#but death of the author and all that jazz

[sammy8d257]

Y'all I look away for 2 days and I come back and everything's on fire

asldkjlsgs

Are you guys okay??

[the-joy-of-knowledge]

Becoming an Intelligent Woman

My Dears,

There is no greater goal than being a fine woman who is intelligent, kind, and elegant. As much as we all want to be described with these adjectives, it takes a great amount of discipline to get there. It is very doable only if you are ready to put in the work.

Here are steps you can add to your routine in the next 4 weeks that will make you 1% more intelligent than you were before. This is a process that should become a habit not a goal. It is long term, however, I want you to devote just 4 weeks into doing these steps first and recognize the changes that follow.

Watch documentaries: This is the easiest step, we all have access to Youtube. Youtube has a great number of content on art, history, technology, food, science etc that will increase your knowledge and pique your curiosity. I really did not know much about world history especially from the perspective of World war 1 & 2, the roaring 20s, Age of Enlightenment, Jazz era, monarchies etc but with several channels dedicated to breaking down history into easily digestible forms. I have in the last 4 weeks immersed myself into these documentaries. Here are a few I watched:

The fall of monarchies

The Entire History of United Kingdom

The Eight Ages of Greece

World War 1

World War 2

The Roaring '20s

The Cuisine of the Enlightenment

2. Read Classics: I recommend starting with short classics so that you do not get easily discouraged. Try to make reading easy and interesting especially if you struggle with finishing a book. Why classics? You see, if you never went to an exclusive private school in Europe or America with well crafted syllabus that emphasized philosophy, history, art, and literary classics, you might want to know what is felt like and for me this was a strong reason. Asides that, there is so much wisdom and knowledge available in these books. In these books, you gain insights to the authors mind, the historical context of the era, the ingenuity of the author, the hidden messages, and the cultural impact of these books. Most importantly, you develop your personal philosophy from the stories and lessons you have accumulated from the lives of the characters in the books you read. Here are classics to get you started:

Animal Farm by George Orwell

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë

The Great Gatsby by F Scott Fitzgerald

Candide by Voltaire

Paradise lost by John Milton

3. Study the lives of people who inspire you: I dedicate one month to each person that fascinates me. I read their biography (date of birth, background, death, influences, work, style, education, personal life) For this month, I decided to study Frank Lloyd Wright because I was fascinated by the Guggenheim Museum in New York. I began to read about his influence in American Architecture (Organic architecture, Prairie School, Usonian style), his tumultuous personal life, his difficult relationship with his mentor (Louis Sullivan), his most iconic works etc. By the end of the year I would have learned the ins and outs of people I am inspired by through books and documentaries. Here are other people I plan to learn more about:

Winston Churchill

Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis

Ada Lovelace

Benjamin Franklin

Helen Keller

John Nash

Isabella Stewart Gardner

Caroline Herrera

Ernest Hemingway

Catherine the Great

Ann Lowe

My dears, I hope you enjoyed this read. I cannot wait to write more on my journey to becoming a fine woman. I urge you to do this for four weeks and see what changes you notice. Make sure to write as well, it is important to document your progress.

Cheers to a very prosperous 2024!

[popamolly]

‘ DANCE WITH THE DEVIL ’ ALASTOR

summary. a bit heartbroken by last night’s events, you tried to move forward and entertain more suitors, a string still pulling on your heart since it was hard to forget alastor.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

warnings. human!alastor x fem!reader, eventual smut, mature themes, age gap! youre 20 while alastor is in his early 30s, alastor is a serial killer, alastor stalks you, dark romance, angst, gore, death, blood kink, not a happy ending

author’s note. thank you for all the love this story is getting!

The next morning arrived with the sunlight streaming through the window and painting the room in a soft warm glow. You stirred awake from a restless sleep, the events of the previous night hung heavy in the air but before you could get lost in your thoughts a gentle knock on the door interrupted your thoughts, and your mother entered with a tray of your favorite breakfast.

"Good morning," she greeted sharply, setting the tray on the bedside table.

The atmosphere in the room felt charged with tension and you felt as though if you made a sudden move you might die from the suffocation of it all. Your mother's stern expression hinted at the lingering disapproval from the night before. As she sat down, her eyes bore into yours, her words measured and direct.

"I hope you've had a chance to reflect on your behavior last night. Venturing into such places is unbecoming of a lady, especially a Duvalier, I will not have you tarnishing your father's name." she chided, her tone laced with disapproval.

Your attempts to explain were met with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Enough. We won't dwell on the mistakes of yesterday. However, I must insist that you put this Alastor nonsense out of your mind."

The mention of Alastor brought a rush of emotions that you had to swallow down. Now your mother’s instructions became more of a command rather than a suggestion. Though when have her words ever been a suggestion.

"Forget about him, my dear. You need to focus on the suitors who are genuinely interested in you. Now, get dressed. We have guests arriving and you must present yourself with grace and composure," she instructed sharply.

The weight of your mother's insistence felt like shackles but you complied, suppressing your emotions. As you prepared for the day, the memories of the jazz club and Alastor were pushed to the back of your mind, replaced by the formalities and expectations you were to upheld.

The morning, which had begun with the soft glow of sunlight, now unfolded in a harsh contrast. As you descended the grand staircase to meet the suitors, a silent determination set in.

The night before had been replaced by the reality of the courting season, and in this world of scripted dances and polished conversations, the echoes of the jazz club was nothing but a forbidden memory.

"And your favorite hobby?" The man next to you asked as you both walked along the side of the riverbank with your mother in tow behind you as a chaperone.

"Cooking, sewing, cleaning..." You listed everything your mother practiced you to say since you were sixteen with a bored expression, "It's hard to choose really. Especially when my new hobby would be doing all those things and taking care of man who can't take care of himself."

The gentleman's expression shifted from mild curiosity to genuine offense as your response veered off the expected path for traditional domestic roles. He struggled to conceal his surprise, his facial features contorting into disbelief.

"Taking care of a man who can't take care of himself?" he repeated, his tone carrying a touch of annoyance. "Well, I must say, I wasn't expecting such... candidness. A woman's role is to support and enhance her husband's life, not to suggest he's incapable."

Your mother, who had been following as a discreet chaperone, discreetly cleared her throat, offering a subtle reminder of the expected decorum during such conversations. The gentleman, however, appeared unamused by your deviation from the conventional script.

"I believe in partnership and mutual support," you continued, maintaining your composure despite the tension in the air. "In my view, a successful marriage is built on shared responsibilities and understanding, don't you think so? Or is your brain too small minded?"

The gentleman's offense transformed into outright displeasure, and his face reddened with anger. He took a step back, as if distancing himself from the perceived audacity of your words.

"I never expected such impertinence," he huffed, his voice dripping with disdain before turning to your mother. "If this is the kind of woman your daughter has become, madam, perhaps a lesson in decorum is in order."

Your mother, taken aback by the abrupt turn of events, attempted to diffuse the tension. "I assure you, she is a capable and respectful young woman."

The gentleman scoffed, "Respectful? A woman's place is to support her husband, not challenge societal norms. If you want to see your daughter married perhaps you should tape her mouth first."

With those final words, he turned on his heel, storming off along the riverbank, leaving an air of tension in his wake. Your mother, left momentarily speechless, could only watch as he disappeared from view.

Your mother, though caught off guard by the gentleman's departure, turned her attention towards you with a stern expression, the air thick with disapproval.

"I cannot believe you would speak so boldly, especially to such a promising young man. Do you even know who his father is?" she scolded, her voice low. "You'd be lucky if he doesn't spread a rumor about you and your outspoken views, who will marry you then?"

You bit your lip, a mix of frustration and defiance bubbling within you. The stifling expectations of the season seemed to constrict, and the encounter had exposed the deep-seated clash between tradition and your desire for an equal partnership.

"But Mother, I only spoke the truth. I want a marriage built on partnership," you argued, your voice carrying a hint of rebellion, "I want love."

Your mother's gaze remained unwavering, and she sighed in exasperation. "Love? My dearest child, it was one night of sweet nothings you must forget that man. You must understand that your words have consequences, and you must learn to navigate these social situations with more finesse."

The scolding continued, a lecture on the importance of being a mere trophy without thoughts. As the words from your mother lingered, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of resentment. The courting season proved to be more of a challenge than you had anticipated.

The journey back home was quiet, the echoes of the encounters with potential suitors lingering in the air. Your grand estate, once a symbol of opulence and refinement, now felt like a gilded cage . A cage that you unfortunately had to be stuck in for the rest of your life.

As you and your mother entered the stately home, servants helped you take your coats off at the door. Tonight had only proved that the majority of suitors were mostly ignorant and entitled. Men who expected the traditional gender roles only stifled your desire for a more equal partnership.

You follow your mother into drawing-room where tea awaited, sitting down on one of the elegant couches after pouring yourself a cup. You mentally prepared yourself as your mother sat across from you, dropping two sugar cubes into her own teacup with a discerning gaze, ready address the events of the afternoon.

"Do you understand that I want only the best for you? It is hard but you must find content with your situation, as I did. The suitors today were from respected families, and their opinions carry weight in our social circles," she advised, her tone a mix of caution and motherly concern, "Don't be foolish to throw this all way because you want a fairytale marriage."

You sighed, feeling her slowly start to crush your spirit. "Mother, I cannot fake enthusiasm for these men. I want a marriage based on love and mutual respect, is that so bad?"

Your mother's expression hardened, a sign of her struggle between the desire for your happiness and keeping your father's legacy alive. "The world we live in demands certain sacrifices for the sake of reputation."

The conversation continued, a delicate dance between generations, aspirations, and tradition. The walls of the grand estate seemed to close in, threatening suffocate every ounce of a dream you had left.

"We will talk more about this later, now go and freshen up for dinner." Your mother turns from you to get the daily mail that sat onto a silver plater one of our servants held. Her thoughts now occupied with whatever was in those letters addressed to her.

The mention of dinner provided you temporary relief, a chance to gather your thoughts in the privacy of your room.

As you reached the upper landing and walked down the corridor towards your room, a familiar sense of fatigue settled in. The idea of facing another evening filled with polite conversation and forced smiles only wished to drain you more than you already were. With a sigh, you opened the door to your room, hoping to somehow muster enough strength to make through dinner with your mother.

Upon entering, the room was bathed in the soft glow of the evening sun. The space offered little comfort compared to the storm brewing within your mind. You moved towards the patio doors, intending to draw the heavy curtains and shut out the world for a brief moment.

However, as you approached the doors, a gasp caught in your throat. There, at the patio, stood Alastor, his tan skin bathed in the warm hues of the setting sun. He held a bouquet of flowers in hand, with that grin that would be bone-chilling if you were in another world.

Had he climbed up to your patio? Your heart skipped a beat, startled by his unexpected presence. Alastor turned, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that mirrored the electrifying encounter at the jazz club.

"Forgive the intrusion," Alastor spoke, a charming smile playing on his lips. "I couldn't resist the opportunity to see you again, (Y/N).”

You found yourself at a loss for words, the sight of him standing there, outside your room, both thrilling and a little scary. The flowers he held seemed to highlight the spontaneity of the night that had captured your heart.

As you stood there, Alastor's gaze held a question, an unspoken invitation to step into the realm of the unexpected once more. You couldn’t, you thought, you shouldn’t. The decision lay before you – to embrace the conventional path or to follow the allure of something more unpredictable and genuine.

A surge of conflicting emotions washed over you at the sight of Alastor. The initial surprise and excitement gradually gave way to a simmering anger that had lingered since the day before. Memories of his sudden departure, leaving you alone in the crowd, resurfaced to only fuel the flames of anger.

You composed yourself, maintaining a veneer of poise, as you faced Alastor at the patio doors. "Alastor," you greeted, your tone betraying a subtle undercurrent of tension.

He smiled, seemingly oblivious to the storm brewing beneath the surface. "I hoped to catch you before dinner. These are for you, my dear," he said, extending the bouquet of flowers towards you.

You accepted the flowers with a forced smile, your gaze sharpening as you met his eyes. "How kind of you. But if this is your way of an apology for leaving me the night before then you are not forgiven," you remarked, your words laced with a hint of reproach.

Alastor's expression faltered for a moment, a flicker of remorse crossing his features. "I apologize if my departure caused you any distress. It wasn't my intention."

You couldn't help but feel a surge of frustration at his nonchalant response. "Intentions or not, it was thoughtless. All this is challenging enough without being abandoned in the middle of a crowded club."

Alastor's gaze dropped ever so slightly, "You're right, and I regret not explaining myself that night." The man before you was unable to meet your eyes, "Something came up and I had to tend to it right away, I had hoped to invite you to dinner to properly apologize."

"Dinner?" You looked back at the clock hanging from your wall, knowing that your mother was expecting you in less than an hour to join her, "I can't tonight."

"Tomorrow then?" Alastor persisted, his eyes searching for a glimpse of agreement.

"Tomorrow." you agreed, the magnetic charm that surrounded him softening your resolve. A sense of anticipation lingered, a silent acknowledgment of the romance weaving through the conversation.

As Alastor pressed a tender kiss to your knuckles, a shiver ran down your spine, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. His gesture, reminiscent of the forbidden knight in shining armor that came to save your dress that fateful day.

