#but then he reads the prophesy and he is like oh well it is what it is I hope I'm wrong about what it is tho

[angel-thoughts-dump]

Cordy's 'you can't change a person, but you can change fate', VS Wesley's 'a person can change, but you can't change fate' VS Angel's 'if I don't change both I don't deserve to live'

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Hey. Hi. Hello. Today I learned about the existence of 15th century Welsh poet Gwerful Mechain and that she apparently has a surviving work of erotic poems.

Please. For Christmas. For Yule. Please tell me more because I can't read Welsh.

Heh heh. Oh, Gwerful Mechain is the absolute best.

(Quick housekeeping to keep the post manageable - I previously wrote about things like cynghanedd and cywydds and englyns and such here, so check that if you need an explanation.)

What's fun is that we don't know a ton about her, because not a lot got written down about people in her time. Her surviving work covers a 40ish year span at the end of the 1400s to just into the 1500s, but we don't know when she was born or died or anything like that. We know her parents' names? And that she was from Mechain, hence the bardic name. And that she married a guy and had a daughter, something which actually does mark out her body of work as different from her contemporaries; being a wife and mother, she couldn't do the usual bardic role of travelling the country to spread news and play at courts. This means she doesn't have any of the praise poetry that a lot of male bards produced about the lords that hosted them.

But, there's stuff we can piece together about her. For one thing, she was not just literate (not a universal skill for anyone at that point, but especially for women), but she was astonishingly well-read and had what appears to be a classical education, given her poetic references and traditional Welsh meters. For another, her work often had recurring themes of religion, sex, and women's rights, sometimes all at the same time.

At the point Gwerful was active, Welsh bardic culture heavily featured ymrysonau. An ymryson is like... well, I hesitate to say "sort of like a rap battle" after the way everyone and their dog now thinks that's what the Mari Lwyd does, but they were like a cross between a rap battle and the publication war between two rival academics. A bard would write an englyn and publish it in the local parish newsletter. Another bard would see this, and write their own englyn about how stupid the first bard's englyn was, and publish it in the same newsletter. The first bard would see this and retaliate. The second bard would retaliate to that. And on and on it would go, like a printed tennis match for all the parishioners to enjoy, until someone wrote a conclusive verse OR until someone went "Lol, you got me good there" and bowed out with dignity. Sometimes, these things were fucking vicious; but other times, they were just banter between two bards who knew each other and were enjoying the chance to keep their poetic skills in tip top condition.

Now, Gwerful was an active and enthusiastic participant in ymrysonau. We have many examples of her work from these. There are two of particular note that I'll list here, each against a different bard:

Dafydd Llwyd o Fathafarn. Mathafarn and Mechain are not so distant from one another, so no real surprise that these two locked horns a lot, but the impression I always got from their ymrysonau is that they were good mates, actually. These fell into the 'banter' category more often than not. Dafydd was a Welsh Nationalist who was hoping for a Welshman to rise up and throw off the yoke of English oppression, and most of his work is about that, but he turned up the filthy erotic shit for any ymryson with Gwerful because BOY HOWDY was that her specialty. IIRC she did occasionally poke fun at his Welsh Nash leanings, especially his obsession with Mab Darogan (OLD Welsh idea that translates to the Son of Prophesy - the Arthur-style figure that will one day drive out the English overlords), but mostly their ymrysonau were incredibly beautifully-written odes that could be summed up as "Dafydd, my man, my good friend, I mean this sincerely: suck my entire clit".

She often won.

Ieuan Dyfi. God, what a fucking asshole. This one was not banter. Gwerful played for blood with this prick.

We actually would know nothing about Ieuan Dyfi if not for Gwerful Mechain, because it was her poetic response to him that meant his only surviving poems made it to the modern day; that, and the record of him being brought before a church court where he admitted adultery with Anni Goch, a married woman. Oh, and the record of him being brought before the law courts at Liverpool, accused of domestic abuse and gambling? If I remember right?

Two things to know that set the scene for what came next:

One of Gwerful Mechain's surviving poems is an englyn considered to be possibly the oldest extant poem about domestic violence written by a woman: I’w gŵr am ei churo (To the husband who beats her)

Dager drwy goler dy galon - ar osgo I asgwrn dy ddwyfron; Dy lin a dyr, dy law’n don, A’th gleddau i’th goluddion.

There are a lot of translations for this one to try to keep its poeticness, but this one is pretty good:

Through your heart’s lining let there be pressed, slanting down, A dagger to the bone in your chest. Your knee smashed, your hand crushed, may the rest Be gutted by the sword you possessed.

She has others, too, that deal with sexual assault, and something scholars often note about Gwerful is her remarkable knowledge of the law as it pertained to women's issues. So she was not, you see, a woman with a high view of a man accused of domestic violence anyway.

But then Ieuan Dyfi wrote five poems about Anni Goch, the married woman he'd fucked, each more "Wow dude, she said no" than the last, culminating in I Anni Goch; a full cywydd of misogynistic Medieval-incel bullshit about how false and evil women are, which listed all the false and evil women of history including classical and mythological figures.

And. Well. Gwerful had some views.

Her responding cywydd - I ateb Ieuan Dyfi am gywydd Anni Goch - basically blasted the guy back into his own impact crater and disintegrated him. What she did with it, essentially, was to mirror his cywydd. Where he'd gone "Isn't it so true how great men throughout history have always been brought low by women, amirite lads? Here's examples", Gwerful went "Isn't it so true how 'great men' throughout history have behaved appallingly and fucked up through their own actions and then somehow managed to blame women, amirite lads? Here's examples." Where his examples had been historical figures, so were hers. Where his had been classical, so were hers. Where he went Biblical, so did she.

And what's so interesting about that last one is how pointed she was with it - for some reason, in his big list of evil women, Ieuan Dyfi did not go for the most obvious and low-hanging of fruit (no pun intended) - he doesn't cite Eve. In response, Gwerful also sidesteps the most obvious and low hanging of fruit - she doesn't cite Mary. In so doing, she makes it clear that she doesn't even need to.

There is no record of him responding to her. IIRC, there is a record of him doing three years in prison.

But! Outside of all of that, the big thing Gwerful was known for was her erotic poetry. You'll be unsurprised to hear that it wasn't written for shits and giggles - much like today, women of the time were told that most of their value was in their looks, and they had plentiful insecurities about their bodies. Gwerful wrote her erotic stuff to confront those insecurities and shine a light on the issue. There are so many examples of this, but far and away the most famous is definitely Cywydd y Cedor - roughly translated, 'Ode to the Vulva'. Though I have also seen it titled Cywydd y Gont - Ode to the Cunt. It's such a shame that the English language is literally, physically not capable of cynghanedd, because it means unless you learn Welsh you will never understand the beauty and the lyricism of the piece, and how it elevates and undercuts the content at the same time; but it's a joyful, masterful, irreverent work that uses the fancy language male poets were forever dedicating to the rest of a woman's body and applies it squarely to the vulva. In fact it basically opens with "Men are cowards, describe more cunts or gtfo" before launching into its main subject matter. The last line is pro-pubic hair, too, like I really must stress how much Gwerful Mechain would have to offer Tumblr if you could speak Welsh. This is probably her most widely translated piece, though, you can definitely find English versions. Although you can tell how blushing and reticent the translator is - and therefore how sanitised their translation is - by whether they've called it Ode to the Vulva/Cunt, or Ode to the Pubic Hair.

Needless to say, the original is not sanitised.

(Actually, I should also say - this one is also a response piece, probably, but in this case to a bard who lived a century earlier - Dafydd ap Gwilym, the absolutely legendary and uncontested king of Welsh romance poetry. He wrote a poem called Cywydd y Gal - Ode to the Penis. I have only just put two and two together on that.)

As a final note, I should say that my personal favourite Gwerful Mechain poem on this subject, mind, is actually I'w morwyn wrth gachu - to the maiden who is shitting. It's an englyn written in Gwerful's customary high poetic form, but it is what it says - it describes a woman taking a shit, and farting as she does. Beautiful and magical and disgusting and banal, all in one go:

Crwciodd lle dihangodd ei dŵr - ’n grychiast O grochan ei llawdwr; Ei deudwll oedd yn dadwr’, Baw a ddaeth, a bwa o ddŵr

Funnily enough, it's hard to find a good translation for this one lol.

My attempt:

She crouched where her water escaped - creased From the cauldron of her heat; Her two holes were arguing, Shit came, and a bow of water

Eh. It's so bland in English. Honestly, if you could read Welsh...

