#assigned fish at birth

[ohno-the-sun]

Luca Au Sun and Moon are AFAB confirmed?! I wasn't sure about this, but I had a feeling.

Moon and sun "bodies are weird" - I felt that

Yep yep! I think most of my human sun and moons in various aus are afab

There is something very gender about mermaids ppfpft

Hopefully I'll be able to go more in depth with it in the fic but I suppose we will see

[mag200]

i should have been born a fish

[tpwrtrmnky]

[ID: Spongebob fish meme.

Top text: Wait you actually think gender assigned at birth is a one-to-one reflection of biological sex?

Bottom text: I thought we were all aware that birth gender assignment is a fundamentally social and legal process that imposes a normative view of sex onto the individual and punishes those who don't fit into those norms

End ID]

[kitasuno]

dating the love and deepspace boys | domestic moments

featuring: rafayel, xavier, and zayne x gn!reader

(´• ω •`) ♡ modern au! can you guys tell raf is my favorite..?

rafayel

a year younger than you. lies to everyone (including you) that he’s actually two years your senior. you only found out he was younger than you when you met his parents, who have his birth certificate framed. 

hates cats. despises them. they fill him with rage (fear). says he’s allergic (he’s lying).

“oh shit raf, this sucks! i guess you can’t move in with me.. i have cats”

“...you have cats?”

“yeah. 3.”

“i’m not allergic. i can move in tonight.”

chronically online. minoring in marine biology and majoring in annoying you. texts you over 200 times a day and if you don’t respond, he’s faking a horrible chronic illness. again. it’s amnesia on wednesdays, appendicitis on thursdays, chronic migraines on fridays… etc..

he has 2 followers on his private twitter. you and thomas. 

over 700k followers on instagram for some reason? he sells paintings on depop (he says it's depop but you’re convinced he sells them for heinous prices on the black market) 

cooks on occasion? has an apron that says kiss me im irish (he's not irish?) made you a tuna cupcake once?? 

pescatarian. not in the vegan/vegetarian way where he refuses to eat red meat but because he’s absolutely feral over fish. (is this cannibalism? he says its not)

lives in a 2 bedroom apartment with you but doesn’t use his bedroom. says your bed is comfier. turned his bedroom into a painting studio (IT’S for the black market you say!!) and sleeps with you. 

“raf,” you sigh. “don’t you have.. homework or something?” 

he sits between your legs, back against your chest as he scrolls through his phone. 

“yeah,” he says. you flick the back of his head because you know he’s smirking. “it’s called assignment: you. due in two minutes.” 

with his free hand, he reaches back mindlessly to grab yours. you sigh, fingers intertwining with his, a reflex as he leans his head back. his eyes meet yours and you can’t help but laugh. 

“well?” you ask, brushing his hair out of his eyes as he squeezes your hand. “what are the assignment details?” 

he chews on the bottom of his lip as he thinks, humming while his eyes wander across your face. he swings your interlocked hands in circles. it’s raining outside, the heater is on, and rafayel is warm like hot chocolate. 

“what?” he says, his cheeks a tinge pink. “you’re looking at me like that again.” a pause. he turns, his head now buried in your chest.

“just studying my homework.” you say, hands instinctively wrapping around his back. the laundry machine is running in the background, rain is falling against the window, and you faintly hear your rice cooker dinging in the kitchen. home, you think, is with rafayel.

“i can hear your heartbeat.” he says, voice muffled. “it’s super fast. you like me or something?” 

“i really like you.” you say, without skipping a beat. rafayel groans into your chest, sighing in discontent. 

“no fair. i’m supposed to be the flirter.” 

you press a kiss onto the top of his head and you feel his body melt into yours. the two of you fall into a warm silence, his breath steady as he traces paintings into your neck. 

“raf?” you mumble, eyes drooping. he hums in response. “did you pass your assignment?” 

he smiles. “with flying colors.” 

xavier

chronic napper. (yapper?) 

has 100 late assignments. failing all of his classes yet got into the top university in your country because he got a perfect score on his entrance exams. you thought he was a nepo baby (turns out he’s just.. smart?)

his procrastination rubs off on you… he is the WORST distraction and he knows it. so smug about it and uses it to his own advantage. will perch on top of you when you’re studying and kiss down your neck until you go to sleep with him. 

lives in the apartment on top of yours but is at your house most days, if not all. you ask him to move in.

“am i not already.. living with you?” 

“don’t you still have your apartment, though?”

“yeah..?”

 is that good for the economy?? is it financially smart? not at all, but he’s too lazy to move out and put his apartment up for lease. 

xavier sleeps with his legs entangled with yours and his arms wrapped tightly around your chest. the air conditioning hums in the background as you scroll mindlessly on your phone, dimming the brightness as you hear xavier stir. 

“sorry xav, did i wake you up?” you ask. he doesn’t respond, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he glares at your phone. 

“xavier?” you question, swallowing a laugh at his ruffled hair and disheveled clothes. 

“phone down.” he says, voice raspy with sleep and an octave lower than usual. you raise an eyebrow at him. 

“can i get a pretty please in this economy?” 

xavier’s eyes narrow as he snatches your phone away, snoozing the device and placing it on the nightstand next to you. his lips ghost your neck, pressing kisses against your skin as he mumbles incoherently in the dark of your bedroom. 

“xavier-” you breathe, giggling at the sensation. “that tickles!” 

he nips at your neck. 

“bedtime. now.” 

zayne

3 years older than you 

he literally has his whole life together at 27 which scares you so much

“my credit card is your credit card” typa boyfriend

cooks. cleans. has a 9-5. you’re interning at the hospital that he works at (he’s head doctor!!)

you’re just a sweet little intern and zayne is the big bad monster!! everyone at work thinks he hates you because he’s extra strict on you. doesn’t give you any special treatment, ‘ignores’ you most days (but also slips meals into your locker and hands you heat packs on cold days in the hospital)

no one knows he’s dating you until one day someone sees you leaving in zaynes car. 

“oh, you carpool with doctor zayne?”

“huh? no, we live together.”

“you WHAT???”

he’s a virgo……. erm……

the two of you get ready together in the morning. his guard is down when he’s sleepy and he’ll cling to you as he brushes his teeth and does his hair.

you wake up to the cold night breeze, blinking the sleep out of your eyes and shivering as you scan your surroundings. you yelp as you meet the attentive gaze of your boyfriend. 

“huh? whuh? huh?” you splutter, squirming as zayne holds you tighter. he’s carrying you bridal style in his arms, his jacket around your shoulders as the two of you walk to his car. you see the bright lights of akso hospital fading away behind the two of you. 

“it’s two am,” he says calmly, placing you down gently as he opens your car door for you. “you waited for my shift to end. again.” 

you smile bashfully, rubbing the back of your head. “well, i didn’t wanna just leave you!” 

zayne clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, eyebrows furrowed but gaze warm. he guides you into your seat, clicking your seatbelt in place. 

“you can nap on the way home,” he says, closing the door and sliding into his side of the car. 

the heater’s on already- courtesy of his super expensive electric car. he fastens his own seatbelt and hands you a hot tea and bread from the hospital vending machine. 

“drink up. doctor’s orders.” 

you grin before he leans over to press a kiss on your lips. 