"I will see you tomorrow," you responded, your words breathless, caught in the enchantment of the moment. The courtyard, bathed in the soft hues of the setting sun, transformed into a canvas for the unfolding romance between you two. Was this foolish yes? But when you are smitten and swooped off your feet by the person who you think could be the one, it didn’t seem so foolish. Everything surrounding Alastor made perfect sense even when nothing about him made sense at all.

"I can't wait to reveal to you my world, my dear," Alastor's voice carried a mysterious undertone, his words dancing on the edge of menacing. Unbeknownst to you, the promise held a duality, a blend of charm and an underlying darkness that eluded your naive perception.

As Alastor departed, leaving you in the fading light of the terrance, the echoes of his words lingered. The anticipation of the mysterious dinner date took root in your heart, overshadowed by the allure of a world yet to be unveiled. Little did you know, that this romantic endeavor concealed layers of foreshadowing pain and death.

© POPAMOLLY 2024 all fanfics belong to me, do not copy, translate, or repost on any other social media.

TAGLIST: @queenmizuki @sirens-and-moonflowers @poppingaround @happytacojudgepalace @mo-0-o @harmfulb1tch @tiredkiwiii @moody-mod @themoonitselff @darifes @whocaresimnothere @boogiemansbitch

@stygianoir @miyu-kii @jam0001 @theredviolets @olive-frog @t0xic1vi @chirimeimei @luzzbuzz @simp-erman @arsonist0621 @velvethakiragi @abi99gail @mistpurpl3 @burninupa-star @manicjk @foxykatniss123 @night-shadowblood-writes2 @dissociativeidentitydumbass

Be sure to leave a comment & let me know if you want to be added to the tag list for this story so you’re updated whenever I drop a new chapter! xo

[menolly5600]

Lois is the greatest voice of Reason in DC.

Her headlines are going to be legendary and shake the world.

Ya'll remember Ace? Bat-hound?

No WAY Cujo became a Ghost and He did not.

Is he a little lost? Maybe. This is not his beautiful home. This is not his beautiful, maladjusted, Bat Family. Who are you people!? Where IS he!? This place is FAR to cheerful and green to be Gotham!

But he is Bat-Hound. A PROFESSIONAL. A HERO. He can handle this. He just has to track his humans down... through... whatever this is. If Krypto can fly, bless his mostly empty, hyperactive head, then so should he! It can't be THAT har-*Thwonk!*

.....no one saw that.

But what's this? A helpful young pup? Cujo you say. Ah, he too, was once a gaurd dog. Cujo, lad, he seems to be lost. Could you...? You WILL! Fantastic. But wait? You're worried about your Young Human?

*Bat Concern Rising* *Doggy eye squint*

WHY?

*cujo spills the frankly horrifying beans about Danny's home life*

.........ha ha, NOPE! We can be having THAT! He's coming too! Bruce LOVES young humans! Especially sassy ones. He'll adopt him in no time! You grab the older one's, I'll grab the baby. Then we can head home, yes? You'll love gotham! Plenty of scoundrels to chase!

Cut to the Bat family. Damian is training Titus in the yard. Rare sun-ish day. It's a cook out. The Kent's are over. When?

Titus and the Supers both perk up. You hear that? Somethings about to-

*reality RIPS* *Ace the Bat Hound, dead for over a decade, jumps through... THE SIZE OF A HORSE. He is holding a struggling small preteen girl in his mouth* *Splat*

He dropped her. Eeeeeeew! She is loudly protesting. There is a SECOND dog. Green. Two more teens, clearly related to the first. Dumped on Bruce's lawn.

Ace looks proud of himself. Shrinks to normal size and pads over. Plops down in front of Bruce like he'd never left, tail wagging. Still in costume. He's glowing.

The burgers burn on the grill. No one can bring themselves to notice or care. Damian is elated. Krypto is fly wrestling is bestest buddy. Bruce is having a nervous breakdown over his dead dog.

Clark is calling their co-workers and trying to STOP the nervous break down.

Lois is just feeding the strage kids the dogs brought. Asking some casual "I'm totally not an investigative reporter" type questions. Who wants chips? Have a towel.

Ace? Is a Good Boy. 🐶

@hypewinter @hdgnj @nerdpoe @ailithnight

[sunarryn]

DP X Marvel #19

Pepper Potts prided herself on her ability to adapt. She’d survived Tony Stark’s post-cave existentialism, Stark Expo 2010, the entirety of the Avengers Initiative, and several global cataclysms. But nothing—absolutely nothing—prepared her for the day she received a glowing scroll via flaming raven at 3 a.m. It exploded into glitter and legal jargon the second she touched it.

The Temporal Child Reassignment Authority—TCRA for short, like an IRS from hell with better penmanship—had declared her the legal guardian of four de-aged minors, all results of an “interdimensional ghost war and subsequent reality collapse.” The document even included a family tree, pointing out her half-sister Maddie Fenton as their maternal parent. The kicker? Three of the children were meta-class ecto-beings. And the fourth was an “anomalous prodigy with cognitive potential exceeding known human thresholds.”

Pepper blinked at the words, reread them, and poured herself the strongest wine she owned.

By the time she finished the bottle, her living room shimmered with unnatural frost, and a swirling green portal opened with the subtlety of a chainsaw. Out stumbled four children—if one could use such a soft word for what appeared to be three weapons of mass destruction and a tiny, furious psychologist in the making.

Jazz was nine years old, with blazing red hair in a ponytail so tight it looked like a weapon. Her eyes scanned the room with military precision. She was holding a notebook, already scribbling down assessments.

Dan, aged seven, had black-and-white hair that flickered between forms, red eyes glowing faintly, and a permanent scowl that screamed war criminal in a booster seat. His tiny boot crushed a Stark Industries coaster underfoot.

Danny, five, looked like an overcaffeinated sugar cube in a “Ghostbusters are Bigots” shirt. He levitated six inches off the ground, phasing through the coffee table like it offended him personally.

And Dani—dear sweet baby Dani—was three, wore a tutu over her jumpsuit, and was gnawing on a Stark tech screwdriver like a teething raptor. It sparked. She giggled.

Pepper stared.

Tony wandered in wearing Iron Man pajama pants and blinked at the chaos.

“Huh. Why do I suddenly feel like a dad?”

Pepper stood up and handed him the scroll.

Ten minutes later, Tony was grinning like a proud, chaotic uncle who just realized he’d inherited a feral army. “Oh, I love them.”

“I want to kill Maddie,” Pepper muttered. “I want to re-kill her if she’s already dead. I don’t care. I will unearth her soul and yell.”

Jazz looked up from her notes. “Statistically, yelling is ineffective when dealing with narcissistic sociopaths with academic degrees. But I can write up an interrogation protocol if you give me twenty minutes and a war room.”

Tony looked at her like she was a gift from God. “Pepper. She’s a baby you.”

“She’s a terrifying baby me.”

“I love her.”

Dan crossed his arms, floating ominously. “I’m only here because they said I can’t go back to the timeline where I killed everyone.”

Dani beamed. “I like juice!”

Danny phased up to the ceiling fan. “Does this house have ghost-repellent death lasers like the last one? I hate those.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “You got hit by ghost-repellent death lasers?”

Pepper was already dialing every Avenger in existence. “Tony. Tony, their parents worked with the GIW.”

“The what?”

Jazz narrowed her eyes. “The Ghost Investigation Ward. They are basically interdimensional fascists who want to wipe out all ghosts and hybrid anomalies. Also, they tried to vivisect us.”

Tony blinked. “Vivisect?”

“Scalpels, restraints, anti-ecto shackles, and a man named Agent O who smells like ham and crime,” Jazz said flatly.

“I’m going to kill someone,” Pepper muttered, pacing. “I’m going to launch an HR-approved war.”

Dani blinked. “Are we allowed to bite?”

“No,” Pepper said.

“Yes,” Tony said at the same time.

Dani cheered.

By the time Natasha arrived, Dani was in the air vents, Danny had short-circuited the AI, Dan was brooding in the fireplace like a Dickensian ghost of vengeance, and Jazz was lecturing FRIDAY on ethical protocol failure.

Natasha stood in the entryway, staring, her eyes wide with either horror or admiration.

“Pepper. Did you birth little Widows?”

“No,” Pepper said tightly. “They’re Maddie’s kids. Maddie’s. As in, I share DNA with them and now legally own them. Apparently.”

Jazz tilted her head. “Ms. Romanoff. I’ve analyzed your fight patterns from Battle of New York and determined you have unresolved trauma related to institutional betrayal. Would you like to unpack that?”

Tony leaned over. “She’s nine.”

“She scares me,” Natasha whispered.

Bucky showed up next and read the full report Jazz had printed out for him, complete with footnotes, photos, and color-coded trauma timelines.

The super soldier sat down, dead-eyed. “I just had a Hydra flashback from a PowerPoint.”

Jazz gave him a lollipop. “That’s a common symptom. I recommend candy and validation.”

Dan muttered something about weak mortals and floated upside down through a wall.

“I like him,” Bucky said faintly.

Steve walked in, saw Dan breathing ectoplasmic fire at the neighbor’s cat, and noped back out.

Wanda arrived and blinked at Jazz, whose psychic aura flared like a dying star every time she got emotional.

They stared at each other for a long time.

“I sense wrath,” Wanda said.

Jazz nodded. “I contain multitudes.”

Pepper was halfway through arranging a legal drone strike on the GIW when Rhodey FaceTimed her. “Hey, uh, why is CNN reporting that four tiny gods have occupied New York and turned the Stark Tower into a haunted war bunker?”

“They’re children,” Pepper said.

Tony poked his head into frame. “Children who can melt tanks.”

Danny flew by holding the Iron Man helmet upside down like a bowl of cereal.

“Dani just set the couch on fire,” Pepper added, dead-eyed.

Rhodey blinked. “I’ll bring extinguishers.”

The thing about children, Pepper had learned, is that they operate entirely on vibes, sugar, and trauma. And these four had plenty of all three. Jazz was terrifyingly competent, and within a week had formed an inter-Avengers child committee, wrote a new AI ethics guideline, and had Bruce Banner signing waivers just to talk to her.

Dan blew up a parking meter because it “looked at him wrong.”

Danny asked Tony if they could build an ecto-bazooka together and promised not to use it on Steve “unless Steve said ghosts weren’t real again.”

Dani tried to use her powers to possess a Roomba and ride it into battle.

Pepper walked in on all four of them forming a pact to “annihilate GIW headquarters” with something called Operation Ghost Buster Buster.

Tony approved instantly.

Pepper did not.

“Pepper,” Tony said. “We have kids now.”

“We have war orphans now.”

“They’re adorable!”

“They’re armed.”

“They’re basically Avengers Junior.”

Dani crashed through the ceiling riding a ghost dragon she “found in the laundry room.”

“I changed my mind,” Pepper muttered. “They’re perfect.”

Pepper flew to Amity Park a week later, dressed in corporate armor and rage. She walked into the Fenton household with Natasha, Bucky, and a glowing legal team of literal demons (Tony’s idea) and found Maddie and Jack cheerfully explaining how ecto-dissection worked on “halflings.”

When Maddie smiled and said, “It’s science, dear,” Pepper threw her coffee in Maddie’s face.

Tony had to hold her back while Bucky dismantled the Fenton portal and Natasha found enough surveillance footage to convict them of several counts of attempted child murder.

Jazz watched the entire thing from the jet via livestream, calmly taking notes.

“Pepper’s my favorite aunt,” she said.

Dan nodded. “She has potential.”

Danny was asleep on Tony’s shoulder, clutching a ghost plushie.

Dani was drawing herself riding a unicorn with a flame thrower.

The Avengers voted unanimously to make the kids honorary members. Jazz requested clearance access to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s trauma archives and got it. Dan received therapy. Danny built a ghost-safe treehouse. Dani declared herself queen of the Stark kitchen and banned kale.

Pepper watched them play in the yard one day and finally exhaled.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing,” she whispered.

Tony grinned. “You’re doing fine.”

Jazz ran by wielding a dagger made of solidified ghost energy.

Danny chased her screaming something about shared custody of the Lunchables.

Dan floated overhead like a sullen storm cloud.

Dani cackled, flying past them on her Roomba dragon.

“I need wine,” Pepper muttered.

Tony kissed her cheek. “I’ll buy you a vineyard.”

[papenathys]

Hey Mimi do you have any recommendations for books set in Latin America (any genre) ?

So I am going to assume that you are not asking for picks like Gabriel Garcia Marquez or Isabel Allende. Most of the Latinx authors I read are unfortunately fantasy or genre fiction set in the USA (I'm trying to remember if Tehlor Kay Mejia or Anna-Marie McLemore wrote a book that is explicitly set in a Latin American country.)

Here are a couple of books I enjoyed, or at least feel confident recommending based on what I remember:

Certain Dark Things by Silvia Moreno-Garcia (adult, urban fantasy, horror): Described by the author as a "violent neo-noir", this story is set in an alternate, gritty Mexico City, and follows a Tlāhuihpochtli vampire who strikes a bond with an impoverished street kid, while fleeing from narco-vampire clans, criminal gangs, and other dangers lurking in the dark underbelly of the city.

