#Context: none of them were subjected to it live

[otkuhotgirl]

─── 𝐃𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒

# with trafalgar water d. law.

it was said that those trapped inside his sphere were then nothing but a helpless patient on his operating table. law made sure you, too, would experience it.

⎰ & KINKTOBER, day three. medical play. glove kink. smut (mdni)! fingering (reader!receiving). freaky law. use of devil-fruit. double penetration. afab!reader.

WC: 2.5k

it was an agreement that the captain of a crew was the most valuable asset. law had matured into such a position with natural ease — powerful and intelligent; responsible and menacing — yet, his most arduous and important role relied neither on his battle skills nor on his plans. law was crucial to the lives of crew due to his extensive anatomical knowledge and the devil-fruit whose power could heal whatever ill. he was reliable, organized, logical. shame had no place within the walls of the infirmary, for law cared not for the cause of the disease or the placement of a pimple — instead, he all but strived to get rid of it.

the gratefulness and cheerful compliments thereafter were fuel to his ego, the confirmation that he had fulfilled his duties as a captain. law drew pleasure from the fact that he was one to execute a role unique amidst his crew. he had taught them concepts of medicine and surgery — to have a set of aiding hands, at least — but none of those with whom he shared the submarine were fit to nurse themselves to health. that diligent performance, more often than not, brought him a greater sense of power than the one granted by victorious battles.

it was an achievement; a task; his father’s legacy. law treated his patients with utmost professionalism, the character of their shared dynamic long forgotten if one had to be examined. it was a neutral space; undiscriminating. his ethics were thorough, his examination was immaculate. the mere thought of law losing focus during such instances was inconceivable. that was, of course, until you were the subject whose back pressed against the examination table.

the prelude itself had been virtuous. your limbs were sore during the aftermath of an arduous battle, minuscules cuts adorning your skin due to the offensive character of your opponent. law had insisted on treating you, regardless of how minor were the gashes. the memories were a vivid talon that had claimed his mind: your knee pressed against your chest as he stretched your muscles; the perspective from being atop your figure; your mellow breaths of relief whenever his fingers succeeded in undoing a tense knot. law had grown hot, then, forced to hasteness for the sudden tightness of his pants would be sure to denounce the perverted thoughts.

the second time was one of prolonged misery. a mosquito bite from a foreign island had left you bedridden; feverish. a frailer state of mind and manners, hazed by the consequences of a higher temperature. from soothing massages to the press of ice-cold thermal bags — your comfort became his most favored goal. the pain, however, proved to be overbearing, and the product of such given relieves came in the form of multiple moans. a press of his hand had you sighing; the cool, metal touch of his stethoscope against your burning skin made you beg for longer contact. whenever law dared to place a damp towel above your forehead, you’d lean into his touch and plead for him to stay.

yet, the occurrence that snapped the strained thread of his mind had been during a routine checkup. your mouth was open wide; law had a thin, small, wooden-stick on your tongue, striving to check on the health of your throat. he teased your gag-reflex, a gloved thumb pressed against your lower lip. law had lost his senses at the sight of your tears, the wild rise-and-fall of your chest, a context much too similar to that of a blowjob. the examination was cut short, and law had spent an entire hour in the shower right thereafter, fisting his cock; chasing a fleeting orgasm that had refused him, for your touch was its demand.

the infirmary shifted into a somewhat sinful ambience. the metal table was but a surface on which you could be ravaged. the stethoscope an instrument he could use to listen to the pace of your heartbeat, its increase gradual to his thrusts on your pussy. and the gloves. rubber moistened with your cum and spit; the act of stretching it near you, for it would then strike at the growing-sensible flesh. law wanted to witness the middle in which pain and pleasure converged — and you had been the chosen subject.

fleeting touches; warm breath hovering above your earlobe; the caress of your leg, under the table, with the point of his shoe. the guaranteeing of your restlessness coated in faux aloofness. when the teasing, at last, conquered its desired effect, law had the infirmary far more than prepared to receive your storm. his nape had burned under your gaze throughout the later hours of the afternoon, and when law stepped inside the maddening room, he was well-aware that you would be soon to follow.

he hid amidst the shadows, reveling in your confused-etched expression as you walked through the infirmary’s door. when you reached the center, law locked it, the force of its shutting enough to produce a loud, startling noise; echoing through the metal hallways of the submarine. you jumped, glancing at his frame placed by the door. law’s eyes drowned in the sight of you, thoughts swirling to the fantasies whose realization was of absurd importance.

“is something wrong, captain?” you inquired, arms crossed.

law’s steps were slow; calculated. he approached you as though a leopard surrounding its prey. you grew wary, retreating without forethought until your hip-bone collided with the examination table.

“how are you feeling tonight?” law grinned at the sight of your confusion, the increasing nervousness all but exciting him further.

the sound of his palms slamming on metal had you shrieking, yet law did not seem apologetic. he all but devoured your trapped figure, cursing the chaste knitting of the jumpsuit — though the sight of his crew’s symbol above your chest sent him a jolt of uncontrollable possessiveness.

“i’m fine,” you stuttered, clearing your throat and clinging to the fabric of your garment. “better than ever.”

“is that so?” law mused, pressing the back of his hand against your forehead. his fingers were but a hook on your chin; curled and unyielding. “you’re a bit pale, wouldn’t you agree?”

“captain, i don’t—”

“doctor,” he corrected through rough intonation, forcing the angle of your face to match his own.

“doctor,” you echoed. while the grunt of lust at the sound had been contained, the same could not be said about his member — a gradual erection, borderline painful.

he sighed in faux disappointment, allowing his hand to wander; to hover above your chest. “you leave me no choice but to examine you.”

you were left out of words, mouth agape as your mind struggled to wrap itself around that turn of events.

“sit. you know the drill,” he commanded, and once you had done as such, law turned on his back, striding towards the locked drawer whose contents were the ones adjusted to fulfill the standards of what he meant on doing. his movements were languid, patient. at the absence of sound on your part, law tsked, angling his head so as to glare at you. “strip.”

your spontaneous gasp of bewilderment had a smirk etching on his face. “captain, i— what?”

“doctor. and i don’t plan on repeating myself,” he scolded, fishing the stethoscope from its previous spot. “i taught you the proper way to listen to one’s heartbeat. forgot it already?”

“oh,” you breathed out sheepishly, tugging down the zipper of your jumpsuit. law at last understood the root of your hesitation, for you wore nothing but a bra underneath. his mouth dried up, and he dared not readjust his gaze. “i thought, well, nothing. it was silly.”

“no, please, enlighten me,” he requested, positioning the stethoscope around his neck.

the growth of tension escaped past your pores as though a leaking faucet. “just, with the touches and the glances, i figured you were in search of another thing entirely.”

“and what would that be?”

your movements ceased midway, the upper half of the jumpsuit a dangling fabric at your sides. you hid your face from his glance, though his focus remained on the inviting sight of your cleavage.

“you know—”

“i do not,” law detached his figure from its previous support spot on the table’s edge, languid steps guiding him to you. “and a decent patient does not keep secrets from their doctor.”

you were caged, forced to lean back as law angled himself forward. the sudden exchange of energy, due to the temperature divergence between your spine and the metal, made you hiss. your back arched out of instinct; your chest pressed against his own as a consequence. mere inches separated his face from yours, his breath fluttering your eyelashes. your pupils dilated when law tossed his blue coat aside, the half-unbuttoned shirt he wore doing nothing to shelter his bare abdomen and chest from your lustful eyes.

you gulped; wild rise-and-fall of chest. “sex.”

he hummed, putting on the stethoscope’s ear pieces. its chest piece teased the warmth of your skin, movements too erratic to catch the proper pace of your heartbeat. “i can’t hear you, say it louder.”

you were aghast, stuttering as he smirked with malice. sentences sounded muffled; chaotic breathing hindering the performance of the tool. law placed the stethoscope aside, feigning dissatisfaction.

“it seems i’ll have to scan it closer on,” he stated, a twist of his wrist enough to teleport your heart to the palm of his hand.

it was a beating wonder; a rampant pace. the source of your life secured in between his teasing fingers. clutching it would have you howling in pain, stabbing it would reap your soul; an unfathomable, despising, thought. when it came to the negative consequences to a severe act of violence committed to one’s heart, law was well-versed. the soothing touches, however, were unprecedented territory — for now.

law drew your heart closer to his mouth, ever-so-tender. he blew a careful gust of air over the delicate flesh, and the kiss thereafter tore a devastating moan from your lips. droplets of sweat bubbled from your pores; your pupils buried the tone of your irises; your limbs all but trembled. law failed to contain a groan, losing balance at the blood flowing through his aching cock. he was desperate to witness that reaction yet again.

“take it all off,” he instructed, voice coming out strained due to the effort to keep himself from crumbling.

he laid your entire body on the examination table, struggling to ignore your whimpers as the fabric slid down your legs. law sliced the rubber gloves, discarding the pieces meant for the palms.

“room,” law detached his fingers, guiding them to the glove holes; covering them in rubber. he returned to you, breath catching at the sight of your body, bare and trembling, a marvel bestowed upon him. “the doctor will see you now.”

“please, doctor,” you mewled. “heal me.”

without further ado, granted the privilege of his devil-fruit, law guided his floating fingers to your cunt. a gloved thumb teased your clit through circular movements, two fingers parting your folds. he was aghast at the amount of lubrification caused by the mere press of his lips on your heart. law shoved his middle-finger into your cunt, coating the rubber with your essence. a loud whimper had his cock aching, and law grew worried, much too selfish to share your sounds with the external environment.

“silent,” he rasped, latching his lips to your heart, leaving a trail of kisses on the flesh. your back arched, a muted moan tearing through your throat.

he witnessed the squirming of your body; the violent trembling of your legs. his ring finger accompanied his middle one, scissoring your cunt as his thumb maintained a stable eight-pattern on your clit. law’s warm tongue teased your heart, and the shout of pleasure whose sound the barrier had silenced was his latest straw. law undid it, shoving his index and minor finger into your mouth.

“suck it,” law commanded, having your spit coat the rubber. his mouth dried, a wet patch visible on the fabric of his pants.

the swirling of your tongue around his fingers had his cock twitching, yet law had no hands available to unbutton the belt. he clicked his tongue, and the fingers inside your holes had switched, activating his devil-fruit regardless of the detachment.

“shambles,” his pants and underwear teleported to a meaningless spot.

law detached his cock and removed the pair of fingers from your cunt, for the particular warmth and wetness were meant to be claimed by his cum.

“doctor,” you babbled, voice muffled by his fingers, tears rolling down your cheeks as he applied pressure to the entrance of your ass. “it’s too—ngh much.”

“you’re still sick,” he cooed, teasing your folds with the tip of his member. “and i must treat it. can we proceed with it?”

you nodded, gagging when he shoved his fingers deeper — unrestrained by the confines of his tendons.

“speak,” he insisted, neglecting your inability to produce proper words.

“yes,” you cried out, sending vibrations through his fingers.

“yes what?” law snapped, teasing your entrance with the tip of his middle-finger.

“yes, doctor,” you coaxed in sheer desperation, trembling with need.

law hummed with satisfaction, careful during the insertion on your butthole. the rubber had enough of your essence to serve as a form of lubricant, yet he wished not for you to feel pain. his tongue licked strips on your heart, and your throat produced but an orchestra of boisterous moans, half its sound muffled. a never-ending pace of kisses to your wildly beating heart served as decent distraction, and when law slid his middle and ring fingers into your ass, you barely ever felt it.

your high was a powerful force, drowning his floating cock in your cum. law trembled, rutting his hips out of instinct, the movement itself useless as his member was no longer attached to his body. law marveled at the sight of you, covered in sweat and spit; squirting all over the examination table. he was drawn closer as though a senseless sailor to a siren’s aria, lost in your contorting features, the pleasure written all over.

your eyes met his, wet with past tears. “can i treat you, still?”

law feared that he had crossed a line, far gone in his bliss to remind himself that, although there were no limits to what he was willing to give you, the same could not be said about how much you were capable of receiving.

yet, after a minute, your breathing stabilized and your cheeks briefly hollowed, tongue swirling around his fingers. he removed them, if only to facilitate your speaking.

your voice was meek; hoarse. “treat me ‘til the end, doctor.”

he groaned when your lips parted, head weakly moving to accommodate his fingers. law’s member started to stretch you out, making itself at home within the walls of your cunt. you trembled, sensitive, and law moaned as his cock was coated with the essence from the previous squirting. he paid attention to your expression, fingers scissoring inside your butthole as he matched the pace with that established by his cock.

law caressed your heart, busying his mouth with the press of soothing kisses on your face. he shoved his cock past what was humanly possible, brushing the tip on your cervix; returning it to your entrance and ramming it inside yet again. your moans were the most entrancing melody he had heard, and law caught himself comfortable enough to produce similar sounds.

you tightened around both his fingers and cock; cunt and ass giving in to the overbearing tides of pleasure. your voice failed you, and law had his fingers removed from your mouth in order to listen to the sound of your bliss without restraints. the veins of his members twitched; he felt the knot close to its undoing. yet, it was the bulge of his tip visible through your stomach that had his vision covered in dark spots.

his grip left your heart — out of safety — as his orgasm washed over him, converging with your cum. he rode his high, careful as to observe your face and retrieve once the stimulation became too much. you were left limp on the table, a brief vocal command of his devil-fruit returning the detached limbs to his body. he threw the damp gloves on the trash can, and helped you sit, holding your heart in order to return it to your chest.

when you kissed it — shuddering at your own touch — and observed him through your eyelashes, law, however, became more than willing to ruin the infirmary further.

— 🐈‍⬛ : dear lord this was nasty. i love kinktober.

[danmei-confessions]

I think we should talk about Wu Zetian, China’s only female emperor, who historically has been regarded as a horrible and brutal leader.

She was born a commoner, became a concubine to one emperor, married his son and then took the role of emperor for herself when he died. She was politically adept, highly ambitious and extraordinarily intelligent.

History has accused her of smothering her newly born daughter and blaming a rival for her death. She had that rivals hands and feet cut off and then had her thrown into a vat of wine in which she was left to drown. She gouged out another rivals eyes and had acid poured down her throat. She wiped out 12 entire branches of a clan. She poisoned her mother. Just how accurate these things are is up for debate, but while these things might not all be true, she certainly did have several family members killed. And she did deal with her rivals and her detractors ruthlessly. Yet none of these things would have attracted criticism if she had been a man. She was no more scandalous than any other ruler during that time period.

But! Her rule was peaceful and prosperous. She avoided wars and welcomed ambassadors from as far away as the Byzantine empire. She changed laws so common people could be chosen for roles in government for their abilities rather than their name or status. She acknowledged and acted on criticisms from her retainers. She built watchtowers along the Silk Road so merchants wouldn’t be harrowed by bandits. Her reign saw women given more freedom(the ability to divorce, hold government positions, travel, hunt and ride horses, to be recognized by scholars).

She supported Buddhism and helped the religion spread and grow through commissioning temples, monasteries, and even a statue of the Buddha said to be carved in her own likeness. In the eyes of the common people, she likely would have been an incredibly popular ruler.

She remains a controversial figure primarily because of stories about her personal actions against her rivals by male Confucian officials who were prejudiced against strong and ambitious women and while they undoubtedly exaggerated aspects of Wu’s life, there is still substantial verifiable evidence of her ruthlessness.

We should also be aware that although she allegedly held her power through murder and merciless, according to Confucian philosophy, ‘while an emperor should not be condemned for acts that would be crimes in a subject, he should be judged harshly for allowing the state to fall into anarchy’ and viewed under this lens, Wu did effectively fulfill her duties as a ruler.

So we have a leader of ancient china who had two faces, one who committed acts of vile cruelty against her family and rivals and one who gave her citizens peace and prosperity.

Through a modern lens she can be viewed as an evil woman who rose from humble beginnings and coldly and calculatingly murdered her way into arguably the most powerful position in the world. A rich woman who threw crumbs to her peasant people while she lived luxuriously. She is a deadly woman, a black widow, an evil stepmother, a kinslayer. But according to historians, “without Wu there would have been no long enduring Tang dynasty and perhaps no lasting unity of China.”

The comparison to a modern mr beast obviously doesn’t hold water, but we can certainly analyze jgy to a more comparable historical figure and argue more accurately in a historical context if jgy was a good leader as the de facto emperor as the cultivation worlds Xiāndū.

It’s easy to see the comparisons between Wu and jgy, both were undesirable and deemed unfit by society. But both were politically adept, highly ambitious and extraordinarily intelligent. Both had family members murdered, perhaps sharing between them filicide. Both had a clans murdered to a man. Both are thought to have had their faces carved on religious relics for their narcissistic pleasure. Both had watchtowers built as a defense for their people. And both were torn down by the men following after them, vilified and distorted. Both forever destined to be speculated upon and misunderstood. Both of their legacy’s destroyed by rumor and falsification. It would not surprise me in the slightest if mxtx didn’t draw on Wu at least a little bit in the creation of jgy. Both Wu and jgy are culpable for some pretty heinous stuff, that can’t be denied. But like Wu, jgy also has a second face.

Moral bias and character motivation aside, his efforts to build watchtowers, his patronage of religion in the building of Guanyin temple, his fight against political corruption, his years long peaceful reign, his charity, all these things lead to the conclusion that under the rule of Confucian, he more than aptly fulfilled his role as a leader for his citizens.

And if you really want to look at Jgys leadership through a modern lens, we really don’t have to look much further than Ingersoll. “If you want to find out what a man is to the bottom, give him power.”

And really that’s part of the tragedy of his character. Because of his background he excelled when he was in a role of leadership. He was good at it.

Whether or not jgy as a literary character is a good person, is subjective and should not be used to measure his role as an effective leader.

All of that being said, jgy is my bestfriend and I love him and would I die for him.

.

[iamnmbr3]

Draco's Motivations in the Book 7 Room of Requirement Confrontation

I just reread the Fiendfyre sequence and based on a close reading Draco's motivations and actions are a lot more complex and sympathetic than I remembered. Not to mention, once again, here there be drarry.

First, the context:

After the incident at Malfoy Manor, we know from Harry's psychic connection to Voldemort and from the Carrows' overheard discussion that Voldemort's wrath was exceptionally terrible. The Malfoy family became virtual prisoners in their own homes for months and were subjected to especially brutal (even by Voldemort's standards) torture that was also likely quite protracted. Lucius has visible marks on him months later - which, given what we know about magic in that world, really speaks to the level of what has been going on. While he probably got the worst of it, it's certain that none of his family members escaped unscathed. After their other failings they have at this point probably permanently fallen out of favor and have nothing but a (likely short) life of misery to look forward to.

Draco bears a lot of responsibility for this state of affairs since it was he who chose not to identify Harry. This likely adds to his sense of conflict as his conscience tells him one thing and everything he has ever been taught tells him something else. He presumably feels responsible for the suffering his family (we know from book 6 that he does genuinely care about them) has to endure.

Not to mention that he himself is suffering along with them. It would be unsurprising therefore if he felt tempted to "rectify" his earlier moment of what he probably perceived as weakness and made a last ditch attempt to save his parents' (and his own) lives and prestige. While Harry has been taught that love and mercy are noble and valuable impulses, Draco has not. In his world love and mercy are called weakness.

Quite possibly as he suffered and faced death alongside his family, part of him must have felt ashamed of the impulses that led to his choices when Harry was a prisoner at the Manor. Everything he has been taught tells him that Voldemort's victory is inevitable and that his moment of shameful weakness has accomplished nothing except to fail his own family and condemn them (and himself) to a likely short life filled with suffering.