“thank you for waiting for me.”

[genderkoolaid]

Tranny. Many people don’t know the history of the word, they assume it was an assigned hate term or slur along the lines of the “n” word. That’s not how it happened. Tranny was invented by us in Sydney, Australia in the 1970s where drag was a big deal, and still the best drag shows ever are in Sydney, Australia – they’re amazing. So a lot of trans-identified women who were assigned male at birth did drag, that’s how you made your living. And so they were transsexuals, transvestites, drag queens, and they were all doing drag to make money. They all bickered amongst each other who is better than who, “Well the drag queens are better,” “No, the transsexuals are better.” “You are all freaks, we’re better.” And on and on and on. But they worked together and they were family together, so they came up with a word that would say family and that was tranny. In Australia they do the diminutive, that’s how they come up with words. So tranny. I learned the word in the mid-1980s, late 1980s from my drag mom in San Francisco, Doris Fish, who was the city’s preeminent drag queen and she’d come from Sydney. And she schooled me in this word tranny, she said, “This way it means we’re family, darling.” “Thank you mama.” [...] So we used it and we were trannies together. And F to M was just beginning to start, the trans men were just beginning to become visible, Lou Sullivan was a neighbor of mine around the corner, and he was the first big out trans man, wrote his book. So trans men and cross dressers . . . cross dressers were also family. Transsexuals, we were all trannies and that felt good. That got into the sex industry and became a genre – there was tranny porn, there were tranny sex workers – chicks with dicks, she-males. [...] And, my only guess is that people who . . . because the only way they would have found out about the word is if they were watching tranny porn or having been with a tranny sex worker and then hated themselves so much that they turned it into a curse word. So it’s not really technically correct to say we’re reclaiming a word – it was always ours. So, many people mistake the word for the hatred behind the word and, in my generation, and I’m sure in future generations of trans people, tranny is going to be a radicalized, sexualized identity of trans in the same way that faggot is a prideful identity in the gay male community – not all gay men are faggots, but those who are are proudly fags and those who are dykes are proudly dykes within the lesbian community, trannies are proudly tranny within the transgender community. Does that mean we can’t call ourselves that because some trans woman does not want to be called a tranny? No. I’m going to keep calling myself a tranny. To the trans woman who gets called tranny, I’m sorry – as soon as . . . you’ve got to look at why you’re getting called tranny and if you don’t pass, you’re going to be read as a transgender person and then you fall back on the cultural view of trans folk which is freak, disgusting, not worth living, we can hurt you. It has nothing to do with the word, it has everything to do with the cultural attitude. So the word has stirred up a shit storm, but it’s not the word.

— Kate Bornstein on the word "tranny" in this oral history from the Digital Transgender Archive

[tiredmamaissy]

Ralak te Sepwan ieyk’itan: Chapter One

An Illustrated Collaboration with @zestys-stuff

Masterlist ; Rut/Heat/Knotting Info

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

Hyperlinks are attached to specific paragraphs that when clicked on will lead you to its illustration by Ralak's creator @zestys-stuff. I love her and all her art so much that when I saw Ralak I was so compelled to write a fic for him. I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Teytey, you knocked it out the park with this one (as you always do, my love).

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

Warnings: shit ton of fluff, profanity, age gap, a lot of sexual tension, size difference, let me know if i forgot anything?

Word Count: 4.4k

Requested: Yes || No

Author’s Note: I hope I did this gorgeous man justice and wrote his character well. It was an interesting challenge to introduce his character and build a plot with it. Chapter two and three will be out shortly! I’m beyond overjoyed that you guys are excited for this 😊 I hope I don’t disappoint lool

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

Next ->

The Sully family adopted you from birth, taking you in as their own. They were more than patient with your delayed milestones, moving at the slow pace you set since childhood. You completed your iknimaya a cycle later than your siblings, despite your eagerness to prove your self-worth as one of the Sully’s. Being a late bloomer and smaller than the average na’vi never put a damper on your optimistic attitude, though. It only added fuel to the fire.

The news to seek uturu with the Metkayina came as a shock not only to you but the rest of your siblings, and soon became the leading topic of discussions at family dinner. Jake explained that this is what was necessary, and that you would need to ‘pull your weight’ and ‘make a real effort’. You knew he didn’t mean it as harsh as it sounded, but the words stung nonetheless, plucking out a couple heart strings when they pierced through your chest.

You’ll never forget the day of your arrival here.

War horns blew loudly, signalling your arrival to the village of Awa’atlu. All the members of the clan swarmed the shore to see what the fuss was all about. Even the little ones that could only toddle wriggled their way out of their parents’ arms to get a glimpse. It was overwhelming – to say the least – to have all these eyes on you, scanning every foreign feature of your body, walking around you to inspect you further. You’d never felt more objectified in your life.

When Tonowari and Ronal made their grand entrance on their skimwings, your heart thud furiously in your chest. Sure, the large, winged fish took you by surprise, but the man to Tonowari’s right shook you to your core. His head tilted in wariness, hunting knife secured cautiously in his right hand and the leather wrapped reign gripped tightly in his left.

Wet, long hair plastered to his chest; he eyed you down momentarily before averting his gaze to the rest of your family that calmed their ikrans. His eyes widened ever so slightly at the winged creatures, large with armoured skin, much like the beast he’s bonded with.

You couldn’t help but stare aghast at his sinewy, chiselled features – sculpted by Eywa herself. It didn’t take long for you to understand why he was Tonowari’s right-hand man. His expression of indifference remained fixed on his face. Embodying that of an akula, his presence brought an intimidation like no other.

But what you couldn’t understand were the butterflies that plagued your stomach.

Your gaze lingered for a moment too long, the akula himself now returning the leer. It sent shivers down your spine, turning your butterflies into knots. You looked away, gaze falling onto your toes that burrowed their way into the sand. You felt his eyes bore into you, taking in each dark blue stripe on your tiny body, your slender extremities and thin tail.

You peeked at him through the corner of your eye, to see his gaze locked on your tail as it swished side to side. You saw his ears perk up, and the minor curl of his lips, a sight only a person staring as intently as you would see. You watched as his expression morphed into one of confusion, just before he dropped his head all together. 

You would later come to find out that he couldn’t quite understand his own butterflies in his stomach.

The giant stayed seated on his winged beast, as Tonowari and Ronal dismounted theirs and crossed the shore in only a few strides. Initially, they were wary of your arrival, thinking your family would bring war to their village. After your father reassured them, they were gracious enough to grant uturu for your family, and even dispatched their own children to teach you the ways of the people.

Naturally, you had a hard time adjusting to the new biome, water was never really your thing to begin with. You were slow in the water, slender body only holding you back more. The olo’eyktan’s son, Ao’nung, quickly grew agitated with you, handing you off to his sister, Tsireya, who was already overwhelmed with teaching your siblings. You felt like a burden, holding everyone back during lessons. There was absolutely nothing that you were getting the hang of, not even the ‘finger talk’ as you brother calls it.

For the first in your life, you felt completely defeated.