Gods of Jade and Shadow by Silvia Moreno-Garcia (adult, historical fiction, fantasy): In 1920s Mexico, a young woman accidentally frees the spirit of the Mayan God of Death, and embarks on a cross-country mission with him: from the dazzling Jazz Age opulence of Mexico City, into the darkness of the Mayan underworld– where she must face great dangers to reinstate the God on his rightful throne.

Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno-Garcia** (adult, historical fiction, horror): A glamorous, fun-loving socialite in 1950s Mexico receives a disturbing letter from her married cousin, prompting her to travel down to their ancestral mansion, where the in-laws' live. There, on that ancient, colonial estate, she begins to be haunted by an equally ancient evil, and soon realises something is terribly wrong about the family her cousin has married into.

Tender is The Flesh by Agustina Bazterrica** (adult, dystopia, horror): In a near-dystopian future, an infectious virus turns all animal meat poisonous and unfit for consumption, forcing governments to legalize the factory-farming, breeding and eating of human meat. At one such processing plant, a worker is faced with a moral dilemma when he is gifted a "live" specimen.

Elena Knows by Claudia Piñeiro (adult, psychological thriller): Set in Argentina, this is a claustrophobic, uneasy novella about a mother's journey to uncover the truth behind the hushed-up murder of her dead daughter; the investigative mission, however, is made difficult by her advanced locomotive disability and age, as well as by this slowly unfurling realization: that she may not have known her daughter as truly as she thought.

And a couple I have not read/read and did not enjoy at all, but would recommend because my opinion seems to be in the minority:

Jawbone by Mónica Ojeda** (adult, horror, thriller, LGBTQ): A group of wealthy teenage girls attending an elite academy in Ecuador begin to convene regularly in an abandoned building, after school hours– but what started out as a place to exchange ghost stories, soon devolves into a site of dangerous thrill-seeking and dark, bloody rituals. (Note: I absolutely despised it, but you may enjoy; it's sapphic dark academia with cosmic horror and yellowjackets vibes).

Our Share of Night by Mariana Enríquez (adult, horror, historical fiction, fantasy): Set partially during the years of Argentina's brutal military dictatorship, this novel follows a father and son on a road trip, trying to escape a death cult, who have committed unspeakable atrocities. I have not read this gigantic tome, but I really want to, I am a sucker for horror rooted in political/historical allegories.

Cantoras by Carolina De Robertis (adult, historical fiction, LGBTQ): In 1977 Uruguay, a time when oppressive militia rule criminalized homosexuality as a dangerous transgression, five queer women discover an uninhabited cape, and claim the coastal sanctuary for themselves. Over years, it becomes their one safe haven, to be their true selves. Not read this, but it sounds strikingly similar to Last Summer at Bluefish Cove, one of my favourite queer stories of all time.

[ Note: All the stories are adult and given my inclination towards horror and psychological fiction, they are likely to be dealing with sensitive issues, but for the stories marked ** I very highly recommend checking trigger warnings ]

[oficmag]

ISSUE #11 IS HERE!

We're back from our winter hiatus and so jazzed to be entering our THIRD YEAR of publishing fantastic fucky stories for you. In this issue, we have God and gods, and ghosts who haunt the narrative (sometimes literally and sometimes figuratively). We have ships traversing waters from life to death and ships sinking night after night. Codependent twins with blood magic. A sk8er boi with a gore fetish. And you’ll never look at mangoes the same way again.  

PURCHASE ISSUE #11 HERE.

WAYS TO ENGAGE WITH OFIC:

Become a patron (the best way!)

Leave us your comments! If a piece spoke to you and you’d like us (and the author) to know, fill out this form.

Share your excitement on social media using the hashtag #OFICMag11!

Check out our store for cool merch & back stock!

THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR YOUR SUPPORT. HAPPY READING AND HAPPY SPRING!

site | subscribe | submit | faq

[grungekitty-77]

She isn't going to drop it as long as it makes her money for "The Cause" (because that's all her mold-rotted brain cares about anymore)

If it stops making money? She'll drop it. She'll abandon the entire world because she's too busy focusing on her hate. She only cares about it as a source of income and an attention platform now. Once she's out of the picture you can have it back, but death of the author doesn't work when the author is standing next to you shouting "QUIT TELLING EVERYONE I'M DEAD!!!!"

Until Joanne "moldemort" Rowling stops using it as a symbol and dog whistle for her seething contempt for voluntary women, you can't have it. The longer she uses it as a symbol and dog whistle the less likely it is that you will ever get it back from her. The longer it makes money, the longer she will use it as a symbol and dog whistle.

The only way you ever get to enjoy it ever again, is if you stop giving it money and attention now. Take away her reason for keeping it, watch her drop it, then in a decade or two when no one ever remembers her name, you might be able to talk about it again without everyone around you wondering what you really mean when you say you "like Harry Potter" Cause rn, transmisogynistic are using the franchise like racist use "tough on crime"

look, the sooner you ditch Harry Potter, the sooner Joanne will ditch it and we can reclaim it.

[s0ulsice]

Heyyy so I saw your requests post and I’ve been dying to get this one off my chest, so how about a neteyam x omaticaya! warrior! reader where reader’s a fierce warrior (maybe a protege of one of the higher ups). And we all know Neteyam (the mighty warrior lol) is strong and also one of the best their age, but what if Neteyam had such intense feelings for her that all he wants to do is impress her but whenever she comes around he gets all klutzy and flustered? And of course she finds it funny and cute and all that jazz. Just fluff I NEED FLUFF

P.s. The decision to fulfill this request is yours and I won’t be upset if you decide you don’t want to. As long as you’re comfortable, all’s fine by me.

But yeaaa have a good day/night :)

Authors note:

Hi babes!

So I loved this request so much! So I decided to make my very first actual long series! ‘Virago’ is going to be an original work and one of my first long projects. Unfortunately, I will not have a TON of time to do smaller requests in between chapters but i will def try! I’m very excited for this and i wouldn't have even considered this without the request so thank you so, so much.   

                                     

                                                  V I R A G O                   

Part 1.

The Day the Sky Turned Red.

8.7k words.

𝓭𝓮𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓵𝓼/𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼/𝓼𝔂𝓷𝓸𝓹𝓼𝓲𝓼/

‘Y/n was made of fire. Oh, a goddess girl with lips of lightning and a caged Phoenx under her skin. Neteyam is just the ashes and remains of the heavens she crushed under her heel.’

When grief plagues the young warrior, Neteyam gives her a gift. But it is enough to console the flames in her heart?

Neteyam and reader having a sun x moon relationship (hello 'diaphanous’ readers <3)

Warnings: Descriptions of death/ parental death/ reader is a war orphan/ as always, spider, the reader, and Lo’ak are a trio/ Lo’ak and Reader being platonic soulmates?/ Spider and Reader being trauma twins/ Neteyam being lovesic/ Neteyam being nervous and shy around reader/ Neytiri being mother/ Jake being the husband i wish i had/ Tuk being a little sister and looking up to y/n/ Mentions of grace’s school.

Mentions of insecurity, blood, war, guns, reader being mommy/

I think that’s it?

Oh right, Reader fell first but neteyam fell WAY harder.

Extra info:

Y/n is one year younger than neteyam, the first part of this chapter is a flashback to when y/n was 15. Kiri, Lo’ak and Tuk are the agesthey are in atwow for the first part of the story. They age up in part 2 (in story)

(Ka’lik is the name of Y/ns father, her mother’s name is Zensira. Both were warriors, but Zensira was the best songstress in the clan. (Ninat go cry to the plant in the corner)) 

Super important note for the request sender:

Hey gorgeous so ik you asked for fluff and don't worry babes. I hear ya loud and clear. Unfortunately the first part of this chapter will be a bit angsty bc the creative juice were flowing and i got carried away but I swear on my grave the rest is nothing but fluff and lovey dovey shenanigans,

Not proofread

☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

To some, surrender was a comfort. A sanctuary of softly spoken submission.

To Y/n? It was a ‘bitch move’

3 years ago.

Day the sky people returned.

Y/n is 15-16

The Na’vi say, every person is born twice.

That we can redeem ourselves in the eyes of the great mother. 

That being truly evil doesn't mean just craving the pain of others. 

That the life of a single diseased root does not kill the whole tree.

That darkness is deadly, because like the brothers and sisters of bountiful green that dwell in the great mother’s garden, we too need sunlight to grow.

Your mother always told you monsters aren't born from a seed.

They grow when they are deprived of light.

But sometimes, we find solace in even the darkest of places. 

That sometimes there's comfort in the dense night. Where others see hell, you build a home.

Sometimes we thrive in darkness because we feel we do not deserve the glory of sunlight. 

Is it wrong? Is it terrible of you?

To see light where the great mother’s grace and the violence of the sky demons collide?

Things that were not meant to tear the ground of our great mother’s delicate skin.

Their metals and turning wheels, their combat boots and weapons that scream and spit fire.

But did it belong in your hands?

Your father would say, 

“Each person is a thread, weaved within a tapestry that tells a story.”

The thing about stories is that sometimes, they may not always end well, or worse, they end too early. Some people stretch the thread as far as they can, too unsettled to be spread too thin, too soon.

Change is fundamental. Mo’at reminded you “there is no death, only change”

A moral structure that refuses to be severed. You believe that's whats what distincts na’vi from the sky people. Humans are quite flawed creatures. Humans love to dream and dance about stars and rain because their planet refuses to cry for them any longer. Humans dwell with memories that are haunted with light that only exists in the past, lingering behind desire to relive. Humans are afraid of grief, or loss. Of the empty void that lingers behind the shadows. Humans love to selfishly cling to the fantasy they don't live in.

You will never understand why they put themselves through such violent tendencies. To torture themselves. To provide reach towards an unseen daydream just to rip it out of their hands.

Humans remain. Na’vi evolve.

Na’vi find solace within the endless sky. Burning with color, blazing infinite. Na’vi dance on the precipice of the clouds. 

Grief came over like the waves grazing the tide, promising reassurance and return.

Violence was never a necessity. A lingering intrusion of a spark that refused to become a flame. 

But what lies beyond the sky? Was there truly a shadow behind the sun?

When the embers refused to settle.

You found yourself infatuated with open spaces. Abundance found within indecipherable notions.

Cracks in the mountains. Small tears in the tapestry where light leaked through the canopy of the trees.

Nothingness was never a threat.

Not when the promise of warmth remained.

☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/n met grief when she was only a child.

When she was 15, the RDA returned.

The day the sky turned red was the day the air smelled of sulfur and blood. 

Gray and red were never a pretty combination.

The demon ship’s wings stirred the trees and a storm of dust arise, 

Screaming, everyone running, the distant screeches of ikran and war cries.

The night your parents went out to gather some herbs, and never returned. 

When the pale light of the moon became a blazing, scorching, blanket of blankness that simmered into a forest engulfed in white flames. 

You found your mothers songcord on the ground the next morning.

Her body stained with red.

You stood next to Neteyam at your parent’s funeral.

You watched as Mo’ats hands guided the delicate floating Atokirina to rest upon your mothers chest as she murmured a prayer. 

People have this inherent conception that the hardest part of grief is change.

The loss of warmth in the safest of places, when the shadows loom rather than live. 

In reality, it's this unnamed feeling of a void.

Love is the amplification of a connection. Love distracts. It paralyzes you within its sanctuary of promises.

Grief feels like a shield with a hole blown through the middle. When the connection is shattered, and the sky is no longer protected without the scattered solace of the stars to veil the blank spaces.

Emptiness no longer infatuated you.

The sky without the stars is not a mystery anymore.

Neteyam held your hand. It didn't aid the hollowness within the cup of your palm. Guilt revenues in a realization, that even the great mother’s solace could not soothe this wound. This ache. This pain.

Neytiri’s soft sobs scorch the air with a soreness, the morning mist. Her fingertips, victims of bow strings and arrowhead edges gently brush the flowers placed around your mothers body. 

Neytiri was your mother’s sister. Not biologically. Preservations in our blood don’t always remain unsevered when a bond is born.

Your mother sobbed with her when hometree collapsed. Helped unbraid her hair for her night with Jake. Your mother had saved Neytiri’s life.

All those years ago when the RDA invaded Grace's school. When her body trembled at the sight of sylwanins blood that painted the floor and the walls, your mother walling as she desperately tried to drag Neytiri away.

To have such a bond. The heartbeat of one another emplaced in your bones, to sing a goodbye song with cruel unmeasured melodies. 

Jake held neytiri, gently rubbing circles onto her back, his own grievances had been paid due to earlier. 

Kiri’s tear stained cheeks didnt go unnoticed. She stood close to her father, Tuk’s tiny body squished between them as Kiri sobbed into Jake's shoulder . Kiri had always admired your mother. Chasing her shadow like wisp catching the breeze ever since she was a child. A woman of eywa. A healer. A hunter. Her heartbeat reserved for her home. Her people. Her daughter.

Lo’ak had placed his own tribute to the small spread laid out before the gently laid corpses.

A small carved arrowhead. 