At most what we see in the Room of Requirement is a replay of what we saw on the Astronomy Tower - where Draco is deeply conflicted and when confronted with the reality of violence in support of Voldemort cannot go through with it even under tremendous pressure and even though his failure to carry out these acts of violence will inflict danger and suffering on himself and his loved ones.

But, is that even what actually happens? In my opinion, the answer is "no."

The scene in question:

If we actually look at the text it's not even clear that's what's going on at all. Draco's motives are ambiguous at best here. The scene starts when Harry is stretching out his hand to take the diadem. Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle come up behind him and he is completely unaware of them. Draco then announces their presence, alerting Harry that he is being watched. He could've very easy simply stunned Harry or attempted to put the Imperius Curse on him (or killed him) while his back was turned. But he didn't do any of those things. Instead he talks, thereby ruining the element of surprise.

And that's not typical of Draco at all when he actually wants to attack Harry. He's never beaten Harry in a face-to-face confrontation. (In fact, the last time he tried - in 6th year - he almost ended up dead.) The two times he has managed to incapacitate Harry - when he petrified him on the train in 6th year and when he hid and caught Harry for Umbridge with a tripping jinx in 5th year - he did so by using the element of surprise to his advantage.

Given that Draco knows that Harry is a very formidable opponent (AND that Harry's friends are nearby) if he truly simply wanted to capture or kill him, announcing his presence is the last thing he would ever do. Then he says "That's my wand you're holding." He still doesn't cast any spells - not even to try to disarm Harry. He also doesn't say he wants to hand him over to Voldemort. He doesn't even tell Harry to drop his own wand, attempt to take him prisoner, or even threaten him.

It is Crabbe, not Draco who says "We're gonna be rewarded...We decided to bring you to 'im." Draco doesn't say anything about his own intentions other than that he wants his wand back - and we certainly know that even in 6th year he didn't trust Crabbe and Goyle, much less now, and thus is unlikely to speak openly in front of them. 

At this point Ron comes to investigate and Crabbe tries to use magic to cause a mountain of debris to fall on Ron and crush him. Harry counters the spell and Draco then grabs Crabbe's arm when he tries to repeat the spell. He gives as his justification the need to avoid the diadem being crushed but since we know he doesn't trust Crabbe it's likely this isn't truthful. Especially since Voldemort has not said anything about wanting the diadem (and even if it wasn't a Horcrux it likely wouldn't be damaged in any case).

Crabbe points out this very thing and Draco argues with him at which point Crabbe says "Who cares what you think? I don't take your orders no more, Draco. You an' your dad are finished." So arguably he was not even including Draco in the "We" he imagined would be rewarded. Crabbe then tries to use Crucio on Harry.

Draco then again intervenes and tries to stop him. 

"STOP" Malfoy shouted at Crabbe, his voice echoing through the enormous room. "The Dark Lord wants him alive--"  

He doesn't even just say it. He shouts. We rarely see Draco shout. He is someone who generally keeps his deeper emotions hidden - it's why he's so naturally gifted at Occlumency to the point that he is powerful enough at a young age to lie to both Snape and Voldemort.

What he says here doesn't really even make sense because Goyle isn't even trying to kill Harry; he's just trying to hurt him. However Draco is so distressed by this that he actually starts yelling, something we NEVER see him do at ANY other point in the book. "The Dark Lord wants him alive" is also exactly what Snape says to Bellatrix as they flee in book 6, and we know that Snape's real intent was to protect Harry with a believable excuse. It's the only thing Draco could reasonably say in that moment as a justification. 

Crabbe (rather sensibly) points out that 1) he didn't even try to kill Harry and 2) Voldemort ultimately wants Harry dead so it probably doesn't matter that much. This makes perfect sense. And yet Draco is inordinately concerned with preventing harm to Harry & Co rather than with taking any action to capture or even disarm any of them.

Clearly he did not expect to lose control of Crabbe and Goyle like this and as a result is now losing control of the situation (and himself). (Unlike Harry, Draco is more of a planner and is not as good at reacting in the moment.) Also the possibility that Harry could be killed seems to drive him nearly to the point of hysteria - rather like how Ron reacted to Hermione being in mortal peril at the Manor. This is not just a general aversion to killing. This is something more. He finds the idea of Harry dying truly unbearable. (I don't need my ships to be canon; this one just happens to be.)

At this point they start fighting and Draco loses Narcissa's wand. Wandless, he STILL tries to intervene. Crabbe and Goyle are both aiming their wands at Harry and Draco once again starts yelling -  "Don't kill him! DON'T KILL HIM!" and is obviously in significant distress and is not at all happy with what is going on. 

After that the Fiendfyre gets loose and the rest of the scene goes down without much dialogue.

At NO POINT does Draco 1) actually say he wants to hand Harry to Voldemort OR  2) attempt to attack Harry or Ron or Hermione at all OR 3) use his Dark Mark to call Voldemort OR 4) tell anyone he's seen Harry after they get out of the Room of Requirement - even in a later scene when he's been cornered by a Death Eater who is considering killing him he doesn't reveal this information even though that probably would've proven his loyalty or at the very least distracted the Death Eater.

Conclusions about Draco's motivations:

So, where does that leave us? What went down there and what was Draco trying to do?

We really have 3 options.

Option 1: Draco tried to hand Harry over to Voldemort in order to save himself and his family, got cold feet and couldn't really go through with it, and then lost control of the situation due to Crabbe and Goyle's changing loyalties. 

Verdict: Possible but unlikely given the remarkably bad job he does of it and how inconsistent his approach is with his usual MO. Even if we assume his heart wasn't in it you'd think he'd at least have got as far as disarming Harry before announcing his presence. Especially since Harry almost killed him last time they fought (and Draco probably doesn't know Harry didn't know what the Sectum Sempra curse would do.)

And if his heart WAS in it then then this makes even less sense since he not only didn't attack Harry while his back was turned but also didn't call Voldemort or even inform anyone that he'd seen Harry. 

Option 2:  Draco wanted to get himself captured in a way that looked convincing so that he could take the chance Dumbledore offered in 6th year, only it went quite badly wrong.

Verdict: This would be an interesting possibility but I think it's also unlikely as it's simply too risky. He doesn't know Harry was there on the astronomy tower or that Harry would make the same offer. His family would also likely be murdered if Voldemort realized this had happened.  

Option 3: Draco wanted to cut a deal in order to improve his family's situation without actually handing Harry over - perhaps he hoped for some kind of exchange where he could get his wand back and bring Voldemort the diadem as some kind of consolation prize - but overestimated his control over his cronies and lost control of the situation. 

Verdict: I actually think this works best given his behavior during the scene. He initiates a conversation because he wants information about what and where the diadem is (and what value it would have to Voldemort) and because he wants to make some offer along the lines of 'give me my wand and the diadem and we'll let you go.' This could get him what he wants and help his family without actually harming anyone.

Also it hedges his bets a bit because if Harry wins he will owe Draco. The problem of course is that Crabbe and Goyle aren't happy to just take orders anymore and have their own goals. At that point, instead of caving and going along with what Crabbe and Goyle want to do instead, Draco actually tries to intervene, albeit in a way that doesn't actually expose him as questioning Voldemort.  

Draco made his choice at the Manor. If he wanted to hand Harry over he would have. But he couldn't. He cares about him too much. But he also feels tremendous guilt and fear over the price he and his family are still paying for that decision. This is his attempt to try to fix things - to try to find a middle ground between the conflicting imperatives that are tearing him apart. The reality though, as he shortly discovers, is that there is no middle ground. And when he sees that, once again he chooses Harry.

[laughhardrunfastbekindsblog]

Okay, my one and only major complaint about Bad Batch is that I don't think they handled Tech's death properly (I still don't think they should have killed him off at all, but here we are; and even if they intend(ed) to leave things open-ended to maybe bring him back later, the titular characters in the show wouldn't have known that); and with all the reasons I've seen floating out there as to WHY Tech's death was handled the way it was and why the characters reacted the way they did (or didn't), I just want to explain why none of the "reasons" cut it for me. If you're satisfied with how Tech was handled in season 3, I am genuinely happy for you (and lowkey jealous, ngl 😉). I've just been thinking about this a lot and need to spell it out!

Reason #1: "Why do we need to see more of the characters mourning? What we got was enough. We don't need a 2 hour episode that's all about the characters grieving." (Yes, someone actually used "2 hours" in their argument.)

Let's recap what we got: 1) A scene where Echo looks sadly at the Marauder's pilot seat, Wrecker actually sheds some tears (bless him), Omega's in denial, and Hunter tells Omega they're going to retire on Pabu because Tech is gone... followed up almost immediately by the villain dropping off broken goggles as the only proof that Tech was ever on Eriadu; 2) a scene where the audience is shown Tech's goggles but Hunter doesn't interact with them- instead, he looks at Lula, proving that his driving motivation is recovering Omega (which is fine when taken from the perspective that he can't do anything about Tech, whereas he can do something for Omega; but that perspective is ultimately just headcanon because the show never reiterates or follows up on this); 3) Wrecker alluding to Tech (not by name) to try to convince Hunter to be more cautious; 4) Omega name-dropping Tech (wait, does Crosshair even know what happened?... yay for context clues, I guess); 5) Echo name-dropping Tech in relation to data decryption with the team looking down sadly for 5 seconds (I timed it) before Crosshair changes the subject; 6) Phee name-dropping Tech in relation to her not knowing what m-count is; 7) Crosshair referring to Tech's information on Ventress; 8) Omega leaving Tech's goggles in the Archeum with none of her brothers around (hot take: it kinda bothers me that the goggles are given the same treatment as Lula, I totally understand the context/deeper meaning of Omega leaving her childhood behind by leaving Lula, but we're talking about the one relic they have of their fallen and irreplaceable brother being given the same emotional weight as a doll); 9) Phee referring to Tech having a discussion with her about Crosshair while Tech's goggles are in the background (and, noticeably, Crosshair doesn't react at all and just changes the subject back to needing a ship); 10) Crosshair says the squad died with Tech, Wrecker says Tech understood the risks, and that's that.

So, what we got was enough to establish that the characters were sad in the immediate aftermath of Tech's death, that some of them may have stayed sad about it all through season 3, and that the show didn't completely forget that Tech had been a main character at one point.

What we DON'T get is any real reference to what Tech meant to the family as an individual and a brother, any real indication of how the loss of Tech (distinct from the mission to save Omega) influences his family's actions or the story's overall narrative, any actual acknowledgement in the show of Tech's sacrifice having any meaning or the family moving past grief to express any form of gratitude for Tech's presence and influence on their lives, any reference to Tech having a true impact on 4 of his 5 siblings (Omega is the closest we get to witnessing Tech's continued influence on any of his siblings and even seeing that involves squinting/head tilts at times)... in other words, we get a few minutes of sadness, but never any catharsis. We see they miss him, but never does this truly inform the narrative or their decisions in season 3, AND it's left frustratingly vague where the characters are in the grieving process (more on that later).

Besides, no one (that I have come across, at least) was ever asking for a 2 hour episode. At most, Kanan got a 22-minute "eulogy" episode, and most of us aren't even asking for that. I'd have been at least minimally satisfied with a "Mayday moment" for Tech - and that scene lasted a grand total of 20 seconds. What would have been more satisfying would have been the show taking all those superficial name drops and converting at least a few of them into meaningful mentions indicating what Tech means to his brothers and/or how he continues to have an influence on his family and/or how his sacrifice is a motivating factor for them.

Reason #2: "There was no time."

Leaving aside the fact that there was apparently plenty of time and opportunity to make Tech (among others) a red herring...

Let's assume that the showrunners were not only told they only had 1 season left to wrap everything up, but were given highly specific time allotments for each episode to where they weren't allowed to add any scenes (I highly doubt this is what happened, but we're rolling with the "no time" thing here). You know what you do in that scenario when you're talking about something like following up on a main character's death that clearly has left your entire fanbase in an uproar? You MAKE time: you trim down the action scenes, you make the characters walk a little bit faster, you decide whether an extended scene of Echo giving Omega a crossbow that is never going to show up again is actually worth saving (I actually like the scene, by the way; just giving an example), you cut out a few of the extremely vague lines of dialogue Fennec and Asajj indulge in. What you DON'T do is kill off a beloved main character and then rely on convenient time lapses/time skips to just brush over all the fallout apart from a few name drops that do nothing to establish just how important said character was to the other characters in the show.

What's more, they could have EASILY included some true closure with ANY of the Tech name-drops/scenes that were already in the show. Have Hunter look at Tech's goggles before looking beyond them at Lula in 3.02. Have the brothers be present with Omega when she decides to leave Tech's goggles in the Archeum in 3.11. Have any of the brothers say one meaningful line about Tech while they're otherwise silently basking in the sunshine in the end scene on Pabu in 3.15!

Reason #3: "They're soldiers."

Of all the reasons given for why Tech's death was mishandled, I dislike this one the most. What does CF99 being soldiers have to do with the aftermath of Tech's death being reduced to perfunctory allusions? (If you want to get into the argument that soldiers in general have to figure out a way to "move on" and The Clone Wars didn't really spend any time on the clones processing losses after battles, let me just say I don't care for how this topic is covered in The Clone Wars either, and Bad Batch was a golden opportunity for the Star Wars franchise to move past this unfortunate trope.) Fallen soldiers in real life get memorials/funerals too, even if it's months after the battle. Fallen soldiers are honored and remembered by their families and those closest to them. If the show is trying to push the stereotype that soldiers move on from tragic deaths of comrades by being "stoic" and holding it all in and never talking about it, I strongly disagree with the perpetuation of this stereotype; and if the characters as soldiers actually DID grieve Tech in a healthy way, why didn't the show depict it?

Reason #4: "Star Wars writers don't know how to write meaningful scenes/payoff regarding death and characters dealing with death/loss."

The Bad Batch writers proved time and again how brilliant they are at writing emotional storylines with maximum payoff. Case in point: Mayday. Enough said (I'm writing too much on this general topic as it is).

Reason #5: "They got over it."

Maybe I'm reading things wrong, but a rather drastic change in behavior for one character (going from cautious and weighing all risks, to reckless and jumping headfirst into situations without proper backup), and another character including Tech's death as just one reason why he "deserves" to go on a suicide mission, does not read to me as the characters "getting over it." It reads to me as "avoidance behavior" and "continued internal conflict." (Granted, Hunter's more reckless behavior in season 3 likely had as much to do with the Omega situation as it did Tech's death, but the point still stands. And if the point DOESN'T still stand, then I've got even MORE issues with how this plotline was handled, so we'll just keep assuming it does.)

Furthermore, if the characters had truly "gotten over it," there shouldn't have been any hesitation or issue with them discussing and honoring Tech in meaningful ways.

Reason #6: "They DIDN'T get over it."

Right, and we ended the show that way, with no clear resolution to them actually coming to terms with Tech's death and honoring his memory. Great.

Reason #7: "Whatever. It's good Tech stayed dead. Tech's sacrifice meant something."

... Did it? Did it really? I mean, I know I say quite frequently that Tech's sacrifice is what made the happy ending possible for the others (because that's the only thought that got me through a rewatch of season 3). But the show, the narrative itself, certainly doesn't act like it really meant anything. Hunter says in the season 2 finale that they "weren't going to waste Tech's sacrifice" because they were going to retire on Pabu... and that discussion promptly gets forgotten and never brought up again, not even when the squad is trying to stay off the Empire's radar in season 3 after Omega returns. Never is there any discussion that "not wasting Tech's sacrifice" by hiding on Pabu to make sure no one else dies (a very understandable reaction, of course) also goes against the very mission Tech pushed for in the first place: rescuing Crosshair. Never do we hear Omega tell Crosshair, "Tech didn't give up on you, I'm not giving up on you, that's why you ARE going to escape with me." Never is there any talk about "Tech wanted us to live and stay together, so that is what we are going to do." Never is there any acknowledgement at the end of the show that they are all going to live in peace on Pabu because Tech made sure they could live.

The last half of season 4 of Rebels is full of references to Kanan's sacrifice actually meaning something and having direct tangible consequences not only for the family but for Lothal and the Rebellion. For one thing, the show itself literally spells out that the mission to shut down the Imperial factories on Lothal was actually a success because all the fuel reserves were destroyed - Kanan had died, but the mission had succeeded and directly led to the success of the bigger mission to completely free Lothal, and while this is very poor consolation for the loss of Kanan, at least the show openly acknowledged it. Kanan and his influence is also openly credited for Ezra foiling Palpatine's plans with the Jedi Temple and the WBW, Ezra learning to let go and again disrupting Palpatine's plans in the finale, and doing what was needed to ensure Lothal was fully freed.

Imagine how different Rebels would be if Kanan's death had been treated like Tech's: no mention that his role on the mission had any impact whatsoever. No reference to Ezra or any other member of the Ghost crew living up to what Kanan had taught them all - or, at best, there's a perfunctory reference in the epilogue that Ezra decided to keep using the Force the way Kanan had taught him to. No depiction of Ezra or Hera or Sabine or Zeb accepting Kanan's death and letting go of the pain while holding on to the memories. Nothing to show that any of the Ghost crew members act in memory of Kanan or that he is a motivating influence on them. No indication that Kanan's sacrifice drives Ezra to decide to follow up on their initial success with the factories and ultimately completely drive the Empire from Lothal.

Rebels just wouldn't be nearly as fulfilling.

Now, imagine if Tech's death had been treated like Kanan's, and maybe it will become more clear why I have a REALLY hard time agreeing with the argument that the show itself actually depicted Tech's death as "meaning something."

[idontgiveaflyinggrayson69]

The Bond

Author: Nat / @idontgiveaflyinggrayson69

Relationship: Neteyam x Fem!Na’vi!Reader

Summary: The bond is a beautiful thing, but it’s also the most painful thing you ever experienced.

Word Count: 14k

Warnings: Smut. Unprotected sex (wrap it up kids). Major character death. Angst. Pregnancy. ATWOW spoilers.

Comments: Hockey people look away, look away… After watching ATWOW I physically could not stop thinking about ‘what if you could feel the bond’ the way Parabatai feel each other in the Mortal Instruments and one thing led to another… This really was supposed to just be a short little imagine just to get the idea out of my head so I could work on my other projects but then I went hmmm no I think this needs some context for it to make sense and then I proceeded to write their entire fucking story cradle to grave and spent WAY too much time fact checking every single detail… There were a bunch of ways I could have expanded this, but I told myself no because no one needs a 50k+ Neteyam story... Also, this was not betad because I was not about to subject my poor beta to my current Avatar obsession.

Disclaimer: I thought Neteyam was 20 the whole movie so that’s how old he is in this, which is about the same age Jake and Neytiri were in the first film. And also, Neteyam wears a battle belt, which means he is seen as a man among the Omatikaya.

do not repost, do not claim as your own

Tsaheylu.

The bond.

The beginning and the end of everything.

You feel their breath, you feel their heart, you feel their strength. It’s your way to connect with the world around you. At least, that’s what they always told you.

It’s a beautiful thing the bond. You can ride and fly and see and hear without uttering a single word. And most beautiful of all, you get to feel your mate, if you were lucky enough to find one.

With a mate, it wasn’t just their breaths and heart you felt like a horse or an ikran. It was deeper, much deeper. You felt them. Their thoughts, their memories, the every ounce of their being. The bond ties you to them—to their soul—for life, connects you to them in a way you’d never be connected to anyone or anything for as long as you lived.

It’s a beautiful thing the bond.

--

You could remember the first time Neteyam brought up the possibility of mating.

The golden son, the next Olo’eykton, the first-born son of Toruk Makto and Neytiri, Neteyam always had big shoes to fill, and it was always something he struggled with in silence. Who was he to talk to about the shade of greatness he grew up in? His father? His mother? His little brother? None of them understood, and none of them saw him.

But you did.