The sweet, determined girl disappeared, leaving nothing but her shell behind. You started missing lessons, making up reasons to stay back in your family marui pod. You often found yourself alone sitting on the shore in the height of the eclipse, dipping your feet into the warm water. Jake would always find his babygirl, demanding to know what was wrong. But you could never reveal the truth, not after what he said to you before your departure. Especially not now, not after failing so terribly for two entire months.

At this point, your siblings had passed their iknimaya, and you were the only one left.

----

Tsireya presses two fingertips right above your navel, resting her other hand on your chest, fixing your posture. “Breathe from down here. You must slow down your heartbeat, y/n.”

You’ve heard this a million times by now. You know this, but it didn’t matter. No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t get it. Frustrated, you exhale harshly, gritting your teeth so you won’t speak the words flooding your mind.

“Look. I know you’re frustrated, but you are getting so much better. If we just keep –”

“No! I’m fucking tired of this. I’ll never get it. Alright?!” you shout, shuffling to your feet to.

You scan the circle of surprised na’vi, all of which are staring up at you in disbelief. You could see Tsireya’s face screw with hurt, which only makes your heart ache more. An apology brews in your chest, when all five pairs of eyes flicker to something behind you. Turning on your heels, you see what everyone is looking at.

Jake, Tonowari, and his right-hand man all standing in front of you, presumably listening to your every word. You stand there for a bit, eyes bouncing between Tonowari and Jake before landing on the giant. He stands tall, staring off into the distance with that same deadpan look on his face. His hair is tucked behind his ears, revealing the stud in his lobe, the freckles on his jaw – the deeper blue markings on his neck.

This is the first time you’re getting a good look at him, seeing the first time you two met things were... eventful.

His freckles are conspicuous, even in broad daylight, beautifully patterned and abundant throughout his body. Perhaps it’s his lighter-cyan coloured skin and swirls for stripes, but his freckles twinkled just right from the reflection of the water. They even seemed to trace his stripe pattern on his forehead and brow bones. A single tahni under each eye... his ocean, impassive eyes.

A sleeve of tattoos covers his right arm, a sleeve on his right knee to his ankle, and a tattoo of stripes below his navel that went underneath his – oh. Your brows lift slightly, tensed facial muscles relaxing.

That’s an interesting place for a tattoo.

This tattoo continued between his prominent v-lines, under the band of his loincloth. You begin counting the stripes.

One, two, three, four, five... six.

It takes the sound of Jake clearing his throat for you to reluctantly peel your eyes away from this poor man’s crotch.

“Right, babygirl. Ralak here is going to be your teacher from now on.” Jake motions his hand over to the Metkayina, who’s now visibly, and unsuccessfully, trying to appear friendlier.

You couldn’t help but scoff, frustration now bubbling over in your chest once more. “So what? I’m so shit at this that I need a ‘special’ teacher?” you glance over at Ralak and roll your eyes.

“Language!” Jake whispers harshly, giving you that look. The look he gives you when you’re embarrassing him. 

“No. I’m tired of this. I want to go home.” you shrug, storming past him just for him to wrap his hand around your upper arm and drag you back.

“That’s enough.” Jake growls, bending over to meet you at eye level. “Tonowari has been kind enough to arrange for Ralak to help you. He was once a fisherman.”

“The best. At about your age.” Tonowari stands proudly as he utters the words, “And now he’s one of the best warriors. I hand selected him myself.”

Your eyes flicker over to Ralak, whose ears lay flat against his skull, brows slightly pinched, jaw clenched. It’s hard to tell what he was feeling, his mask of indifference fixed tightly on his face. Was he grimacing? Or maybe he was trying not to.

Regardless, it looked as if the words upset him. Maybe there was something more beneath this cold exterior. Something that maybe you can pry out of him. Something that intrigued you. The corners of your lips curl upwards, an expression that any outsider would perceive as happiness, but Jake knew you had something else in mind.

Something more mischievous.

“I apologize, sir. I am... just frustrated.” your eyes shift from one giant to the next as you bow before the olo’eyktan. “It would be an honour to have Ralak be my...” you glance over at him, “...karyu [teacher].”

Jake remains silent, pursing his lips as he watches the scene unfold.

“Ah. I understand.” Tonowari smirks, shrugging his shoulder. “It is decided, Ralak will teach you.” he looks at Ralak, giving the order, “Today.”

Jake raises his brows at you, as if he were telling you to behave and not cause any trouble. You tilt your head and subtly stick out just the tip of your tongue. Tonowari walks away, a large hand brushing against Jake’s back to signal him to follow. Jake turns around and joins the larger na’vi, two olo’eyktans now making their way back to the tall mangroves.

“Hey, karyu.” you sing, eyes fluttering as you stare up at the towering man.

He looks down at you for a moment, eyes flickering between your eyes and lips. His ears twitch as he swiftly turns around, walking away from you. “Come.”

So that’s what his voice sounds like.

It’s gruff, yet smoky. Deep and husky, thick with... nothing but his Metkayina accent. It was flat and monotone, revealing nothing of his true character. You follow closely behind him, already excited about how you plan to get him to reveal more about himself. He seems to be a man of few words, reserved and... composed. You couldn’t deny that there is a part of you that wants to poke at him, to see how far you can take things with him.

Before you know it, you’re standing in a secluded clearing on the shore, nestled far away where the fishermen tend to hunt. You look around, scanning your surroundings with curious eyes. You see a secluded marui pod, seemingly larger than all the others you’ve seen thus far. It's tightly woven with orange and red sturdy material, secured tightly to the thick mangrove roots around it.

“That yours?” you stick him with your first poke of the day, eager eyes trying to look inside the marui.

His gaze remains fixed on the fishnet that he’s gathering in his hands. “Yes.”

“Pretty big for...” you mumble, shifting your gaze towards him to be met with the sight of him unbuckling his cumberbund. “...just one person.” your voice dwindles in volume, fading out into a breathy whisper.

If your eyes could protrude from your head anymore, they would. You always had a hard time masking how you feel as your facial expressions were quick to give it away. His cumberbund falls into the wet sand, embellished razor sharp akula teeth piercing its surface. Your eyes trail up his body, settling on his bare chest.

“Today, fishing net. Tomorrow, ilu.” he mutters, putting his hair into a loose bun as he ventures further into the water.

“O-kay.” the word comes out broken and awkward.

Venturing out into the water, he settles in the spot he used to go frequently as a fisherman. Waist deep into the water, he looks behind him, chin meeting his chest to land his gaze on you, chest-deep in the water. He realizes that he's gone too far out for you, and walks towards you.

Your beaded top plasters to your chest, revealing your peaked nipples as your breasts bounce with the tide. His eyes quickly avert to the shore, eyelids fluttering a little faster than they should.

“Come.” he walks past you, prompting you to follow him once more. You bounce your way back to the shore until the water is crashing into your stomach. “Watch.” he says, fixing his stance to show you a demonstration.

You watch intently, focus being on the wrong thing, honestly. Your eyes had a hard time looking away from his chiselled body – from each dip and ridge of his muscles on full display. How could you focus? Especially now that he’s barely thigh deep into the water, loincloth clung to his bulge. You swallowed thickly at the sight, was that huge thing really his –

“Erm. Got it?” the sound of him clearing his throat snaps you out of your deep thought.

“Mhm!” you nod quickly, doe eyed and genial smiled.