Your father took over your mother’s job when she had other jobs to attend to, as being the one who trained a young group of warriors. Lo’ak included. He was patient with Lo’ak. Never discouraged him. A father liek mentorship had bloomed. So when his time came to join the great mother, Lo’ak contributed his own item of remembrance.

Lo’ak gave his arrowhead.

Tuk gave a small flower.

Kiri gave a small bundle of herbs the omaticaya believed was to aid the departing spirit on their journey.

Neytiri added a few carved beads from an anklet she wore. One your mother, Neytiri and Sylwanin had shared over the years, each of the three contributing beads or small trinkets to the piece.

Jake gave some beads as well. From a necklace your mother helped him make Neytiri when he struggled with the stringing of the oddly-shaped beads back when Jake was training for iknimiya, attempting to woo the young blue-skinned warrior he knew as neytiri.

All the omaticaya came to bear their gifts. Neteyam included, who gave you the gift of his warmth.

He cradled your hand in his, he raised it to his chest when the roots covered your parents bodies. 

You’ve loved Neteyam for many years now. Watching him grow from a boy to a man. 

You grew up next to the sullys. Your heights measured next to theirs as a child. Neteyam, Lo’ak, Kiri, even little tuk had built a circle around you. You were a part of their lives. They were  piece of yours. 

You found him in an irregular-shaped void in your heart that only he could fit in. Nights were filled of him. His voice. His eyes. His hands. The curve of his nose and the coves of his lips. 

His voice was made of tender summers. His eyes were liquid gold.

You saw him. You truly, truly saw him. Not the evascent shell of the perfect warrior or son made of stone. 

You saw him in the bleak day and in the night. When reality rivaled your thoughts of him, when the warmth of his touch seemed ephemeral, the invisible interstellar you swore was not a figment of your fantasies. You settled yourself from afar. Sullied yourself with stains of shame from the secrets you kept from him. The thousands of words you harbored, right next to the stars you swore you would steal for him.

This unrepeatable pattern became tiring, something you yearned to touch but your hands couldnt reach.

To tug on the silver string that dangled from this disguise he wore. This mask. This ruse of your heart.

He was to find the perfect mate. The perfect woman, A women to be the closest to an eywa incarnate. That wasn’t you. That could never be you.

Perfect with no edges. No uncalled for curves and no outward coves.

So you settled once again with the itching of your palms and the aching of your heart.

He was not yours.

Distance became a familiarity because distance was safe. 

There was a time where the itching in your palmsd for his. Now, his had felt hollow as it held yours now.

Grief was a funny thing.

You stood here, your skin feels more like a shell. Your mirror feels more like a window.

Staring at yourself with pity.

Such a weak thing she is.

Sobbing.

What once was warmth and abundant is now hollow and overcast by anguish.

You start to resonate with the corpses that once rested in your line of sight before the roots of the tree engulfed them.

Why is it that the sunlight denies you shelter?

Why must your whole become hollow? The ashes of what it once was line a new path. 

Is the sun falling? Have the stars collapsed? Will anyone catch them for you?

What is this? This pain? This agony? Why must it overcast your morals? Your rationality of peace? This homage harbors the resdiual of what little warmth is salvaged from this sunset of black. 

You feel the merciless fire in your veins. You want revenge. The cage of a Phoenix becomes an eternity of warmth. 

Even with neteyam at your side, the stars are falling. And the sunlight feels cold.

⋆｡☁︎｡⋆｡ ☾ ｡⋆⋆⋆｡☁︎｡⋆｡ ☾ ｡⋆⋆⋆｡☁︎｡⋆｡ ☾ ｡⋆⋆⋆｡☁︎｡⋆｡ ☾ ｡⋆⋆

Later that evening, the clan settled after Jake announced that his clan had to relocate to the Hallelujah mountains, where everyone would rebuild a stronghold and dwell with the loyal humans. To avoid any more bloodshed, Where the humans couldn't find you.

 You sat in the Sully’s Marui, Neytiri behind you as you sat infront of the fire.

She rebraided your hair. You had mo’at and kiri unbraided for the funeral. Neytiri’s soft humming soothes you a bit, but your hands haven’t ceased their small tremors of shaking.

She gently runs her hands through your locks, placing a few beads on each braid.

Th hut is silent, Neteyam sits in the corner, he hasn’t spoken since after the funeral.

Tuk perches on Jakes lap asleep, Kiri at your side, rubbing your back. Lo’ak sat on the other side of you, resting his head on your shoulder.

“My sweet”

Neytiri’s melodic whisper whisked through the heavy gray.

“We leave in a few days time, at first light for our new home,”

She paused, her thought lingering behind a wall of hesitation, she exchanges a look with Jake, who nods at her, gently taking tuk off his lap for a moment,

“Y/n, hon, with what's occurred..-”

He waved one hand around, flicking his wrist against the air to try and demonstrate some kind of invisible concept.

But you know he was referring to your parents deaths.

“We don’t think you should be alone.” Jake adds. Neteyam nods with his dad’s words, attempting to gain some kind of partaking in this conversation without speaking.

Neytiri rests her hand on your shoulder, making Lo’ak lift his head to peer at you. 

“What are you saying?”

It comes out as a breath, the unveiled remnants of the traumatic experience you had endured still fresh on your still-processing mind.

“Ma yawntu…We want you to stay with us when we settle in our new home. To stay in our home. We can take care of you.”

The warmth of the fire feels pale for a moment. I’ts vulnerability. Its shallow. Yet, Its deep, and dark, and you can’t see the bottom. Your’e left unguarded for a moment. 

“I’ll be fine on my own-“

You pause when you realize how hoarse your voice sounds. you clear your throat, your gaze meeting Jake’s. His eyes soften a you an you can tell its pity. Something you would have considered affection becomes an insult. A weakness.

“I’ll be okay. I’m not helpless. I can provide for myself.”

Jake sighs and shakes his head, his words calm.

“Y/n. I know you are strong. Hell, you’re one of the strongest i know, kid. But This is not something we’re going to let you carry alone, I made-”

He pauses, taking a breath, his head tilting down a bit and his eyes squeezing shut before he raises his head to continue.

“I made a promise. To the people. To the clan. To keep everyone safe. And to your parents, we would look out for you if anything ever happened.”

The lump in your throat is dry as you swallow.

Neytiri kisses your head gently.

“Ma yawntu, we will look after you..we will guide you on this path.”

She gently guides you to look at her bow in the corner.

“My father. He gave me that bow as he laid dying.”

The air becomes thick, even the moonlight seems to freeze with its slow creeping up the wall. 

The only sound is the soft 3-beat melody of Tu’ks soft breathing as she sleeps, but her heavy eyes flutter open now and then as she nuzzles into jakes side.

Neytiri squeezes her hand on your shoulder to keep her voice from breaking, her chest tightening.

“He told me to protect the people.”

The pain in her voice breaks through the cracks in the walls that kept the shadows out, cages that kept the anger in.

“I owed your mother my life. I could not protect Zensira. 

I have let the demons take another from me.”

The red in her voice stained the shadows behind ehr words, the sharp syllables in ‘demons’ evident, Kiri closed her eyes and winced at her mothers words, still holding your hand.

She took a breath and gazed at you.

“But yawntu, i will not let them take you. I will protect you. You have always been one of my own at heart. The skyships will not take that from us.

The familiar sting you felt only a few hours ago returned to your eyes along with the ache in your chest.

Jake nodded.

“We can be stronger together, Y/n. Let us look after you.”

The wisp of shallow aches still burn behind your heart but you nod, silently.

Lo’ak smiles in an attempt to lighten the load.

“Just like old times, sis. We used to have sleepovers all the time, now we get to have them every day.”

Neytiri was about to scold Lo’ak for his bluntness until she heard you chuckle,

Tuk’s big eyes blinked open as her tired voice mumbled.

“Now you can play with me more..and braid my hair..”

She mumbes as she smiles to herself. Jake chuckles and ruffles her short braids.

Kiri squeezes your hand and Neteyam’s gaze hasn’t left you since the beginning of the conversation.

You took a walk that night, creeping around the hammocks of the sleeping sully family as you quietly ventured outside the small camp village.

You stand under a tree, the moonlight leaks through the canopy as you start to count the stars. You wondered how the sky and the heavens could still be standing when your whole world had collapsed around you just earlier that day.

When you were small your mother would tell you not to pull on the loose thread of her tapestries she wove. Because the more you pull, the faster it will fall apart.

Thats how you felt. One loose string being mercilessly tugged and then all the colors were fading away, you chased them, you chased them along with the falling stars but no one caught them for you.

Your heart has been thieved. Your light has been stolen.

Sin and soul seem to have a war under your skin, and the soft lllabies of the creatures of your planet seem to have more of a shriek-like quality.

Why did the colors go away? 

Did they chase you to the place i cannot follow when you went away?

“Y/n.”

You jump slightly, the chill in the pale air becoming a prick of awarness as you reach for the knife on your hip, turning around quikcly.

Neteyam stands before you, his wooded-honeyed scent fills your nose, you blink as a breath of his name leaves your lips.

“Neteyam-

Oh Neteyam you scared me, you asshole.”

Usually he would have laughed. But not today, not with the shadow that looms.

He gently touches your arm.

“I’m sorry, truly-

What are you doing awake? Are you hurt? Are you in pain? Did something-

Did someone-”

You laugh at him. But its bitter and its thin. Its forced.

“For eywas sake why does everyone think i am the weak link suddenly-

I am fine. Stop looking at me like i am wounded-”

Neteyam cuts you off.

“Y/n, i would never think such a thing about you, ever. You know this. I want you safe, you can’t expect me not to be concerned when you wonder off in the middle of the night, syulang”

The nickname from whe you were children is a warm familiarity at the least.

You huff and lean against the tree bark.

“I just needed air.”

Its small and muttered.

A shaky breath left your lips.

“I’m trying to find ways to endure my own thoughts.”

Neteyams eyes soften as he steps forward, he gently takes a place y beside you, back against the tree as he stands next to you. Your hand brushes his, but your fingers refuse to interlace.

The two of you stared up at the stars for a moment.

“Teyam?

“Yes?”

“Do you think it’s ungrateful to feel as if you have nothing, even when others orrond you with love and promises?”  

“I’m not sure I follow…”

“Is it wrong to feel alone when your in the arms of others?”

As it falls into place for neteyam, he gazes at you as if you were a mystery in the moonlight.

He tries to see past your walls, to place himself in your shadow.

 He glances at you, then back up at the sky.

“No. It’s not ungrateful. I think we’re all born with some sort of circle around us.”

You pause for a moment, looking over at him.

“A circle?”

He nods.

“A circle. The people we love and care for? the people we would do anything for? The people who make our home, they all belong inside our circle.

My father, my mother, Lo’ak, Tuk, Kiri, they're all a part of my circle.”

He pauses for a moment, his tail swishing behind him.

“And…you are too. You’re apart of my circle, Y/n.”

You gaze at him and he withers under your eyes, averting his eyes and fidgeting with his necklace.

After a moment, he speaks again.

“I can’t imagine loosing people in that circle…things must become so…empty. As if the world seems too small all of the sudden.

So no, it’s not selfish to feel alone when that circle is gone.”

His words spark comfort. The hollowness within your palm seems less heavy.

“Thank you.”

You whisper, and he nods at you.

“You don’t have to be alone, y/n. My family…when they spoke to you tonight about staying with us when we travel to the mountains, it was not because there’s a need to replace what you once had. Y/n, we want you to embrace this new circle-“

“What if I’m not ready to find a new circle?”

The vehement tone you were bearning stunned neteyam for a moment.

“Your mother was right. The sky people will take, and they will kill, and they will hunt, until everything under the sky of pandora is either dead or theirs..”

Your eyes hardened for a moment and Neteyam was still as he took in your words.

You look up at the moon once more; taking a breath.

“I do not wish to fear them anymore, Neteyam.

I want them to be the ones who fear us.”

There was a new found devotion in your heart.

A bitter song of  fire and desolation.

Vengeance.

Each note a new mockery of blood and ash. Every chorus an unfamiliar revelry of hunger.

That night, under the fallen stars and the cold moonlight, the inextinguishable plotted purpose was born within you.

Neteyam sighed; his gaze fitting back to the moon.

“And so you will..”

No. 

Don’t. 

I don’t want to loose you in the fire.

But he didn’t dare speak it aloud.

After a moment, he spoke again.

“I have something for you.”

He felt his heart flutter when your eyes met his.

He reached into the pocket of his loincloth.

“It was a gift I planned on giving during the ceremony.”

You felt twitch of anguish as you recalled the memory.

“You already contributed your gift..you gave that armband my father taught you how to weave.”

He gave you a tender look. The kind whispered in the solace of summer and soft secrets.

“It is for you. Not for your loss.”

His words unclouded a new warmth in your chest.

For a moment, your anger ceased to simmer.

“I made this, for you a long while ago..but I never found the right time to give it to you.

Then..the incident happened and I knew it wasn’t a good time..I was planning on giving it to you on this day..but the plans changed.”

He opened his palm to reveal a small carved wooden spiral, polished and smooth. 3 strings with little charming dangling.

The first charm was 2 purple colored crystal, the second was a wooden bead that wore a Maude color, with a tree carved on it, the last was a stack of small purple beads with marbled colors.