Anyway, if anyone reading this can read Welsh and wants to read some of Gwerful Mechain's stuff - including some of the pieces she was responding to in the ymrysonau - you can find a load here. Otherwise, I hope you enjoyed!

[roonilwazlib1234]

Many people in this fandom are just not ready to hold Snape responsible for his actions. It's always someone else responsible for Snape's own actions and bad decisions in life. But when it comes to doing something good then Snape is the saint reincarnated.

He was prejudiced against muggleborns and kept using the M word for them? He had to do that to survive in the slytherin house of course.

He used that word on Lily? It was just the heat of the moment. Lily didnt have to overreact!

He lost Lily's friendship? She should have been the bigger person and not ended their friendship on a mere word.

It was more than just that one word, it was the culmination of all his bad words and actions she had been trying to ignore or overlook for the sake of that friendship.

And even if it was just that one word she still would have been well within her right in doing so because how dare he? If my friend used that kind of slur on me, a slur people who wanted me stripped of magic, the people who wanted me dead used, literal terrorists used than I would never even want to see the face of that person in my life again.

And if she is expected to overlook that supposed slip of tongue then why isn’t Snape expected to make efforts to overcome his prejudice for the sake of their friendship? For his supposed love of life? Why isn't he expected to see the error of his ways and not become a deatheater? If you had read the story carefully enough you would know that she gave him a chance to backtrack, but as she said, he didn't even deny that he was gonna join Voldemort. So much for trying to save the friendship!

And oh obviously, he was not responsible for becoming a death eater, that was on the Marauders. If only he wasn't bullied by the evil, devil incarcerated Marauders then he would never have chosen that path. But James and Sirius bullying him is solely their own fault (it totally was their fault in that memory, they were arrogant douchebags alright. Some of us have enough sense not to defend the bad actions of even those characters that we like. That's what makes them our favourite characters, their flaws and the growth they show by overcoming these flaws).

And don't even get me started on the whole prophesy fiasco. The reason some people heroworship him is because he changed sides for Lily. Are you serious? Thats what you got from that scene? He literally condemned an infant to death by delivering that prophesy to Voldemort! Just for a moment forget about all the good and bad of Snape, James and Lily, forget them all for a moment. Focus on this, he delivered the prophesy to Voldemort fully aware that Voldemert is gonna hunt down and kill a new born child. HE DID NOT GIVE A DAMN ABOUT AN INFANT'S LIFE!

The only reason he changed sides was because that was Lily's kid so obviously Lily was in danger too. At least he had the realisation that she was not gonna step aside and let her child die after he made that disgusting request to Voldemort of killing the child and sparing her life, that or well Voldemort is not gonna keep his word. Whatever it was, it was not a sudden change of heart or him seeing the error of his ways, it was just one small human side in him which didn't want Lily to be murdered. Ironically he joined a group which wanted to murder her in the first place.

But yes, he would have been completely fine if Voldemort had chosed to kill Neville, what a great hero! His bit of humanity only woke up when it came to Lily's life. Her small son's life did not matter, after all it will be one less Potter in the world (2 if you count James but we are not talking about him here, I don't expect any care about his life from Snape, he at least is entitled to not give 2 cents about James's life), No matter that she would never be able to get over the grief of seeing her child get murdered in front of her eyes. So as Dumbledore rightfully said "you disgust me"

Now that Potters finally die and Harry comes back to Hogwarts after spending a miserable 10 years with Dursleys, Snape had the gall to hate him, bully him and belittle him in front of everyone every chance he got. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR GETTING THAT BOY ORPHANED YOU STUPID BITTER MANCHILD. You are responsible for getting him hunted down by the greatest dark wizard to ever live, you are responsible for starting a chain of events which made the first 17 years of his life a living hell. And you still hate him because he is James Potter's son? The man you yourself got killed by your master? You hate him for being Lily's son and hence responsible for her getting murdered by Voldemort? Even though its you responsible for getting her killed not that innocent child who did nothing wrong but being born on a specific date.

And even though it is Snape responsible for everything that's wrong in Harry's life, still Harry is supposed to make up to Snape and match his standards? You expect Harry to be the bigger person and make amends with dear professor Snape even though all he ever gets from that teacher is verbal abuse every single time they come face to face. Sorry, if I had a teacher like him who singled me out on the very first day of class and insulted me without any fault of my own just because he hated my dead father(the father who is dead because of said teacher), I would never respect that bullying git in my life. Funny how Harry is expected to show adult behaviour and not the literal adult himself because again it's Harry's fault for not taking the insults quietly and always replying back with sass. It was Harry's fault that Snape hated him because he was a trouble maker who broke school rules, even though that is what saved that whole school from Voldemort multiple times, at the cost of his own life.

Because as I said before, Snape is never responsible for his own actions, its always someone else's fault. Every thing that went wrong in his life was because of James, Sirius, Lily and Harry's doing.

But on the other hand James and Sirius are slandered to bits because of what they did to snape. Even though they grew up, stood by their friends in times of need (becoming animagi for Remus, James welcoming Sirius in his home), joined the Order of the phoenix to fight the evil forces of Voldemort (noting that they really didn't have to if you think about it. Both of them were so called pure blood wizards. They would have been completely fine and even stayed protected and alive without going if they kept quite and never went against Voldemort due to their blood status) but they fought bravely, chose to do the right thing even at the cost of their lives. But still they are the real villains of the story because they hated Snape and attacked him unprovoked in that memory (I'll say again, they were both arrogant douchebags in that scene and Lily rightfully called them bullying toerags, no justification for their behaviour), Still their whole character is assassinated based on their interactions with Snape in school but their triumphs, their bravery and growth is overlooked and glossedover to justify Snape's actions, they are not the Heroes but worse than deatheaters.

I don't know about you, but being a death eater is way worse than being a bully in my book. And your favourite character was both, a deatheater and a bully to literal children, his own students, students he is responsible for.

Do you want to know a character in whose life everything went wrong due to the action of someone else? It's Harry and the responsibility lies with Snape.

But you will still justify all of Snape's actions and wrong choices because obviously Snape is never responsible for his own actions, its always someone else.

You want Snape's good and right actions to be celebrated, yes he was very brave for being a double agent, not many could have achieved that feat. Yes may be he later on overcame his prejudice against muggleborns (I am remembering that scene from Prince's memories in which he asks the portrait not tp use the M word), but a that took years and years of growth but I would acknowledge whenever he does a right thing.

But when in the same memory he shows shock at the revelation that Harry has to die and his whole life's work of Protecting him has been for nothing you moon over his care for Harry. Even though it was still not for Harry. When Dumbledore said that he has grown to care for the boy he was disgusted by the mere notion. It was all for Lily.

As it love for Lily? I don't think so. You don't destroy the life of the person you love. Was it guilt for getting the only person he ever cared a out and who ever cared about him? Yes for sure. At least his guilt made him do the right thing.

But he was not the hero you portrait him to be. He was not evil yes but he did more bad than he ever did good. He was just a darker shade of grey. May be that's what makes his character interesting. But you all are hell bent on making him a saint and putting the blame of his actions and choices on other heroes of the story.

Who do you put the blame of James a d Sirius's wrong actions on? Can't think of anyone? Neither can can I because they themselves hold that blame.

No one else is responsible for our choices, no one but ourselves.

But Snape is always an exception to this rule isn't he?

The double standards are mind-boggling!

[inkdemonapologist]

!!!!!!!!!!! New Cthulhu Season has started!! this time featuring:

The band at our fancy party started playing a song that Sammy INSTANTLY recognised as his own improv, played a year and some change ago from the balcony of a New Orleans hotel to calm his nerves, which really should not be turning up perfectly replicated here and unsettled him so much that he ended up trying to communicate this to Jack in the LEAST CLEAR WAY IMAGINABLE

we got a supernatural partycrasher at the fancy party which means wE GOT PROPHET IN A SUIT!!! FANCY PROPHET FOR JUST A FEW MINUTES!! his previously prophesied warning of what was to come included the phrase "a report that silences the tongue of ythill," which is apparently what this was, and he got SO EXCITED about the appearance of this weird man making people bleed from the eyes that he booted Sammy from the front to take it all in. THE TIME IS FINALLY AT HAND!!!

i also have a lil smattering of out-of-context quotes from session 1 if ur into that sort of thing: here under the cut!