He nods once, handing you the netting. You take it slowly, buying yourself sometime to figure out how to throw this thing. Standing with your left foot in front of your right, you bend your elbows out, holding the yoke of the net close to your chest.

He grunts in disapproval, settling behind you to fix your stance. He gently kicks your feet apart, putting your dominant foot in front. Large hands grip your tiny waist, shifting your stance slightly to the left. They slip up your sides, and run along the length of your upper arms, stopping at your elbows to tuck them in. He’s so focused on correcting your poor posture that he doesn’t even realize how he’s pressing himself against you.

“Like this.” he huffs, hand enveloping yours to shift it further from the yoke of the cast net. “Hold here.” his other hand grabs the lead line and plunks it into yours.

Heart pounding at a dangerous speed, you take a few deep breaths. Perhaps it was the nerves of casting your first net, or maybe it was just how this gentle giant is pressed against you. Either way, you can’t ignore the butterflies that flutter in your stomach again.

“Now throw.” he says barely over a whisper, backing away from you.

You twist your upper body, core tensing when you throw the net as hard as you can, only for it to clump together rather than spread out. Your shoulders drop and lips press tight, a wave of disappointment washing over you.

“Again.” he orders, pulling the net towards him.

--

Ralak had you throw the net half a dozen more times before giving you your first break. You prodded and poked at him, trying your best pry personal information out of him – to no avail. He remained unaffected by your persistent jabs, revealing nothing other than how he pined for the days of being a fisherman.

“Karyu. I-I’ll never get it.” you huff in frustration, gathering the fishnet from the surface of the water for a tenth time.

“Again.” he says patiently, unbothered by your frustration.

“Karyu. Please. It is not working. Can’t we try something else?” you beg, arms and back sore from throwing the fishnet so many times.

He looks at you for a moment, taking in the slouch of your back – the strain on your face. He felt bad for you, but he could also see that you were so close to learning the skill.

“No. Again.” he orders monotonously, taking note of your gaze drifting off to the mangroves nearby. “Focus. Eyes on me.”

“How am I supposed to focus when you look so, so –” you cut yourself short with a sigh.

“So, what?” he tilts his head and raises a brow.

You shake your head and roll your eyes, landing them right on that damn tattoo again.

Why was it so low? Didn’t that hurt? Why there of all places?

“Look. I see you –”

The words make your eyes snap up to his, heart thumping wildly in your chest.

“...staring.”

You didn’t realise you were lingering until he pointed it out. How could you not? Surely, he chose that spot for a reason. Perhaps his mate wanted it there, so she could trace the lines with her tongue, all the way down to his –

Am I... jealous right now? I don’t even know this man.

“Who did that tattoo?” you question harshly, green flame of envy igniting in your chest.

“This one?” he chuckles softly, tugging at the hem of his loincloth.

You drop your head, gaze locked on your hands fiddling with the net, hoping to hide the blood that’s rushing to your cheeks. “Yeah. That one.”

“Again. And I tell you.” he pulls the hem back up before crossing his arms over his chest.

Your gaze snaps back up to him, eyes wide with excitement. This is the first time he’d be revealing anything personal about himself. A smile splits your lips as you fix the net in your hands once more, burrowing your feet into the sand. Your eyes narrow on the target – a school of fish off in the near distance.

Twisting your torso, you cast the fishnet, watching it splay out perfectly and trap majority of the fish. You stare in awe, surprised that it even splayed out much less caught some fish. Once it registers, you jump up in glee, quickly turning to your teacher to see his pleased expression and slight nod.

“I did.” he utters, a smirk barely pulling at his lips.

Adrenaline still coursing through your veins, you’re perplexed by his two words. “Huh?” you huff, brows pinching together in confusion.

“I did the tattoo.” he says, holding eye contact with you.

“Oh.” your lips pucker at the words, furrowed brows now raising in understanding. Being so surprised by yourself – finally getting something right – you forgot about your little deal.

He breaks eye contact to look over at your perfectly casted fishnet. “If you ride an ilu, maybe I show you the rest of it.” he says through his thick accent, making his way towards the fishnet. “Since you are so... interested.”

“I-I’m not – it, it is just in a – an interesting spot.” you stutter, eyes locked onto your twiddling thumbs.

“Ah.” he gathers the fishnet in his large hands, bundling it together to call it a day. “If you say so... vultsyìp [stick; tree branch]”

“What did you just call me?” your leer snaps up, eyelids squinting at his tensed back muscles that flex and relax as he gathers the net.

A smile pulls at his lips, although you can barely see it from the angle in which he’s facing. It’s contagious, causing your own lips to curl, and soon enough you’re giggling into your hand.

----

Ralak became the light in the darkness, pulling you out of your shell and filling you with the purpose that you once lost. Things came quick to you, thanks to him. He was a great teacher, always patient with you, never showing his agitation – or any other emotion for that matter.

You learned how to hold your breath properly in only a week, due to his persistence and confidence in you. He’d always be quick to praise you after you accomplished something, whether that be with a quick clap, a gentle tap on the back, or – in bigger accomplishments – a hug.

The bond between the two of you strengthened. Overnight. You put a crack in his walls, and bits of his true self began to shine through them. And that was your biggest accomplishment yet. To see a person with the strength of five men turn into a little water puppy in front of you, and you only.

There would be moments where his façade of indifference would drop completely. The moments where he would chuckle a little too loudly, a little too long. Where that shy smile grew wide enough to flash his lengthy canines, and a primal part of you that you tried to supress, desired to know what they felt like sunk into your neck. Clamping down on you while you writhe underneath him, being tamed by his touch.

The moments where you’d tease one another about your differences. His stature in comparison to yours. Pressing your hands together, only for yours to be lost in his palm. And when you pulled away, your fingers intertwined ever so slightly, prickling the skin all over your body. He loved to tease you. Honestly a little too much, poking at your chest with a figurative finger about how you favoured that of a vultsyìp. It’s what got you riled up the most and soon it became your nickname.

Until the day you successfully rode your first ilu.

It was an exhilarating experience, nothing like what you had experienced prior. You glided through the water effortlessly, flowing with the movements of the blubbery creature. When you broke the waters’ surface, Ralak stood proudly in the shallow end, arms crossed over his chest with a smile on his face. It was a rare occurrence – that smile.

And when you laid your eyes on such a sight, the butterflies flew back into your stomach, fluttering and flapping harder than they ever have. They soon became plenty in number, filling your stomach to the brim until you can no longer suppress the way you feel. The flutter in your stomach radiated throughout your body, sending your legs fluttering too. You swam quickly to him, surprising yourself with your speed.

--

“You did it. Like I said.” he smiles smugly.

“Hope you didn’t forget about our deal.” you grin, wringing out the water from your hair.

“You would not let me.” he scoffs, shaking his head as he uncrosses his arms. “Ready?” he asks, cocking a brow while his fingers glide down his stomach, finding purchase under the under the band of his loincloth.

“From the moment I saw it, karyu.” you say, voice feigned with confidence.

He could see through your disguise, though. It only makes him chuckle, to see such a little thing act so big – so dauntless. He tugs his loincloth down, taut strings now sinking into his upper thighs, revealing not only the entirety of his tattoo but also the base of his length.