He placed it gently in the palm of your hand, and you cradled it with such delicacy.

“Oh it’s beautiful…”

Your breath truly caught itself in his trap.

“When we were young your mother made you that necklace out of those crystals and small jeweled beads, the one she found in the river?..you were so happy to wear something so colorful..I remember the purple ones were your favorite. You always placed them so that they were in the middle. I’d thought I’d add them as a small bonus.”

He smiled at the memory.

You hugged him, your cheek pressed against his chest, he was stunned for a moment but hugged you back, you looked up at him and your breath caught for a moment, your faces mere inches apart.

You both Depart slightly and avert your eyes.

“Thank you. It’s lovely, Neteyam.”

You said softly, he nodded and smiled at you.

“The spiral suits you. Even now with this great loss you bear. It’s a connection. Even to those who are no longer with us.”

You smiled at him back, and the two of you started to walk back to the village.

How could you not see it? The spiral. A sign of support? Of friendship? Of trust?

No my dear Y/n.

It was how he felt like his soul was steadily orbiting around you. Thoughts of you never ended.

His circle.

His spiral.

You were the center.

☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 

Years later….(y/n is now 18.)

(her code name is “X” neteyam’s name through comms is canonically ‘pathfinder’)

Jake yipped to Neytiri as she raised her bow and looked over her shoulder.

Her face is adorned with war paint, much like yours. She had painted you for the day. Red, purple, blue, the colors of your ikran worn proudly like a hyde of victory.

“Remember the plan.”

Jake says through his throat comms, his volume fighting the wind. You held your two fingers to the small mic on your neck so you could hear through your earpiece.

“Neytiri and I will strike from above, X, you're my Archer. I want you to hit em’ quick and move out fast. Eagle Eye, pathfinder, you two are spotters. Do not engage in close range, or air combat, understood?”

You heard lo’ak groan through his comm.

“Bro, why does Y/n get to have all the fun!?”

You felt a tinge of pride. Knowing you were Jake’s right hand out in the field. Higher ranked than either of his son’s. A skilled Archer. 

“Because I'm older and I have more fun.”

You quipped back, unable to hide the smile in your voice.

“Ya know what'd be fun? If you were to crash straight into one of those mountains and fall in your cocky as-”

“Both of you! No arguing on the comms!”

You refocused as the smell of ash and metal was fast approaching. YOu and the war party arrive on the scene right on time

You flew up above the train tracks and watched as the vehicle crashed into a collision of smoke and ash on the derailed tracks.  The air scorched to sting your flesh with an uncomfortable heat.

Neytiri let out a ululating sound to signal to you as she flew down to help Jake. Behind you were 3 smaller aircrafts. 

You grabbed your bow from the side saddle, mentally commanding your ikran to dive.

Everyone who witnessed Y/n fight swore the wind under her ikran’s wings were grazed with fire.

She was made of red-ribboned rainstorms in a scarlet blaze of uncharted wind and wildflowers.

For a moment it’s all too real. The encore of your arrows, the satisfying stretch of your bow string, Like the last note before the chorus. You dive down, sliding down the neck of your Ikran ever so slightly as the wind stings your cheeks, the sunlight strong. You draw back, a loud call escaping your throat, and the arrow flies.

Its in a blink of an eye the cockpit window is shattered, the pilot now sporting an arrow of yours through his neck as the metal gray bird ceases it’s flight and collapses in a cloud of smoke and sulfur.

You’d usually be celebrating if two bastards weren't behind you.

You grasp two arrows this time, the long wooden shaft in your clutch as you line them up properly for the next shot. 

The pilots pathetically attempt to surf with the wind beneath you, scattering your duo targets into far off spots.

Thats the thing about humans. They tiptoed on the wind as if it was uneven ground. Na’vi warriors like you danced upon airstorms and harsh rains. A swirling spiral of helix grazes your skin as you feel one of their shots fly past you the heat just missing your ikran,

You soothe him before regaining your position, you mentally make a new command to your ikran.

‘Drop’

In a moment, the settled feeling of security that once shaved your bones seems to wither away.

Your ikran free falls, rolling against the wind that whips and wails. Your chest heaves as you ready your shot, the reverberation from your bowstring sings to your fingers as the two arrows fly, hitting both pilots as your irkan regains a flying position instead of a falling one, all adrift in a fleeting shot.

The aircrafts fall together, crashing against the ground.

The ground team jake had arranged comes into view frm the side forest clearing, all watching in awe as if you were the embodiment of phoenix.

They raised their bows and let out warcalls, you pridefully returned, raising your bow above your head and releasing a war call of your own.

Neteyam watched from afar. His ikran synced with Lo’aks as they circled the scene below, na’vi led by Norm gathering all the weapons they could.

But he couldnt let himself focus on the world below when all he could see was the woman made of exquisite inferno and grace was scorching the sky with her blaze.

Neteyam felt the wind brisk through his braids as he looked up, squinting against the sunlight in hopes to catch another glimpse of you.

The light of day made you seem grazed with gold that brushed the cobalt hues.

He watched as you shot down the aircrafts, he watched you shoot two arrows.

To Neteyam, you were made of fire.

Remnants of moonlight and high-tided sea storms. A hellish radiance and a scarlet soul.

Neteyam remembered the night he saw the flame embed itself in your soul. The night he gifted you that carving that was now a charm that rested tied to the long expanse of your bow.

He hated it. How inconsolable he feared you were, how he feared this new alit flame would burn his touch away from you. Useless was an understatement, of how he felt that night, even the stars above refused to guide him down teh right path.

He knew you were angry.

He was angry too.

He wanted to fight just like you did. His hatred for these sky demons simmered beneath his skin. He was a warrior. He wanted to fight next to you and his father. He was a protector of the people.

He had seen what they had taken from his home, from his parents, his family, from you.

At first, he thought it was jealousy.

The way Jake encrusted you to be his main archer. To shoot down sky ships.

Neteyam? He wasn’t anywhere near the fighting. Not anywhere near you.

He knew his father thought him and Lo’ak were “too important” to be fighting.

Jake was trying to salvage the sons made of stone before the heat of war can melt the rock.

Were you better than him?

Stronger than him?

Why did his father trust you more than he trusted his eldest?

As he watches you now, the archer who had her arrowhead aimed at his heart from day 1.

He knows its love. It must be.

It keeps him awake at night. The devoured feeling that gnaws at his heart. You were the center of his sky in all your celestial glory and he wished he would have gifted you the entire universe but instead he gave you that carved spiral.

He loved you because where other struggled to see in the dark you danced with dusk. You were a paradox. Detached, but focused. Because you somehow made the most dissolute and reckless seem graceful. You were real. Imperfect. Unconfined hunger bordered by each beautiful bruise blemish and scar that covered your skin. 

You haunted him.

“Bro!”

And funny enough, it seems eywa created little brothers for a different kind of haunting.

Neteyams eyes flickered to where Lo’ak circled around him on his ikran.

The cold colors tattered across the ikrans purple and blue skin, trapping the yellow large speckles of shapes of the banshee’s skin.

Lo’ak’s echoes dwindle in the gust of wind, the war paint he wore proudly on either side of his face, Neteyam had watched Y/n paint Lo’ak after his begging back at high camp.

Something about Lo’aks smile in situations like these always found ways to disquiet Neteyam.

His eyebrows hover above his eyes as his fangs bare through his smile.

“Bro! We have got to get down there!”

Neteyam shakes his head, a warning look traces his features.

“No way! Dad will skin us!”

Lo’ak shakes his head, the wind uplifting his braids as he dives.

“C’mon! Don’t be a wuss!”

The flushed first notes of an uncertain heartbeat ablaze neteyam’s mind as he dives as well.

“Shit! Lo’ak! Get back you dumbass!”

Lo’ak dived blow into the musk of what might as well be no man’s land. The air wailed and whipped around him as he hopped off his Ikran. Yanking his kuru from his banshees and running towards the chaos in question.

He looked over his shoulder to see Neteyam following suit. He laughed, waving his hand through the dust and smoke.

“C‘mom bro!”

“Lo’ak!”

“Lo’ak come back!”

Lo’ak faltered momentarily when he saw Norm directing some navi’s into a brigade to gather all the weapons from the train’s supply cart. Swiftly swerving to stay out of the dream walkers sight, he joined the forming crowd where around where Tarsem had just opened a new cart of guns.

“Here boy- take this weapon! Go!”

Lo’ak let put a silly war cry and puffed up his chest,

Neteyam came to a halt.

“Lo’ak, you don’t even know how to use it.”

Lo’ak waved the gun around like it was weightless, handling it like one of Tuk’s toys.

“Nah bro. Dad taught me!”

Neteyam rolled his eyes, done with Lo’aks bullshit.

“I’m sure he did-

Let’s go-“

He grabbed lo’aks bicep but Lo’ak shrugged him off.

“Or maybe I’ll just be like y/n and shoot down some sky demons!”

Above the clouds, you circled the ensuing hustle below. Watching the brigades, monitoring the ground team. Your bow at the ready in its position on your saddle sheath.

And then you saw them.

“Son of a bitch!”

You hissed quietly, swiftily diving down to where the duo of your headache embodied currently argued about something stupid.

Lo’ak smiled as he saw you, but it faded as he watched the shadow of your Ikran (which was larger than the average Ikran, granted)

Loom over the both as you hopped down, glaring at them.

“What are you two shitheads doing here!?”

The feathers on your raid top gently shook in the breeze, a few of your beads clanking together in your braids as you made your descend.

Neteyam seemed to straighten, but his breath seemed to form a blockade for his own voice.

Maybe it was the way the brightly covered beads and feathers of your top accentuated your skin. Or maybe it was the way the fathers in your braids matched your waist beads Kiri had made you.

Maybe it was the way your loincloth seemed a bit more perfect than usual as it hugged your hips.

Maybe it was the way the red, blue, and purple war paint on your face outlined your eyes like wings and shed down your cheeks like tears, sorrowed in starlight for you had just been warrior of the wind.

I guess we’ll never know.

Lo’ak spoke for him.

“We wanted to help! C’mon, we have the ground team to be spotters! They don’t need us! I’ve been practicing the trick you taught me with the bow, just let us fly with you- we promise we’ll-“

You shot Lo’ak down before the words flooded further, the scarlet hues ablazed and begged for nothing but obedience in your voice.

“Kehe! You will do nothing-! Go back to your post. Both of you. Now!”

You swatted Lo’ak with your bow, hissing at him, Neteyam tried to drag Lo’ak away.

“Bro let’s go!-“

The sound of heavy mechanical whirring instilled the heightening of your awareness in the moment, your ears pining back as you saw the larger ship approach.

“Gun ship inbound!”

Jake shouted, you saw neytiri hiss and take off on her Ikran.

“Shit! Run!” You cursed, shoving Lo’ak and Neteyam in the opposite direction and making a break away from the approaching enemy.

As it would seem time was not in your favor, your Ikran had already been spooked away by the blast, Neteyam grabbed your hand before you could run, 

“Come with us, now!

Go-!”

He shoved Lo’ak ahead of him as they ran, Neteyam’s hand clutching yours as you kept pace with the two.

The 3 of you climbed over the derailed debris, Neteyam and you scaling the bright yellow RDA logo train doors,

“Bro come on!” Lo’ak called.

A flash of light invaded your vision, the scorching heat of the blast incircled you.

You feel Neteyam attempt to reach for you, but instead all you feel is a tug on your wrist as your senses start to numb. 

Your airborn for a moment, then your body collides with the uneven ground, the rocky surface below.

You groan, your vision blurring. The embers and ash clash against your skin in the harsh sting of the hot air. 

You winced in pain as the adrenaline started it’s course of abandonment. The aching sensation swallows your body. 

Scarlet etched its way in a jagged scratch on your side. The world seemed to darkn as the scarlet hues slowly faded to black. The sky’s golden and blue game of chance changes its rules as your eyelids become heavy.

Neteyam’s eyes shoot open as his vision readjusts itself clearly.

Lo’ak is above him, shaking him awake. Panic in the half-notes of his jagged breaths.

“Bro!? Bro! C’mon, get up we gotta go!”

Neteyam stands to his feet, groaning, but quickly regaining his senses.

He looked down at his hand to see where something small and beaded made its home in his clutch.

A bracelet?

Your bracelet.

It hit Neteyam like a tidal wave.

“Shit! Y/n-“

Neteyam tried to run past when his body collided with a taller one, Jake stood looming over his son’s, placing one hand on each of their shoulders “Hey! Easy, easy, where’s Y/n?! Are you hurt?!”

Neteyam tried to speak but all it was met with is stuttered breaths and a poor panicked exclamation.

“That way! I meant to grab her arm and I grabbed this instead-

The blast-“

Jake didn’t hesitate as he started running in the direction you were in, Lo’ak seemingly still in shock and Neteyam following his father without missing a beat,

“Stay behind boy! Get your brother out of here!”

“But sir-“

“That’s a direct order!”

Norm, quickly dragged Neteyam and lo’ak away to the sidelines of the forest to make their quick escape.

The sound of a screech flooded your ears, the footseps barely audible over the smoke and wind.