[Sammy is played by me, Joey is played by Boo (inkyvendingmachine), Henry is played by Maf (inkcryptid), Jack is played by Mochi (whatyouwantedmetosee) and Thren (haunted-hijinxer) is our GM!]

[Jack] Aw, there's no snow in the year before, so probably no snowball fights for Christmas, [GM] Well, we can invent our own, that's fine. [Sammy] It's the ONE difference! IDENTICAL TO OUR WORLD, except for on December 25th there was snow, don't worry about it. [GM] And tape recorders! [Sammy] There's tape recorders, and there was snow on December 25th, 1934. [Sammy] AND ALSO CTHULHU IS REAL. But other than that it's exactly the same. [GM] That's it, just those little things. [Henry] A minor detail.

[GM] Another question: Christmas is on a Tuesday, does the Studio get days off? [Joey] In the Cthulhu universe, yes… And It's All Henry's Fault.

[Jack] Anyone who failed their Sanity gain checks in '35 -- it's the anticipation. [Sammy] Yeah, it's just driving you absolutely bonkers that this prophecy still hasn't happened, can it go ahead and get it over with? I hate having this hanging over my head! [Sammy] And if you PASS your sanity check, and gained sanity, it could be that you're just INCREASINGLY IN DENIAL. Like, you know what? Maybe he forgot!

[Jack] Jack's the most likely to keep up with these poor people we keep roping into our nonsense! [Joey] Hey, HEY! [Jack] "Welcome to the group! You're only here for a little bit, but have some trauma! Trauma for you! And trauma for you! BYE"

[Sammy] We're like Absol. We're not CAUSING the trouble, but it IS in our wake, constantly. [Jack] Absol is 100% a modern teenage Joey Drew's fursona. [Joey] ….Yeah…

[Henry] Is it an easier apartment to get to, for Joey, than the one he has? [Joey] That is a really good question. [GM] It has ONE flight of stairs, but it doesn't have ten zillion flights, so I mean, it's better, probably! It DID have an evil ritual in it,

[Jack] *reading the inflation calculator* $1,000 in 1935 is… 22 thousand.. and a half… dollars????? [Joey] GREAT! *claps* STUDIO'S FUNDED! :D [Jack] Joey, no, [Sammy] You can do that with YOUR money, [Joey] I mean, that IS what's going to happen to Joey's money, Joey's just going to immediately dump it into the studio. Grant gets a LOVELY holiday present where suddenly, the numbers are not in the red anymore! [GM] This is how Grant doesn't become the final boss. [Sammy] Is that a present? IS THAT A PRESENT??? Grant looks at the numbers and they're suddenly bigger? WHAT'S HAPPENING [Jack] Sounds like a tax nightmare… he assumes his mind is broken, he's gone delusional, [Sammy] Joey's not thinking about how this affects TAXES he's just like, OH BOY! More money! Grant'll work that out. :) [Joey] Yeah! :D

[Sammy] Oh wow, mistletoe's been around for a while. [Sammy] …I say, as if mistletoe, the plant, is newly invented,

[Jack] We need to even the playing field; Henry's the highest, we need to drag him down to our level!

[GM] Let's say it's just you guys, and Peter and Susie, and Norman took off. [Sammy] Aw, don't wanna stay late? Old man, gotta get to bed? [GM] Maybe not if people are saying THAT at him,

*after finding a major ice rink was not built until 1936* [GM] Well, maybe everyone can do that when they DEFINITELY survive and come out victorious next year! :) [Sammy] ….survive?! Nothing's happened! It's a CHRISTMAS PARTY. [Jack] I HOPE we're surviving the Christmas Party, the food's not THAT bad, is it? [Henry] We solved your Christmas puzzle! [Jack] The Christmas Puzzle is how much food can we trick Joey into eating by handing it to him,

[Jack] Oh no, Spark's gone to… CATCOSA…. !

[Sammy] That's fine, Disney still hasn't caught up with us, so. [Jack] Well they're havin' this whole weird issue with like, ink and cultists, it's a bit weird… bunch of the staff started going missing…? [Sammy] *laughing* The entirety of Bendy and the Ink Machine happens, just OVER THERE. We averted it so now Disney has to do it.

[Henry] I will say, Henry's been a little uneasy all day. This doesn't affect anything, it's just for flavour. [GM] But he is in a really nice suit! [Sammy] Well THAT's why he's uneasy. They had to smooth his hair, and he's in a whole suit, [GM] In a vest that actually fits, [Henry] Unrecognisable. [Jack] Who is this stranger?

[GM] Make spot (hidden) checks! [Jack] *whispering* I hope it's Norman. [GM] Both of you spot a familiar face, before he's able to come accost you -- it's not Norman, it's Denis! [Sammy] oh gosh. [Joey] Well… I don't know if that's better or worse than my initial guess of Avedon,

[GM] He greets you all cheerful-like, "fancy meeting you here!" sort of thing-- [Sammy] Sammy still doesn't shake his hand. [GM] --he knows you as Joseph, doesn't he? [Joey] Oh no…. Joey was trying to hide his name in New Orleans… [Jack] That's fine, it's all about reinvention!

[Sammy] You know how in the Illusion of Living, Wally comes up and Joey randomly starts talking about how he's a great guy and a hard worker, and you're like, we were talking about something else ten seconds ago Joey PLEASE stay focused, [Sammy] Anyway, I'm imagining that but with Peter?

[Sammy] The Studio just had a big release last year, and I just got this really nice car! and *mumbling* those events aren't actually connected, BUT!! Through the power of leaving out the middle bit, you can assume they are!

[GM] Sammy, make a listen check! [Sammy] EXTREME SUCCESS, I rolled a THREE. [GM] Oh cool! Make a sanity check! [Sammy] oh no,,, [Joey] *Mario voice* HERE WE GO!

[Sammy] Sammy is gonna look at Joey, see that Joey is like…. in the midst of a conversational manoeuvre, and go, run try to find Jack. I don't know if he'll GET there, but, [GM] He can at least locate Jack, I would think, unless Jack is in a back room kissing boys or whatnot!

[GM] This guy is wearing a really severe, matte black suit, and has unnaturally white skin, his hair is black and very oiled in a severe widow's peak-- [Jack] It's him! Bendy Inkmachine!! [GM] I'm reading this description RIGHT from the book, I need you to know that.

[GM] The music's also definitely come to a stop, while all this was going on. And then there's a gunshot! And now there's just a big, yknow, panic, like you get! [Jack] Avedon's here! [Sammy] There'd be more French-accented yelling if Avedon were here. [Joey] I like how we're just going to end up willing Avedon into this scenario by making repeated "Avedon's here" jokes, [Jack] I mean, I've been trying to do the same with Norman, but it's either not working, or we haven't rolled Spot high enough to find him yet!

[GM] You guys get interviewed and asked what you saw, and what happened! [Sammy] …hang on, I gotta roll a check. [Sammy] *rolls* … OKAY COOL Sammy's back. [Joey] *laughing* Sammy interview, or Prophet interview? [Sammy] They were going to get a REALLY interesting interview if I rolled better on willpower!

[GM] Do you suppose Joey would've helped Susie shop for a dress that she could conceal a firearm in? [Joey] [Joey] sURE! [Joey] I mean I feel like, "would Joey help Susie shop for a dress," stop the sentence there: absolutely yes. There's other things to consider with dress? Well that just makes it a fun challenge now!

[GM] The police ask you what you saw. What do you tell them, about your experiences this evening? [Sammy] Sammy didn't see a lot. There was some commotion and a gunshot. [Joey] Yeah, I think Joey's just going to report that he just heard commotion happening up front, and quickly decided that he wasn't interested in commotion!

[Henry] Who was it who saw people with bloody eyes? [Sammy] Uh, that was Sammy, he's not mentioning that part.

[Jack] *rolls* Normal success for Jack. [Henry] *rolls* Hard success! [Sammy] *rolls* EXTREME success, I rolled a ten! [Joey] *rolls* …what's the fumble point, again?

[GM, as Denis] "There was a yellow sign at the Mardi Gras party last year! I thought it was a lucky charm, but I guess… it wasn't? I had a friend who said it wasn't, actually. You should watch out for those signs. Yes." [Joey] *so tired* Okay, that's… that's fine… [Henry] "Very helpful, thank you." [Jack] (This guy's great, can we keep him?) [Joey] (NO.)