“H-how did you manage to do that all on your own? Didn’t it hurt?” you ask sheepishly, voice laced with concern.

“Bottle of fermented fruit and a rag to bite. No pain.” he answers, Metkayina accent thick.

You examine it a little closer, leaning in to have a better look. It’s raised, very slightly – invisible to anyone not staring as intently as you are. Most definitely because it’s hand poked, by himself of all people. An innocent thought floods your mind, so loud that you couldn’t stop the movement of your own hand.

How does it feel?

“Can I –” you glance up at him briefly, hand hovering over the tattoo, “Can I touch it?”

His brows and ears shudder for just a few seconds. He quickly regains his composure, swallowing silently before giving you a single nod. Fingertips experimentally graze over the tattoo, taking in its bumpy texture. Your digits trace each line of his tattoo, down to his pelvis. A sudden jerk of his hips causes you to yank your hand back.

“S-sorry, Ralak.” you mumble, feeling a little ashamed that you may have made him uncomfortable.

But in all honesty, your innocent, little touches were arousing him and he didn’t want you to know. 

“Nothing to be sorry about.” he states, fixing his loincloth.

You straighten your spine, a foot stepping back to create space that you think he wants, only for him to pull you in for a hug.

“You did well today, vultsyìp.” he mumbles, hands resting on your head and back. “Tsurak [skimwing] next and you will be Metkayina.”

“Hmm. I’ll think about it.” you giggle, warm embrace and snarky commentary ebbing away whatever feelings of doubt tensing your chest.

It’s the way his huge arms engulf you that make you feel so protected and accepted. It’s something you always looked forward to after a big achievement. You lean into him, laying your head on his chest. The smell of sea salt mixed with leather hide wafts up your nose. You take a deep breath, holding it in your lungs until you feel light in the head. Releasing your breath with a loud huff, you smile widely.

It’s so enticing, so addictive.

“You always do that.” he chuckles breathily, swiping back a few strands of hair stuck to your temple.

“’ts not my fault you sea people smell so good.” you mumble into his chest, taking in another deep breath.

“Ah.” he exhales, hand cupping the back of your head. “My hì’i vultsyìp [little stick]” he almost grimaces at his words, it just wasn’t fitting anymore. Not for situations like these. Not when his chest feels so tight.

You lift your head and stare up at him with eyes of innocence. He looks down at you, ocean blue eyes searching yours. You’d never even noticed the little yellow ring around his pupils until now, how they shimmer when the light catches them just right. There’s an unspoken tension, thick in the air – so thick it makes you swallow the spit pooling in your cheeks. Your smile fades, lips parting as your breaths turn hot.

Eyes growing heavy, they almost close in anticipation that he might – just might – kiss you.

“Tanhì.” he mutters, eyes minutely shifting between each freckle on your forehead. He’s counts them, admiring how they embellish your supple, dark blue skin.

Your smile returns like it never left, except it’s wider – brighter. The last ray of sun shines through the sliver of a gap between your silhouettes, averting your attention to the oncoming eclipse.

“Thank you, karyu.” you whisper, reluctantly pulling away from his arms to make the trek back home.

“Tomorrow...” he watches your small figure shrink as you walk away. “...my tanhì.”

--

Tag list: @azaleaniath @jakexneytiri @sweethoneycn @deadgirl02 @keijis-wifey @pandorxx @swiftielivvie @teyamfangirl @avatar-lover @sooebear @vanillawhale @bxnnywriting @athenachu @trashboat-the-raccoon @avaixe @qweq-6802 @girlpostingsposts @erinloversworld @agelsully @zetey @raaaaainn  @eywascall @yawneneteyam @weirdomcu @pandxrastars @eichenhouseproperty @camgod78 @kibiscribbles @bedofpearls @kurtsworld096 @audrinawf @otukirey @deexdeez @c78r @bby-bo @neteyamsmate4life @wheniseeyouigogonutz @sullymenrhot @jakescumdump @erenjaegerwifee @eywaheardyou @saturnheartz @lovekeeho @afro-hispwriter @lovemyavatar @rainbowsocks @eddiesluvt @etherialblackrose @sleepilysworld @fezandashgirlfriend @kahlowy @babyymeme @lovekeeho @ilove444sworld @kaixiio @becksimagination @ameliestsblog @theycallmesia @boooogieman @fanboyluvr @boohoobaby @that-one-lightskin @st-cass @jakesully-sbabygirl @urfavgirlmakenna @zaddyskye69 @doggyteam2028 @iikatsukii @netemoon @onmyknees4loak @1-800-not-simping @khamaniix @littlelilies @azaleaniath @justasimps-blog @neytirisstepdaughter @live-laugh-neteyam @myh3artt

if you were tagged and don't want to be just lmk :)

[pandavalkyrie]

Things I didn't know before I was pregnant

Morning sickness is a misnomer. It is every day all the time sickness. I am beginning to lose hope in this promised 2nd trimester glow I've heard so much about.

Baby stuff is gendered. Like, yeah I knew it was but oh my god. WTF. It's so fucking gendered. If you don't want your baby assigned princess or football player at birth you can choose from the incredibly tiny ungendered beige collection.

I can smell everything. All the time. I have a smell. It's disgusting. I can be fresh out of the shower, caked in deodorant, lotion, and perfume but if I raise my arms I will smell myself and it will make me sick.

Almost every recommendation given to pregnant people is couched in fear mongering over the outdated idea of IQ. Why shouldn't I eat certain fish, have caffeine, or experience any sort of stress? Because you'll lower your baby's ability to take a test that measures their class affiliation.

The major exception to this is anything that risks carrying listeria. Oh boy, I never thought before that my biggest fear would be a turkey sandwich. Thanks Boars Head! Now please, clean your fucking factory

There's a special type of diabetes that can show up seemingly randomly when you're pregnant and just goes away right after birth. Because hormones are stupid.

In fact everything your body does during pregnancy is fucking stupid. Oh I need to eat lots and mostly nutritiously to have a healthy baby? LMAO you can eat Doritos and plain quesadillas and that's it. Go ahead and try to eat a salad. You can't, and it probably has listeria too.

I've never been under so much pressure in my life to do everything perfectly *or else* yet I'm in no way equipped to do anything thanks to the constant nausea, pain, and fatigue. I went into this with a disability but pregnancy is itself also an acute disability. I'm functioning at 20% on a good day.

Everything makes me cry. The other day I thought about The Little Mermaid song when she says "what's a fire and why does it, what's the word, burn?" And started sobbing uncontrollably

I am more pro choice then ever before. I'm going through hell and I wanted this. Someone having to experience a fraction of this misery when they don't want the outcome AND there's a simple outpatient procedure to end it is inexcusable.

So yeah I'm pregnant LMAO it sucks ass 0/10 dnr but I'm looking forward to what comes after

[princesayumi4k]

⟢ SEXUALITY:

Izuku is demisexual and pansexual!

⟢ GENDER:

He is a male!

⟢ SFW:

Prefers cats over dogs.

Adores aquariums and his favorite thing is to watch fish for hours, once as a kid his mom had to bribe him to get away from the fish section because he wouldn't budge.

ADHD, anxiety and OCD.

Baggy clothes king!