“Y/n! Oh child, Eywa please no.” 

You reached for your knife with the last ounce of motor control you could muster, before a hand gently lifted you on your back, the sun’s blinding silver line halo of heat scorched your eyes, you hissed and winced in pain.

The hands were familiar, it calmed you rather quickly.

You knew it was neytiri when the blurry shape of gray purple and green, faintly recognizable as her bone collared-top.

You groaned, the raw rushes of pain encased your vision.

“I’m sorry-”

You mumbled.

“Shh. No apologies, my dear girl. Come, we must go. Quickly.”

The last thing you remember is the gently shrill of her Ikran and her hand around your waist was she settled you in front of her on her ikran. The Scarlet hue no painted the wind.

☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 

When you awake, its to the sound of herbs grinding soflty in a boil. The reverberations of the grinding tool against the small wooden bowl make your ears twitch.

Your vision settles. Mo’at sits infornt of the small fire in the tsahiks tent, Tuktirey by her side.

Her big eyes blinking at her grandmother’s handy-work, her much smaller tail swishing to the beat of each sound.

You sat up slowly, with a small wince. But the pain was significantly better.

Tuk gasps

“Y/n! You're alive!”

She wraps her arms around your waist, nuzzling her little head into your chest. You smile at the smaller girls, roughly a few of her braids, kissing the top of her head.

“of course I’m alive, yawntu! It would take a million Sky People to take me out.”

You teasingly mocked the position of an archer, holding a pretend bow and arrow made out of thin air as Tuk laughed.

Mo’at gently cleared her throat, making her way to you as she placed a hand on your shoulder.

“ Child, your wounds were deep, but they shall heal quickly with the salve. Kiri shall be back with more herbs soon. But please rest, simply until the bandages are removed.”

You nodded greatfully, squeezing her hand in a gesture of thank you.

She was the closest thing you would have to a grandmother, even before your parents began their journey with Eywa. You never got to meet your actual grandparents. They died in the attack on hometree. The only memory you had of them was through the clans' stories.

You wore a choker that was strung with river pearls and brown leather, a small navy-blue colored stone in the middle. A treasured piece your grandmother once wore.

Tuk snuggled up to you in the hammock, and you gently rubbed her back.

A soft rustling made your ears perk up when Kiri slipped through the tent flap with a basket of herbs.

“Tsmuke, (sister)

You are awake.”

Her expression softened, as if tensed up since the moment you returned unconscious. It probably was.

She handed the herbs to Mo’at and kneeled at your side, gently brushing a few of your braids away from your face.

“How are you feeling? Better? I used yalna bark when grandmother wasn’t looking. Was it Lo’ak again? It’s always Neteyam getting in trouble and you getting hurt when that sxkwang gets bright ideas-“

You gently stopped her mid rant. Holding her hand gently to your chest.

“I am fine, Kiri. A few scratches and bruises has never done much harm.”

She chuckled softly, standing back to her feet to assist Mo’at with the rest of the preparations for other wounded warriors.

As the hours passed, and the sun started to set, Kiri had to drag Tuktirey off to bed and Mo’at left the tent for the night. Leaving you alone to find sleep.

Mo’at had insisted you sleep in the Tsahik’ s tent tonight. Get some extra rest.

You didn’t argue. It was better than sharing a hammock with Lo’ak. The boy snored more than what you were almost certain was normal.

It was an understatement to say you nearly killed someone when you heard the tent flap rustle. You jumped, instinctly reaching for your knife.

It was well after hours.

Everyone should be asleep.

Who was it? Were you followed when you left the train?

Was it a sky demon? An animal?

You slowly felt your heart steady once again when you saw a small pale figure enter your tent, the small glimmer of his mask dances in the firelight. Lo’ak is behind him, looking less hyper than usual. Instead, a subtle tinge of gray flickered past his eyes, but it quickly gilded itself to green and gold once it settled on your form. He released a breath of relief and spider smiled.

“See? I told you she was okay.”

It took you a moment to realize that Lo’ak was worried about you.

You gave him a small smile opening your one arm that wasn’t aching, and he slipped himself under it, sitting next to you in the hammock, resting his head on your shoulder.

Lo’ak was your best friend. But really, he was so much more than that.

He was your family. Your ride-or-die.

Your right hand.

It made you feel a bit guilty, that Lo’ak seemed to prefer you over Neteyam sometimes.

Lo’ak wanted you to be his teacher when it came to his archery training and sparring. Lo’ak wanted it to be you who he went on hunts with.

Yet again, he also only lets you braid his hair because apparently neytiri pulls too hard and Neteyam doesn’t know how to tie them off properly.

Spider was a bit of a different case.

As you grew older, you realized how much you envied your motehrs sense of lightness.

Her entire being seemed to be made of golden hour gardens and softly whispered summers.

She was strong. The strongest woman you knew.

But she was kind.

She wasn’t like Neytiri in the sense that she resented all humans.

Your mother always felt a sense of protectiveness over Spider. A small, pale boy who used his heart instead of brain, chasing shimmyflys and tripping over vines that were larger than him. She welcomed him into her circle. She shielded him from the storms of strange staring and pesky fears.

Your mother always cared for Spider. Helped him re-twist his locs and make him new loincloths and hair beads. Some of your earliest memories were you and spider playing with the small carved toys in your family’s tent, or giggling after dark under the blankets after your father told you both to go to sleep.

She argued when spider had to go back to his foster family, and ended up making bargains with him to stay overnight every few days.

You’re almost positive it’s the only motherly love spider has ever known.

He cried when your mother died. 

You think he might have cried more than you did.

Sobbed for days with you, and it brought you closer together.

You smiled as Lo’ak fidgeted with one of the bracelets on your wrist.

When you were about 8, Lo’ak was 7, spider was 9, your mother carved you these special beads for the three of you to use.

You three decided to make bracelets and your father helped you string them together, all collecting charms and gifting them to one another to add.

The two biggest stones were carved river crystal the two boys collected, Lo’ak rolled the beads between his two extra fingers, sporting a bracelet of his own you and spider made him.

“So, I heard you got your ass kicked.”

Spider snickered. Sitting down in front of you.

You whacked him with your tail.

“Fuck off. Those sky demons ate my arrows.”

Spider groaned, 

“I’m so pissed. I heard you fell down in a explosion and ate shit-

And now one took a picture for me!” 

Lo’ak threw and arm around your shoulder and wiggled his eyebrows.

“Oh yeah. And her Romeo was panicking because he didn’t save her in time”

You flushed, shoving him away.

Spider laughed, standing up.

“I can only imagine-“

He cleared his throat, before making his voice go an obnoxious pitch higher, twirling his locs around his fingers and batting his eyes, mimcmking what was supposed to be you.

“Oh Neteyam! My big strong warrior man! Come save me!”

You hissed in annoyance, but couldn’t help but bite back laughter at the back of your throat.

Lo’ak stood to his feet, puffing up his chest and taking his braid out of the way he tied them back, letting them hang, deepening his voice and stomping towards spider, dramatically holding him in his arms as spider collapsed with a loud rehearsed sigh.

Lo’aks Neteyam imitation sent you over the edge, you were now cackling and had rolled out of your hammock.

“I’ll save you from the demon ships with my bow and arrow!”

Lo’ak, you, and spider all break into a fit of laughter, rolling around on the ground. Lo’ak steadying himself by burying his face in your shoulder as spider banged his fist on the ground, finally, as the laughter died down, the three of you stared at the top of the tent, out of breath, the only sound being the gentle wheezing endnotes of your breaths.

“Glad you kicked some ass today. Those fucking RDA pilots didn’t stand a chance against you and that bow of yours.”

Spider whispered. Nudging your shoulder gently.

You smiled at him, Lo’ak squished in between you.

The three of you said your goodnight s, and you watched the two missing parts of your circle leave the tent before they could get caught after lights out.

You nestled back into the hammock, staring up at the ceiling.

The aching in your arms hasn’t completely vanished it’s fortification of pain in your shoulder.

You gently rub circles around the small carved spiral you untied from the long shaft of your bow when spider dragged it inside.

You played with the small crystals and the beads, gently humming to yourself.

Your fingers traced along the shape, Neteyams eyes invaded your mind.

It was fascinating, really. How a warrior such as yourself had won today's battle and yet the one thing you truly yearned for was still not within your grasp.

It hurts sometimes, to think about how beautiful he was.

The way his irises encompassed golden hour in all its starlight sessions.

The air was thicker in the mountains like this, up here in high camp. Perhaps that’s why the sweltering residual warmth that rippled across your skin like lillies to a pond every time you thought of him

You wondered if he tasted like the sun. Sweet, possibly bitter. Bleak and addicting, such a delicacy deserved to never touch your lips.

Alas the stars did not align for you.

Not tonight.

You trace the spiral one last time before letting your eyes flutter closed.

Your tail flicked as you heard yet another rustling.

The sound of footsteps, slightly heavier than last time.

You groaned.

“Spider did you forget something again?..”

When no answer was heard you grumbled. Standing to your feet and untying the tent flap, only to be met with two two golden hour orbs that had just plagued your mind.

“”Neteyam?..”

authors note:

I’m finally done! I haven’t slept in two days but I’m finished. I can’t decided whether I like the way this turned out but I LOVE some of the smaller little details. Y/n is such a badass and she’s serving left and right. We love to see it 😩👏 this first one was a lil angsty but I PROMISE y’all, this series is NOT angst. I’ve got a ton of stuff planned. I’m thinking maybe a little bit of jealous Neteyam? Some humor? Spider and Lo’ak being the captain of the ship? Mo’at being a sassy Granmda? Maybe some sister bonding with Kiri? AHHH IM SO HYPED. I, about to pass out and I can’t feel my fingers but that’s it for now! Stay tuned for part 2 🏹

-Sol

Jan 2024

“Virago” series, chp. 1.

Taglist:

@plooto

[feasibilities]

Sight and Smell - Tom x Married!Reader (NSFW)

Synopsis: Tom has feelings for you and won't let anyone stop him from telling you how he feels. Warnings: Drug Use, Infidelity, Allusions to Cuckolding, Sex as Punishment, Choking, Pining, etc. Author's Note: Readers need love too! I did some research on luxury hotels in Dublin as well (because I want a late-night rendezvous with Cillian in one of them). Also, thank you @mothhball for tagging me in the prompt that spawned this insane story. I hope you enjoy it!

The sight of your beautiful smile and the smell of your redolent perfume were mainstays of Tom’s psyche. He knew your husband, Seán, since they were kids. You came along during secondary school. He knew it was wrong to lust for any woman who wasn’t Marianne, but you were different. For the first time, he felt a deep-seated jealousy toward his friend. Knocking on the front door, Tom was finally prepared to tell you how he really felt. This party would go down in history. 

“Hey, Tom. Seán will be here soon. Won’t you come in?” You smiled sweetly. You noticed that he looked disheveled and restless. 

“Of course.” Tom replied. While you led him to the kitchen, he admired how your black dress hugged your figure. He hated that Seán got to see the treasures that lie underneath. 

“Where’s Marianne?” You inquired, going back to cleaning the champagne flutes. 

“U-um, she wasn’t feeling well so she stayed back.” Tom faltered, taking quick peeks at your cleavage. 

“Ah. Well, I hope she feels better soon. How have you been?” You asked.

“Fine.” Tom answered plainly

Walking toward him, you placed the back of your hand on his forehead. 

“Are you feeling okay, hun?” You asked innocently. 

Taking your hand away, Tom hurried to the bathroom and slammed the door shut. You heard him lock it shut shortly after. You stood there stunned before continuing to prepare for the party. 

After separating the thin white powder into lines, he gummed what was left over on his fingers. Snorting each line was like a hard reset for his body. His heart felt like it was clawing its way out of his chest. Collapsing near the bathroom sink, he trembled and cursed himself. He sat himself up in a corner and breathed deeply. The palpitations of his heart subsided. 

Hearing offbeat jazz come from the living area, Tom jumped up and gathered himself. He had to get this out of his system before guests arrived. It was now or never. 

“I need to talk to you.” Tom blurted out, watching you arrange hors d'oeuvres on multiple platters. 

“Fucking hell, Tom. You scared me half to death.” You jumped. 

“Listen, it’s very important-“ Tom started.

“Can it wait until after the party, hun?” You corrected.

“It can’t.” Tom said, growing irritated by the second. 

“Fine. What is it?” You said, exasperated. 

“I have loved you since I met you all those years ago. I think about you all the time. I hate that Seán got to you first.” Tom confessed, staring into your eyes. 

You stayed silent and stared back at him. You felt a mix of panic and curiosity. Seán would kill Tom with his bare hands if he heard this conversation. Tom’s advances made sense—especially since you felt the same way. You loved your husband with all of your heart, but you can’t say you never thought about leaving. He was away for work way too much. When he was here, he wasn’t present emotionally. Intimacy was poorer than it had ever been. You yearned for something different—rather, something electrifying. Tom was the closest you could get.

“We can’t do it here, Tom. I can meet you in a hotel after the party. Now, take these platters into the dining room. Be careful to not let anything fall.” You ordered. 