For as long as you could remember, Neteyam had been your closest friend, and you his—outside of his siblings at least. Kiri wasn’t much younger than him, but she had always been closer with Lo’ak than him, and Neteyam had always had more of a protective, fatherly role than a brotherly one with them and Tuk especially.

But you? You held no expectations for him. With you he was just Neteyam—or ’Teyam when he made you laugh hard enough you could barely breathe. You did everything with him. Training, hunting, claiming a banshee. Every step, you were there, and there was no one you felt closer to than him.

You didn’t have a big family like he did, it was only you. But you had him. He was your best friend, your everything, your—

Neteyam was going to be the next Olo’eykton and whoever he took as his mate would be the next Tsahìk, so you knew it wasn’t a decision he took lightly. If his father wasn’t Jake Sully, you were sure he’d have been betrothed to a woman his parents deemed worthy of being the next Olo’eykton’s mate. You didn’t know if Eywa had her eyes on you at the decision not to betroth him because, on one hand, there was a chance he’d take you, but on the other, you knew him choosing another of his own will would break you irreversibly.

Neteyam had shown some interest in the other girls in the village, especially the ones his mother mentioned to him, but you never saw him have more than a few conversations with them, mostly about hunting, which they didn’t seem to appreciate as much as you did.

You didn’t know that they were never the one he wanted. That for him, there had only ever been one.

It was the eve of his iknimaya ceremony, the final step of him becoming taronyu, of becoming a man, that he first brought up the possibility of mating with you. Once he became a man, he could choose a woman.

The thought alone made your chest tight. You couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning in your tent before you finally resigned yourself and slipped out. A night walk in the forest would, at the very least, keep your mind occupied.

You should have known Neteyam had the same idea.

Becoming a hunter, becoming a man, becoming one of the People, and earning his place in the clan all weighed heavily on him. He lived in the shadow of his father who had gone from Sky People to one of the People to Toruk Makto to Olo’eykton in a span of a few months. He was only the sixth Toruk Makto since the first songs and Neteyam knew that even if he were to be a great Olo’eykton, he’d never be his father, and it ate at him.

No matter how hard he tried, Neteyam couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned but his mind fought his every attempt at sleep. He knew he needed sleep for the day ahead, but he wasn’t granted peace and finally he resigned himself to a walk to clear his mind. At the very least, the night would pass more quickly and bring him into tomorrow.

Neither of you realized the other was close, not at first. Your mind was so consumed by the thought of him that you weren’t looking where you were going and didn’t put the care into your steps like you knew you should. The snap of the twig under your step was secondary to you, but it made Neteyam’s ears twitch.

He wasn’t alone.

A moment later, another twig snapped under your foot and Neteyam let it consume his attention. All he had on him was his knife, but it would have to do, he was the best hunter of his age after all.

He followed your uncaring, twig breaking steps silently with his knife down, unsure of what he was following. But as soon as he caught a flash of blue skin in the dark, he let himself relax a little. When he stepped a little closer to get a clearer view, he sheathed his knife as he let out a soft laugh. He’d know you anywhere.

The sound of his laugh made your ears twitch and you tensed. You’d know that sound anywhere. “Neteyam?” You breathed as you turned around and a moment later, he revealed himself with his hands up and a playful smile on his lips as he said your name back to you.

“It is late,” he told you as he stepped closer, his tail flicking behind him. “You should be asleep.”

“As should you,” you replied and returned his smile. “You have a big day tomorrow.”

“Ah,” he brushed you off with a short wave of his hand. “I’ll be fine,” he told you. “I do not have to hunt tomorrow, just become taronyu.”

Your smile slipped for half a moment before you pushed it back up. “I know,” you replied, hoping your tone didn’t betray you.

His ears straightened as he watched you and he hoped, oh Eywa he hoped, that he wasn’t misinterpreting your hesitation as he stepped closer to you. “Once I become taronyu, I may take a woman.”

You couldn’t hide the disappointment in your eyes so you turned away from him. “I know,” you whispered. “It’s a big day for the clan. There are many fine women to choose from.”

His heart dropped, fearing rejection from the only woman he had ever wanted. “I know,” he said and let his tail brush yours as he stepped around you, forcing you to look at him.

You shivered at the touch but brushed it off as an accidental touch. “Your father is very fond of Miayho, and your mother favours Zia,” you told him softly, unable to meet his eyes.

“You’re right,” he agreed. “But I’ve already chosen.” His words made your heart drop and you tried to turn away from him again, but he cupped your cheek to stop you. “But this woman must also choose me.”

“She must be lucky,” you whispered, your heart aching.

“She is,” Neteyam smiled. “She is strong and beautiful and a little slow at times, but she is the only one I could ever want.”

“’Teyam,” you breathed, your voice breaking, but his smile never faltered.

“I’m speaking of you,” he told you and softly shook his head. “Tomorrow I am granted the chance to choose a woman, and you are the only woman I have ever wanted. I choose you, if you choose me, too.”

You were quiet as the weight of his words sunk in, but slowly you cupped his cheek, too. “I chose you the moment I saw you,” you replied and rubbed your thumb over the deep blue line that traced the arch of his cheek.

Neteyam’s smile filled your chest with warmth and you leaned forward to rest your forehead against his. Neteyam’s smile softened as he rubbed his nose against yours. He’d mate you right here right now if you let him, but it was not the way, and a day was a short wait compared to the years he had already been waiting.

“So, it is decided, then?” He asked as he pulled back to look at you.

“It is,” you blushed and dipped your head as your ears went back, already itching to reach for your braid. At your words, Neteyam’s shoulders lightened, somewhat anyway. The weight of being the next Olo’eykton and living up to his father still plagued him, but he knew as long as he had you by his side, he’d be alright.

“We should sleep, then,” he told you and bit his lip. “I intent to mate you before Eywa tomorrow.”

Your blush darkened as you smiled. You didn’t dare ask if his mother or father approved of the match, you didn’t care, you just wanted him, needed him. “We should,” you agreed and tilted your chin up. “It is a big day tomorrow.”

Neteyam’s smile widened and he dipped his head. “A very big day,” he agreed and took your hand before he led you back to the village. The sooner you both fell asleep, the sooner tomorrow would come, and the sooner you could become one.

“You could stay with me,” you told him as you approached your tent.

There was nothing Neteyam wanted more, but he also knew his father would expect him in his own bed bright and early and he didn’t want to start the big day on the wrong foot. “Tomorrow night,” he replied and dipped his head. “Tonight will be our last night apart.”

You hated when he pulled his hand from yours, but you knew he was right, that it was the way. You had waited years for this, you could wait another night. “Tomorrow,” you nodded.

“Tomorrow,” he echoed you before he stepped back. Still, he watched as you slipped into your tent safe and secure before he made his way back to his own and prayed to Eywa his father hadn’t noticed his absence. Thankfully, he hadn’t, and Neteyam settled into his bed with a smile and warm chest.

Tomorrow he became taronyu.

Tomorrow he became a man.

Tomorrow he gained you. 

His eyelids were heavy and sleep came more easily to him. One moment he was thinking of your beautiful golden eyes, the next he was passed out, dreaming of your smile and the comforting flowery scent that always clung to your hair.

--

The sun woke him bright and early like it always did and he smiled as he stretched out.

Today was the day.

“Are you nervous?” Lo’ak asked him over breakfast and Neteyam rolled his eyes.

“Why would I be nervous?”

Lo’ak’s shit eating grin widened as he shoved his brother’s shoulder, “that no woman will want to mate with your ugly face.”

Any other day Neteyam would have told his brother off and shoved him back, but your words were still fresh in his mind—I chose you the moment I saw you—and his ears went back as he dipped his head.

Lo’ak’s smile faltered as he moved closer, his ears perking up before he knocked his shoulder against his brother’s. “Bro,” he said under his breath so their parents wouldn’t hear. “Got something you’d like to share?”

Neteyam knocked his shoulder right back against his brother’s. He was quiet for a moment as he debated whether he should say anything, but Neteyam knew his brother well, better than anyone, and he knew Lo’ak wouldn’t stop pestering him until he spilled. “I may have already chosen a woman,” he said with a small smile. “And she has chosen me as well. We will be mated before Eywa.”

“Bro,” Lo’ak breathed and put his hand on the back of Neteyam’s neck as he gave him a little shake. “You asked her?” Neteyam didn’t have to say a name for him to know he meant you.

Neteyam dropped his head again as he nodded, “it is decided.”

“I am surprised she settled for your skxawng ass, but I am happy for you, bro,” Lo’ak grinned, and he laughed as Neteyam bared his fangs at him and shook him off.

“Watch who you call skxawng, skxawng,” he replied, making Lo’ak laugh hard enough that their father looked over at them and their ears went back as they quickly went quiet.

Jake watched his sons for a long moment before he stepped over and sat down next to Neteyam and put his hand on his shoulder. “Are you ready, son?”

Neteyam smiled as he nodded, “born ready, sir.”

“Good,” Jake smiled and patted his son on the back. “Your mom has the paint, whenever you’re ready.”

Neteyam’s tail flicked behind him. “Actually, if it’s alright, there’s something else who I’d like to do the paint.”

For a moment Jake’s eyebrows raised as he looked at his son before the corner of his lip twitched up as he remembered when Neytiri painted him for his own iknimaya. “Of course,” Jake nodded. “But you have to tell your mother.”

His mother wasn’t exactly happy to give up the chance to paint her first born son ahead of the ceremony, but Neteyam rarely asked for anything and she could see in his eyes that it meant a great deal to him, so she resigned herself and handed the bowls of paint over to him. “I hope you chose well, my son,” Neytiri told him.

“I did,” Neteyam replied with a smile. “Thank you, mother.”

The bowls were full and despite their small size, they felt heavy in his hands as he headed out to find you. Neteyam knew both you and the village like the back of his hand so it was easy for him to find you. you blushed as he met your gaze and he smiled before he lowered his head to you and he sat down across from you.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready?” You asked him softly, buzzing with anticipation of what was to come.

“I should, yes,” he agreed and sat the bowls of paint down in front of you.

“Neteyam,” you breathed. It was traditionally done by mothers.

“I want you to,” he smiled. “That is, if you want to, too.”

You were quiet for a moment before you nodded. “I want to,” you smiled softly and moved the bowls closer to you, the weight of their significance not lost on you as you beckoned him closer. “Now?” You asked softly.

Neteyam nodded as he moved closer. You blushed when he ginned at you shoved his shoulder before dipping your fingers into the white paint. You started with his arm, your touch light as you traced familiar patterns over his skin. Neteyam shivered, both at the coolness of the paint and your touch and it made you blush deepen as you focused on your lines, not wanting to mess any of them up, especially when you felt the weight of his gaze on you.

After his arms, you moved on to his chest and you gave Neteyam a look when the corner of his lip twitched up. “I am well aware you are a mighty warrior, Neteyam,” you told him and pulled your fingers back so you wouldn’t ruin the lines.

“But now you feel that I am a mighty warrior,” he smirked, making you roll your eyes.

You were quiet for a moment as you tried to think of a reply. Slowly, you trailed your fingers down his abdomen and let your lip twitch up when you felt him tense at your touch. “I do,” you hummed and looked up at him. “And soon I will feel all of you.”

You bit your lip as Neteyam’s eyes darkened but you devoted your attention to finishing the lines on his abdomen before you picked up one of the bowls and moved to his back, giggling as Neteyam’s tail kept flicking as you traced the patterns on his skin and once you were done, you hesitated before pressing a soft kiss to the back of his neck and giggled when his ears stood straight up.

“You are a tease, woman,” he breathed as you settled back in front of him to paint his face.

“Am not,” you replied with a smile as you dipped your fingers into the paint again. “Now stay still.” To his benefit, Neteyam was still as he watched you, his tail flicking every now and then as you traced careful lines over his face, finishing with a feather light touch over his lips.

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips as you looked him over. “You are ready,” you told him as you sat back on your haunches.

“I am?” He asked and you nodded.

“You are.”

Neteyam knew kissing you would ruin the paint you worked so hard to get perfect, but he still thought about it and it took every ounce of his self control not to kiss you. “Thank you,” he smiled before he stood and your heart fluttered in your chest as you took him in.

Your best friend. Your lover. Your mate.

A man.

You took his hand when he extended it to you and let him lead you down to where the ceremony would take place. To no surprise, his parents, siblings, and grandmother were already there and when you met his mother’s gaze, you get go of his hand. You weren’t mates yet and this was his ceremony. A ceremony for the clan.

At the loss of your hand, Neteyam looked back at you but you gave him a reassuring smile as you encouraged him on with a nod so he returned his gaze to his parents. Slowly the rest of the clan emerged and began to form the circle around him, and you.

“Neteyam,” Jake started as he looked at his son, trying and failing to restrain his smile. “My son. You tamed an ikran and completed your dream hunt. You are one of the People now,” he said before putting his hands on Neteyam’s shoulders just like Eytukan had done to him many years before. Once Jake touched Neteyam, the rest of his family and then the clan followed suit, one by one until everyone was connected as they welcomed Neteyam into the clan as a man.

You smiled at him as the people began to separate and once he could, Neteyam turned and put his hand on your shoulder, making you blush. His parents weren’t oblivious as they watched you, and Jake gave Neytiri a knowing smile as he held his hand out to her. It felt like just yesterday that she had done the same to him and he was happy for his son. He chose well, just like he did.

--

Every time a member of the clan came of age, there was a celebration. It was filled with food and dance and stories and songs; and Neteyam spent the whole night looking at you.

He was seated between his father, the Olo’eykton, and Lo’ak, and you were across from him, much too far for his liking. He could hear the people telling stories, but he wasn’t listening as he focused on you. You were the only thing that mattered to him.

You had put flowers in your hair and you wore a top he didn’t recognize so it had to be new and Neteyam couldn’t take his eyes off you. You were his everything.

It was only once the sun began to dip in the sky and people returned to their tents that Neteyam was able to steal some much needed alone time with you.

Neteyam washed the paint off and put his newly earned battle belt on by himself, but Jake stuck around with a gut instinct and gave his son a nod before he put his hand on his shoulder. Neteyam didn’t have to tell him for him to know he intended to take a mate, he remembered his own youth well and he could only hope his son found the same happiness he found in Neytiri.

Neteyam nodded back to his father, a smile playing on his lips. “Are you sure, son?” Jake asked and Neteyam nodded.

“More sure than I have ever been.”

“Good,” Jake nodded and squeezed his son’s shoulder. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

It was Neteyam’s turn to laugh and he shrugged his father’s hand off, dipping his head to his father one final time before he slipped out to find you. He was a man now, and you were his to claim.

Neteyam held his hand out to you and you blushed as you took it and let him guide you toward the Tree of Souls. If you were to be mated, then you were going to do it properly and you would be mated before Eywa.

It was only you and Neteyam before the tree and your heart raced with anticipation. By the time you got before the tree, before Eywa, you were a couple steps ahead of Neteyam and your ears twitched with every step he took to close the distance between you. Your tail flicked as he shifted his weight and it took him way too long to touch you, his hand just barely brushing your back to make you look at him.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he said softly, giving you an out. But you didn’t want an out.

“I want to,” you told him, holding his eyes before you slowly lowered yourself to your knees, your heart racing. This was the moment you had been waiting for your whole life, with the person you had been hoping for.

Neteyam followed your lead and knelt across from you before he pulled his braid over his shoulder. You held his gaze as you did the same, your braid heavy in your hand. You had made the bond with horses and your ikran, but taking a mate was something else entirely. Your heart raced with excitement and anxiety as you gripped the end of your braid and held it up, your tendrils searching for his.

You held Neteyam’s gaze as he gripped the end of his own braid and held it out. You let your eyes drop to your braid as he brought his closer. He paused to give you a chance to pull back, and when you didn’t, he moved his braid closer, letting his tendrils intertwine with yours.

It was unlike anything you had every experienced before.

The air left you lungs and you closed your eyes as you leaned into him, resting your forehead against his as you took a deep breath to steady yourself. His touch felt like electricity as he trailed his hands up your arms. And then you were overcome with warmth and familiarity and comfort. Home, you realized. You felt at home. You pulled back to look at him, your jaw slack and pupils blown and you found Neteyam looking back at you with the same awestruck expression. Warmth and pleasure coursed through your veins and when he cupped your cheek, you leaned into his touch.

And then he kissed you. For as long as you could remember, you dreamt of the touch of your mate, but it was so much better than you could have imagined and you melted into the kiss as you rested your hands on his shoulders and moved closer.

Neteyam’s hands trailed down to your hips and you let him pull you onto his lap, both of you desperate for every touch you could steal. You pulled back from the kiss to catch your breath as you struggled to keep air in your lungs, your pull to Neteyam so strong. Your jaw was slack as you looked at him and you were sure your pupils were as blown as his were.

“Neteyam,” you breathed and rubbed your nose against his, craving his touch.

“I know, my name,” he breathed and rubbed his nose back against yours as he let you feel him through his loin cloth. It pulled a soft moan from your lips which he quickly quieted with another kiss.

“I need you,” he said against your lips and let his hand brush the top of your tail, knowing how sensitive it was, and he was rewarded with you rocking your hips into his.

“I need you, too,” you told him and pulled back so you could run your hand down his strong chest to his newly earned warrior’s belt. It wasn’t something you had ever put on let alone taken off, so Neteyam had to help you rid himself of it so you could once again trail your fingers down his abdomen and down to the top of his loin cloth.

Neteyam’s soft groan had heat pooling between your thighs and you were sure he could feel it. “’Teyam,” you whispered and covered his hand on your hip with your own. His golden eyes were dark as he looked at you and you slowly guided his hand up to your chest, needing him to touch you.

Neteyam had seen your chest more times than he’d care to admit, the necklace and beads provided little coverage, but seeing you and feeling you were two entirely different things. Your skin was warm and soft beneath his touch, but your nipples were hard and when he caught it between his fingers, he was rewarded with a soft moan from you, which he desperately wanted to hear again.

He licked his lips as he brought his hand up to your other breast. His hands dwarfed you, and you moaned and leaned into him as he pinched your nipples, learning exactly what you liked, what you needed.

“’Teyam,” you whined and rocked your hips into his once again. His touch wasn’t enough, you could feel him and you needed him. “My mate,” you whispered and trailed your hands down his back.

“I know,” he nodded. You didn’t have to tell him for him to know. He gave a final tweak to your nipples before trailing his hands down your sides to the band of your loin cloth. He kept his eyes on yours as he undid it and slowly peeled the material away from you. it only made your racing heart more intense as you rested on his lap, and your tail brushed his knees as he looked at you before he laid you back against the soft moss.

You were bare to him, but you didn’t care as he looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky. Neteyam ran his eyes over you before he reached down to untie his own loin cloth, and then there was nothing between you.

“Please, ‘Teyam.”

He nodded and ran his hand up your thigh toward where you needed him most. As soon as his thumb reached the seam of where your thigh met your hip, Neteyam could feel how badly you needed him, your wetness coating your skin, pulling a soft groan from him.

When he finally touched you, his touch was light and you let your eyes close as you moaned softly. He was gentle as he trailed his fingers up your slit to the bud at the top and he was rewarded with a loud gasp when he rubbed your clit. He watched you with careful eyes as he circled the bud with his fingers and felt how you throbbed for him.

The tips of his fingers were rough from his years of hunting, and between the roughness and sureness of his touch, you wouldn’t last long. Your high was building fast and when you opened your eyes and found his familiar golden eyes looking back at you, it sent you over the edge.

“Neteyam,” you moaned as you came, your back arching as you pressed your hips into his hand. Neteyam groaned as you drenched his hand and he kept rubbing your clit through it, loving your blissed out expression. It was only when your moans turned to whines that he trailed his fingers down your slit to your entrance.