Loves to draw and write, but has a bit worse than decent handwriting and drawings like a 12 year old.

#1 coffee hater, hot cocoa for life.

He hates all fruits except pineapples and apples, but won't eat yellow apples because they're "weird".

Adds ".P.S." to everything!

Will use ":D", ":0", ":)" even in writing assignments.

Has barely any top lashes but long bottom lashes.

He used to call his freckles birth marks.

Had to have braces in elementary and middle school, and even had those magnifying glasses at one point but threw them away because he hated them, now he has contacts.

Skincare king somehow, he loves doing skincare with Ochaco.

⟢ NFSW:

BASICS:

Is he good? : Not really, he has a fast-ish pace, sloppy movements and he gets overwhelmed within his own pleasure and forget about you, but doesn't forget about you he just gets so washed up in pleasure. He does give amazing aftercare though!

Dick size? : He is very insecure about his length, but 5 inches flaccid and 5.5 when erect.

Is he kinky? : Honestly, he didn't know what kinks were at the start, but he began to understand quickly and here's his kinks: Praise, phone sex, belly bulge and overstimulation.

He gets so overstimulated even if you don't try, he'll start crying from pleasure and it ends up being pain so you have to stop sadly, but he will give you aftercare even if it hurts him.

He just moves how he wants until he cums, he doesn't mind if it's good or not he just wants to please the both of you anyway.

He hates cumming inside you, well- doesn't hate...but he feels gross and ends up needing reassurance. But he will cum inside you if you want.

[jamethinks]

I like writing fan fiction as so I often come up with random hcs to help the fill the gaps, develop (or predict) relationships or just add an additional layer of complexity to a story. Sometimes it gets banished to the fic but sometimes it becomes so fixated it appears every time to the point you’d think it was actually canon.

So here some more Spyxfamily head canons: Forgers edition

(I don’t remember what I put in the previous renditions so there might be a few repeats)

Twilight is half French (mom) half German (dad) and is fluent in both languages as well as English and Swiss (I wonder why)

After spending so much time with him, Twilight has sometimes acts as immature as Yuri (he gets so tired he just resorts to mocking)

Anya’s favorite colour isn’t pink people just assume it is and give her pink things. She actually prefers darker muted colours but is forced to dress in pastels

Anya’s hair isn’t pink or at least that’s not how people would describe it, instead they say a soft brown colour

After Twilight barely made any progress, Handler assigned herself as Anya’s godmother (a friend of Anya’s mom) and occasionally steals Anya

Becky takes ballet classes because it makes Martha happy but she sucks and hates it so she’s convinced Anya to join in torture

Twilight reads Anya detective/spy books to help improve her literacy skills

Anya was very skinny and light when she was first adopted so Twilight would carry her around like a bag of flour but now she’s a lot chubbier and he actually gets pain in his back and arm because of it

Westalians eat a mainly vegetarian diet with the only common meats being Chicken and fish while Ostanians love red meats and consider a meal incomplete without it. So when they first started living together Twilight started with a more Westalian diet but Yor almost died so he had to do more research (for the mission)

Technically Anya is Ostanian but she actively chooses to identify as Westalian (it’s what on her birth certificate)

Anya has so many toys some of them have to be stored in Twilight’s empty ass bedroom

After their parents died, Yuri and Yor were left in the custody of their aunt who mysteriously disappeared one day

Twilight practices making French pastries with Anya (for developmental purposes not bonding or to pass on culture, it’s for the mission) and she obviously butchers them every time and when they’re done they give it to Yuri and pretends Yor made them

Because Twilight’s mom was French and he pulls a lot from her when dealing with Anya (his dad was too aggressive) he ends up saying a lot of French words and phrases with her which she doesn’t understand

He calls her ma douce which (according to google) means my sweet. I chose that one because he often tells her “doucement” which means slowly/gently and eventually just started saying douce and giving up. He also calls her Cancard because she’s always waddling about

[coinandcandle]

Hey fellow trans people

It’s not weird or invalidating to dream of yourself as the gender you were assigned at birth. It happens, dreams are weird.

I dreamt I was a bird the other day but I’m not out here eating worms.

I’ve dreamt I was a young girl in ancient Egypt.

I’ve dreamt that I was a fish in a stream.

I’ve dreamt that I was a bumble bee.

I’ve dreamt that I was an anime character.

Dreams are weird, bro.

Our gender is not invalidated by whatever our weird lil electric squish bags in our skulls come up with while we’re unconscious !!!

[demiboydemon]

AFAB means assigned fish at birth and AMAB means assigned mermaid at birth. I don't make the rules. #Zora life

[fisherman-fight]

ROUND THREE

CAPTAIN AHAB from MOBY DICK vs KINGFISHERS from REAL LIFE

PROPAGANDA

CAPTAIN AHAB - “He wants to wrong a whale that has wronged him. And what is the best way to do that if you are a mid 19th century whaler? Whale him of course :) (and kill both of you and the entire crew of your ship in the process because such a quest could never end in any other way)” “That old man is batshit insane.” “AHAB: Assigned Hater At Birth.”

KINGFISHERS - “Saw one snatch up and gobble a fish in front of me. Very good at the grabbing part but less good at the eating part due to the fish being extremely large in relation to its beak”

[genderkoolaid]

The transandrophobia brainrot has hit tiktok hard. There's a sound going around right now that uses the T slur in a reclamatory way, but whenever a transmasc person uses the sound people lose their minds saying it's transmisogynistic for them to use that word. But when cis male drag queens use the audio it's a slay.

My answer to those people is Get Kate Bornstein'd:

Tranny. Many people don’t know the history of the word, they assume it was an assigned hate term or slur along the lines of the “n” word. That’s not how it happened. Tranny was invented by us in Sydney, Australia in the 1970s where drag was a big deal, and still the best drag shows ever are in Sydney, Australia – they’re amazing. So a lot of trans-identified women who were assigned male at birth did drag, that’s how you made your living. And so they were transsexuals, transvestites, drag queens, and they were all doing drag to make money. They all bickered amongst each other who is better than who, “Well the drag queens are better,” “No, the transsexuals are better.” “You are all freaks, we’re better.” And on and on and on. But they worked together and they were family together, so they came up with a word that would say family and that was tranny. In Australia they do the diminutive, that’s how they come up with words. So tranny. I learned the word in the mid-1980s, late 1980s from my drag mom in San Francisco, Doris Fish, who was the city’s preeminent drag queen and she’d come from Sydney. And she schooled me in this word tranny, she said, “This way it means we’re family, darling.” “Thank you mama.” [...] So we used it and we were trannies together. And F to M was just beginning to start, the trans men were just beginning to become visible, Lou Sullivan was a neighbor of mine around the corner, and he was the first big out trans man, wrote his book. So trans men and cross dressers . . . cross dressers were also family. Transsexuals, we were all trannies and that felt good. That got into the sex industry and became a genre – there was tranny porn, there were tranny sex workers – chicks with dicks, she-males. [...] And, my only guess is that people who . . . because the only way they would have found out about the word is if they were watching tranny porn or having been with a tranny sex worker and then hated themselves so much that they turned it into a curse word. So it’s not really technically correct to say we’re reclaiming a word – it was always ours. So, many people mistake the word for the hatred behind the word and, in my generation, and I’m sure in future generations of trans people, tranny is going to be a radicalized, sexualized identity of trans in the same way that faggot is a prideful identity in the gay male community – not all gay men are faggots, but those who are are proudly fags and those who are dykes are proudly dykes within the lesbian community, trannies are proudly tranny within the transgender community. Does that mean we can’t call ourselves that because some trans woman does not want to be called a tranny? No. I’m going to keep calling myself a tranny. To the trans woman who gets called tranny, I’m sorry – as soon as . . . you’ve got to look at why you’re getting called tranny and if you don’t pass, you’re going to be read as a transgender person and then you fall back on the cultural view of trans folk which is freak, disgusting, not worth living, we can hurt you. It has nothing to do with the word, it has everything to do with the cultural attitude. So the word has stirred up a shit storm, but it’s not the word.