[Henry] Henry is going to have so much anxiety. Like, just in general, but over this, too. [Sammy] "going to"??? [Henry] *laughing* No, you're right. What I'm learning is that Henry CAN slide into being mostly even-headed about crises, but he has to have a moment of "Oh God, oh fuck, oh geez" first. [GM] I think Peter does that in reverse. [Sammy] Yeah, that makes sense -- Sammy just shoots straight for "OH COOL, WE'RE GOING TO DIE!!!"

[GM] How much do you suppose these boys are up on vernacular and slang? [Henry] Henry might've picked up something from his kids, that's all I've got [Sammy] That's cute… Henry knows what yeet means... [Joey] I WAS ALSO GONNA SAY HENRY KNOWS WHAT YEET MEANS,

[Sammy] I do appreciate Jack being the one to notice that the prophecy might be a pun.

[Sammy] What do we even DO with this? What do we do next… [Joey] *muttering* That's what I've been trying to think of for the last like… half hour, Sammy…! [Joey] This isn't Joey-voice, this is just me-voice. [Jack] Yeah, Joey would never admit weakness in front of Peter Sunstram. [Joey] Yeah. Correct.

[Jack] Well if anyone else wants coffee, Jack might end up makin' some! [Jack] You know, that 11:30 coffee.

[Sammy] "Well, if he plays clarinet, let us know." [GM] Peter tips his head as if he's thinking of looking that up -- not looking it up, looking into it! [Jack] Yeah, just google it, Pete! What are you waiting for! [GM] On his cell phone, [Jack] You gotta pull out your Bendyphone! [Sammy] JDS is responsible for all anachronistic devices.

[Jack] Is It An Insanity Or Is It Just The ADHD

[Joey] Is Joey gonna make stupid decisions…? [Sammy] JOEY,,, [Sammy] Augh, I should've gone with him, [Joey] *rolls* *starts cackling maniacally* [Jack] *deadpan* Oh gee I wonder what the result is, [Joey] *audibly grinning* Joey might try to dream spell… Y? [Sammy] WHAT?! [Henry] Joey what are you doing…. [Sammy] JOEY DREW!!!

[Henry] I roll to see if Henry's "Joey's Doing Something Stupid" senses are tingling [Joey] Yeah, I think it's fair for Henry to have a "Is Joey Doing Something Stupid" sense that goes off fifty percent of the time, [Sammy] It's NOT USEFUL because it's ALWAYS HAPPENING,

[oakbuggy]

Liar, Liar Chapter 4

Recom!Neteyam x female OC

Summary : Tala of the Tawkami gets captured by a familiar face and to both of their misfortune, they are trapped together due to circumstance. They are extremely vexed by this and each other and also very horny.

Warnings: Minors DNI, non-con+dub-con, explicit smut, dirty talk, authority, power struggle, mentions+depictions of blood, minor violence, character death, marking, biting, scenting, ANGST

!! Each chapter will have images throughout the chapter, only the AO3 will have the NSFW-uncensored versions. Please keep this in mind as you read !!

Chapter 4 (NSFW) ~9.8k words

AO3 Link Here!

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Tala unceremoniously woke up in her cell, her body completely sore and wrecked, and no memory of how she got back. She endured hours of self-pitying and Orlek’an’s intense questioning of what happened and if she was okay and yes, the sex was extremely good and she didn’t want to think about it anymore.

Her next sessions in the lab were more bearable, a silver lining of pleasantries was included in each meeting. Patty had also surprisingly apologized and ‘gifted’ the Tawkami with her own starched white lab coat, filled with pockets.

Well, it was less of a gift and more of a ‘all the bites and marks on your body are making us uncomfortable so please wear this piece of clothing’-type offering. Tala did question why not they just look away but she couldn't necessarily blame them, the soldier wasn’t very gentle with his ‘playing’. She had also been spared embarrassment and given a replacement tewng, but this one was so strange. It was a tawtute piece of clothing, underwear that dug into her hips a bit, an ugly grey color. Still, better than the shreds Neteyam had left her with.

Scientists trusted her more and allowed her closer to materials. So much closer that she was able to build up her own collection, including a paralyzing agent to coat Orlek’an’s crude darts and needles with. The pockets were like godsend.

The only one who didn’t trust her any more in the time she’s been here was unsurprisingly and so frustratingly, Corporal Tom.

He dragged her away at careless hours of the day and night since then, to the quiet and somewhat disturbed acceptance of all the scientists and Patty. Every kiss was wounding, every touch was rough, and his steadfast meanness was grating on Tala’s resilience.

And by Eywa, so was his stamina. Any peak she caught of the soldier in the hallways made her scowl. While each step made her wince and tremble, oh no, perfection himself had the swagger of a palulukan prowling their territory. 

He’d come to find her every few or so days, so Tala took these breaks as little gifts from Eywa. Hidden in high corners, hallways, and window corners, she would etch clues of the prophesied danger. ‘Tsefta’ Eywa’ [Eywa’s Revenge], she wrote. Vrrteps could translate it, true, but the People would know it was a warning, a true sign. Even if Tala got caught, the rest would follow in spreading the message, though she obviously hoped this wouldn’t happen. 

A few days passed, it was no worry. The few days stretched into a week and she still hadn’t seen neither boot nor tail of him. Not that she was worried. 

Not that she missed him, Great Mother, she’ll poison herself before she ever admits that.

“Haven’t seen Corporal Tom in a minute, he… alright?” Dr. Hanson said awkwardly as the two of them waited for the droid to bring out the next sample. Tala snorted, how would she know?

Patty knew. “He sick.”

The Tawkami proudly fought the urge to twist her body at a breakneck speed to interrogate the guard but her shoulders did tense. He’s never been sick, and, extreme headaches aside, he was all the makings of a healthy and hardy soldier. 

Dr. Hanson spotted Tala’s pinched focus on the table, so he took pity and asked for her.

“Sick with what?”

Patty shrugged.

“Ramirez spotted him hiding out in his room and the medics are salty ‘cause apparently, that’s just ‘what he does’ instead of going to them.” The guard explained, picking dirt from underneath her nails which only got a scolding from the other scientists. Tala could feel her ears perking up, intrigued, but she kept her mouth shut and her eyes focused on the plant material before her. It wasn’t any of her business, even if she burnt for answers.

Before her was a cluster of hardened plant sap and crystals before her, golden, and still connected to violet tree bark. Previous thoughts of the Corporal were quickly replaced by delight.

“Oh. This is… sweet thing. Honey.” She replied in her simple English, and Dr. Hanson’s previously unreadable expression broke when his eyebrows shot up.

“Honey? So, just edible, no medicinal properties?”

Tala smiled and quickly swiped a tiny crystal to taste, causing the scientists around the table to squawk.

“What are you doing!”

“H-hey!”

“Spit it out!”

Tala let it melt on her tongue, smiling cheekily. “Properties… makes other medicine easier to eat.” She said with a giggle and pushed the cluster towards the tawtutes. They eyed each other before shaking their heads, deciding to input their observations instead. She shrugged, savoring the sweet, tart, taste, the flavor like a melody on her taste buds. It’s been so long since she’s really tasted anything besides those miserable dry bricks of vitamins. As she licked her fingers clean she remembered something.

He liked honey when they were younger, didn’t he?

Tala blew some dark strands out of her face, eyelashes fluttering like a tizzy and she paused. Her green eyes snapped up to see Dr. Hanson’s extremely observant and bespectacled brown ones.

She felt her cheeks heat up, Great Mother, how affection-starved was she to consider Neteyam’s continued absence discomforting? 

She blinked twice before smiling, pointing her ears down as if bashful. “You’re staring very hard, it embarrasses me.” She teased and puffed up internally when he sputtered.

Dr. Hanson sheepishly looked down and with a glance around the room, pushed the honey cluster towards her. 

“You can have it.”

“Really?”

“Well, I think honey’s a small price to pay for saving my life.”He said with a small smile. He straightened up nervously but Tala delightedly leaned across the table close to his face. She blinked prettily at him and smiled, her nose almost touching the glass of his exo-pack. 

“I think you just like me!” She said delightedly and carefully placed the little cluster in her pockets, licking her fingers. When the tawtute’s face flushed, Tala smiled to herself. She was far more used to this sort of reaction. Not Corporal Tom’s indifference tinged in distaste.

She grimaced suddenly when the sweetness on her fingers made her feel so terribly homesick. 

She missed her medical alcove, the crunch of grass as she walked, and the smell of everything in the air. She didn’t miss the raids, nor the trepidation she felt every time she awaited her friends to return from their own missions.