“May I?” He asked and you nodded quickly so he pressed his finger into you, moaning at how warm and tight you were. His mate, he thought. His perfect mate.

Once you adjusted to his finger, he added a second, not wanting to hurt you. He felt your every flutter around his fingers and it made his cock ache. “I need you,” he told you, his voice rough from holding himself back.

“Then have me,” you replied and spread your legs wider, desperate for your mate.

“Eywa have mercy,” he whispered and pulled his fingers from you before slotting himself between your thighs. He didn’t have to ask, he could feel your need, and he held your gaze as he guided himself to your entrance.

You gasped as he pressed into you and he rested his forehead against yours until his hips were touching yours. “My mate,” he breathed as you ran your hands down his back, and when you wrapped your legs around his hips, you felt his tail brush your ankle. Neteyam’s breaths were shallow as he rested his forehead against your shoulder, both of you needing a moment to adjust.

You were finally tied together the way you always should have been.

Together.

Connected.

One.

“’Teyam,” you breathed once you had adjusted and you cupped the back of his head.

He knew exactly what you needed and he nodded as he pulled halfway out before thrusting back into you and started a slow rhythm, soaking in every feeling of you. You had never felt so connected to someone and you melted at his touch, unsure of where you ended and he began.

His movements were slow but sure and you were consumed with the feel and smell of him. He filled you in a way you didn’t know you could be filled and you could feel yourself get closer and closer to that high with his every movement.

It wasn’t long until your moans grew louder and you dug your nails into his shoulders as your tail thrashed against the moss. When you came, your veins were filled with warmth, a warmth that only Neteyam could feel as his hips stuttered. The feeling of his mate cumming around him was indescribable and it pushed him ever closer.

He fucked you through your high before he picked his pace up, searching his own high. It wasn’t long before he came, too, burying himself deep inside you as he filled you up. You gasped at the feeling and pulled him closer, needing every piece of your mate you could get.

Neteyam smiled into your neck as you both caught your breath, and he pressed a light kiss to your skin before he pulled back to look at you with a soft smile. “We are mated before Eywa,” he breathed and cupped your jaw.

You leaned into his touch with a soft smile. “We are mated for life,” you replied, making his smile widen.

“My mate, my beautiful mate,” he smiled and rested his forehead against yours as you both soaked each other in.

You stayed with your forehead against his as your highs melted away, and slowly Neteyam pulled out of you, murmuring a soft apology when you whimpered at the loss of him. You could still feel his every breath and heartbeat, just like he could feel yours, and when he reached to break the bond, you shook your head. “Can we stay like this?” You asked softly.

Neteyam dropped his head as he nodded and he gave you a small smile before he kissed you softly. His every touch felt like home and you melted into him. He ran his thumbs over your cheek as he looked at you, his eyes full of love for you before he let himself settle behind you. His chest was warm against your back as he wrapped his arms around your waist and you smiled to yourself as you leaned back against him.

You could feel his breath and his heart and the entirely of his being.

Whole, you realized, you felt whole. Neteyam was your other half, the part you hadn’t realized you were missing. Your everything.

The bond was a beautiful thing.

You smiled as you melted back against him. Your eyelids were heavy and it was easy for sleep to claim you, and when it did, you dreamt of your future with Neteyam—the way you’d grow together and the son he’d give you—and you smiled as you slept, unaware that Eywa had shown Neteyam the same dream.

--

When you woke to the sunlight streaming on your face the next morning, Neteyam was already awake, just soaking in the feeling of you, your braids still conjoined. He smiled when he realized you were awake and guided you onto your back so he could look at you as he rested on his side.

“Good morning, my mate,” he smiled softly.

“Good morning, my mate,” you repeated and reached out to cup his cheek. Neteyam leaned into your touch, making you smile as you ran your thumb over the arch of his cheek.

All he wanted was to stay wrapped up in you forever, but he knew you both had things to do and expectations to meet. “We should head back to the village,” he whispered and you sighed before nodding.

“We should,” you agreed, even if all you wanted was him.

He nodded and pressed a soft kiss to your lips before he asked to separate your braids. You didn’t want to, but you nodded and let Neteyam pull his braid from yours. You gasped at the break, feeling colder than you did a moment before, but even without the bond you could feel Neteyam. It was nowhere as strong as when your braids met, but he still lingered in the back of your mind and you knew you lingered in the back of his. You gave him a soft smile as you trailed your hand down his arm and he grinned at you, so in love with you.

It wasn’t hard for both of you to redress, through it did take you a few extra moments to clean your thighs, which made Neteyam smirk as he watched you, both of you taking your time, neither of you wanting the moment to end.

You had left the village as individuals, but now you returned as a mated pair. You held his hand as you let him guide you through the village toward his parents, toward the Olo’eykton.

As the Olo’eykton, it was his duty to know of every newly mated pair, and had it been anyone but his father, you wouldn’t have been so nervous. Sure, it was soon after his iknimaya, but he was still a man. But it was Neteyam’s father and Neteyam was the next Olo’eykton, making you, his mate, the next Tsahìk, and you couldn’t disappoint his family, or the People.

To no surprise, his family was already awake. Village life always started early.

“Neteyam,” Neytiri started when she laid her eyes on her oldest son, but her next words died on her tongue when she saw him holding your hand. He didn’t have to say anything for her to know. At his mate’s voice, Jake looked over and the corner of his lips twitched up as he saw his eldest son, already sensing his earlier intuition was correct.

“Mother, father,” Neteyam said and dipped his head to his parents, his hand never leaving yours, “I am taronyu now,” he continued. “Which means—”

“You may now choose a woman,” his mother finished for him, thinking back to the night she told Jake the very same words.

“Yes,” he breathed before he glanced back at you with a smile. “And I have.”

“You have?” Jake asked and Neteyam nodded as he looked to his father.

“We are mated before Eywa.”

His mother took a sharp breath in, not in disapproval, but out of realization that her eldest son had truly become a man and had left her nest. Jake touched Neytiri’s arm to ground her as he nodded to his son. “We’re happy for you,” he said for the both of them before looking at his own mate, encouraging her to say something.

“We are,” she breathed and stepped forward to cup Neteyam’s cheek. “My son,” she whispered and ran her thumb over the arch of his cheek.

Neteyam smiled at his mother before he nodded and pulled back from her touch, his smile widening as he looked at you and let his tail brush yours. Jake nodded at the interaction before he smiled at you, “welcome to the family.”

Your smile widened before you dipped your head to him. “Thank you, sir.”

“Nah,” Jake waved his hand. “It’s Jake.” He told you, though one day you’d come to call him ‘dad.’

You were welcomed into the Sully family with open arms. Neytiri had her reservations, as would any mother, but Jake adored you. He saw how deeply you cared for Neteyam, and how deeply Neteyam cared for you, and though he’d never admit it, Jake could see him and Neytiri in you two.

Neteyam’s youngest sister, Tuk, adored you and though Neteyam was her best friend, you were a close second. Kiri was happy to have another sister, and one closer in age than Tuk. And Lo’ak…

Lo’ak treated you like you had always been there. He didn’t hesitate to make fun of you like he did for the rest of his siblings, and he certainly didn’t hold back as he made fun of you picking Neteyam for your mate. It always made Neteyam roll his eyes and, more often than not, call his sibling a skxawng, but it made you smile because it meant you were truly part of the family and you loved it.

The bond was beautiful, as was the family you gained with it.

The problem was, nothing stayed perfect forever.

Everything changed the day Jake realized there was one too many stars in the sky.

Twenty years before, Toruk Makto led the clans to victory over the Sky People, all Na’vi knew his story, but the war was over, something of the past, something that had come and gone before either you or Neteyam were born—or it was supposed to be anyway.

The Second War against the Sky People was more intense than you could have ever imagined, with the guns and the fire and the relocation and the devastation and the death—so many deaths.

A very capable hunter, Neteyam was always involved in the war effort. A spotter. He tried to reassure you that it was the safest role he could have, that he wasn’t on the ground on the front lines, but it didn’t make you feel any better. There was no “safe” in a war. And you had seen too many of your people die.

As the mate of the next Olo’eykton, you could be the next Tsahìk, so Mo’at had taken you under her win, teaching you so you could one day take her place. So, unlike your mate, his parents and his brother, your role in the war wasn’t out there but back at home as you worked to heal the wounded—and make comfortable those who would be welcomed into Eywa’s arms.

You knew your role was important, but it was hard. It was hard to see the devastation and the death, and it was hard knowing your mate was out there and could just as easily be the next person who came through the tent flap in need of help.

You could never breathe deeply, let alone eat or drink, until he was home safe.

And the day he came back home bruised and bloodied, you dropped your tray of herbs before you rushed to him, even as Jake scolded him and Lo’ak.

“I’m fine,” he told you softly, but the blood on your hand said otherwise.

“You are bleeding, he is bleeding,” you said as you turned to Jake after he finished his little speech. “I am taking him to Mo’at.” Neytiri backed you up, also worried for her son, so Jake dismissed him and you heard Neytiri arguing with him as you led Neteyam toward the healing tent, your hand on his back.

“I’m fine, truly,” he repeated once you two were out of earshot of his parents.

“You are hurt,” you replied softly and stopped to look at him, taking his hand in yours. “My heart aches seeing you hurt.”

Neteyam gave you a soft smile and rested his forehead against yours. “I am fine, my mate,” he said before he kissed you. “I feel no pain when I am with you.”

His words made your heart flutter and you retuned his smile. “You still require healing,” you replied and led him to Mo’at’s tent where Kiri was helping her grandmother.

You knew you should help Mo’at, but you couldn’t find it in you to leave your mate’s side. Kiri knew what to do, she was even better than you were, and you were more than happy to let her assist Mo’at while you held Neteyam’s hand, the end of your tail curled around his ankle.

Your heart ached every time he winced at the sting of the antiseptic and you squeezed his hand as you watched Mo’at and Kiri. His wound looked worse than it was, and you let out a relieved breath as they finished up.

“See?” Neteyam smiled weakly. “I’m okay.” You shook your head but still thanked Eywa that your mate was alright.

Still, you struggled to find sleep that night, your mind consumed with the what ifs of your mate’s injury. It would be too easy for his injury to be worse, for him to be taken from you. You had seen too many lose their mates the last year and had their blood curling screams as their hearts shattered beyond repair permanently imprinted in your memory.

To lose a mate was a fate worse than death, and you knew you’d never survive it.

Neteyam healed quickly from his wounds and Lo’ak was grounded for his recklessness. Neteyam was back on his ikran long before Lo’ak was, and without his ikran, without being involved in the war, Lo’ak somehow managed to create even more trouble as he convinced his siblings to return to the old shack.

It was a harmless intention born out of boredom and frustration, but the results were life altering.

It was Avatars. New Avatars. In tactical gear. They managed to get Lo’ak, Kiri, Tuk and Spider under their knives and you didn’t want to think of what could have happened if not for Jake, Neytiri and Neteyam. But Jake knew they’d never stop hunting them, hunting his family. They may have won the battle, but the war still raged.

Everything changed after that, after they took Spider.

Jake and Neytiri knew the People would never be safe as long as they stayed with them, so they had to leave.

The words were like stones in Neteyam’s heart as he told you his family was planning to leave.

The Forest was your home, the only place you ever knew, the only place you ever wanted to know. The Forest was where you were born, where you grew up, where you fell in love with Neteyam, where you were supposed to raise your children.

Neteyam could sense your hesitation. “My father said it was for the best. He said that the Sky People are hunting us and not the People, so if we leave, the People will be safe,” he explained as he took your hand in his and brushed his tail against yours. “But I will stay with you if you ask me, my mate.” He would follow you to the end of the world if you asked.

You tightened your lips as you thought, but it was an easy decision. Just a painful one. “I go where you go,” you told him softly and squeezed his hand. “You are my home and my future, Neteyam.”

In hindsight, you really wished you had asked him to stay.

You packed your things onto your ikran and your heart ached as you said your goodbyes, but Neteyam was your mate. You couldn’t be without him.

Neteyam flew by your side as you left the Forest and even without touching him, you felt his comfort and you gave him a soft smile. As long as you were together, you’d be alright.

In the end, you found sanctuary with the Metkayina, the reef people.

It was hard to learn their ways, it was hard leaning the way of the water when the Forest was all you knew, but what you didn’t expect was how hard it was to see Neteyam lose his battle belt. His whole life he had been working toward it, working to become taronyu and earn his place among the People, and he barely had it a year before it was taken from him; before his symbol of manhood was taken from him.

Neteyam may have been taronyu, a man, among the Omatikaya, but you were Metkayina now and the iknimaya of the Omatikaya meant nothing here. He had to learn the way of the water and earn his place among the Metkayina before he’d be seen as a man.

Like Jake, Neteyam’s ears dropped as his belt was taken away and you did your best to steel your shoulders like Neytiri. You both had to be strong for your mates.

None of you were seen as adults among the Metkayina, but rather as children. It frustrated some more than others, like you and Neytiri. Neteyam took after his father and tried to take the transition in stride and did what he could to fit in.

And if the relocation and the helpless feeling wasn’t enough, you were sick a few times after the transition. Initially, you blamed it on the dietary shift. Sure, fish had been a part of your diet before, but it was freshwater fish and something you only had on occasion rather than every meal of every day. It was easy to blame your sickness on the fish, you just didn’t realize that none of the others were getting sick. Not until you were shucking oysters with Ronal at least.

Ronal was the Tsahìk of the Metkayina. She saw all and she was especially hesitant toward you and Neytiri. Both you and Neytiri were being trained to become the Tsahìk of the Omatikaya, so it was natural for you both to resume your training with Ronal, she just wasn’t overly fond of the idea.

Ronal let it go the first few times you gagged at the smell of the oysters before she sighed. “Have you mated recently?” She asked without looking at you.

Your eyes bugged at the question. “Why do you ask?” You replied and stopped shucking to look over at her.

“Because I am wondering if you are with child,” Ronal replied, and the knife slipped from your hand.

“What?” You asked breathlessly.

“With child,” she repeated simply. She had had two children of her own with a third on the way, and she had helped to deliver more babes than she could count. She knew the signs well and given the amount of time she had been spending with you over the last couple weeks, she could see them in you. When you didn’t answer, Ronal looked over at you, “it is a simple question. Have you mated recently?”

Your ears went back as you blushed and nodded. Ronal hummed and put the oyster she was holding and her knife down before she stood and beckoned you up. She hummed as she looked you over before she touched your forehead and then your stomach.

“Food aversion?” She asked and you nodded.

“Fatigue?” You nodded again.

“Have you bled?” You thought about it for a moment before you ears went back further. You had been so focused on fitting in and your mate you hadn’t realized.

Ronal hummed and stepped back. “I do believe you are with child,” she said before she returned to her oysters like your world hadn’t just shifted on its axis—again.

Your hands shook as you gently touched your stomach.

Pregnant.

You—

You’d be lying if you said you couldn’t be, you certainly found comfort in your mate’s arms many, many times since the relocation. But pregnant? Now? Could there be a worse time?

Slowly, you pulled your hands back and took a deep breath to clear your mind and ground yourself before you picked your knife back up and reached for another oyster.

“There are other things to do,” Ronal told you. “If the small bothers you, you will be slow. Tsireya will provide you with a different task to do.” You wanted to take her up on the offer, but you could hear Jake’s voice in your head telling you not to cause trouble and pull your weight, so you shook your head.

“I will be fine.”

She hummed but wasn’t surprised when you gagged again a moment later and she cast a look in your direction. You sighed as you nodded and moved your basket of unshucked oysters over to her, “I will find Tsireya.” If she smiled as you walked away, well, no one had to know.

Everyone was still so focused on fitting in and you could see the way looking after Lo’ak and keeping him out of trouble weighed on Neteyam, so you kept the news to yourself. If you told him, he’d only worry about you more than he already did and you didn’t want that.

And, well, it was no surprise that Ronal wasn’t fond of you. Forest People. Outcast. Alien. But knowing you were with child made Ronal soften. She didn’t look at you with the same animosity she did the others, and every time she saw you, she was sure to ask how you were doing. The Sullys were smart people, and it didn’t take Neytiri long to put two and two together and realize something was up with you, but she kept her suspicions to herself as she kept a careful eye on you.

You had always been the more affectionate one in your relationship with Neteyam, always touching him or seeking to touch him, but now you were reserved. At first, Neytiri thought you two were fighting, but Neteyam assured her you weren’t, that it was just the move and the swimming was exhausting you and the fish wasn’t agreeing with you, which was true—it just wasn’t the whole truth.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to tell him. You did, you just didn’t want to add to his already full plate, and then the longer you kept it a secret the harder it was to tell him. Between Kiri’s seizure and Norm coming and Lo’ak and Neteyam’s fight with Ao’nung and Payakan and the Tulkun, there just wasn’t a good time to tell him.

It was only after yet another dinner you couldn’t keep down that the truth finally came to light.

“You are unwell,” Neteyam said as he followed you toward your hut. It was the third time this week and he was tired of you constantly brushing it, and him, off.

“I’m fine, Neteyam,” you sighed. “It’s just—”

“The move? The fish?” He repeated your words back to you. “No, I don’t believe you. Have you spoken to Ronal? She is Tsahìk and she could help you.”

You hesitated before you turned back to look at him with tight lips before you sighed and took his hand. He gave you a concerned look as you guided him down to the beach where you could have some privacy. “Ronal can’t help me,” you said as you turned to face and gently fiddled with his fingers. “Because I am not sick.”

“It is just us, my mate, you never need lie to me,” he replied softly and used his free hand to cup your cheek.

“I’m not lying, ‘Teyam,” you breathed and covered his hand with yours before you guided it down to your stomach. “I’m not sick, I’m with child.”

Neteyam froze as he let your words sink in before he softened. “You are with child?” He whispered and stepped closer to you.

You nodded, “it’s horrible timing, but—”

“But nothing,” he smiled. “This is amazing news! We’re having a baby—the first of many I hope.” You were taken by surprise when he picked you up and spun you around, completely elated.

You laughed softly as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders before you patted him. “Enough, ‘Teyam, I’ll be sick again.”

“Right, sorry, my love,” he replied and sat you down, his smile never wavering as he touched your stomach again. “I’m just really happy.”

“I am, too,” you said softly and covered his hand before you kissed him softly. He cupped the back of your head to keep you close, but you both couldn’t stop smiling so you pulled back and rested your hand on his chest, feeling the familiar, comforting beat of his heart.

Neteyam wrapped his arm around you and pulled you closer by the small of your back before he rested his forehead against yours. “I would take you here and now on the beach if you let me, my mate,” he hummed.

“Anyone could see, including your parents,” you laughed.

“Then let them see,” he hummed and when he tried to kiss you again, you shoved him back, making him laugh loudly before he pulled you close again, the tips of his fingers brushing the base of your tail, knowing how sensitive it was.

“Once the sickness passes,” you told him and guided his hand back up to your back.

Neteyam softened and he nodded, “of course, my mate. May I at least hold you tonight?”

“I’d expect nothing else,” you smiled and let him lead you back toward your hut. Once Neteyam closed the flap, you rid yourself of your top—another sign of your growing baby was how swollen and sensitive your breasts had become and the weight of the beads irritated you in a way they never had before.

Neteyam groaned low in his throat as he knelt on the bed, “are you sure you don’t want me to pleasure you, my mate?” He asked softly.

“Maybe tomorrow,” you laughed and pulled him down next to you and you laughed when his hand managed to find your breast after he settled behind you. He didn’t try to do more than hold your breast while his other hand rested on your stomach, so you let him as you pressed yourself back against him.

The reef wasn’t the Forest, but it was nice and welcoming and you could see you two raising your children along the blue water and sandy beaches. Neteyam’s tail curled around your ankle and you smiled as you tried to press yourself closer to him. You could feel him smile into your neck and it was easy to fall asleep.