^ From this interview

Four weeks ago, Bear posted a call for submissions on his blog. In the interests of keeping the call as open as possible, we agreed to include as many trans-identities as we knew, so we used the word "tranny." And that's where the activist shit hit the postmodern fan base. People have been pissed. Here's their argument: FTMs are co-opting a word that belongs to MTFs. The word "tranny" belongs to MTFs, reason those who were hurt by our use of the word, because it was a denigrating term reclaimed by MTFs—ergo, only MTFs could be known as trannies. I spoke with Bear, and we agree that’s wrong on several counts:

Tranny began as a uniting term amongst ourselves. Of course it’s going to be picked up and used as a denigrating term by mean people in the world. But even if we manage to get them to stop saying tranny like a thrown rock, mean people will come up with another word to wound us with. So, let’s get back to using tranny as a uniting term amongst ourselves. That would make Doris Fish very happy.

It's our first own language word for ourselves that has no medical-legacy. 

Even if (like gay) hate-filled people try to make tranny into a bad word, our most positive response is to own the word (a word invented by the queerest of the queer of their day). We have the opportunity to re-create tranny as a positive in the world.

Saying that FTMs can’t call themselves trannies eerily echoes the 1980s lesbians who said I couldn’t use the word woman to identify myself, and the 1990s lesbians who said I couldn’t use the word dyke. 

At one phase in the evolution of transpeople-as-tribe, it was the male-to-females who were visible and representative of trans to the rest of the world. They were the trannies. Today? Ironically true to the binary we’re in the process of shattering, the pendulum has swung so that it's now female-to-males who are the archetypal trannies of the day. The generation coming up beyond the next generation, i.e. my tribal grandchildren are the young boys who transition to young girls at the age of five or six. They’re the next trannies. None of us can own the word. We can only be grateful that our tribe is so much larger than we had thought it would be. How to come together—now that’s the job of the next generation of gender outlaws.

^ From Who You Calling A Tranny?

We've been having this debate forever and its been stupid forever.

And its an increasingly outdated debate. More people know about trans men&mascs than ever and there are plenty of TM&Ms who have been called tranny by transphobes who don't give a shit about this distinction. And not just people who have been mistaken for transfems, either, but men like Andrew Jonathan Blake-Newton and Saye Skye who were attacked by people who knew them. Do they have more or less of a right to say tranny than a trans girl whose never been called it by a transphobe? (Neither. Because no one owns this word.)

[10blue10]

Growing Up Berkian

(Aka my head-canons/world-building of life on Berk in HTTYD, inspired by the ‘Growing Up…’ series on YouTube.)

Houses 

Family homes are passed down from fathers to sons, whilst married women will leave their family homes and move into their husbands home. Thus, homes on Berk contain the sons who inherited it, plus their wives and children. 

Each house has two stories, with a ground floor consisting of a ‘kitchen’ where food is prepared and eaten, as well as the parents’ rooms. Above is a loft area where the children sleep and can also be used for food storage for the winter. 

In a household with mixed genders of children, an old sailcloth is hung halfway across the loft space, with girls sleeping on one side and boys on the other. 

Jobs     

Dragons or not, life in a village is hard work and Berk is no exception. Most Hooligans are farmers or fishermen. There is a blacksmith, carpenters, a butcher, a miller, a potter, shipbuilders, a brewer and at least one law-speaker. 

Even though Berk is egalitarian when it comes to women fighting, as they needed every able bodied warrior they could get to fight dragons, most chores are gender segregated. The men work fields, herd livestock, and go fishing. The women weave cloth, mend and wash clothes, bake bread, cook food and generally run the household. They sometimes learn the healing arts as well. 

All Hooligans get taught how to fight, and the Berk Guard is a militia led by the Berk General. It’s their job to be on lookout for attacks in times of war and be the first line of defence when Berk is attacked, whether by dragons or other Vikings. When not on Guard duty, they go about their normal chores and lives. 

Children  

Mothers are helped to care for their babies by their grandmothers, siblings and elder children. With a baby, everyone is expected to pitch in, whether by caring for the infant directly or doing the mother’s chores for her. A baby is named twelve days after birth, if they survive that long. Some families give names with a common part, like As for the Hoffersons, Lout for the Jorgensons, Nut for the Thorstons and Legs for the Ingermans. Other families have ‘themed’ names. 

Very young children (3 to 5 years old) aren’t expected to do chores and are free to play. This being Berk, miniature toy weapons are popular. Hooligan children become accustomed to their stubborn, violent lifestyles from a young age by being told rather gruesome nursery rhymes and bedtime stories. 

Young children (6 to 8 years old) are taught by their families to read, and sometimes write, runes. This often takes place during the long winter months. Being able to read is considered more important than being able to write, since only some individuals (like the chief and lawmakers) need to write stuff down. 

9 to 12 year olds are mature enough to do chores, even if it’s only a matter of helping with bigger jobs like cleaning the house, cooking dinner etc. As well as being taught to read, they are taught other skills to help them do their chores. Apart from these simple chores, they have free time to play with each other. 

Teenagers 

Teenagers (literally anyone at an age that ends with ‘teen’, so 13 to 19) are apprenticed to a trade, either that of their parents or a friend/family member. They don’t necessarily have to begin said apprenticeship at the age of 13; it can be started later, or even earlier. In general, the sooner the better, though. 

These apprenticeships usually become their adult jobs, so finding one that fits is important. It does less good for the village as a whole if a teenager is bad at their assigned role. For this reason the apprenticeship can change if a more suitable job is found. Or, morbidly, if the previous apprentice has been killed.

[stephsageek]

A master list of all of my tua and fallout fics on AO3:

TUA-Canon Compliant (General Audiences):

"New Timeline, New Me" (Status: Complete)

Summary:

Having landed in the new Sparrow timeline and having checked into the Hotel Obsidian, the Hargreeve siblings are finally able to take a moment to catch their breath. But in that lull, Klaus realizes that something is a little off about Five.

“Hey? Is it just me, or has little Number Five gotten taller?”

TUA-Canon Compliant (Mature/Explicit):

Stand-Alone Stories:

"Much Longer Than Six Years, Five Months, and Two Days" (Five x Lila. Status: Ongoing):

Summary:

Some people believe an affair starts when two people cross the line and become physical with one another. Five and Lila knew better. Looking back, this ‘thing’ between him and Lila had begun much longer than six years, five months, and two days ago. If either of them had been capable of being honest with themselves, they might have been able to admit, it had started from the very beginning.