But now because of one single prick, she was forced into a new normal. Tala was sure he saw it as Eywa’s strange sense of humor that he was burdened to come find her for his aching head. Both the one on his shoulders and the one between his legs. 

The mark on her neck stayed ever deep and ever sore. And yet despite the evidence of his outright obsession, which Tala felt like she was running in circles in making him admit, his bruising indifference was prevailing. The tranquil seed in her back fangs didn’t feel like enough to get back at him for, not by a long shot.

The mechanical doors whirred open and already her mouth poised to snark at the corporal for his absence, but the face she saw was much uglier than she was expecting. Corporal Halloway smiled broadly, to her chagrin, and noisily stomped into the lab, arms wide open.

“Hey there eggheads, and Private!” Corporal Halloway walked into the room with the confidence of a man who was not sporting a healing black eye. The disgust replaced shock when he grabbed her chin, making her hiss.

“Aw, hey to you too, sweetheart. Still mad?” He asked with mocking kindness. A hazmat-suited scientist guffawed from the corner.

“Your black eye looks like it’s healing well.” They said in the back smugly. The corporal flipped them off and fingered through Tala’s braids roughly until he found her kuru and pulled it harshly to get her feet. She shouted from the pain and her legs bumped painfully against the side of the table.

“Not feelin’ like talking to the eggheads today. How about you and I get some privacy?” Corporal Halloway said heatedly, eyes dangerously gleaming. She grimaced and the rest rose to their feet as well.

“You can’t-“

“We’re in the middle of-!”

“Hey-!”

The corporal leaned over Dr. Hanson in a way that made the scientist step back and strain his neck. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to and even Patty was shifting her eyes in apology.

After a few seconds of tense silence, he suddenly laughed.

“Thought so,” Halloway said and quickly dragged Tala out of Lab 12. In the narrow halls, he dug his dirty nails into her hip.

“Hurts.” She tried to say without hissing but her revulsion peaked through too obviously. His loud boot stomps echoed along the floor, her own feet skidding along. He had dragged her out so quickly that thankfully her inhibitor cuffs were still unlinked, but who knew how long that would last?

“You don’t seem to mind when it’s the big blue boy scout doin’ the hurtin’.”

Her nose scrunched up. Maybe her reaction was a touch dramatic because the Recom barked a laugh loud and hard, so pleased.

“What, you don’t like him either? That’s a shame, I think you’re his favorite.” His eyes looked strange when he said that last word. Tala didn’t like that, didn’t like him, for some reason, she felt like something more dire than a disappointing fuck was awaiting her and her mouth felt dry. His gaze right after he kicked her to the floor was so… intense. Scary.

The sour aftertaste of honey stuck to her tongue.

Corporal Halloway nearly dislocated her arm when they made a turn into an unfamiliar set of hallways. While Tala appreciated the new addition to her mental map of the facility, the pit in her stomach grew. Just weeks ago she was fine with Halloway’s advances, but now he seemed even more disgusting an option. His already awfully-stale smell was mixed with blood and gunpowder, smoke. He had returned recently from battle.

Tala’s green eyes worriedly darted around, the empty metal passages, the corporal’s face that towered over her with an unsettlingly friendly smile, and his gun still holstered on his harness. She had forgotten that despite his harshness, ill-treatment, and manhandling, Corporal Tom never acted with an intent to kill her, not really. Corporal Tom cursed and used her, but he was at least reliant on her, even if he hated it.

Tala avoided making any further eye contact with Halloway. She knew that looking into them would only set off more dread.

–

Neteyam could smell her before he could hear her and at first he thought those whiffs of honey and rose were only his delusion.

His body was sore, his bedsheets were covered in his sweat and he huffed, vexed at the thought of her.

A simple mission turned out to have much more annoying consequences than Neteyam had expected. It was a simple raze and redevelop; Raze the ground and redevelop for more RDA bases. More Bridgeheads.

The roads were developed but on this side of the moon, barely inhabited. Most fled, the few warriors the na’vi were more focused on evacuating the many young they traveled with, which the Omaticayan thought was so outrageously reckless of them. How could one think to travel with so many helpless clan members in the open? How could they let themselves be targeted like that?

Neteyam’s scope remained fixed on grown warriors, knives and bows in their calloused hands. Halloway’s accursed chuckles from his throat comm about ‘easy pickings’ made his jaw tense. 

But his headaches and mind soothed with each shot he, as a soldier, took. Perfect, accurate.

The battle was barely worthy to be called such. His migraine returned to manageable levels, his supplies were hardly dented and when Quaritch recalled the team to the center of the field Neteyam saw no movement.

The arrow shot at Neteyam’s clavicle was surprising, to say the least. He had seen the half-dead na’vi on the ground, her arm still in the air, and the both of them dropped onto the grass to bleed out.

Visceral shadows of sensation coursed through his body as he bled out, it prickled muscle memories that he didn’t know where from. Had he bled out before? His scars felt like they glowed red-hot but he had enough sense to apply emergency care and pressure to staunch the bleeding.

“Tom down, requesting extraction.” He hissed into his throat-comm and he knew he was conscious as another squad member arrived and dragged him back to the helicopters. He knew he was awake when the Colonel asked for his condition, of which he answered positively, and Halloway painfully clapped his hand on his back like a dickhead.

And maybe Neteyam was awake when Quaritch then told him to report to medbay and Neteyam instead went back to the darkness of his private quarters, deciding he’d rather hunker down and tend to himself. He had made his own collection of RDA medical supplies inside his room, increasingly avoiding any medical staff if he could.

He didn’t know why he did. He just never wanted them to touch him, never to set him inside one of those chambers.

Neteyam, still in bed, looked down at the haphazard bandages awkwardly applied around himself to cover his clavicle and the dried blood on his mattress. Ah, yes. After he got shot, he developed a fever and continued to seclude himself.

He groaned when he realized he could still catch her scent, still provoking him and perplexing him. It must have been days, how did she always manage to worm her way into his thoughts? She confounded him, which was precisely why he avoided seeing her. Neteyam needed actual strength every time he saw her, or else he’d end up falling for her cloying words or stabbing her dead, it was for both their sakes really. He kept her distant even despite their intimate closeness, kept her screaming with his fingers instead of letting her poke her away around his mind with careful touches. He kept her shut up with kisses that made them both taste blood because even if he couldn’t stand her, his feet would take him to Lab 12 and back in the sights of her infuriatingly pretty green eyes.

Damn her. And damn Eywa, for making him reliant on her, he could feel the veins on his forehead pulse and it felt like gunshots were hammering away in his head. He was fine before he found her.

Halloway’s barking laughter was so loud Neteyam could hear it through his door and thankfully he harbored absolutely no goodwill towards that irritating person. He regarded his fellow Corporal with the barest respect, he was more cruel than he had to be on the battlefield. It bristled against Neteyam’s previous warrior sensibilities, he would definitely have considered Halloway dishonorable.

Neteyam shot up in his bed as the pieces of his mind finally clicked together. Halloway and Tala?

The soldier walked to his door with minor difficulty and it hummed fully open. There was Halloway, lecherously draped around Tala, leading her through the soldiers’ living quarters. Her tail was swishing anxiously.

Neteyam glowered when the two of them turned towards him but all he was focused on was Halloway’s hand squeezing her ass through her lab coat.

Her fucking pert, round ass he’d watched bounce on him just a week before-fuck. His nose wrinkled, he didn’t feel like sharing.

“Get over here.” Neteyam’s voice rumbled through his chest dangerously low, not acknowledging his fellow squad member. Tala blinked her stupid pretty eyes and she cautiously leaned her weight forward, toward Neteyam. The soldier above her kept her still.

“Hey sunshine, you finally awake? How you feeling, big guy?” Corporal Halloway greeted him, friendly, but when he adjusted his grip on Tala to kiss into her hair she could feel the temperature drop as Neteyam’s pupils turned to pinpricks

“Fine. How’s your eye?” The snark in Neteyam’s voice felt too personal and the way Halloway’s pulse quickened made Tala immediately look back up his face, the black eye. He did that?

“Cute. I’m gonna go get my dick wet now, you can have her when I’m done. But, uh, I wouldn’t wait.” The Recom said dryly, winking, and began dragging Tala back to their original destination. Neteyam’s growl was enough to get everyone to freeze and Halloway faced him again, she could see Neteyam’s knuckles turn white.