Tom’s eyes widened at your proposal. You’ve never seen him move so fast in the time that you knew him. Guests, including Seán, began to arrive. He kissed you deeply and gave you an embarrassingly hard smack on your ass. It felt like he was putting on the show of a happy couple in front of everyone. Tom was left to brood angrily as you gave him sympathetic glances throughout the party. Shortly after everyone’s departure, you got a text from Tom about your impending rendezvous.

Room 427 at The Westbury. Hope you’re still up for the challenge. 

“Challenge?” You murmured as you applied your makeup at your vanity.

“Where are you headed, love?” Seàn slurred, toying with your hair. He was too drunk to notice you flipping your phone over. 

“Out with friends. I’ll be back late.” You replied. 

“You know, I want to spend more time with you. I miss you.” He said, kissing your shoulder and starting to untie your house robe. This was another empty promise. You politely moved his hands and went back to finishing your makeup. 

“We can spend time together when I get back, Seán. I need some time to myself, ’s all.” You said. Finally getting the message, he stumbled to the bed and fell asleep.

— 

“Fuck, right there…” You moaned as Tom thrusted into you at steady pace. You raked your nails down his back—marking your territory for the time being. He stared down at you with the same admiration earlier. He loved the way your breasts moved with each thrust. He loved the resplendent noises you made when he bottomed out. You clenched around him as your legs began to shake.  Your eyes fluttered shut before you felt his hand grab your throat. He squeezed enough to limit your blood flow. You were lightheaded, but still conscious.

“Open your fucking eyes. This is what you wanted, right?” Tom hissed, speeding up his movements. This time was much more brutal.

“Yes.” You whimpered, feeling like you were about to break in half. 

Tom kissed you harshly and watched as you fell apart. Unintelligible praises came from you as he pounded you into the plush mattress. Your walls spasmed frenetically as you came. He wanted to make sure that you thought of him every time you fucked Seán. To his own perverse wish, this was payback for not choosing the better man.  Flipping you on your stomach, Tom yanked your hips backward and started taking you from behind. He put a pillow underneath you to soften the blows, but to no avail. He was reaching depths that your husband dreamed of. You weeped quietly and 

“Would be fucking sick if Seán came in and saw me nailing his wife, eh?” Tom teased, panting in your ear. A cruel part of you got off on the thought of him listening in on you two. Maybe he would give you the attention you deserve. A faint “Mhmm” emitted from you in response. 

“Cum inside me.” You cooed, looking back at him with heavy eyes. You bit your lip and clenched around him once more. His thrusts staggered as he came with a loud groan. You sung his praises as he came down from his high. Pulling out, he saw his seed beginning to spill out of you. He caught some with his fingers and pushed it back inside.  He pumped himself mindlessly before laying next to you. His stark blue eyes studied your features. He traced his fingertips along your back. You looked back at him lovingly before drifting off to sleep. 

Grabbing your lace underwear from the floor, Tom huffed them desperately. Similar to cocaine, he felt a sense of euphoria. He took in the sweet, earthy scent as he grew hard again. He didn't want to disturb you, so he walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower. He finally got what he wanted. 

[lavenlady]

Hello, author. Yandere (request)! Jazz decided to confess his love to his crush after overthrowing the lying Prime (Sentinel), but she turned him down. As a result, the reader finds himself in Jazz's personal quartet.

Here you are! Enjoy!

☾ Crushing on You �� | Tfone Yan!Jazz x Cybertronian!Reader

♢ Nearly every miner knew about Jazz's crush on you, they shipped you so bad together, seeing you as a great couple in the future

♢ Jazz is an overprotective, manipulative and delusional yandere, already imagining your entire lifes together, even without interacting much with you

♢ You are quite obvious to his advances, treating him as one of your best friends. Jazz of course uses that against you

" Would you hold my servo while we ride the train? Best friends do that a lot! Just look at Pax and D-16! "

♢ It was shocking to see both of well known miners taking part in the Iacon race, it had both of you cheering for them

♢ After the race it was announced that both miners perished due to their injuries. The mines after that were quite more duller after their unexpected deaths

♢ You were even more surprised when you saw Orion Pax walking in with a surprise - Sentinel was a liar, he showed his new cog as proof

♢ With his breath taking speech he managed to convince miners to fight by his side to bring justice

♢ You saw how the fight went - from the start till the end. Once friends now enemies, D-16 and Orion Pax now Megatron and Optimus Prime have gone their separate ways

♢ All the cog-less finally received their cogs and Jazz built up the courage to ask you out

" I'm sorry ... I see you only as my friend, Jazz. I hope you understand. "

♢ He in fact did not understand, it was supposed to be different! Jazz just couldn't let you walk away with someone other than him, so he had to use his last resort plan

♢ One second you are walking to your new home then suddenly everything went dark. Later you find yourself in a comfortable berth, wondering what happened

♢ Soon you see Jazz standing in the doorway, you happily thank him for helping you, but as you intended to leave you were stopped by the door closing on you

♢ Only Primus knows what happened after that

□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□

( Hope you liked it! )

(Master list)

( Request away! )

[strong-with-the-sarcasm]

Sarcasm's Rec List 2: Electric Boogaloo

[Thank you to everyone who voted!]

Masterlist Previous Rec List Mundane Macabre (main blog)

[Hardcover/Anger Management ship]

Red is Hood’s Favorite Color by mango_sushi98

Sonnet 29 at the End by ew_selfish_art The Rapid Growth of the Fenton family tree by Lunaml (First entry of the series)

If you find a vigilante in the dumpster by lunamugetsu (WIP)

The Night Will Come But Not To Stay by ectoentity (WIP)

Friendly Neighborhood Vigilante by Elizabehta_Beilschmidt  (WIP)

Somehow whatever’s eternal in me knows whatever’s eternal in you by DemonicoAngel (WIP) (This has to be one of my favorite works in the hardcover ship) To hell and back by Ocearna (WIP)

The Night Will Come But Not To Stay by ectoentity Advent Reunion by Shynnohwen (First entry of the son of the hood series)

[General Recs/no particular tag]

This Way Madness Lies by ConspiracyCrows (WIP)

Foundling At The Door by Spaced_Ace (First entry of the House of Elle series)

I can be both even if it’s hard (and it’s hard) by multi_fandomfreak (WIP) (What if Sam and Tuck went to get Jazz before Danny came back out of the portal?)

Staring is rude but so am I by Imshookandbi (Let Sam unleash that anger at her parents, as a treat)

Ghosts on a plane by NightShiftShenanigans

We All Have Our Christmas Traditions by Multisakublossom (Tucker-centric)

Alfred and the Tiny Attic Squatters by Shynnohwen (WIP) (Alfred is the real patriarch of the batfam, we all know this)

Like and Survive - Phantom's Guide to Young Hero Survival by robinasnyder (WIP) (Grown up danny, first hero, gives life advice, makes ripples) Visitant Lights by Shynnohwen

5 + 1 Meeting the Nightingales by elizabthemerald

Please Don’t Take My Sunshine Away by FearlessHades (WIP)

Son of the hood? By Valiantlybold (first entry of the Danny Wayne series, wonderful) Wayne’s Haunted Mansion by Tathartiel (WIP) Spelunking by SummersSixEcho (First of the Ghost in the Family series) regular boy: daniel wayne by phantom_o_writes (WIP) Dad from Mars by Animefangirl1221 (WIP)

Undead Lockpicking or How Danny shamed Superman into changing his locks by Milaley Contractual obligations by Calix, Tathartiel (A twist on the usual DC recs: This one is steeped to perfection with Hellblazer lore. Wonderful and epic, well done to the authors!)  

[Dead Tired]

The Batfamily Can’t Communicate by miistical

Bitter, had the Heart by CastrianAmore (WIP)

[Demon Twins]

The Sketchbook by Notrus You’re Not Who I’d Thought You’d Be, and I’m Glad For It by Nanenna

The Parent Trap by Nanenna

my starlight by hollowgast1  (WIP)

Loss Like A Severed Limb by Littlestartopaz

The Devil’s After Both of Us by TheWritingOwl

[Dead Silent/Deaths Dance]

Full Time Hero, Full Time Disaster by halfagone

Lex Luthor’s Ascent from Supervillainy to fatherhood by halfagone (WIP) (This feels like reading an epic) By My Count by TheStrange_One (WIP)

[Dead Serious]

Artificial Wingman by TheSleepyKitsune (WIP)

Love Like You by DisillusionedDanny (WIP)

Press Heart to Subscribe by Die_Erlkonigin6083 (WIP)

Webbing Up A Family by Agelaius_Ace

Peter the Pizza Guy by Irisen  (WIP) Along Came A Spider by RagsnBones (Cassandra Cain/Peter Parker) Butler Spider by Danny_shells (WIP)

Time flies by (bye) by whyiseverynametaken

Little Red Spider Hood by Cashmire

You With the Watercolor Eyes by DefinitelyNotIndecisive (WIP) A Long Way From Home (And No Way Back) by Vivia_wants_boba (WIP) Homesick by NotSoSweetHeh

Red and Blue are hero colors by Cashmire (WIP)

Spider-Man or Spider-Spider by disappear_rapidly  (WIP)

Spiderhead by emmacortana

Archnomaly by Songue85 (WIP)

Nothing Left to Lose (Dick in New York) by seekrest (WIP)

A/N: Congrats to 3am me for double checking the links worked properly. I hope y'all enjoy these reads!

[chitty-chitty-bang-bang-bang]

Vlad, Viago and Deacon as parents headcanons

Author’s note: I could make a series out of this maybe. Would you guys be interested in that? Let me know.

Update: Here’s the part two, part three and part four.

When Viago found a child, freshly turned into a vampire on the side of the road in the Wellington suburbs, he knew he couldn’t just leave it there. So he did the only natural thing and brought you home.

At first, Vladislav and Deacon protested the idea firmly. A child did not belong in their household. But with enough persuasion from their favourite dandy and your puppy-dog eyes, they unenthusiastically gave in.

In the beginning, all three of them were a bit annoyed by you. As a child, you were very nosy and did a lot of things you shouldn’t, like touching their stuff, accidentally or purposely waking them up too early, making messes and all that jazz.

But with time you learned to play by their rules and they learned to accept your premature nature.

Viago is the mom. Nobody cares for you more than him. He treats you like his own descendant and nurtures you constantly.

He makes sure you act properly with all due respect and manners.

He teaches you human anatomy and even a thing or two about hunting, though in the first few months he would just kill a victim and bring it to you.

He’s the one you come to talk to about your feelings and concerns, because you trust him to actually listen and understand.

You remind him of himself, when he was young. He had long forgotten that feeling.

Sometimes he can be a bit overbearing with his care and attempts at upbringing, but you have a very close and loving relationship.

Vladislav was the second person to slowly warm up to you.

He loved your infinite curiosity for everything he did. You soaked in knowledge like a sponge.

He read you all of his poetry (aside from the ones, which are obviously inappropriate for kids) and told you stories of his life and death.

Vlad insisted on you learning through experience, so he constantly took you out hunting. Though he was still nearby, to make sure you don’t accidentally come across any vampire slayers or get outed.

You usually come to him for advice on important matters and it flatters him way more than he likes to admit.

You made him wonder what it would’ve been like to have children of his own.

Then there was Deacon.

Your relationship was very complicated at first.

To put it simply, he ignored your existence or just dismissed it, because he was mad that the decision to let you stay here was made against his will.

He didn’t want you here.

But that all changed when you started rambling about how much you loved his knitting projects and asked him to teach you.

He liked teaching you. Not just knitting, but teaching you anything new in general.

Whatever you ask he will always answer with a smart look, even if he doesn’t know the actual answer.

He found hanging out with you much more fun, than it seemed before.

He’s like the fun parent. The one who lets you do things Viago and Vladislav would never allow.

Like jumping off some very high surface and turning into a bat seconds before hitting the ground just for the thrill of it or drinking liquor blood from people outside “Boogie Wonderland”.

He still has a bit of a protective streak, so Deacon never got you into actual real danger.

That doesn’t mean he wasn’t later scolded by the other two vampires for even making you think doing this stuff was okay.

He’s also a surprisingly good empath and always senses when you’re upset about something.

I imagine he’d do the same talk about immortality with you, that he did with Nick.

They guided you through that phase of realisation, that you will be a child for the rest of your undead existence. They helped you through your worst. Even if they weren’t really sure how to, just the fact that they tried their best was enough.

This lifestyle can be miserable and very depressing. But not with them.

With them it is never boring or dull. Even the usual routine can be brightened up by vibrant stories of the past, hobbies, that they can engage you in or a nice night out on the town.

With time, you actually start feeling, like you have a family once again.

A sincere and loving family of bloodthirsty old men.

[averagewriter-inthedark]

Love Story 💗 | Loki Headcanon

Link to my Marvel Masterlist

Requested 📨 yes/no

Loki being in a relationship with a romance novelist would look like:

As a close friend to Tony Stark growing up with your mothers being close friends before Maria's untimely death, you were invited to most things Tony orchestrated. Parties, expos, an all that jazz. It was at an event for the Avengers that you first met Loki, brother of the Mighty Thor.