TUA-AU (Mature/Explicit):

Five x Lila Series:

"Partners In Time"

"The Best of the Best" (Status: Complete)

Summary:

“Commission protocol states that all temporal assassins must be assigned a partner for no less than one year as part of a standard five-year contract. Now, I understand that Number Five is something of a pet project for you, but that does not excuse him from proper procedure.”

“AJ, you know me! I completely agree with company policy. But AJ, pairing Five with Lila of all people will be an unmitigated disaster!”

Straight out of basic training, and an apocalypse, Number Five Hargreeves has joined the Commission. He and the Handler agree that he would be most effective as a solo agent as he is still suffering from a number of apocalypse related issues including an aversion to socialization and a healthy dose of PTSD. AJ Carmichael however disagrees.

Thus, Five must contend with his new partner: rookie assassin Lila Pitts.

1.a. (stand-alone story) "Dead by X-mas: The SantaCon Job" (Status: Complete)

Summary:

They say that the holidays are a time of peace, love, and goodwill toward men.

Well, whoever ‘they’ might be, they obviously never worked for the Commission.

SantaCon is a roving, loosely organized event, which can only be described as a cross between a flash mob and if Sodom and Gomorrah were tarted up with tinsel. It is an event where people dress like Santa Claus, elves, or other holiday figures and parade around a city in varying states of sobriety.

There are fights, there is vandalism, there is drinking, there are drugs, there is dancing, there is nudity, there are pranks, there is stealing, and all of it is impossible to prosecute because everyone matches the same description; in short there is santarchy.

In other words, the perfect cover for a pair of temporal assassins out on a job.

You better watch out, you better not cry, because Five and Lila are coming to town!

2. "The London Job" (Status: Complete)

Summary:

After working together for years as temporal assassins at the Temps Commission, partners Number Five Hargreeves and Lila Pitts have proven themselves to be the best of the best.

But can these two legendary assassins survive their latest mission, the derailment of a major railway in London in November of 1967? And what will come to light when they find themselves unexpectedly running into Lila's birth parents? Will their friendship survive the devastating fallout?

A direct sequel to the story, "The Best of the Best."

3. "He Sleeps with the Fishes: The Hoffa Job" (Status: ongoing)

Summary:

Living outside of normal space-time, partners and temporal assassins Lila Pitts and Number Five Hargreeves, have been together for years, dealing with murder, mayhem, math, and the machinations of not only the Handler but of the board of directors themselves.

One day, our anti-heroes find themselves tasked with their latest mission: assassinate well-known historical figure and urban legend, Jimmy Hoffa.

How hard can it be to get rid of one washed-up, corrupt former teamster?

Turns out, pretty hard when the mob, a pair of hitmen, the FBI, and a jilted former mistress are all after him too.

Oh, and let's not forget the sea monster.

A direct sequel to "The London Job"

Upcoming Stories:

"The Kennedy Job" (2nd to last in the series) [I'm really looking forward to this one as it will address the body/DNA modifications seen in the comics. It will also include many conspiracy theories attached to the Kennedy assassination, not to mention our heroes will finally attempt their big jump, only to run into the LAST people they ever expected].

"The Apocalypse Job" (the last in the series) [This will involve what happens when Five and Lila make their big jump into the 2019 apocalypse. It will address Reginald's involvement with the Commission as well as the alternate timelines. Not to mention the fates of the other 35 children born on October 1st, 1989. This one will be very long because it WILL deal with characters like Patch, Sissy, Ray, Dave, Harlen, and Claire].

FALLOUT (TV SERIES):

(Ghoulcy)

"Ain't That A Kick in the Head" (Status: Ongoing)

Summary:

Lucy Maclean didn't know what she was getting herself into when she decided to follow the ghoul. He was a selfish scoundrel, a murderer, and a thief.

But he was also the only person on the surface who had never lied to her.

Lucy thought she didn't know why she followed, but the truth was, she'd known all along.

[iridescentscarecrow]

while discussing csm 163, i'd mentioned how the fan's monologue revealed more about/reiterated asa & denji's character arcs. & i think that lays the groundwork for 164 very well:

the rules regarding intimacy being laid down by Nayuta (symbolic of family) during asaden's first date are really interesting. now you see nayuta (or rather, her absence) being determinant to denji's Compliance. the house & its rules are *burnt* (fire/dreams) to ruin.

within nayuta you can still locate makima's initial thesis with family as the location for control. the shattered husk of family, haunting where & how you form relationships, where you comply with state, with church, with structure.

and this quality is relevant to asa too. she specifically brings it up here, she was robbed of her family in the orphanage. family as context. asa is made uniform & outside narrative frame. her deprotagonism occurs in concert with the gendered labels she's assigned,

wherein she's pushed into the role of a Fan. even her harkening back to context is brought up in relation to denji: she knows how it feels *too*. this area of empathy is a point i'll mention later in this post, re: another Fan from part 2.

but even then: right now in the manga it seems apt then that we see asa's strain of self at its weakest. her strong individuation|aversion that marked her prior interactions are kind of bled away? we're given startlingly little writing re: her interiority, she's oddly passive.

the point of deviation here is her declaring that she hates sushi. it's unreasonable, absurd against the scene. you're reminded of the aquarium arc, where she'd said the same thing: her hating fish. her being stubborn.

this is at the same time where she hugs her knees & tells denji that making him into a weapon goes against her principles. she can't eat fish, even when cornered up & starving. neither can she make him into a weapon. or follow this script.

strangely enough, it's in the aftermath of this scene that i find asa's sense of self to appear the strongest. she's flushed and giddy with victory. she's entirely Protagonist, denji is relegated to the background.

which is why her shafting & the way this is seen alongside fanhood is extremely compelling when we consider the other character who'd brought up SUSHI: fumiko. fumiko categorises herself as the Denji Fan, at many points engineering her own exit from the narrative.

as opposed to asa who is thought of in association with the CSM almost involuntarily, tripped & restrained distinct from her selfishness. at the amusement park, fumiko attempts to relate her own family/background with denji too. it's a moment that particularly gets to me.

because denji's response to this is him trying to sort of find a commonality between their griefs, in an event where he lost his family as well. he turns to her but she's still talking about the fucking chainsaw man. not his grief.

& asa here, all of CSM's motely fanclub, wanting different things out of him, talking to him about family, like fumiko, within his home's burnt remains, one built out of the product of his Hunger for makima (quite literal) brought to culmination by cannibalism, nayuta's birth.

the home is torn down, & nayuta is gone. denji is hungry again, says kiga. he's hungry for sushi. fumiko The Fan, in her affiliation with denji, talks to him about sushi, tuning his hunger, in a manner. food underlies p2's narrative marvellously well with kiga & falling.

fire used in cooking & transforming fans into tools. & asa at many points finds this same fanhood sticking onto her, palpably gendered. her hating sushi is written as absurd instead of solemn as it was earlier. & fumiko, in her condensed fanhood *likes sushi*.

asa getting over her dislike of sushi for denji would be absolutely horrifying TBH. i don't know how else i'm meant to see it.