He was your everything.

This family was your everything.

And if you knew what would happen next, you would have fought sleep to soak in the feeling of his arms one last time. You would have memorized the beating of his heart and the rise and fall of his chest. You would have traced every dark line that decorated his body. You would have held him a little longer.

You wouldn’t have taken the moment for granted, expecting thousands more in the coming years.

But you didn’t know what would happen so you didn’t, and the ache of regret would eat at you for the rest of your days.

The bond… it’s a beautiful thing.

Until it isn’t.

--

The village was devastated by the hunting of the Tulkun by the Sky People. They were their spirit brothers and sisters, and Jake didn’t have to say it for you to know it happened because you were here. They weren’t hunting the Tulkun, they were hunting you. When Jake took the tracker from Neteyam, you took his hand and he tried to reassure you as he squeezed your hand.

“You tell the Tulkun if they’re hit by one of these, they’re marked for death.”

Jake’s words hung heavy in the air. Neteyam gave you a look that told you everything would be okay, but your stomach still twisted. You came to the Metkayina to hide; to keep your people safe. You promised them you were done with war, but the war still followed you—and at the cost of their spirit siblings.

And because nothing ever came easy, Lo’ak was determined to warn Payakan himself. Neteyam followed Lo’ak, knowing his brother better than anyone and his suspicions were confirmed when he saw Lo’ak gathering a saddle for an ilu.

He shook his head, a frustrated smile on his lips, “no way, you’re not going, baby brother.”

Lo’ak wasn’t having any of it. “I have to warn Payakan,” he told his brother firmly.

“No. You have to keep your skxawng ass here,” Neteyam replied, gritting his teeth. For once, could he just listen to him.

But Lo’ak never did. “He’s outcast. There’s no one to warn him but me.”

Neteyam shook his head as he clenched his fist. “Bro, why do you always have to make things so hard?” Neteyam said exasperated as he touched the top of Lo’ak’s’ head, but Lo’ak quickly shoved him off as his eyes hardened.

“No. You mean why can’t I be the perfect son like you, a perfect little soldier. Well, I’m not you, okay? I’m not you. He’s my brother. I’m going.” Neteyam clenched his jaw as he stepped back, his brother’s words cutting him like a knife. If he only knew the weight of his words, but he didn’t and he never would as Neteyam swallowed back the bitter words threatening to spill out and he steeled himself as stepped closer to his brother.

“Oh, he’s your brother? No, I’m your brother,” his voice was hard as he stared Lo’ak down, but Lo’ak didn’t concede and he scoffed before he dove in the water, heading for Payakan and Neteyam knew he had to go after him.

“Neteyam!” You called as you came up behind him and he shook his head.

“He’s going to Payakan,” he told you and you were hot on his heels as he summoned his ilu, as were Tsireya, Kiri, Tuk, Ao’nung and Rotxo. But when you went to summon your own ilu, Neteyam put his hand on your stomach to keep you back. “I need you here where you’re safe,” he told you but you shook his head.

“I’m going, Neteyam.” He opened his mouth to argue, but your look silenced him. Wherever your mate went, you would follow.

His tail flicked as he clenched his jaw before he nodded. “With me then,” he said before he dove into the water and you followed his lead. You quickly settled behind him on his ilu and wrapped your hand around his waist while he held onto the reigns of the ilu with one hand, his other hand reaching back to hold your thigh, keeping you against him as he followed after Lo’ak to Payakan.

By the time you got to Payakan, Lo’ak was struggling against the red tracker buried in Payakan’s back while the others tried to help. You and Neteyam were quick to jump on and help, but the tracker was in deep and you realized quickly that the demon ship was rapidly approaching.

“Call dad,” Neteyam said to Lo’ak. “Just do it.”

He didn’t want to, he knew the trouble he’d be in, so he hesitated before he called Jake. Lo’ak’s words were muffled as you all focused on the tracker. Your heart raced as you kept glancing between it and the demon ship. “Come on, come on, come on,” you said as Neteyam tossed a rope up to Ao’nung who wrapped one end around the tracker while Neteyam wrapped the other end around the reigns of his ilu.

“Please, Eywa, please,” you whispered as you pulled and pulled and finally the tracker gave, and you all fell at the release of tension. Neteyam was quick to gather the tracker as Lo’ak told Payakan to go.

“Go, I’ll draw them away,” Neteyam told you, making your blood go cold. When you opened your mouth to argue, Neteyam shook his head. They were after the tracker and Neteyam couldn’t have it anywhere near you, your baby, or his siblings. “Take Tuk, I’ll see you after.”

You had no choice but to nod and you gathered Tuk and Kiri on Kiri’s ilu and led them into the seaweed for cover, but the submarines followed you. Your mind raced as quickly as your heart as your ilu weaved between plants and leaves, desperate for any cover, but there wasn’t any to be had. There was too many of them.

The submarines swarmed you, forcing you off the ilu and you kept your eyes on Tuk as you swam toward an air pocket, Lo’ak and Tsireya right behind you while Kiri ended up with Ao’nung and Rotxo. “They’re coming,” Tsireya said and you were all quick to dive back under, but it was useless. The submarines could move faster than you could swim.

It was over when they launched the net at you. You didn’t realize it was coming until it was too late, the net already surrounding you and the air left your lungs as you began to panic. Lo’ak managed to escape before it caught him and he pulled at the net trying to rescue you, Tuk and Tsireya, but it was no use. The net scooped you up and dropped you on board the demon ship. Your vision swam as you tried to catch your breath, your lungs burning, and before you knew it, you were bound to the demon ship’s rail.

You watched as Tuk, Tsireya and Lo’ak struggled against the bonds but you knew it pointless. You were stuck. You were stuck and your mate was somewhere out there. You felt useless as the Metkayina attacked the demon ship. When you came and begged for sanctuary, you had promised them there would be no more war and now the war was here and they’d die because of your family.

You looked Tuk and your heart sank at the terror in her eyes, and you were so focused on Tuk you didn’t notice Payakan until he was on top of you, desperate to save Lo’ak.

All hell broke loose after that.

“Don’t watch,” you told Tuk. “Keep your eyes on me, okay?” Neteyam had always been her favourite family member, but you were a close second given you were his mate. Her cheeks were wet with tears as she nodded. “Just keep your eyes on me, Tuk,” you repeated.

It was only when Neteyam jumped on board that you were finally able to take a deep breath. A smile played on his lips as he cut your bounds, then Tuk’s, then Tsireya’s before he reached his brother and cut him free. “Who’s the might warrior? Come on, say it,” he grinned as he touched Lo’ak’s head before he turned back to you.

“Bro,” Lo’ak smiled and reached for a gun while Neteyam had his back to him.

“Go, get out of here. Take Tuk. Go,” Neteyam said to you.

“Neteyam—” you tried but he shook his head.

“Go,” he repeated, begging you to listen to him, and you clenched your jaw as you tried to lead Tuk away, and Neteyam kept his eyes on you, desperate to make sure you and Tuk were safe. But when he heard the familiar click of a gun, he turned back to his brother.

“We have to go,” he said but Lo’ak shook his head.

“He has Spider. Come on, bro, we can’t lose him,” Lo’ak said and headed into the ship.

Neteyam protested under his breath before he followed after his brother. Lo’ak always had to make things difficult.

At the same time, they managed to grab Kiri. Tuk’s scream for her sister would forever be imprinted in your memory, but you had to get her to safety. Jake and Neytiri would get Kiri.

Except, Tuk fought your hold on her before she slipped free and headed back for the ship. “Sullys stick together,” she said and you grumbled under your breath before you abandoned your ilu and headed after her, needing to keep her safe.

“This isn’t a good idea, Tuk,” you whisper shouted at her, but she ignored you, desperate to save Kiri, and you were sure to be quiet as you followed her.

“Kiri!” She called when she saw her sister, slipping under the bars as you both tried to break Kiri’s bonds, but it was no use and an Avatar was quick to bind Tuk to the rail next to Kiri before shoving you back into the water. Your heart sank and you wanted nothing more than to jump up and fight and rescue them and keep them safe, but when the bullets hit the water, you knew it wasn’t an option and you called to a nearby ilu and quickly jumped on. You’d have to find another way to rescue them and you circled the water looking for any sign of your mate and Lo’ak.

You were granted a moment of relief when you saw Tsireya, but it was short lived as you realized she was alone and your heart sank. Tsireya pulled her ilu up beside yours and pursed her lips as she shook her head. Neteyam and Lo’ak had to still be on board.

Your heart twisted before a flash of cold went through your body and you gasped for breath under the water, the air bubbling around you as Lo’ak, Spider and Neteyam jumped into the water above you, bullets still raining around you.

No.

No.

You knew it. Before he could even say it, you knew, the freezing cold blooming in your chest that left you gasping for air as you resurfaced in the water.

“That was insane, cous,” the voice was muffled in your ears.

“Neteyam,” you breathed and reached out to him.

“You skxawng, I’ve been shot.”

Panic coursed through your veins and you swore you didn’t breathe as you wrapped your arm around him to keep his head above the water, the normally clear water stained red with his blood. Too much blood.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” you said to both him and yourself, even as the ice in your chest melted to a sharp ache that shot down your arm and Neteyam’s expression twisted in pain.

The panic in Lo’ak’s eyes mirrored your own as he helped you get Neteyam onto the ilu before he pulled you on too. “Shit,” he hissed under his breath. Neteyam was a mighty warrior, the best of his age, but he was weak in his arms.

“They have Kiri and Tuk,” Tsireya tried to tell him, but the words never really processed for him.

“We can’t go back,” he replied and raced for the rocks, Tsireya and Spider holding on to the side if the ilu’s reigns. You kept your hand pressed against Neteyam’s chest as you moved through the water and his hand gripped your wrist tightly, needing to hold on to you, needing to anchor himself to you.

It only took a minute to get to the rocks, but it felt like hours. Lo’ak helped you carry Neteyam as he gritted his teeth in pain. Your chest felt tighter with every passing second and you didn’t know if it was your own anxiety, or your mate slipping through your fingers.

Your hands shook as you moved around him and your ears started to ring as you rolled him onto his side. The shot was clean through.

“It’s almost always better for the bullet to be clean through.” You could hear Jake’s voice in your head and you laid him back and put pressure on his chest as you begged Eywa to help you.

It was almost always better.

Almost.

Neteyam’s hands were coated in his own blood and he looked up at you with wide, terrified eyes before he grasped your bicep, his grip nowhere near as strong as it was when he held your wrist.

“You’re okay, you’re going to be okay,” you told him, willing your voice not to shake so you could be strong for your mate. He breathed your name before he scrunched his face up like he was trying to get away from the pain. “You’re going to be okay,” you repeated before pulling your eyes away from his as Jake and Neytiri settled around you.

“No, no, no,” Jake whispered as he perched across from you.

“Clean through,” you told him before he could ask, your ears back and hands red with Neteyam’s blood, and your heart dropped at the way his ears went back. “No,” you whispered, unable to muster your voice any louder before you looked back at your mate. He had to be okay.

He had to.  

“You’ll be okay,” Neteyam told you as he struggled to force air into his lungs.

The ache in your chest began to ease to a fuzzy feeling and you shook your head. “No, no, Neteyam.” You couldn’t lose him. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t survive it.

“You’ll both be okay,” he breathed, his voice softer than a whisper as he dropped his hand to your stomach.

“I see you; I love you,” you told him, desperately trying not to cry and you pulled one of your hands from his chest to cup his jaw, your thumb tracing the dark line that decorated the arch of his cheek.

“I know, I—”

Neteyam never finished his sentence and his hand dropped from your stomach, leaving a bloody handprint in its wake.

You felt the moment he died.

The warmth, the comfort, the unmistakable feeling of him, fizzled out, replaced instead with an unshakeable feeling of emptiness.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

You were supposed to spend your life with him.

It was supposed to be you and him.

You and him.

You were lightheaded as you settled back on your haunches, your hands red with his blood and Lo’ak caught you as you swayed.

Numb.

The only way to describe the feeling was numb, like he had taken your soul with him when he died, leaving nothing but an empty shell in his wake.

And maybe he had.

The bond is beautiful, that’s what they tell you. But they never tell you of the anguish that comes with it.

You could separate your life into before Neteyam and after Neteyam. The before wasn’t important, it didn’t matter, because Neteyam was your world. He was your everything, your world spun on an axis of you and him. The People say you’re born twice, once when you are born and then again when you find your place among the people, and you were born again the day Neteyam chose you. And now all that was left of your mate was his bloody handprint and the world had the audacity to keep on spinning.

The ringing in your ears drowned out Neytiri’s blood curling scream for her first-born son, and you slouched into Lo’ak as you kept your eyes on Neteyam’s. His beautiful, golden, lifeless eyes.

You didn’t hear Jake ask Lo’ak where his sisters were. You didn’t hear Tsireya tell him they were on the ship. You didn’t hear Spider tell him to follow him. And you certainly didn’t hear Jake tell Lo’ak to stay and that he had done enough. You didn’t hear any of it as you kept looking at your mate, unable to pull your eyes away, no matter how painful it was.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

You only heard Lo’ak tell Tsireya he was going because he pulled back from you, jostling you enough to pull you from your trance to steady yourself. “Lo’ak, no,” she replied desperately, but there was no stopping him as he dove back into the water, leaving you alone with her and your mate’s dead body.

You didn’t know how long you two sat there in the silence, it could have been seconds or minutes or hours, before Tsireya broke it. “We should wash your hands,” she said softly.

You curled your hands into fists. You didn’t want to. Washing the blood off meant losing the only tangible part of your mate you had left. But you knew she was right, so you nodded and you moved on autopilot as she led you to the edge of the water. Your gaze was blank as she washed Neteyam’s blood off your hands, but you drew the line when she reached for your stomach.

“No,” you said sharply and gripped her wrist before she could touch you. Her ears went back as she nodded before she took your hand in hers as you sat back on the rock.  

You felt both empty and heavy at the same time as you sat there before Tsireya found her voice again. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, unsure of what else to say.

Your ears went back as you nodded, not trusting your voice. You opened and closed your mouth a few times before you looked over at her. “You and Lo’ak deserve better,” you whispered and touched your stomach, desperate to remind yourself of something worth living for.

Her ears went back even further as her shoulders dropped, but she followed your hand with her eyes. “He—” she started before she stopped herself. “Are you?” She asked instead.

You nodded again before you looked over at her with tears streaming down your cheeks. “I can’t do this on my own. I can’t do this without him.”

Her shoulders dropped as her ears went back again. She couldn’t imagine what you were feeling. “You won’t do this alone,” she told you softly. “You have the village behind you.”

You knew she only meant to comfort you, but her words only reminded you that Neteyam would never meet his child. “But I need him,” you whispered before you pulled your hand from her and pushed yourself away from the water’s edge.

Your heart broke all over again as you looked at your mate, laying there lifelessly, blood staining his beautiful blue skin. His eyes were still open as they stared at the sky above—at nothing. You couldn’t help the sob that escaped you as you looked at him before you reached out and softly closed his eyes. He’d look like he was sleeping, if not for all the blood.

But despite all the blood, you laid down next to him and gently put your head on his chest as you curled into him, your tail wrapping around his ankle.

His chest was silent and still and you wept into him, begging Eywa to give him back.

But she didn’t.

His chest never rose, his heart never beat, his skin never warmed, and his eys never opened.

He was gone.

Your beautiful mate was gone and there was nothing you could do to get him back.

--

The funeral was harder than you expected, having to say goodbye to his body as you, Jake and Neytiri lowered his body down to the Cove of the Ancestors. You knew that he was gone, that your mate was gone, that it was just a shell of his being, but you still wept, your tears burning your eyes more than the salt ever did.

Your lungs burnt as the air left you as you watched as the cove took his body, wrapping around him as it slowly consumed him, and just like that, he was gone, a piece of the ocean.

The way of water has no beginning and no end. The sea is around you and in you. The sea is your home, before your birth and after your death.

The first thing anyone heard when you resurfaced was your sob and you let Neytiri hug you as you sobbed into her shoulder. “My child,” she whispered as she held you close.

“It’s not fair,” you managed to get out between sobs.

“I know,” she whispered, her heart just as broken as yours.

Eywa holds all her children in her heart, but all you wanted was to hold him in your arms.

--

And if you thought the funeral was hard, visiting the Spirit Tree was even harder. Jake and Neytiri had gone soon after the funeral but took you days to get the courage to visit, to visit Neteyam.

Your tears disappeared into the salt water as you held your braid in your hand. Your heart ached in your chest, but slowly you let your tendrils connect with the Spirit Tree.

At first, all you felt was warmth as white consumed your vision, but then you were filled with the familiar view of the Forest, of your home. You smiled to yourself as you looked around, and just like that, Neteyam slipped out from between the trees, his battle belt and ikran eyewear on and your eyes watered as you looked at him, every bit the man you loved.

“Neteyam?” You asked and he smiled as he came around you, his tail wrapping around yours in a way he knew comforted you.

“Why are you crying, my mate?” He asked concerned he reached out to cup your jaw.

“I’m just happy to see you,” you told him breathlessly and you committed his smile to memory.

“I’m happy to see you, too, my mate,” he replied and you trailed your eyes over every mark on his body as your heart wept.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

Neteyam was your everything, your best friend, your lover, your mate, the father of your child.

From the moment his braid meant yours, you felt him. You felt him in a way no one else could and no one else would. You felt his being. And too soon you had felt him go.

Memories of you two as children, growing up, becoming teenagers, and falling in love, flashed before your eyes and you took water into your lungs as you sobbed, forcing yourself to pull back from the spirit tree and returned to the surface, one hand treading water as you held your stomach with the other.

A boy, you thought suddenly, the Tsahìk abilities you had been training for finally showing themselves. You were having a boy.

The bond is a beautiful thing, but it’s also the most painful thing you ever experienced, the beginning and end of everything, of all that you are.

[scarhalo]

Thoughts on the Enrichment Applicability Assessment

TMAGP EP 9 SPOILERS AHEAD

UPDATE: The TMAGP notion board on my pinned post has now been updated for ep. 9! Go check it out :) OOOOH BOY now this is exciting stuff. So the Magnus Institue, or whoever was routing through their files (this could be a whole other tangent...starkwall anyone?) was running artifact studies... and we have very little information about it. As of yet, this is what we know about the classifications of the cursed dice from this episode:

"Viability as subject – none Viability as agent – low Viability as catalyst – medium."

Recommend referral to Catalytics for Enrichment Applicability Assessment.

Here is my running theory...

Alchemical theory of artifact classification A subject is pretty straight forward, it is the base material on which alchemical operations are performed. Agent and catalyst, however, stood out to me specifically for being similar chemical terms, with one key difference. A catalyst is always an agent but not all agents are catalysts. An agent is a substance/compound that facilitates a chemical reaction. A catalyst is a substance/compound that increases the rate of a reaction, and is not typically consumed in said reaction. This leads me to believe these artifacts were being studied for the purpose of being used as ritualistic vessels or weapons. An agent could aid in a ritual, but does not have the power to efficiently carry one out. A catalyst on the other hand could very well be the key player in a ritual.

In the context of the dice, it would make sense for them not to be a subject. They seem to be conducting and changing the world around them, not so much acting as a vessel (for example, I believe the web table in TMA used to bind the NotThem would be a pretty good subject, as it actively had actions performed unto it rather than it interacting with the world). Furthermore, the dice would work as an agent, as they can take a supportive role. But due to them being, you know... unpredictable, it would be difficult for them to take a facilitation role. A catalyst however, is much more likely since the dice are event initiators.

