nothing more until I prove otherwise. King Alfred’s bastard, the baby monk, I have to fight every day to be seen as more. All I want to be is…Osferth. Simply Osferth.”

She softens, turning towards him, eyes half lidded in sympathetic understanding. “I doubt it provides any comfort, but to me you are simply Osferth.”

“It provides more comfort than you could possibly understand, my lady,” he admits quietly, large eyes staring into hers.

She studies his features silently, the sharp jut of his jaw, his high cheekbones, the straightness of his nose. He is beautiful when the time is taken to really study him, and without thinking her hand reaches up, fingers tracing the outline of his features.

He steps back quickly, eyes widening slightly in surprise. “I have no silver to pay you.”

Her hand drops back to her side as she feels her skin grow hot with embarrassment. “How silly of me to think you could actually understand,” she says bitterly, looking away.

“I did not mean to offend you,” he tells her, his tone pleading as he steps towards her once more.

She shakes her head. “You have not. It is foolish of me to think I could ever be seen as anything more than a whore.”

Osferth’s brow furrows, and he grasps her hand in his. The touch of his flesh against hers feels as though she has been branded, yet she does not jerk away.

“You are so much more.”

“You do not know me.”

“I would like to.”

She looks up at him, taken aback by how impossibly close he is to her, his breath fans across her face as his gaze locks with hers.

“Why?” She whispers.

“There is a reason I did not choose you over those other women,” he says earnestly. “You are beautiful, my lady, worth more than any payment I could possibly give.”

“Then I shall not accept your payment,” she breathes, leaning up to press her lips to his.

He responds in kind, leaning down, and the hand not holding hers reaches up to cup her cheek, his large palm enveloping her skin in its warmth. His lips are soft, yet his kiss is firm and tender. She savours the intimacy of it, sighing softly as her body relaxes against his.

“Are you sure you wish to do this?” He utters, as they reluctantly draw back, foreheads pressed together.

Her pulse races, her core throbbing with need, surrounded by his earthy scent and the heat that radiates off of him. She has never been more certain of anything in her life.

She captures his lips with hers once more in silent answer, and his arms wrap around her waist, pulling her tighter against him.

As they drop to their knees, she pushes him back by the shoulder, shifting to straddle him. Their hands are almost frenzied, their breaths coming in hurried puffs, in their rush to push up her skirt and his robe, before he tugs down his trousers and breeches enough to free himself.

It is only then that they slow the pace. His head falls back against the damp grass as she takes him in her hand, a quiet groan escaping him as she rubs the tip of his hardened cock through her rapidly gathering slick. Sliding herself against it, she repeats the motion, back and forth, preparing herself to take him inside.

His hands disappear beneath her dress, fingers indenting into her hips as he whimpers quietly. “Please, my lady, I will not last if you keep this up.”

She giggles, raising up to guide him to her opening. “Patience, sweet Osferth.”

They both sigh in relief as she sinks down upon him, the length of him stretching her in a way that guides the head of him to brush against a patch inside of her that steals her breath away.

The pace she sets is unhurried, slowly rocking herself atop him, revelling in the exquisite torture of having him touch upon that particular place over and over. If ever she were to experience what it is to be worshipped then this surely must be it. His hold on her hips is almost bruising, made all the more divine when juxtaposed with the reverence of his gaze as he looks up at her, brows pinched together and jaw slack.

She moans, head tipping back as she allows her movements to become faster and more determined. In her peripheral vision she sees the first golden rays of morning breaching the inky blackness of the sky.

Osferth pulsates inside of her, his breathing now reduced to ragged pants. “Oh, please, I’m going to–”

“Not yet,” she whispers, slowing her pace, working her way towards the pinnacle of the ever tightening knot in her gut. “With me.”

His fingertips press tighter into the meat of her, his eyes screwing shut. She brings herself down upon him once, twice, three times more, chasing the sensation that’s about to crest over her, until she finally lets go, closing her eyes and tightening around him with a pleasured cry.

He grunts, bucking upwards, holding her against him as she feels him twitch, spilling himself inside of her. As she catches her breath, eyes blinking open, the dull orange of the sun has chased away the darkness almost entirely, its faint hues slowly lightening the surrounding fields and expanse of the town below them. 

For once, she exists exactly as she is outside the cover of twilight hours, and it gives her hope.

Osferth pulls himself to sit up, keeping himself buried inside of her as she remains in his lap, and they wrap their arms around each other.

“When I return, I will find you,” he whispers.

“Perhaps by then I will finally be free to live as I please.”

“I would like that for both of us,” he replies.

But for now, they will always have this moment, kept immortal in the quiet of dawn.

#osferth x reader #ewan mitchell #osferth x you #osferth x y/n #osferth imagine #osferth smut #osferth the last kingdom #the last kingdom osferth #osferth fan fiction #osferth fanfiction #osferth tlk #tlk osferth #osferth fanfic #osferth fan fic #the last kingdom #tlk #the last kingdom smut #tlk smut #the last kingdom fan fiction #the last kingdom fanfiction #the last kingdom fanfic #the last kingdom fan fic