And actually, Thor was the one who introduced the two of you--despite Tony's objections--after discovering your profession and love of literature. Instantly Loki was intrigued but kept his usual demeanor of stoic and disinterest in Midgardians. Yet it diminished as you were able to keep a conversation with him, and keep it interesting, unlike the other Avengers he constantly found annoying.

Honest to God, his first impression when you revealed your profession would’ve been like, “what a naive mortal. There’s a reason what you desire of romance is mere fantasy and only found in the books you write,” and not taken your work serious compared to other literary publications.

Loki always migrated to historical fiction and the works of Shakespeare, Dante, and anything else you might find on a high schooler's summer reading list.

That opinion quickly evaporated upon the first few interactions you two had. Because you were a published author it left Loki with curiosity. Although he'd never admit it aloud, deep down he wanted to know just how your writing process worked and if the stories were inspired by real life events or something you wished to experience.

What initially was supposed to be Loki only reading your debut novel, turned into him purchasing your entire collection of works. And boy was he captivated. You're writing drew him in like a siren luring men to sea. Page after page, Loki found himself in the late hours of the night until the sun rose the next morning, nose deep into your books.

At first Loki planned to keep his enjoyment of your books secret, but then he just couldn't contain it any longer.

What surprised you, was when he started giving his feedback. Discussing his thoughts on the characters and plot. "How could she take him back after saying those things to her? Absolutely unacceptable. No matter how angry I am I'd never that to my partner." "Y/n, I really think you should give the people what they want and write a second novel to 'Seven Nights in Paris,'--In fact it should be call it something like, 'Seven Weeks in London.'

Eventually as the two of you became close and the relationship blossomed, Loki became an integral part in your writing. Both as a reviewer and a muse.

At the core the God was a romantic. The type to not only sway you with words and gestures but reaffirm your values and expectations in a partner. He listened, he communicated, goes the mile to ensure your happiness and needs are met. Whether it be taking you to a nice dinner or leaving notes with your morning coffee already made, your heart was full of love and didn't have to hear Loki say to know his was too.

Moments of your relationship with Loki paralleled in your books. You couldn't help it at times. The writer in you would get so inspired that before you knew it the love interest's dialogued mirrored words he said to you. An argument between the protagonists was awfully similar to one you two had. Poured the feelings of when you two kiss into the scenes the characters finally break the tension.

Yeah, he'd give you his famous smirk to let you know he was onto you to which you'd shrug and say, "Felt inspired." "By me, love?" "Always by you, mischief."

And so it's no surprise to Loki or anyone close to y'all when you release your anticipated novel, about a hopeless romantic writer who meets a misunderstood God from another world, on the day you two exchange vows and rings. Putting your own love story on the shelves for the world to see.

[legobiwan]

More thoughts because I apparently need to draft an entire backstory before I can write a "drabble" (which will definitely not be a drabble), aka, more lore ideas for a show that's already been picked over with a fine-tooth comb a million times, but here we are, years late, Starbucks in hand, as the old meme goes.

At the end of the whole Weirdmaggedon fiasco, Ford makes his hilariously inept proposition for him and Stan to go sailing the Arctic (Ford's heart was in the right place, but this is not how you want to introduce the possibility of fulfilling your childhood dream to your estranged and traumatized brother of 30+ years).

Anyway, Ford's lack of social skills aside, we know the general location of where they're heading from Ford's fancy-pants watch.

Now, they have a few options to get to the Spooky in the Arctic.

Take the Panama Canal

Take the Northwest Passage

Start their trip from the East Coast

Option 1: The Panama Canal, aka, a legitimate, if unlikely idea

While private vessels can cross the canal, it looks like the cost of doing so runs about $2500, maybe not an issue for the Pines twins by the end of the show, but in addition to this, crossing the Canal requires 4 linemen, who Stan and Ford would have to hire. My instinct says they wouldn't be so interested in this, at first. Maybe Ford's fixation on the Arctic was just an excuse, but given his canonical enthusiasm, I doubt he would want to deviate too far from that course. Likely the Stan twins come back later do the Canal, on their way back to Oregon. Maybe.

Option 2: The Northwest Passage, aka Death

A route through the Arctic has been the dream of many an explorer for centuries. In recent times, mostly due to global warming, the Northwest Passage has become a sliver of a option to get from West to East. Territorial and political disputes aside, it's still a wildly unsafe option, and one I imagine Ford would love to give a go at, considering all the lore surrounding the Franklin Expedition. Stan, however, would vote this down immediately. He'd like for him and his brother to live to see sixty. And not resort to cannibalism. At least not immediately.

Option 3: Setting Off From Jersey, aka, You Can Go Home Again (But Not For Too Long)

Our final option is for the Pines twins to set off on their adventure from the good old East Coast. Aside from the narrative symmetry, it's also the most practical option. This leaves us with some tantalizing loose ends. Do Stan and Ford build their boat in Oregon and then haul it cross-country? (And what a trip that would be). Or would they have it shipped and meet it later? (Realistic, but boring). Or maybe they go back East and build/order/buy the boat there. And by there, I do feel like there's no other place they could go through with this idea than Jersey. Now, they can't go from the major ports (the Port Authority Ports of New York and New Jersey, which are mainly located in Manhattan, Brooklyn, Newark, and...Bayonne). But! There are a bevy of slips and marinas up and down the Jersey coastline, perfect places to build/buy/refurbish a vessel (and a relationship). A place to leave a lifetime of ill-will behind and start anew.

This makes me think about Stan and Ford, back in Jersey after all that time, probably not too far from where they grew up. It would be a wonderful setting to explore some kind of character piece (especially if they go on some of bonkers road trip to get there) and narratively, it just fits too well.

There's no real thesis to this analysis, aside from the idea that Stan and Ford likely began their journey in the exact place they ended it so long ago. As I said, narrative symmetry and all that jazz.

[loststarphounix]

Sucker for Love Date to Die For Tigerghost AU

I have this idea in my head for WEEKS. Rough sketch of the boys at the bottom so you don’t have to sludge through my word vomit for it lol

Danny is an Ascended Eldritch being with the title of many things, but two in particular are intertwined and what his domain is known for: the Black Woods, where death and life bloomed over and over again in overused soil drenched in rot and blood. As a result, he  is a fertility god as well as having Dominion over Ghosts - especially those that fell in his woods.

Despite being a cosmic horror, he is still one of the only two truly benevolent immortals (the second being Jazz, obviously), due to their once human nature. The had been borne from Maddinessa (Maddy) - the goddess of ambition borned from madness- and a simple human man, Jack, who gave his heart to her unprompted and expected nothing in return.

Maddy was so moved by this silly little creature, that she didn’t realize she was in love with him until they had their first child. They were happy for a time, but being so close to a cosmic being as powerful as her, it was inevitable that Jack finally succumbed; trying to kill their son and scaring their eldest daughter before Maddy finally put him down.

In her grief, she forced the author of her own ritual book to pen a ritual to make her children cosmic beings, before killing them and then burned the page after she completed it. Then, she traveled to the farthest part of the galaxy and slept for three hundred millennia.

In her absence, their Uncle Vladmat’sur-Plamuths - or “Vlad Plasmus” for short - took up the mantle as guardian, until both Jazz and Danny broke away from him due to his negative views on mortals and their fleeting lives as well as his obsession with their mother and them by extension.

Jazz, whose name became Jazmi’fen-tòònlų,  the being of Hiding Madness, had gone off to live as a human in her own dreams, seemingly undaunted or uncaring about her true nature and has made a life for herself as a therapist.

Danny, sadly, wasn’t so lucky. He had been so young when he left Vlad and his sister - still so naive and trusting despite having a guarded nature. He interacted with humans and urged by his domain, created life and death and half-life where his roots were planted by his followers. He loved his followers at first, for they had been kind and caring to him, nurturing and loving him as a parent to a child, his duties only to plants and animals.

However, as he got older and his true fertility roles manifested, he became more of a god and symbol of status for all that found themselves to be his lovers. He didn’t have many, but those that did were elevated to his high priest and lead his family. 

He wanted children and his children to have children, until the very earth writhe and overflowed with them. Such was the way of a fertility being. But every time he awoke, the realities crumbled and so would his family. It broke Danny’s heart, and he wished they could stay forever, so that he didn’t have to feel his family torn away from him again.

Then, centuries later, something changed. 

When Johnny 13 and his girlfriend Kitty found his book and performed his rituals, Danny had been amazed. The young man had already been touched by something - a demon of blackness that manifested bad luck for others - and seemed to be the one in charge, despite Kitty performing almost all the rituals by herself.

He had been elated. Danny couldn’t remember the last time humans that were roughly his own age, performing his rituals and summonings so beautifully. Uselessly, it was much older humans. And they were nice! Kitty liked to play with his hair and do it up; Johnny had been very flirtatious and charming. It seemed that Danny had the foundation to create a very strong family.

Until Johnny stole a kiss from Danny while he was distracted during the ritual for Immortality. And Johnny realized what exactly he had done.

Then the torture came; the pain. And when he tried to awaken, he found he couldn’t. Somehow, Johnny 13 and one of the mid level members Santana, found a way to keep him stuck in his dreams, forced to go through violence unending again and again. 

Overtime, his skin grew grey and lifeless, his one black hair the very color of the inky nothingness of the universe, became shocked white and plasma green. His wounds healed and he could not die, but Danny wished he could.

And once the once kind man grew bored of his torment, he sent him away to rot; alone in the dark. A fertility god’s worse nightmare; a place devoid of light, sound and life.

Danny grew bitter over the years and forced himself to not react to his captures when they demanded their desires and wants from him. But despite all this, he could not truly hate humans, for they reminded him of his father and he knew that some of them are capable of great love.

And then, he is summoned to where it started it all: that damn room with the giant ghost ram statue sitting in the center of the room and one of his great trees reaching in from the broken window. Danny had been anticipating seeing his followers with their sickening Stare, that he was shocked to find a simple human man around his age, begging for help from his cult.

——————————————————————————————————

Manny returned to Miracle City to get his family.

The newest weird thing, The Miracle Stare, had run rampant in the streets since he left for California for school. It was said that they targeted people - didn’t matter who or where- and those people were never seen again. And the civilians with the Miracle Stare kept growing in numbers, and escalating to daily attacks on hospitals, schools, courthouses- anywhere that had large populations at a time.

And those that survived were also taken, but were later found with the Stare and an appetite for destruction. It rankled the young hero how he couldn’t help, but his parents assured him that his education and safety were more important and that both Papi and the chief of police had it cover. Doubtful, but Manny let it be and begrudgingly kept his nose in the books while keeping tabs back home.

Then his best friends, Frieda and Django went missing. The chief wasn’t picking up his calls and neither did his dad. That was enough of this waiting bullshit.

Manny said fuck college and flew back from the states to Mexico, where he then drove himself all the way back home, trying and failing to get his papi, mama or grandpapi to answer his calls.

He stops at a gas station just as he gets to city limits and encounters a stranger who, in a hurry, shoves Manny out the way, leaving a book behind. At first, he tries to get their attention, but when he realizes they’re not stopping. He looks at this old leather tome and immediately throws it in his passenger seat. Maybe his grandpapi can sell it for cash - it looked super old.

Just as he turns into main street, he sees a very familiar figure tearing down an alleyway. Frida!

Before he thinks about it, Manny jumps out the car, making sure to grab the book. He takes off after her, the chase ending when she suddenly disappears after they make it to their old middle school.

Upset, he’s about to leave, when some gringa bumps into him and starts making assumptions about burning after her “Johnny”. He sets her straight that he doesn’t know a Johnny, which makes her open her eyes to stare at him in disbelief. 

And she has the damned Miracle Stare.

And she realizes at the same time he does, that he doesn’t. And she immediately calls for backup. People run out from the shadows and the school and neighboring buildings. He’s overrun and Manny transforms into El Tigre to get away. Unfortunately, he’s having trouble shaking them off - they’re relentless in their pursuit of him.

After a long time, he loses them and quickly swings his way back home. When he gets to his window, he finds a giant tree had sprung up from the ground and crashed into his bedroom. A statue of a ram stares at him in a way he feels like it’s actually alive.

He searches the house for his family, but can’t find anything. The only thing that sounds like a good lead, is the bunch of frantic notes his papi had scattered around in his private office. It said something about a book and rituals….hey.

The description sounds like the book he got from that dickface who bumped into him.

Pulling it free from between his belt, he opens it. There’s only one page that’s eligible - the rest was jumbled, incomprehensible words.

Summoning of the Father: Planted Roots

Quick Lat Minute Stuff:

Yes I put Danny in Roxy’s dress, sue me. I gave him I gave him biker shorts it’s fine.

In the beginning, only his hands and feet are still the color of living flesh and as Manny keeps beating the Hundred and helping Danny, his body starts to become alive and vibrant again

his hair is permanently white; the bottom half of his jaw is actually nebula shadows that have gathered and bunched undo his skull.

the ones Manny help to escape the Hundred is Kitty, El Oso and Ember.

also, the great tiger spirit can manifest itself outside of Manny’s body when around Danny due to his Dominion over spirits and being the Ghost King. it give helpful insight at times, as well as warning where the monsters are

Sam and Tucker are either the authors of his book OR his first ever pair and that’s why he see his cult as a family. Up to interpretation.