Now onto the catalytic enrichment applicability assessment Enrichment studies are done on living beings, in which the researchers hypothesize adding something will change the subjects behavior. What could they possibly add to change the behavior of the dice? I believe they are (were, when they had them) actively feeding the dice. ANYWAYS; currently wondering where the dice are. Now that we know these studies were happening, where did the artifacts go when the place burnt down? They must have been taken and relocated or scattered. Maybe the OIAR has them...

[dresshistorynerd]

I had the idea of writing about some historical queer figures I find interesting and drawing them for this pride month as a little project of mine. I will see how many I'll have time to do, I have in mind at least four other historical people, but knowing myself, I'm not holding my breath for all of them. Julie d'Aubigny she been one of my favorite historical figures for years so I decided to start with her.

Historical Queer Figures - Julie d'Aubigny

Julie d'Aubigny, also known as Mademoiselle Maupin and La Maupin, was a French opera singer and fencer in the late 1600s. She was infamous for having sapphic relationships, being aggressive and dramatic, having androgynous presentation by occasionally dressing in men's clothing in public and being a fencer and duelist. Trans and genderqueer readings of her are very possible, but because none of the accounts of her (at least those I've read) suggests she ever used any other than feminine first names or terms or she/her pronouns about herself, I will use she/her pronouns when talking about her.

The French court absolutely loved to gossip and people were constantly making up libel about the people they didn't like, and Julie had a lot of enemies and was very controversial figure. During the 18th and 19th centuries she was written about a lot in these highly sensationalized Encyclopedias, where the rumors from her lifetime got increasingly wilder and sensational. She was accused for example of seducing noble women in court balls, burning down a convent and murder. There's not much primary sources left or available from her actual lifetime so distinguishing truth from fiction is not an easy task in her case. Kaz Rowe did great job in their youtube video about her to try to actually find out where the stories of her life comes from. They go through some great context too about the rumor industry in the French court at the time so I highly recommend checking it out.

CW: very brief mentions of child sexual abuse and self-harming

The Timeline of Most Concrete Events

Let's first go through the things that have at least a bit more backing than a rumor started 100 years after her death. Julie d'Aubigny was born between 1670 and 1673. Her father was Gaston d'Aubigny, the secretary of Louis of Lorraine, count d’Armagnac, who was Master of Horses to King Loius XIV, and her mother is unknown. She was probably brought to the Versailles court in 1682, where she got a full education including academic subjects, riding and fencing, usually only thought for boys. She was married off to a Sieur de Maupin (first name unknown) probably around 1687, when she would have been 14 to 17 years old. He apparently got a position from a southern province as a tax collector. The stories about her claim she remained in Paris, but I don't think there's evidence of this, though what we do know of her adult life does suggest she was estranged from her husband and lived apart from him. Nevertheless, she did end up in Marseilles, where she first appeared on stage in Marseilles Opéra between 1687 and 1690. She didn't have education in music, but her good looks and beautiful voice landed her the role.

Her first appearances in the Paris Opéra are listed to 1690, so that is probably when she had her debut there. She became a very talked about figure and she gained both friends and enemies in the opera and the court. She performed in the Paris Opéra for probably four years, after which she went to Brussels, Bavaria, where she performed with the Opéra du Quai au Foin at least during 1697 and early 1698, after which she returned to France to perform again with the Paris Opéra.

It was the period when her career peaked and she got a lot of leading female roles. Those roles in French opera were at the time soprano roles, but Julie's natural voice range was lower, contralto. (There's a whole thing where at the time she was described as mezzo-soprano, but the music historian consensus is that her range matches contralto in modern terms as opera was sang on lower cords across the board at the time. (I understand nothing about music theory so I just hope I managed to explain this correctly)) She excelled in secondary female roles of goddesses and warrior women. For the leading roles she had to sing on higher notes than was natural to her and the naive and dainty personalities of those roles clashed with her own personality. Some later retellings of her life claim she performed male roles for female singers (which was common practice, and these roles were often those of young boys), but all known records of her roles are female roles. In 1702 on the leading composers of the Paris Opéra, André Campra, wrote her a leading lady role in Tamcréde, which is often credited to have the first leading female role for contralto. But her perhaps most famous role was as Médée in Medus, which was considered to be a very difficult role. Apparently the original leading singer had fallen ill before the debut so Julie was quickly trained in her stead, but succeeded well and got a lot of praise for the role.

In 1703 Julie started an affair with Madame la Marquise de Florensac, who was said to have been the most beautiful woman in France. This is the affair of hers of which there's most evidence. De Florensac was married and had children, but she was also rumored to have many affairs. Julie lived quietly together with her for two years. They were described by a contemporary to have lived in perfect harmony, always spending time together and only appearing in public when necessarily. Julie deputed in her last role in 1705 and ended her career after De Floransac died of sudden fever. Nothing concrete is known about the rest of her life, not even how or when she died, but she is usually speculated to have died in 1707.

Parsing History from Fantasy

Chronologically the rumor that places earliest in her life was that she had "an affair" with count d’Armagnac (age 46 at the time), before she got married in the same year so as a 14 to 17 year old. There doesn't seem to be any actual evidence of this and even if that really happened, it wouldn't have been an affair, it would have been grooming and sexual violence. Related to it is the rumor that the count arranged her marriage and sent her husband away, but kept her in the court with him. Then she "got bored" of the count and ran away with an assistant sword-master, Séranne, to southern France. They got money by performing fencing matches in fairs and taverns while they were traveling till they got to Marseilles, where she first appeared in opera.

The stories of her in this period are generally written in a super nasty tone, and she (as supposed 14 yo) is written as the seductress and the adult men are written as the victims of her fiery temper and fitfulness. All these stories seem pretty unlikely though. The rumor about the count seems (unfortunately) most possible, but accounts from 18th and 19th century about these early events in her life don't seem to be based on any information from her lifetime. I find it most likely that the writers in 18th and 19th centuries were filling out the blanks we don't know from her life and painting her as this (in their eyes) degenerate seductress from an early age. An alternative possible explanation could have been that she indeed accompanied her husband to south, perhaps near Marseilles, where she then performed with the Marseilles Opéra. Many sources claim though that she performed with her maiden name there, which would be odd if she was living with her husband. I don't know where that claim comes originally, but it could be false of course. Although the generally proposed year of her marriage could also be false, which would explain why she at first performed with her maiden name, and later in Paris and always after that with her husband's name. That would not explain how she ended up going to Marseilles though.

The next and perhaps the most infamous and coolest story of her sets somewhere shortly before 1690. In that story she fell in love with a girl in Marseilles and the girls parents sent her to a convent to avoid a scandal. Julie went to the convent with the premise of wanting to become a novice. They tried to frame the girl's death by putting a dead nun's body into the girls bed and setting it on fire and then went on the run for couple of months. While on the run Julie was sentenced to death in absentia, but after returning to Paris and rekindling her relationship with count d'Armagnac, he got the king to pardon her. As amazing as this story is, it's very likely not true. It seems quite unlikely that the 15 to 19 year old Julie would have done that, but even more unlikely that she'd just get all her charges dropped and these crimes wouldn't have hindered at all her career, which hadn't even properly begun yet. The first surviving description of this incident comes from a letter of her contemporary court lady, Madame Dunoyer, who was basically an early gossip columnist and despised her. Her story doesn't mention Julie at all, but talks about a nun, who tried to frame her own death in a similar manner to escape with her male lover (which still sounds very unlikely story). The first surviving description that attaches that story to Julie, comes year after her death from the very suspect writings of a known liar, Cardinal Debois, who did personally know and hate Julie. He claimed that Dumenil, who was an actor in Paris Opéra the same time as Julie, related him the story, while also acknowledging he probably did it because he too hated her. So very likely not a true story, but possibly something that was rumored during her lifetime already.

In the stories of her, after escaping from the convent and before going to Paris, she traveled again in male attire and met Louis Joseph d'Albert de Luynes von Grimberghen, commonly known as count d'Albert. He was an interesting character in his own right, roughly her age, and like her, his real story is a little hard to parse from the legend (though in his case, he was a nobleman so there's also a lot of actual records of his life). In the story though, he thought she was a man, they had some disagreement, a fight broke out, she won, injured him and nursed him back to health. And then they had a brief affair before d'Albert went to war again. They were lifelong friends, so this is not entirely made up. It's entirely possible they had a brief affair (and according to many stories an on and off type of affair that was re-kindled at many points in their lives) and there was rumors about it even in her lifetime, but the story of this first meeting seems to lack validity.

Next in her stories she met Gabriel-Vincent Thévenard, who was another famous singer and her contemporary, either right before or right after she arrived in Paris. They became lovers and after Thévenard auditioned and got accepted into the Paris Opéra, he helped to get Julie accepted too. It is true that as far as we know, they both debuted in 1690. They were also said to have been life long friends and again it's possible they were lovers at some point, but the details of their meeting are difficult to know.

There are many stories about her antics of both of her times in the Paris Opéra. In those stories she fought duels, assaulted Dumenil with a cane, robbed Dumenil, had fights with men after they insulted her or another women or harassed other women, tried to kill herself after her love was not reciprocated, threatened to shoot a duchess in the head, threatened to slit Cardinal Debois' throat, bit Thévenard in the ear on stage and had affairs with men and women. According to Cardinal Debois the feud between Dumenil and Julie started because Dumenil was interested in her but she rejected him. The Cardinal was a liar but it does sound pretty believable. So if it's true and he spread in retaliation a lie that she burned down a convent, her beating him up or beating him up, stealing his valuables and returning them to him by humiliating him in front of other actors, would align well with everything else told about her personality. Maybe her retaliation wasn't exactly as in the stories, but if the other things about Dumenil were true, I'm sure she retaliated in some way. Same applies to her threatening the Cardinal's life. He wrote about it, but he was a liar, but, but because he was a liar who lied about her, it sounds like something she might do. Madame Dunoyer wrote about her threatening the Duchess of Luxembourg apparently because of jealousy over count d'Albert. The duchess was d'Albert's mistress at one point and apparently he even fought a duel over her in 1700. So there is some validity to this rumor, though the circumstances were perfect to fabricate that kind of rumor. I haven't found as much backing to other rumors, but many of them sound possible or at least maybe rooted in some reality and exaggerated.

The rumored explanation for why she left the Paris Opéra around 1694 was that she went into a court ball in men's clothing, kissed a woman on the dance floor and got challenge to a duel by three noblemen. They went outside and she won, but because dueling was illegal, she had to flee to Bavaria, and later when she returned, she was supposedly pardoned by the king again. In the more sensational versions of the story she killed the noblemen. This whole story is very unlikely. Even count d'Albert was imprisoned for engaging in an illegal duel (the one in 1700). He got eventually pardoned, but he was a nobleman and basically a war hero. The first surviving accounts of this story come much after her dead and it sounds more like a very exaggerated version of the other stories of her. There's many more plausible reason why she would have left to Bavaria. If her contemporaries descriptions of her behavior were even half true, those could have been scandal enough. Or if the rumors of her burning down a convent were circling that time already, that alone could have been damaging enough to her career that she thought it best to leave for a while.

In Bavaria, she's rumored to have another scandal. She supposedly became lover of the Max Emanuel, Elector of Bavaria, but she was too dramatic and after she stabbed herself with a real knife during a performance, the Elector decided she was too much, demanded her to leave Bavaria and gave her money for it. She supposedly threw the money to the feet of the messenger and left. The first surviving account of this story comes again from Madame Dunoyer, the details of which have changed, but were always quite exaggerated and unbelievable. Still the core events might be true, it's possible she was the Elector's lover for a while and it's also possible she stabbed herself on stage for real, being very dramatic as she was.

Was she queer?

There are enough accounts of her attraction and relationships with women from people who actually knew her, that I do find it very likely that she was sapphic. Cardinal Debois even implied she was exclusive interested in women or at least heavily preferred them, though other accounts by the people who knew her did talk about her attraction to men too. Her dressing in men's clothing is also mentioned enough times by her contemporaries that I do believe it. Because gender was so heavily tied to clothing and sexuality and fashion was less about what you wanted to wear and more about what you wanted others to think about you, I think she probably had some gender feelings. Even her aggressive and assertive behavior was very much seen as crossing gender boundaries. There's no more evidence of her feelings on gender than her androgynous presentation, so it's mostly speculation.

In conclusion, she was definitely a flavor of queer.

Julie circa 1700 in opera costume.

The most notable source I used:

Julie D'Aubigny: the 17th Century Sapphic Swordfighting Opera Singer, video by Kaz Rowe - I mentioned this before but it bears repeating

Research page by Jim Burrows - This was great since there's gathered multiple sources on le Maupin, historical and more recent, some of which are hard to access fully otherwise

Julie d'Aubigny: La Maupin and Early French Opera, LAPL blog post - It repeats most of the rumors of questionable origin about her as truth, but the sections about her career, which have more backing than just rumors, are really helpful

Mademoiselle De Maupin; Biographical sketches & anecdotes, The Dublin University Magazine - One of those questionable biographies of her from 1854, really only good as a source of what the rumors were after her death

Chevalier, Louis-Joseph, prince de Grimberghen, essay by Neil Jeffares - Biography of count d'Albert, which includes a lot of unsourced rumors about both le Maupin and d'Albert, but recounts his life events in great detail, and references to each claim show which parts are sourced well

[t3a-tan]

what exactly was/is ryker trying to accomplish with sam, tanner and their mom ?

Glad you asked! This is a long one, but context is necessary.

There is a war going on basically everywhere other than the human realm. This is what led to the extinction of the anderna, and Ryker himself was once a prisoner of war— only managing to escape by stealing the appearance of a guard. They were after his research specifically.

Before the war, Ryker was a very well known magic researcher. He was the first person in history to actually make an accurate theory on the soul, and by extension he discovered active and dormant magic. He then began to focus on integrated magic into technology, but before they could make any headway the angels of Syris attacked and the war started.

It was very clear immediately that the Syrisian soldiers numbers were too large, and due to the fact that they possessed magic whilst most other races did not, Ryker recognized that they needed something drastic to turn the tides in their favour.

His focus was then on finding a way to turn dormant magic (which most people had), into active magic. Because of the desperate situation, and fueled by the desire for revenge, this is when Ryker's morality started to sour. He needed to accomplish his goal by any means necessary, or else everyone in Gahenn would go extinct.

When he was close to a breakthrough, the facility he was working in was destroyed in a bombing and he lost all of his research, and most of his test subjects. Of the subjects that survived (Cody, Jamai, and Orna), none of them took on the role of actually stopping the angels despite the fact that all of them had great power. Orna even began working with the angels.

Because his crimes came to light, Ryker had to live in hiding. The only things he had left of his research were two serums. But they couldn't be administered to just anyone— he wanted to find someone who could hopefully handle the substance and also had the mindset to kill the angels and end the war.

Humans have souls that are very adaptable— but because humans lived in a realm where there was virtually no magic, most of their souls wouldn't be able to handle the serum. That's when he found out there was ONE human who had lived in an environment rich with magic practically her whole life; Cody's adopted daughter, Charlotte.

The problem is... He can't get to her. She lived in a realm he didn't have access to, and even if he made it, Cody would definitely be able to stop him before he could so much as look at the human. A decade passed, and Ryker was approached by Orna. At first he thought he would be killed, but she instead told him that Charlotte was now in the human realm and Cody had no idea where she was.

He jumped on the opportunity immediately. Ryker went to Earth and began to integrate his identity into the world. He prepared a facility underground so it wouldn't be found by authorities, and hired people to search for the human he was after. It was supposed to go smoothly, and she was supposed to be kidnapped without much fuss, but instead she died amidst the kidnapping and so he brought her two children with him instead.

He hoped they would possess some of her affinity for magic, and started the long process of preparing them to be given the serum. He wanted to make sure that they had the kind of personality he was looking for, so they wouldn't end up being a pacifist like Cody or a traitor like Orna. Tanner didn't possess the personality he was looking for, but Sammy did.

And so, really what he was trying to accomplish was making a super soldier who could and would end the war. Sammy is that.

[is-she-suffering]

QUEEN ADREENA VS DAVID CRONENBERG'S CRASH

In December 2002 Queenadreena provided a live soundtrack to David Cronenberg’s movie adaptation of J.G. Ballard's novel „Crash”.

The one-night-only event was hosted in the Institute of Contemporary Arts in London on December 13th. The band was joined by ex Daisy Chainsaw bassist Richard Adams.

The band couldn’t pick a more fitting movie – „Crash” is a movie based on a J.G. Ballard’s novel of the same name, considered by many to be quite controversial due of its disturbing subject. It tells the story of individuals taking sexual pleasure from watching and participating in car accidents.

Katie Jane Garside: "I like standing on a knife edge in order to force the envelope and get something interesting happen. It's no coincidence that we were chosen to do 'Crash', what with the voyeuristic nature of car accidents. We'll put a bomb under it and see what happens."

A song called "Roadkill" was debuted onstage that night, never to be played live again. The song tells a story of a young girl killed in a motorway accident. "Roadkill" hasn’t found its way to any of Queen Adreena’s albums, but a 4-track demo was later released on Katie Jane's solo album Lullabies in Glass Wilderness.

Unfortunately, there’s no audio or video of this show available. A short review taken from Kerrang! Magazine (the band got 4/5 rating):

Classic Cronenberg film gets new art-punk soundtrack. THE PAIRING of David Cronenberg's 1998 film 'Crash' and ex-Daisy Chainsaw led avant-garde noise conjurers Queen Adreena was never going to be easy on the eyes or ears. For those of you who haven't seen it, 'Crash' is a film about a group of deranged individuals who derive sexual pleasure from car crashes. And for those who haven't seen them, Queen Adreena are an art-rock band with an equally worrying deviant streak. As the credits roll and the band assume their positions in front of the screen, Crispin Gray picks the moody, sombre melody of 'Kitty Collar Tight' from his guitar as singer Katie Jane Garside starts to weave her magic across the stage. Garside's compelling stage presence and beautiful, ethereal vocal style perfectly offsets the unhinged sexual nature of the film. Placing their music within the context of the movie leaves the audience dazed and confused as the final credits roll. Tonight more so than ever, Queen Adreena truly assault our senses. More power to them.

Another review:

QUEEN ADREENA VS DAVID CRONENBERG'S CRASH

ICA, London - December 2002

No one is quite sure what to expect tonight. Will Queen Adreena play for the entire duration of Cronenberg's controversial movie (which lasts twice as long as their normal set) or just during the 'highlights'?

The night begins amusingly with thirty minutes of vintage black and white Road Safety public information films. These provided some laughs, as various members of the supposedly ignorant public nonchalantly strolled out in front of rapidly moving vehicles, before being berated by a fussy old narrator.

Onto the main event: the band amble onto the stage as the movie begins, and a new slow song spills out over the opening credits. And there's a new bassist too! The after-show rumour seemed to confirm that the man with the bass was none other than Richard Adams, their ex-Daisy Chainsaw band mate. It seems I had been watching three-quarters DC and didn't even know it!

Back to the movie: subtitles are kept on throughout; the soundtrack is on, but only audible when the band stop playing. Some songs are slightly extended to keep the pacing accurate. The superb Pretty Like Drugs comes early on; one more song then the music ends so we can watch a dialogue scene. This sets the pattern for the night: we get a string of three or four songs over the driving and screwing, and then the music pauses for dialogue scenes. Curiously, we are allowed to view James Spader humping Rosanna Arquette's leg-wound in all it's original glory. The second batch of songs climaxes with the James Dean car-crash recreation, which means that the onscreen audience are clapping at the same time as we are.

So, does the noisy music work well with Cronenberg's copulation and carnage? Well, to be honest, standing right in front of the band, I keep tending to forget that a film is even playing. But when I do glance at it, I am reminded that „Crash” has far more nudity than I remembered. Shit, I hope Tesco's develop my snapshots with no problems.