The Tawkami na’vi thought quickly, a second option had become available to her and though she loathed to admit, Neteyam was by far more attractive. As an option.

She discreetly rolled the thinnest of Orlek’an’s crude darts at the bottom of her lab pockets with her thumb and finger. The Anurai woman had taught her some new tricks and Tala’s tongue ran over the tranquil seed still tucked securely in her back fangs, another option if things went awry.

She could do this.

Tala pressed herself firmly onto Halloway’s arm and let him feel the contours of her body through her closed lab coat. Both soldiers’ ears perked up, alarmed. She fluttered her eyelashes up at Halloway coquettishly while ignoring the holes she felt burning on the side of her head.

“Can we go already~?” She whispered with a small whine, and Neteyam could feel his fever spreading tenfold down his fucking bloodstream what the fuc-

Halloway’s eyebrows shot up and the wolfish grin on his face was so immense Neteyam considered kicking his teeth in. Halloway turned to him, dramatically shrugging.

“You heard the little lady.” He said before picking Tala up, she tried to hide her yelp as a squeal of delight. When her eyes caught Neteyam’s unreadable yet simultaneously rageful expression Tala tilted her head and smiled innocently, her tail flicking lazily behind her.

He looked so stupid, what was he all angry for? Adorable.

The Omaticayan was losing his mind, his scowl was deep and he huffed when Tala smiled. When the door shut, he bruisingly hit the side of his fist against the wall. Yomioang [chalice plant], he couldn’t have picked a better plant for her, she seemed all too fine with ensnaring whoever she could with her nectar and it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Neteyam felt all too much like the stupid boy he’d acted around Tala when they had first met as children. Pretty flowers, sweet scents, he wanted to murder something.

Tala wondered if she had gone too far, seeing the way the male na’vi’s back muscles flexed, tight. His hair had whipped away from her so dramatically. But her attention was demanded when Halloway punched in the code for his private quarters and nearly threw her in his bed.

The smell overwhelmed her, and so did he as he immediately ripped her coat open, groaning at the sight of her in this grey underwear. He grabbed at her hips and pawed at her breasts, and Tala obliged despite feeling her skin crawl.

“Finally got you all to myself. Come here, sweetheart…�� *He breathed into her darker blue skin as she held the crude needle in her palm. She sighed breathily and arched her back to wrap her arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

Halloway started to laugh. “Don’t worry I’m not going anywhe-ERK!” Halloway’s body nearly suffocated her as it fell on her diaphragm, heavy as a rock. She quickly pulled out the needle from the space near his adam’s apple, just as Orlek’an had taught her. A new trick, just to cause a fainting spell.

Tala blew more dark strands of hair away from her face as she poked him hard a few times and checked if he was still breathing. He was out cold and Tala nodded to herself, impressed. She would need to ask the Anurai woman to teach her more, though she did also offer a quick prayer to Eywa that she hadn’t just killed him.

After some major effort, Tala rolled the soldier off of her, bit into his skin here and there despite the revulsed reaction it brought to her tongue, and scampered quietly to Neteyam’s door.

She knocked. Nothing. She knocked again, louder.

A crack opened and even from the tiny space, Tala could confirm what she thought she had smelled earlier: dry blood.

She could see Neteyam's bright golden irises blaze at her through the crack and she beamed at him.

“Missed me?”

The door quickly shut and she made the brilliant decision of letting Neteyam nearly break her toes as she tried to stop it. She bit her lips and hissed in pain. Neteyam smiled, almost amused.

“Ow!! Really?” She whisper-shouted to him, feeling extremely vulnerable out in the bright hallways of Bridgehead.

“What did you do to him?” Neteyam asked, eyes flicking to Halloway’s door. Tala rolled her eyes. “He’s fine, he’s just taking a little nap.” She grumbled and attempted to get further inside by squeezing her arm in now, the door digging painfully into her tit as she tried to force her way through.

“You told me to get over here, didn’t you? I had to think of something.” She huffed.

“You looked like you were enjoying yourself.”  He kept his hand firmly against the door, though her efforts amused him. He kept enjoying the view of her breast squeezed, her lab coat now open, he let his eyes rake through her exposed figure.

“Toys have to look like they want to play if they want to survive, adorable warrior.” The tease in her voice died when Tala’s nose scrunched, the smell of sickness apparent on him. “Let me in, you’re hurt.”

Neteyam quirked his brow but relented, not wanting the two of them to get caught by anyone.

Tala entered and immediately re-examined him. His striped body was covered in a light sheen of sweat and pale, She noted a mass, of bandages she assumed, protruding from underneath his black, tight shirt, around his right-side clavicle. When her hands reached out he pushed it away.

“Show me your pockets.”

“What?” Tala’s ears folded back. Neteyam raised his brows as if his request was predictable and she was the one being unreasonable.

“How did you ‘make him sleep’, Tala?” He said, a slight growl to emphasize his soberness.

Tala made a face. This wasn’t cute.

“How do I make you sleep, Neteyam?” She replied, a challenging swish in her tail. She crossed her arms, they stared at each other in silence, his mouth was set in a hard line.

They stared.

Neteyam lurched forward and dug his hand into her pockets himself.

“You-!”

He pulled back only to reveal fingers covered in sticky and spiky clusters of honey. Tala’s heart had jumped out of her chest for a moment there but his fingers were mercifully too big to sense the tiny needles still deep inside. She made a very good show of her innocence with sass.

“Yes! I poisoned the poor corporal with honey, best be careful. This yomioang is just full of tricks.”  The Tawkami woman said tartly as he stared down, still confused about what the heck was on his hand. He hadn’t seen honey since he had left the forest with his family.

“Why do you have this?” His voice was more full of wonder than she had expected.

“The scientists. They-“

“They?”

“Dr. Hanson just gave me some as a thank you. That’s it.” Tala looked up at him through her eyelashes. “And I didn’t hurt the corporal or poison the honey if that’s what you’re going to ask next.”

Neteyam pursed his lips, it was. Tala sighed and stepped forward and he was damned to admit that the gentle air of her perfume did make him feel better.

“If I wanted to hurt him I wouldn’t have come back to you now.” She cautioned another step forward and she delicately picked out the sticky sweet crystals from Neteyam’s hand. He froze, eyes warning as the veins on his neck pronounced itself. She was close enough for him to count the tanhi on her face and now the real sweet thick substance was setting his nerves on fire.

“I promise, I won’t hurt you. You know I know how to help, let me help you. If I’ll heal the vrrteps, I’ll heal you. Please.” Tala said again, her green eyes gazing straight at his, she noted how the golden syrup reflected against his eyes. She used to think he was sweet. For that, she couldn’t ignore how his mottled blood-stained stank, how the sick clung to his skin and his breath was short.

Neteyam’s eyes softened a percentage under Tala’s determination. The plea in her voice seemed sincere to him.

He sighed and kept his eyes on her, suspicious. She frowned, about to give up and her fingers started to leave his skin. 

The soldier sighed again, tugged off his shirt, and sat on the edge of his bed.

Tala let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding as she quickly looked around the windowless room, closed off and the only comfort it possessed was that it smelled like him and the forest. Pine, sunlilies, and, somehow, sunlight.

She picked out what she needed from the available medical supplies and sat down delicately next to him, barely disturbing the wrinkles.

The bandages were decent, but they were old, Tala worked quickly. He hissed when she cleaned the wound.

Tala pushed the small cluster of honey she had recollected from his hand into his mouth as if she were comforting a child.

“Tawtute medicine stings, you’ve always known that. Just enjoy this.” Tala said, a small smile quirked on her lips as she foresaw the scowl begin to sink into the wrinkle of his mouth.

He definitely didn’t appreciate it but kept stoic as he let the honey roll around on his tongue. Sweet, his eyes flickered to the navi in front of him. The scene felt so… familiar, despite his best efforts to resist 

The Tawkami alchemist finished and quietly touched his exposed forehead. The fever wasn’t too strong, he had sweated out the majority of it and Tala had spotted some pill bottles earlier. She wished she had her usual ingredients, the Tawkami medicine and recipes that could heal him faster.

“How did this happen?”

“Do you really want to know?” Neteyam mumbled though he did admire her handiwork as he looked down.

It wasn’t from uncooperation that he asked this, Tala knew. She paused if she really did want to know. What was a messy scar and a fever for this solder was likely something much more permanent for whoever did this to him, it made her chew the inside of her cheek. The tranquil seed was still always an option.