Queen Adreena never give a bad show, and this is no exception. Very interesting to see them in a non-moshing environment too. And after that it's time to return home to the Heathrow area, where J. G. Ballard set the 180 original „Crash” novel. All this on the day Barry Norman, with thirty years of movie reviewing experience, said live on TV that Cronenberg's „Shivers” is "the worst movie of all time" (whatta tosser - Ed). God knows what he would have made of tonight's extraordinary event at the ICA... JASON PYKE

[myteavsricochet]

jeez guys, 10 asks on the same topic that basically all say the same thing is too much for me and my Italian brain that can't write in English 😭 I'll try to throw everything I think in various steps here, I don't know if it will make sense but it's the best I can offer. Then we will put a stone to rest on this subject, okay?

1. It's not true that the rwrb fandom is not supportive of the boys' projects and work and would like them to simply remain attached to the film their whole lives. It's a somewhat immature thought and you know very well that it's not like that. I use both this social and twitter a lot and I see how much hype and support there is for Mary & George from the people who madly love rwrb and have been talking about it for months. Everyone is so enthusiastic and excited about what Nick is doing. But we are also all human beings and I see absolutely no lack of respect in dreaming and wishing that the boys, despite their work, talk about a film that none of us were able to experience with promos, premieres, red carpets and everything else and exactly for that there is so much desire for it because we haven't heard much about it from them, not as it should have been at least.

Dreaming of hearing about a film that meant so much to so many people cannot be a sin or a shame. The feeling is so strong for many precisely because there wasn't everything that was supposed to be there for that film and it doesn't mean, I repeat, that Mary & George isn't respected or that Nick is expected to only talk about rwrb while doing promo for that project. Really no one thinks such a thing, no one is so delusional or disrespectful. Don't worry. But let people still be excited about rwrb, they don't do anything bad, they don't hurt anyone, Nick will carry on with his job anyway and nothing will change for you and him.

2. the podcast: I reiterate that context matters. I can understand if for some it may have seemed like a cold and detached response at first glance, especially if they only read quotes from the audio and didn't have a realistic idea of ​​the interview. It's ok if you felt sad for a second, don't feel guilty about it if you didn't react badly against nick.

But let's definitely clarify what is said in the podcast: The interviewer talks to Nick about the impact of rwrb as fame and success after the film, he replies that the thing he is most interested in is how it opened doors for him to other opportunities job and the possibility of working on the projects that he really wants to do.

He meant that: more than fame he is happy that a film like that gave him this great chance to now do what he wants like an actor which is exactly what all actors want in their career.

He never said that that was the only thing that mattered to him and that was the only reason he made that film. He never said it.

Taylor also had a great chance with rwrb and we say it constantly, it opened so many doors for him, he will get new projects because of that movie, we see him now doing things he loves because of the success of that movie and he would say the same thing too.

In the podcast the question was specific and he answered specifically. For the rest we know how much Nick loves Henry. We have interviews where he talks about him and the film and Taylor with his heart on his sleeve. We have Matthew saying he protected Henry and knew him better than anyone. Better than him and Casey. We have Nick who in his first post after months says how hard it was not to talk about Henry. We have Nick who during the strike liked all the possible fancams on Henry because it was the only way he had to show that he was there with us. And many other things so it's absurd to think now that this has changed because it hasn't. We will have more interviews in the next few days where it seems clearly they will also talk about rwrb and we will hear more from him there.

One thing you constantly forget about is how different Nick and Taylor are in the way they approach things. Nick is more introverted, we'll probably never see him jumping and dancing while talking about rwrb like T does, but that doesn't mean he cares any less or doesn't have the desire to talk about it. Even during interviews for M&G he is always quite nervous and even embarrassed despite the fact that he is talking about the project he is promoting and of which he is very proud.

3. the sequel: I no longer have the strength to deal with this honestly, it's clear that until they give you the announcement you will never believe anything and it's easier to be negative than to put all the pieces together over these months and understand that you just have to be patient. Nobody today would do these constant teases about the sequel if there really wasn't the possibility or one of the lead actors wasn't interested. Taylor wouldn't keep saying he hopes for a sequel and it would be great to do so if he knew Nick wasn't on board or that his co-star hated that project. I swear to you, he's not that desperate, trust me.

The cast of rwrb is very close, all of them, even with nick and you see it constantly and there's really nothing more to say about this.

4. the haters: Those solo nick stans didn't need another reason to throw taylor and rwrb under the bus yet they found another excuse because people are stupid. The fact that they think he can actually say something like that about that movie with that intention and be happy about it shows how much they don't understand shit about who they follow. That there are also strange accounts solo taylor stan who always have to complain about something is equally true and they should all be collectively ignored and left alone because the reactions do more damage than the actual controversies.

I have nothing else to say and I don't think I will say anything else, thank you for getting this far and I apologize for the delirium. peace and love ❤️

[the-tmnt-ficfinder]

Ficfinder finds: Still...Beating...

Rottmnt Oneshot Summary: It's time to let go, now. The smell is overwhelming.

Still...Beating... : Appraisal and Ratings

(Don't know what fanfic "Appraisal and Ratings" means? Check out my explanation on my Main Masterpost! Looking for a different fanfic to read? Head on over to my Fanfic List Masterpost!)

Disclaimer: This fanfic is a oneshot, and is completed. This fanfic is written by @devotedtosadpoetry who writes compelling and dark fanfics! Go ahead, go show them some love and support!!

The fanfic ratings are not based on quality, favoritism, or how good I think it is, but rather, how intense a subject may be. Like a movie review, or the tags on Ao3, letting the readers know what to expect.

Plot: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Plot is five out of five!! This fic has minimal amounts of plot, due to the fact its a oneshot, though what plot there is, is incredibly intense and disturbing."

Suspense/Mystery: 💛💛🖤🖤🖤

"Suspense/Mystery two out of five!! The suspense and mystery in this oneshot are just prominent enough to make you wanna read further, curious as to what's going on, and what had happened.

Angst/Hurt: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Angst/Hurt is five out of five!! This oneshot is filled to the absolute brim with angst and hurt!! Everything is wrong, and nothing is right."

Fluff/Comfort: 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

"Fluff/Comfort is zero out of five!! There is completely no fluff nor comfort to find in this fic. This fic is clearly written to have the opposite effect."

Emotions Conveyed: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Emotions Conveyed is five out of five!! This oneshot messed with my head good!! Its filled with such a sense of disturbance, and dread, oh man it made me uncomfortable (but in a good way ^^)"

Drama/Tension Level: 💛💛💛💛🖤

"Drama/Tension Level is four out of five!! I'd say this oneshot definitely had a lot of tension in it. Tension between Leo and the rest of the brothers. For sure, things were tense and upsetting."

Triggers: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Triggers for this chapter are five out of five!! This oneshot is incredibly dark, and very disturbing. For context, in the beginning notes it says "The heart of an alligator snapping turtle can keep beating for up to five days after decapitation." So, with that in mind, please read through the tags, and know that this is a very dark fic."

Legibility (Reading): 💛💛💛🖤🖤

"Legibility (Reading) is three out of five!! Still... Beating... was really enjoyable to read, as the writing style was smooth, and read very well indeed."

Legibility (Audio): 💛💛💛💛🖤

"Legibility (Audio) gets a four out of five!! I'd say this fanfic was even more enjoyable to listen to, as it contributed to the stress and suspense factor."

Length: 💛🖤🖤🖤🖤

"Length is one out of five!! The listening length for this fic is about 4-5 minutes long."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Personal thoughts on chapter below cut (Contains Spoilers)

Mikey never stopped making food in an attempt to combat what leaked under the door crack, and once it was made, it sat out until it vanished from the table. One would think a magician performed a trick on the food (as long as they didn’t check the trashcan). It didn’t take long for the box turtle to give up making anything. Everyone stayed out of the kitchen. Donnie didn’t work on his tech, only scrolling on his phone to make his eyes sting from the screen instead of emotions. Video after video. Article after article. Information he would store in the back of his mind for later, because right now, it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. 

Oh gosh, this is just so dark and depressing. How the brothers are struggling, how they're desperately attempting to live a somewhat normal life. Mikey's baking because it makes him feel happy, but throws away each meal, because who's going to eat it? Nobody has an appetite anymore. Donnie's burying himself in his tech, using it as a form of escapism, to escape his life because its all gone down hill.

It was getting worse. Donnie covered his nose, wincing when he caught an awful whiff of what lay just behind the door. He heard mumbles from it—coming from a voice that hasn’t stopped talking in the last seventy-four hours. It was hoarse and weak now. Barely heard now. Barely forming syllables now. Donnie didn’t think about the things being said. It was only lies. Lies said to the evidence right there. 

Three days, and two hours. That's a long time to be awake. I don't know if Leo had been awake that whole time, but after 72 hours of no sleep, the brain looses the ability to think straight, and hallucinations begin to become frequent and complex. Not just little hallucinations, but big complex ones.

The distractions used never lasted due to the screaming. It came with a rhythm. When the heart started beating again. 

Part of the reason for this, is due to the fact that snapping turtles have slower metabolisms. The body can continue to function for extended periods of time, even when brain activity is disconnected.

Mikey was suddenly there, pushing Donnie back and shaking his head. He’d been crying again. Red rimmed eyes, puffy with the weight of one less brother. “Don’t…” he whispered. Although he was quieter, his desperation was the same as Leo’s. “Please, just…” The smallest and youngest brother hiccuped, “Leave them be. Leave them be…” More tears leaked out, Mikey wiped them. “You shouldn’t see…” 

Oh man... The amount of raw emotion packed into this paragraph is completely insane! The hurt, the desperation, the grief, the fear and terror. Its all so potent.

The scream was more desperate than the last. Mikey shook his head again, and Donnie pushed him away, taking a breath before opening the door to Raph’s room. The smell came in a wave. Decomposition and blood and sweat combined to remind Donnie of feces, powerful enough to make him gag. And Leo sat right against the thing, cradling the bloated body, holding it close. Fresh tears streamed down his face like he hadn’t done this several times already. The proof of that were the stains on his cheeks and his puffy red and bruised eyes. He was smiling like he’d discovered a wondrous thing, but saliva dripped from his mouth from his screaming. His voice sounded like it was rotting. Just like Raph’s body. “Donnie, where did you go? Why did you leave when Raph’s alive? He—he’s back!” Leo laughed, clutching the body tighter. “Raph’s alive! He’s breathing, Donnie! His heart is beating, Donnie! Come feel his heart, Donnie!” He placed his hand on the body’s chest. “Feel his heart, Donnie. It’s beating, Donnie…”

24-72 hours after death, the internal organs decompose. 3-5 days after death, the body starts to bloat and blood-containing foam leaks from the mouth and nose. 8-10 days after death, the body turns from green to red as the blood decomposes and the organs in the abdomen accumulate gas. I'd imagine that Raph's body is probably leaking and getting squishy. Like a rotting pumpkin. Its still somewhat solid due to not being that far along, and also, having a heart that still works, but its still clearly decomposing. Leo could actually get horribly sick like this, spending so much time with a decomposing body.

[jihyocentric]

idk if anyone has requested for the summary of dormmate!nayeon yet, but I would like to! It’s been a while since we have got an update about them🥺

thanks in advance and have a great day, lumi!

made this a filler drabble to give context to the next request for this au!

-

getting to know yeri shifted something between them. jihyo slowly realizes that nayeon has been sweeter with her, trying to redeem herself, knowing she was the reason why jihyo had to deal with that.

if only nayeon had resisted the urge to have jihyo, they wouldn’t be stuck in that situation. jihyo could’ve found someone nice. someone who would take care of her, always put her first and wouldn’t make her pretend she doesn’t know them when they’re not in between four walls.

this time, when the guilt begins to consume her, nayeon doesn’t drink. after the last time she drowned her sorrows in alcohol and everything went downhill, nayeon promised she wouldn’t do that again, resorting to less harmful things.

that included spending quality time with jihyo, and sometimes helping sana and momo out. there was an extracurricular project of which the two were volunteers, and while sana and momo were there for the money, nayeon wanted time for herself, keeping her mind busy while teaching kids the basics of basketball.

that way, she didn’t have to think about the mess that her life had become. the moments where she was alone at the dorm, waiting for jihyo to arrive, were the worst hours of her days. as long as she was away, either helping out on the project or taking classes at college, her problems would vanish.

even if temporarily, she could finally breathe.

“since we’re letting you participate, you should give us the money,” sana says when they’re leaving college. momo agrees with her. “you don’t need it! besides, if it wasn't for us you would never know about the project, and…”

“you can have it.” nayeon sighs, already sick of having the two around. they had become closer with time, and they certainly knew how to keep nayeon from thinking about her problems, but they talked too much. “can you just keep quiet?”

“that easy?!” sana blinks, confused, hugging nayeon’s shoulder with a smile on her face. “look at you, im. you’re such a good friend now.”

nayeon scoffs, offering her a halfhearted smile. momo was clueless to the whole nayeon and jihyo subject, and none of them were planning to tell her. nayeon still hates the fact that momo tries to reach jihyo, the jealousy stopping nayeon from accepting momo as a friend. sana finds it entertaining for the most part, an amused viewer.

when she gets home, nayeon feels a scent that calls for her, fresh and sugary, filling the entire dorm. jihyo leaves the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around her, and nayeon knows she will rightfully complain about what she plans to do, but she can’t help but engulf her in a hug, her front meeting jihyo’s back, her sweaty arms involving her.

“you’re late,” jihyo sighs, her hair being pulled aside, soft lips kissing her neck, a familiar gesture that made her stomach burn, anticipating everything that came next. “and sweaty.”

“i took the girls home today,” nayeon pushes jihyo’s body gently, making her walk. while she wouldn’t mind to fuck her in the hallway, right there and then, her legs ached after spending the day running on a court. “and now i’m taking you.”

jihyo’s back hits the mattress as soon as nayeon manages to undo her towel, and then she’s trapped in one of those moments where she thinks she should be saying no. meeting yeri made things become more real, the guilt close to palpable, but it feels so good, even when it’s bad.

nayeon’s kisses carried uncertainties that even the roughest touch couldn’t make jihyo understand what nayeon wanted behind the obvious lust. kisses shouldn’t feel that way — empty and hungry at the same time, and nayeon shouldn’t be silently telling jihyo she is hers when she couldn’t live up to the promise.

“about our date…” nayeon inches away, taking off her muscle tee and dropping it to the floor. “there’s a festival happening out of town this weekend, i thought i could take you there.”

jihyo takes a while to process what nayeon had told her, eyes locked on her tummy. the top part of her boxers was showing, nayeon entirely too lazy to fix it. the shirt had been covering it anyway.

“you’re taking me out of town so nobody can see us?” jihyo asks, bringing her hand to the belt around nayeon’s waist, unbuckling it easily.

“what a smart girl,” nayeon mashes her lips together, only letting out a small laugh. “there’s nothing interesting for us to do here. at least not this weekend… just thought you would like to do something different.”

it was true.

not entirely true, but it was still true. nayeon was taking her out of town because it was dangerous to walk around with jihyo when nobody knew she shared her dorm with her, but she wasn’t lying when she said there was nothing interesting to do around the town.

“too sweet, unnie.” jihyo sighs, pulling nayeon’s pants down to her thighs along with the boxers. she moans softly when nayeon’s cock springs out, hard from the moment she saw jihyo. “planning to take me to bed afterwards?”

nayeon shrugs, letting jihyo guide her inside, supporting herself on her arms as she leans into her neck, nibbling the smooth skin just slightly. jihyo was already covered in marks, and those needed time to heal without nayeon trying to give her more of them.

“obviously.” nayeon tells her, amused. “but i want us to have fun, too. just you and i,” she pulls away just barely, nose brushing against jihyo’s. “my pretty girl.”

wasting no time, nayeon starts to thrust. she had always been fond of giving jihyo a little praising, knowing what it did to her, combining them with searing thrusts that would make jihyo cry out beautifully.

nayeon keeps a hand on jihyo’s cheek tenderly, another holding her thigh, groaning at how jihyo claws at her ass under the pants, subtly asking nayeon to put it all in and go impossibly deep, her way of making nayeon hers, an arbitrary sense of accomplishment growing in her chest.

the same passion that put them in their current situation comes back stronger when they’re together like that — losing themselves together, bodies pressed against one another, fulfilling a need that would never be truly sated, drowning into each other’s mouths even when they could barely breathe, forgetting about the world outside.

despite everything, there's nothing to regret when it feels that good.

[cycas]

Thank your for taking your time to shed light on Oropher's fateful military decision. I came to do some research about it because this is what stuck when there are discussions about Thranduil. I often read "Oropher did defy Gil-Galads order" or "Oropher did not respect Gil-Galads command". I know too little to be sure if he actually WAS under Gil-Galads command, in terms of military hierarchy.

Another theory people come up with his Sindarin descent and therefore, Oropher is blamed to disdain anyone of Noldorin descent, or at least to hold a grudge against the Noldor, and to not accept his authority. In short, it is the High King of the Noldor against a Sindarin King of Thingol's line.

As for Amdír, as a fellow Sindar from Doriath, familiar with the ways of living of the Silvan Elves, I assume he might have had a greater understanding of Oropher's tactics. I wonder if he knew, in advance, of Oropher's plan. If that early charge had been a plan at all. I wonder if his army that had been cut off the main host initally had been assigned a role in Oropher's early charge.

Then there is Thranduil. Where had he been? He survived, and with him, one third of his father's army, in a battle where complete annihilation was the higher probability than surviving, in a good enough health to travel home. I often wondered how this had been possible. Did those Elves survive because they were under his command, perhaps as another puzzle piece in Oropher's strategy that did not play out the way he intended it?

I have so many questions.

I'm going to link this to my previous reply,  and also take it as licence to ramble further :-D 

Gil-galad was High King of the Noldor, and his realm lay 'between the Mountains and the Sea'.    

And yet.  I think the hard lines between Noldor and Sindar become looser during the long peaceful early Second Age. 

Elrond chooses to be Gil-galad's herald rather than setting up a New Doriath of his own: Galadriel, Celeborn and Celebrimbor found Eregion, but none of them are referred to as queen or king.  

Cirdan, despite his age and the fact that he's been leading his own people since long before the rising of the Sun, seems to be quite content to become Gil-galad's master of ships and merge his people with the remnant of the Noldor. 

Elrond says of the king's death: "beside Gil-galad, only Cirdan stood, and I." 

The last High King of the Noldor in Middle-earth falls, and beside him is not some Noldo veteran of Gondolin or Nargothrond, but one of Thingol's lords (if not of Doriath) and Elrond, who is many things, but only marginally Noldor, at least by descent.  

So: I think that by the end of the Second Age, Gil-galad’s people are Eldar, not really Sindar and Noldor any more. 

There's a suggestion that Gil-galad might hold kingship over the exiled early Numenoreans too:  Elendil sets up his capital Annúminas close to Mithlond, in an area previously occupied by Elves (in fact, by Galadriel).

When Isildur's new city in Gondor is attacked, Gil-galad rides to war to defend him. The elves between the Mountains and the Sea follow him, apparently without argument. 

But Oropher and Amdir are different. They live East of the Mountains, outside any area possibly claimed by Gil-galad, and both are kings in their own right.  

I think Oropher and Amdir are independent allies of Gil-galad, not his subjects. I'm not sure that Gil-galad would give them orders, in the same way that he probably wouldn't give direct orders to the Dwarves of the House of Durin who also joined the Last Alliance.  

The fact that the House of Durin joined the Last Alliance is barely mentioned: 

"Of the Dwarves few fought upon either side; but the kindred of Durin of Moria fought against Sauron."

This is interesting in the context of Lorien.  Amdir has previously gone to war in close alliance with Khazad-dûm, during the War of the Elves and Sauron, when Amroth led a force through Moria to attack Sauron's forces together with the Dwarves.  

So Amdir might be closely allied with the force from Khazad-dûm, who after all do live right next door to him. Amdir might also have Noldor with him, refugees from Eregion:

"[Silvan Elves] had however been much mingled with Noldor (of Sindarin speech), who passed through Moria after the destruction of Eregion by Sauron in the year 1697 of the Second Age."  (Unfinished Tales: History of Galadriel and Celeborn) 

I feel both of those factors might be awkward for Oropher, and lead to a certain distance between him and Amdir.  

Though, we do get that tantalising mention from Gimli, in LOTR, that "Dwarves helped in building them [Thranduil's halls] long ago". 

Could it be that perhaps Thranduil's survival was linked to that small near-forgotten force from Khazad-dûm, and that's how he ended up commissioning Dwarves to help build his palace, a thousand year later?  They wouldn't be the Dwarves that fought in the Last Alliance, but there might still be a family connection. 

But you can certainly see that if Oropher was still holding a grudge over the fall of Doriath against the Noldor, it might leave him feeling a bit isolated.  His force is the only one that is entirely outside the cultural sphere of the Noldor, so far as we know. 

And yet... Oropher *could* have sat the war out. Greenwood the Great was a big place, he'd already moved well away from Amon Lanc.  He could have left the Last Alliance to get on with it.  But he didn't: he marched to war, and brought his people in force.

So, my feeling is that he'd probably not get into a deliberate confrontation with Gil-galad.  They have a shared objective, they both chose to go to war rather than retreating into the North and hoping Sauron would stay in the South.   

Oropher might not be under Gil-galad's command, but it's Gil-galad's war and Oropher chose to show up for it.  

And although Oropher is a lord of Doriath, Elrond is Thingol's heir, and Elrond is part of Gil-galad's command, as his herald.  

Of course, there could be tactical disagreements, communications breakdowns (do Oropher's people all speak Sindarin of the same dialect that Gil-galad's do, enough that there are no language issues?)

Even if we assume that Oropher is a seasoned campaigner from the First Age wars (which might explain why the Silvan elves decided he'd be a good choice to co-opt as king)  his forces aren't.  They are, presumably, mostly youngish elves born during the time of peace, when in Elrond's words "the elves believed that evil was ended forever." 

You can see that Oropher, looking at his young, untested soldiers, might feel it's urgent to end the war as fast as possible, and take them home.  Perhaps that might lead him to an unwise hastiness?

And you can perhaps also see Gil-galad, Círdan, Elrond and Elendil, old friends going out together against their enemy, might not bring Oropher fully into their councils.  They’ve probably met Oropher, at some point over the last 3500 years of the Second Age, but I'd guess they don’t know him well.  

They might know Amdir better than Oropher, since Amdir and Amroth are connected with Eregion and with Galadriel.

Which raises the question: where are Galadriel and Celeborn during the War of the Last Alliance, anyway?  

Their last noted location, according to Unfinished Tales, was Dol Amroth.  They went there after Galadriel was struck with sea longing after being given her Ring.  Not far from Mordor.

It seems likely that Celeborn, at least, and maybe Galadriel too, if her sea-longing allowed, would join Gil-galad’s war. Celeborn has fought beside Elrond before, in the War of the Elves and Sauron. 

“In the Second Age their king, Oropher, had withdrawn northward beyond the Gladden Fields. This he did to be free from the power and encroachments of the Dwarves of Moria... and also he resented the intrusions of Celeborn and Galadriel into Lórien.” (Unfinished Tales) 

Galadriel and Celeborn might be the only people on Gil-galad’s war-council that Oropher knows well: all three of them lived in Doriath, after all.  But of course, knowing one another well doesn’t always mean getting along well. 

This could be another reason for Oropher to hold his own councils and make his own strategy at Dagorlad.  If he can’t stand Galadriel and Celeborn sufficiently that he moved house to get away from them, even when they weren’t even living full-time in Lórien, you can imagine that joining in a council of war with them present might be an Absolute No. 

So many questions!  And really very few canon answers, so you just have to make up your own mind about them. 

[greyplainsttrpg]

The Darkness Part 0 (Delving into r/DND)

Hello. For the time being I am putting off my discussion of the actual mechanics of 5e and instead want to pivot to what I refer to as "The Darkness." The discourse around any subject has degrees of ridiculousness, and no one is ever too far from a truly unhinged opinion. However, The Darkness is personal to me because, in combination of the written mechanics of Hasbro's: Wizard's of the Coast's: Dungeons and Dragons (2014) I was also the victim of trying to run games that went against the popular discourse around the game.

For the context for this blog in general, but especially for the rest of The Darkness posts, here is a long, but not fully complete, story of my history in TTRPGs. Please note that while I do not mention games outside of D&D here, I was also playing and running other systems.

I started running games in the beforetimes (the times before the D&D Next Playtest and before the official release of Hasbro's: Wizard's of the Coast's: Dungeons and Dragons (2014)). I was a part of a friendgroup that TTRPGs were pretty central to. However, I lived in an awkward part of the city compared to everyone else, and my parents hated driving to the house where D&D (and other games) were played, so I did not get to play all that often. I was also the fortunate recipient of dozens of books for AD&D and AD&D 2nd Edition (one of the games that my group played consistently) from an older friend/employer of my older brother. As such, my outlet for TTRPGs was primarily reading, making characters that would never get played, and writing content for a game that I might run eventually.

In 7th grade, I tried to run my own game, and that went okay. Mixed results. I let one of the players brute force a house-rule that when they roll a 00_0 on a percentile die, they get to roll for a better magic item (which I would now say "no" to and tell them to shut up and play the fucking game). They got +5 full plate at Level 1 and I decided that instead of playing out the rest of a full campaign with that (or finding some convoluted way to get rid of it), I would just call it there at the end of the session. I kept my notes for that session for a LONG time.

I was asked in High school by an upperclassman if I would run a game for her. She was aware of TTRPGs/D&D but had never played. I said "sure, I can do that." I scheduled a day to play a couple weeks out and invited all the players over to my house ahead of time to individually make them a Character in AD&D 2nd before the session. Working with them personally, I would know that they would both 1) have a Character they’ll want to play and 2) have a Character that I can work with to the fullest in the campaign. At the time, none of these people had played ANY TTRPG before, so they had no connection to discourse or conventions, and this was in the time before The Darkness, so (even if they had played before) people were generally more down to kind of just figure out what the GM was up to and vibe with that.

I ran the first session in the basement of my parent's house on a yellowed pop-up table. The players sat on whatever chair we were allowed to grab and hoist down the long-dark stair onto unfinished, damp, earth-cement mixture ground. Due to the high amount of moisture and clay deposits of Appalachia, the basement had a distinct smell of causal mildew. There might not ever be a more fitting place to play. This time, I had learned the rules of the game better, and this time I had Players who were not going to say "WELL AT MY TABLE." This would not be surprising for old-heads, however this will shock new players. We played from around noon to around midnight. Players that could not drive had to get picked up by the parents early. The players accomplished very little in all that time. That is how we played back then. Everything was war: the players had to fight, reason, and bargain for every yard of material and narrative ground against a hostile world.

The player that started the whole thing enjoyed the session AND ALSO never showed up to the latter ones. This was due to her going to college and getting busy, I believe. It could also be as simple as “yes, I have now played D&D.” Thus—mission accomplished. 

ANYWAY, that was not the last session that I ran. I would continue this game biweekly for the rest of senior year all the way into the summer before the rest of us went to college. I would run games for anyone and everyone that was willing to show up. Sessions as few as 1 player and as many as 12 players. I would create custom class options for Players, I allowed players to write their own spells, forge their own magic items, etc. The campaign was harrowing, exhausting, melancholic, and yet engaging. The Characters were always outgunned and on the run, and the Players were constantly paranoid that anything could and would go horribly wrong at any instant. The game was about strategy: “what can we do to figure out what Jacob is about to throw at us, and how do we go about negating that.” We would play from around 4PM to as late as 2AM on Saturdays. It was a genuinely magical experience where I had the opportunity to learn a lot and develop a very effective style that all my players love and remember fondly to this day.

About 2/3 of the way into the campaign, the D&D Next playtest dropped. Because I was still playing with the same group of people, and because The Darkness had not yet crept into any of their minds, we had a decent enough time finishing out much of the campaign with heavily customized D&D Next mechanics. To this day, I am a D&D Next defender. I think there are many gameplay mechanics that are better in Next than in Hasbro's: Wizard's of the Coast's: Dungeons and Dragons (2014).

HOWEVER, when I got to college, a similar thing happened. "Does anyone know how to play D&D?" "I know how to play." "Can you run!?" "Sure, I guess."

After finishing the campaign from high school and starting the one in college, Hasbro's: Wizard's of the Coast's: Dungeons and Dragons (2014) was released to the general public. I only had the Player's Handbook at the time (the shittily manufactured one where the pages weren't glued in well) and that's all. I bought the DMG and Monster Manual, and that's part of what began my dark spiral with TTRPGs.

The monsters did not look right. Why do they look like animals? Why do these have "realistic" skin textures. This is not "my D&D." I forged past that and continued anyway. I did the same procedure as last time. I scheduled time with all the players to make their characters and play a personal 1-1 session. However, this time, things were off. In high school, I explained what kind of game I was planning to run, and then I worked with them so that they would produce Characters that both made sense for the world/story that was going to happen but also they wanted to play. This time, Players were not really interested in what I was trying to do. They only wanted to do what they wanted to do. They pulled up things from reddit, referenced spell combinations they wanted to build around, etc. I must stress, they knew spell and class combinations before ever playing the game. In general, there was far less interest in being challenged (and overcoming those challenges) and more interest in RP (obtrusive/time-wasting RP) and being a dickhead. In hindsight, I did have some bad players, however that was not the sole problem. These new players had very different goals than I did when I was a player and different goals than I have as a GM. And I'm going to say it, their goals suck. You see, The Darkness had crept into my table for the first time and I was not mentally or emotionally prepared for how to deal with it.

I quickly stopped having fun GMing that campaign and so I stopped. The players, however, were seemingly still having fun, somehow? Like, they enjoyed fucking around with their (now called) paper buttons, and I was not interested in running a paper-button-mashing campaign for selfish assholes. It was very confusing. Like, okay pop-off, king, you cast sacred flame?

I ran a couple of different one-shots with other groups over the years. I would drop by the university where most of my former players went to college and run games of Hasbro's: Wizard's of the Coast's: Dungeons and Dragons (2014) for them, but it still didn't feel right. The players that they got to play also tended to just mindlessly fuck about with their characters and then get mad when they walked into a telegraphed ambush. I ran a session for a friend's little brother and a few other people. When the little brother delivered unto me a 4 page backstory for a level 1 Character that involved them being kidnapped by pirates and being part angel or something, and I explained "hey, that's not really going to work for my setting/game," I got delivered the most iconic line of my entire career: "Oh, I'm sorry. You see, my other group—we're all writers, so we REALLY care about our character's backstories UwU." Keep in mind that, by this point, I had written several hundred pages of material for the game world. Unsurprisingly, that session did not manifest into a continuous campaign either.

I was completely defeated. Based on failures of varying degrees of all my latest attempts at trying to run games, I was convinced that I was just a bad DM. I cannot stress how much despair this wrought upon me. Being good at GMing was a part of my personality, and my failure to live up to this positive image of myself unironically contributed to at least some of the depression I was experiencing at the time. It was still nagging me that, "if I am a bad DM, then why did my campaign in high school go so well?" I would lament this anxiety to my old players and they generally agreed to this point: "look, since high school, I have had other DMs, but you are THE Dungeon Master." They also noticed that other players and DMs are not playing D&D in the same way that they were used to with me. At the time, we could not really figure out exactly what was going on or why.

This is what led to the creation of Greyplains. Taylor, my best friend and DM pupil, and I had a long conversation about the old days one time when I was visiting him in Knoxville in 2018. We shared our experiences and frustrations. We lamented that we would probably never get to play the kinds of games we want to again. Instead of embracing The Darkness we started figuring out what gameplay experiences we wanted to deliver and started cooking up how to execute them. By this time, we both had experience writing our own systems to varying degrees of success (his more successful than my own). Actually, they were both Zombie Apocalypse TTRPGs. I wrote a shitty one in 8th grade and he wrote a better alternative in college. Anyway.

Until recently, I just assumed that I was a bad GM who got lucky with a bunch of great players in high school. The Darkness had fully enveloped my mind even whilst I was trying to fight it with game design. Now that Greyplains is done, as well as other systems to surround it, I was forced to GM to market the game. It was during that period I learned that I was actually not a bad GM. I was never a categorically "bad" GM at all (not that I never made mistakes or whatever, I know that I did). It was, unironically, everyone else that was wrong (everyone in the limited scope of people that I interacted with trying to run Hasbro's: Wizard's of the Coast's: Dungeons and Dragons (2014)). Once I started going to conventions and running demo games at bars and whatnot, I started having more positive interactions.

One of my favorite post-game conversations I had was earlier this year. This was a game that I ran at a bar. The Player said to me, "you know, my Character made (X) decision, and I stand by that, but I know that it was wrong in the long-run." Something like that. What a great compliment for a TTRPG one shot's "story": melancholic malaise—AFTER VICTORY. I cannot think of a single Hasbro's: Wizard's of the Coast's: Dungeons and Dragons (2014) event retelling where the result is that the Player-Characters won AND that the Players were unhappy at their own character's decisions. I would share more of this story, but if you would like to play that one-shot, you can instead let me know and I can run it for you and your friends wink wink.

Do I think that it is categorically impossible to have these sorts of experiences in Hasbro's: Wizard's of the Coast's: Dungeons and Dragons (2014)? No... BUT I know from time trying to beat a dead horse that the system is designed in such a way that makes it almost impossible to have a genuine human experience in it. By playing Hasbro's: Wizard's of the Coast's: Dungeons and Dragons (2014), you are handicapped in several ways as to make having real experiences impractical to reach while also maintaining the intended play-pattern of the game. Worse than the game itself holding players and GMs back, The Darkness is doing the most work at denying players compelling, fun, and genuinely challenging/rewarding gameplay.

This context is important for understanding the context for the rest of these "The Darkness" posts on my blog. This is a way for me to laugh and cringe at where I used to be and at the kinds of people who used to have power over me. This is not a Crit Crab or RPG horror story arc where I am targeting specific players or GMs. I am approaching all the posts I grab from reddit as an interesting vector to understand The Darkness and how you, the reader, can maybe learn to overcome it.

(The secret is MOSTLY just normal communication). 

[luanna801]

I will make one post clarifying my stances on some things, because I want this on the record as context to everything I post on this subject in the future.

I do not support or take pleasure in the deaths of innocent Palestinian civilians. I also do not support or take pleasure in the deaths of innocent Israeli civilians. The fact that this has apparently become a controversial opinion or will get you accused of ""supporting genocide"" (despite saying literally exactly the opposite) is disgusting.

Hamas is a terrorist organization that has committed atrocities. I consider that a fact and not an opinion.

With that said, Netanyahu is a dangerous far-right demagogue whose government has perpetuated racism and war crimes. I do not deny or support this either.

I do not think abolishing the State of Israel is a viable solution to the current situation. I think it is antisemitic to demand that Jews take this position and assume that if we don't, we want to see violence and oppression against the Palestinians. Most of us want to see a peaceful two-state solution with an end to the violence. The people who advocate "wiping Palestine off the map" are disgusting racists and I want nothing to do with them.

It has been proven both through historical and archeological evidence and scientific genetic evidence that Jews are indigenous to the Levant. This means all ethnic Jews. Ashkenazi and Sephardi and Mizrahi. It does not make sense to say they have less right to their homeland than other indigenous groups. They also do not have more right. The fact that Palestinians were displaced to make room for Israel was wrong and is something that can never be fully recompensed, but we have to do what we can to make it right now and create a more equitable future.

In many ways, I'm struggling to understand the answers here. Mostly I'm heartbroken at the situation and at all the innocent people who have been killed or terrorized. None of them deserved it. I am also heartbroken seeing the people react to this situation with antisemitism or Islamophobia, dangerously misinformed pseudo-history, and hate. A lot of people have lost my trust. A lot more people I believe are sincerely well-intentioned but are going about this in extremely wrong-headed ways that are going to sow the seeds of hatred for generations.

Anyone who has a problem with anything I've said here is welcome to unfollow me. There is a lot I'm still struggling to find clarity on and understand how we can do our part in fixing this horrific situation. But at a basic minimum, we need to start from the understanding that both Israelis and Palestinians are human and their lives have equal value. I will not apologize for holding that opinion and I have no time for people who try to tell me that I shouldn't.

[silverspleen]

@your-royal-highness-of-trash

Pulled out into TWO new posts b/c I cannot be subjecting my friends to one longpost but rather many smaller posts with the majestic read more tool. I hope this is cool.

(Context. My reply to This.)

THE GRIM HALF tw warcrimes torture it's a CoD ramble my beloved followers know it's time for me to be Unhinged on Main

I don't know if I would call Jacob Geller's video essays on Call of Duty fun. Like, they very much aren't designed to be consumed from a fandom lens. They are super intellectually engaging and enlightening but also really grim since he does absolutely talk about the real life political motivations that go into CoD as a work of art, specifically propaganda art. And talks about, you know, real war crimes done by real people in real life. I have made multiple irl friends watch them.

None of them are into FPS games so this is basically my torture I am doing to my friends as I desperately try to rationalizing enjoying Call of Duty as an adult with a functioning brain. Who notices things like, yeah. We made up a middle eastern country for this one huh lads? We made that shit up so we don't have to make any actual comments about the United States' current complicity in this whole war and terrorism thing huh? WE'RE DOING A HISTORICAL REVISIONISM ARE WE??? I wouldn't have noticed the historical revisionism without this video essay and you know what? It's super fucked up. CoD does wacko stuff all the time, both for manufactured drama and for silly propaganda reasons, and when it jumps the shark is when it's the most conventional fun I think. I think Geller is onto something where he says that the writers went into this thinking they were doing the story in the best way possible with character driven stuff - and therefore it doesn't REALLY matter where Farah is from to them, they can just make up a country because it's general backstory vibes that impact her behavior that matter, not cultural details. Also how Alex can get away with being a terrorist but in a nbd way because yeah he is one, that's what happens when you desert to a faction that literally gets classified as a terrorist organization babyyy - but sitting at a perspective completely divorced of all the political and societal nuances in real life that makes the actual manifested story have impact outside of itself. And the US government is like "hell yeah, America! more kids will think guns and soldiers are cool and great. A+ plot or whatever put more suicide bombers in it" and that's that.

Being invited to my clusterfuck of an apartment like SIT ON MY COUCH WE'RE WATCHING THE POLITICS OF COD MW 2019.

Poor Gaz is the other character besides Farah with the strongest sense of like, justice and doing "the right thing" and this man gets ALL the ethically questionable as fuck levels and I know why. It's so they can do a propaganda and show like, ok this must be a justifiable offense because the Good Guy player surrogate character can accept it. I see you! I see you CoD writers!

not CoD but always relevant - "Rationalizing Brutality: The Cultural Legacy of the Headshot"

His video essays "Who's Afraid of Modern Art" and "Judaism and Whiteness in Wolfenstein" are both personal favorites. Though I am so so biased towards his review of Dead Space 2 that's just like 40 minutes of him being like "this game rocks" because yeah, mood.

Anyway I am putting this in a box and throwing it into the ocean next post is the fun part of CoD it's shipping time this is my dichotomy this is how I must live my life.