“Why didn’t the vrrteps heal you? Your wound shouldn’t have gotten infected.” She switched her question.

“I told you I don’t like the scientists.” Neteyam thought her change in topic was prudent.

She nodded and he realized she still didn’t understand.

“I’d rather tend to myself, I know how to and I don’t need them to run their… tests on me. Keep me under observation for something as small as this.”

Curiosity flashed in Tala’s eyes and Neteyam mentally decided he’d only humor her for as long as this small ball of honey in his mouth lasted.

“Do they do that often? Keep you under observation?”

“They brought me back from the dead, Tala. Of course.”

“What do they do?”

“They check my vitals, lay me inside one of their bio-lab chambers.”

“And what else?”

The ball of honey was melting fast.

“I’m unconscious when I’m in the chamber.”

“But does it… hurt? When you wake up?”

Neteyam didn’t feel like answering, so he sucked until the honey disappeared completely on his tongue.

“Thank you for tending to me, Tala. I’ll call a guard to escort you back.” He was not surprised from the severely offended look on Tala’s face.

For she didn’t appreciate the clipped ‘thank you, get out’ from Neteyam’s mouth. Tala kneeled up to tower over him, letting the unbuttoned lab coat fall off her shoulders as she placed her hand on her hips.

The soldier would hurl himself off a cliff before confessing that his eyes strained not to stare at that deliciously thin, tiny, piece of grey cloth that covered her cunt. She looked too good in it, no loincloth to cover the supple fold of her flesh, her thighs and pelvis meeting- focus.

“You didn’t answer my question.” She said.

“I’ve answered enough.”

“You didn’t answer an important one.” Tala was slowly realizing she should not have missed him as much as she did in his absence. She sighed, and Neteyam took minor offense to being treated as if he was the source of her vexation.

“I’m just… Of course, I’ll leave, you need to rest.” She figured she wasn’t going to get any more information and a larger part of her was scolding her for trying in the first place. This skxawng wasn’t worth the effort, she had done her duty as a healer and alchemist. This was enough.

Neteyam stilled his movements, taken aback at her so quickly giving up. He regarded her suspiciously and sighed. He lets the wrist tech fall to the floor.

“You drop-” Tala was about to be very helpful and reach down to retrieve it until Neteyam suddenly grabbed her by her waist and pulled her down with him, letting his back fall onto the mattress.

“Neteyam! Your wound!” She yelped.

“Just be quiet.”

Tala looked at him in complete disbelief, Neteyam kept his eyes trained on the ceiling since he didn’t need to look at her to already know what her expression was like. She was stunned, to say the least, but Tala was also minding the feeling of her body pressed onto his bare chest. This felt the closest thing to tender between them.

She decided being a little selfish for the comfort wouldn’t be the end of the world.

Instead of asking more questions, which the soldier was preparing himself mentally for, Tala surprised him by simply sighing and settling in, tracing the stripes on his chest. Her fingertips danced lazily on the skin, careful over his old gunshot wound on his left pec. Whatever, looks like she was stuck here.

Now Neteyam knew he was still delirious from his fever when he found himself not stopping her. When he found her soft curves like a blanket on top of him and her careful touch endearing. This was why he needed strength every time he saw her, already he was letting her entrap him like a small animal, attracted to her warmth and smell. He had to remember that even wasps also settled within her, waiting to attack him on all fronts.

His tail thumped softly against the side of the bed, agitated. Tala noticed but stayed quiet. She reminded herself that every show of embarrassment was because his ego was crying, not because he considered her capable of affecting him.

“Why do you help me?” When Neteyam asked it he wondered to himself why he was so eager to get eaten and stung.

Tala could feel the bass of his voice tremor through her and she raised her face to look at him.

“A healer doesn’t need a reason to heal, remember?” Tala replied softly, simply, she rested her cheek on her arm. In the end, this was what she believed in, even if her wartime experience told her this was reckless.

The Omaticayan was not expecting to be so unscathed.

“Mm.” He hummed.

“Did you give Halloway that black eye?”

There it was, the first sting. Neteyam shrugged and then winced. Tala was immediately amused and scooted closer to his face, grinning.

“How come?” She asked, beginning to sound all too excited.

“… You were unfairly punished, remember?” His heart didn’t know whether to feel lighter or heavier when she giggled.

“You got revenge for me before I even asked!” Tala was smiling, wasn’t this a treat? Did this skxawng actually have the capacity to be charitable? “How come you didn’t tell me?”

It was when it dropped that he realized he was smiling at all. He trained his eyes back on the bare ceiling. He remembered when he used to ache to see stars.

“What would you have done if I did?”

“I probably would’ve kissed you.”

He furrowed his brows at her, unimpressed. Tala scoffed and laughed again.

“A real kiss. Not that bloody mauling you make us do with our lips.”

Now that offended him, Neteyam propped himself up by his elbows.

“I don’t ever hear you complainin-”

Tala pressed her lips so completely softly against his, it should’ve been so easy for him to shove her off. 

Yet his voice broke off instantly and her eyelashes brushed against his cheek. Her eyes were mercifully closed so she couldn’t see the war his ears flushed red.

Another sting.

“You taste like honey,” Tala said, smiling into the kiss. She didn’t have any real reason why she was doing this. Maybe she wanted to prove herself wrong. Maybe she wanted to check really how little Neteyam cared for her… and how much.

His body felt hot, Great fucking Mother why was she so… It was embarrassing how quickly he was getting enraptured by her whims. She always did whatever she wanted, he hadn’t seen that as something attractive before.

The Tawkami pulled her face back and so embarrassingly his own chased after hers until she put his hand over his mouth.

“See? A real kiss.”

Neteyam dumbly nodded and only when Tala ever so softly giggled did he regain some sense. He scoffed and quickly turned the both of them to properly lay in his bed, pulling the covers over them.

He settled his face into her soft breasts, the only thing that he felt hadn’t betrayed or embarrassed him that day.

“Excuse me??” Tala squeaked, amused though.

“Shu’up. Tired.” His voice was muffled into the fat of her breasts but Tala basically understood. She chortled, was this fondness she was feeling? His resistance towards her was bordering so much closer to adorable than to infuriating just then, the flashes of his old self were… bring up warm reminders. Of when he was much nicer and much funner to be around, much kinder.

Tala settled in, supposing correctly she wouldn’t be let go any time soon. Her hands softly patted his back as they laid there.

“Fine, I’ll leave you be since you’re hurt.” She said in her magnanimous good grace. She decided to also ignore Neteyam snorting between her breasts. 

Silence returned and Tala considered speaking of something of much more substance, of importance. Like the war, his family, but the words stuck in her throat. They were virtually strangers. Even strangers in war could share intimacy like this if they were desperate and tired enough.

The thought made playing with Neteyam’s unadorned braids of hair feel… invasive. She stopped.

They were just starved for warmth, that was all. Neteyam felt lucky that he was drowsy now. Like Tala, there was too much he didn’t want to think about, no intention to release it all.

Both kept silently awake for hours before drifting into slumber.

—

Neteyam’s face was lit by stinging sparks of fire and magma.

It was hot, so hot he could barely breathe. He looked around, coughing, and there he saw the slender back of someone who looked too eerily familiar. He groaned internally, he had always hated Eywa’s ability to send visions in dreams, did he really have no place for solace?

“Mother.”

Neytiri turned, her amber eyes wide and blazing as she looked at her son with a face of anguish. She ran towards him, through plumes of burning stone.

“Maitan [my son]!”

Neteyam grimaced as his mother’s arms encircled him, her grip tight and pleading. She was shaking, he could see how aged the skin on her hands had become, her smell of daffodils.

He saw his songcord hanging on her hips and he felt as if the splatters of fire were less painful a sensation than seeing that.

Neytiri stepped back to look at her firstborn, miracles and blessings on her tongue. Her fingers wandered along his face, his scars, the one on his forehead was hidden from her however.

Her reverie was cut short when she truly looked at the RDA vrrtep uniform he was fully clothed in

“You are alive.” Her voice trembled regardless, too much pain and happiness bubbled up to the surface as the lines of her conflicted smile deepened, she was trying not to sob.

“Mother.” Neteyam couldn’t help but want to be kind. He had often daydreamed of how such reunions would go. He had calculated soon enough his mother would see him, as he is now. He knew she would know she’d have to kill him and how she would want to refuse to. He counted on it.

“M-my son, how could you think like this?” His mother’s voice broke at the question, somehow everything the two were thinking was so plain to them here.

Their ears flicked at the roars of fire and heaviness settled.

“If the People give up Jake Sully, I won’t have to.” Neteyam said and he could feel his mother start to draw blood. Nothing, it felt like barely anything.

“What is this poison, Neteyam? What have they done to you, maitan?” Neytiri nearly shouted, her own songcord swinging as her whole body shook in anger, imitating the volcanoes around them. “I will kill them, I will avenge you-“

Jake Sully first. He alone should be the only casualty, Neteyam knew that, all of Eywa'eveng knew that. But even in his clearheadedness, not at all shrouded in migraine, he could feel his scars emanate a heat hotter than fire. Nothing to hide behind, resentment filled up so much of his core.

His head and his heart wanted revenge. It wasn’t even his fault, none of theirs, Neteyam knew so logically.

“Bro…?”

He turned his head so quickly his plain braids whipped to see a na’vi too familiar to him. Five fingers, eyebrows, face and limbs inked with dark tattoos, and taller. He walked towards them, somehow feet not burning and the heat made his visage blurry but not his emotions.

“Lo’ak…” it was their mother, Neytiri called out to him in warning. The son in front of her, she would not dare take her eyes off of him now.

Not when the inferno reflected in Neteyam’s eyes was overflowing, his jaw tightened, if his nails were longer he’d long be drawing blood into his palms.

“You do not want this.” Neytiri’s voice rose as Lo’ak approached them, his lips parted. Wonder, horror?

Guilt.

“Bro-, Neteyam. Neteyam I’m so sorry-“ Lo’ak wanted to believe it was because of the way even the air sizzled that he found it harder to breathe, not because of his… did he have the right to call him a brother?

“First, Dad. Because we shouldn’t even exist and you know it.” Neteyam’s voice was eerie and he stepped closer to his younger sibling, it made Lo’ak’s feet falter and Neytiri’s throat bubbled up with panic.

“What- What are you talking about-?”

“There was something Quaritch told me since the time I’ve come back.” Neteyam spat at the words ‘come back’ as if he had any choice in the matter. Neytiri followed as her sons came closer and closer to each other, no one backing down. The lava was following the steps of each warrior.

“Something about the ‘sins of the father’ to be paid by his children.”

Lo’ak kept his gaze steady, his hands twitched at the threat. Neteyam didn’t have a clue what his face was like now, but he could feel it through Lo’ak. Monster, freak, he supposed it was unsurprising. 

A son that was supposed to be dead.

Both sons of a traitor.

Neteyam stopped a meter away from the younger. Their heights seemed even, Lo’ak’s warrior garb and belly band looked similar to the one he had had. He wanted to laugh, was that a tribute to him?

Lo’ak’s ears turned down, jaw set.

“Do you really think that’s fair, baby brother?” His voice was too calm.

“Neteyam, stop this, they have poisoned you against your own family, your people! Please, just come home maitan-“

Lo’ak heard the mistake in his mother’s plea too late.

“Home? Like when I asked to come back home when I died?” His fury was overwhelming, Neteyam was seeing things he did not recognize. He was shot in the head, when had he the time to tell them? What was this dark view of the stars, faces of loved ones looking down on him, where was this from?

The other two sensed the confusion, only making their own burst through.

“Neteyam, please, just listen to us-“

“Maitan, it will be okay! Your-your father has barely slept since you-“

“Why should the People continue to suffer for his actions? Jake Sully already doomed this place-!”

“Dad doomed this place? Are you out of your fucking mind?” Lo’ak’s tone turned grave with this outburst and he ventured closer to his brother despite Neytiri’s protests.

“You’ve got to fucking joking. You’re actually on the side of the people that ruined our lives, destroyed our homes, killed everyone, killed you, mom’s family-?!” They were growling at each other now, Neteyam no longer had the significant height advantage he was used to. Their fangs gleamed red in the dream, as if already bloodied, he always hated Lo’ak’s were sharper but he was confident it wouldn’t help that much.

Both were suddenly aware that in their respective war costumes, both had knives strapped to their bodies.

“No!” Neytiri sobbed with a pain that both brothers knew they’d never forget. She reached for her own, to protect, to defend, Neteyam’s gloved fingers wrapped around the handle of his black combat knife, and Lo’ak’s citrine eyes begged for peace as his hand reached for his carved hunting knife.

Neteyam recognized that knife. He gave it to him, a present for Lo’ak’s iknimiya, recently sharpened. Neytiri’s knife hung with a feather he had gifted to her as a child.

Neteyam now truly knew Eywa was cruel.

-----

“Neteyam!!”

The soldier gasped and immediately hurled his body forward to break the bones of whoever was in front of him.

Tala choked and she placed her hands on his face.

“Breathe, Neteyam.”

One blink and he could see the cool-toned blues and greens of dull and dark silver walls in shadow. Bridgehead. His room.

Inferno-yellow eyes met cooling leaf hues. Green, green eyes, Tala.

The breath he let out was shuddering and violent, he immediately crumpled tightly around her and Tala found herself now trying to hold the soldier up with wrinkled, damp blankets.

“I’m sorry, shit, I’m sorry…” he gasped out quickly, his entire body felt so fucking cold now, it hurt. Tala blinked owlishly but her sleepy state focused on comforting him.

“It was a dream, just a dream. You’re okay, you’re okay.” She whispered soothingly, she rubbed his back. They were sitting up in the middle of his bed now, though Neteyam was still hunched over and breathing hard to regain himself. She felt his calloused hands dug into her body as if tattooing her stripes into his palms…

“It’s your fever, you’re sweating, you’ll warm up in a bit.” Tala continued and her voice stayed calming and even. She couldn’t do much else when Neteyam’s remedy to whatever he had seen in his sleep was to bury their bodies impossibly closer together. The soldier hadn’t meant to hurt her. 

He pushed his face into her softness, desperate for real warmth, not the clammy fabric of the blanket.

“Li’Tala…” Tala jerked her entire body away, stunned. He didn’t know why he said it, her full name, one that he knew-

“Don’t call me that, Neteyam.” She said, her firm voice edged on icy.

“Only my mate is allowed to call me ‘Li’Tala’ so I don’t want to hear my name out of your mouth again, you!”

“Oh, and I’m sure your mate will be crying tears of gratitude for finally becoming worthy of it, of you, beautiful Li’Tala.”

Their second meeting as young adults was not… frictionless. But as childish as it was, Tala never wavered in this little dream of hers. Who cared that it was immature, she didn’t allow exceptions, even though the Omaticayan prince bristled hard when not given one.

Neteyam always remembered this of her, yet her insistence and denial of him now made his body feel that much more frozen-numb.

He chased after her skin and stuck his tongue out to taste its natural salt, reminding him of the first time they had reunited. Her taste and her everything, his whole body was shaking for it.

“Li’Tala, Li’Tala…”

“Neteyam–stop–” Now Tala started to squirm in his desperate hold. She could feel his hardening arousal between them, settling so perfectly against her vulva. She pushed against him.

“You need sleep, not a fuck.” She hissed. Tala shivered as the soldier switched between licking, sucking, and biting lightly along the tanhi on her shoulders and chest.

“I need you, Li’Tala.” He rasped deeply. She ignored the way his voice made even her toes curl because now her blood was pumping far too loudly. What did he just say to her? Was he losing his mind, what pills did he take??

“Eywa, get a grip!” 

He suckled at the flesh of her tits, Tala shoved his face away with the thick metal of the inhibitor cuffs. He groaned and settled for simply pulling her onto his lap closer than ever, taking a break from his ministrations.

She huffed, she was panting much harder than she realized.

“What happened, what did you see?”

Great mother or whatever being out there, if there ever was one…  what could he do to make her realize his ache for her?

“... I need your help, Li’Tala.” He started, fangs catching onto her skin as he spoke. It all made her freeze, she peered down and tried to gently bring his face back towards hers. He let her and looked up at her, she caught herself thinking it was as if he was beseeching her. There was no way.

“I need to forget it. I know you can help.” He said, sunspot yellow met with her cool green. She knew she could to, it’s just…

“Stop calling me Li’Tala” She tried again, this time much more softly. He groaned.

“Let me pretend.” He whispered hotly, his fingers reaching for her cheek. His fingertips barely touched hers and yet she felt only heat.

He still felt so cold.

She gulped. What did pretending mean, what was he thinking of? Tala usually felt like she was the one getting burnt by him, now it seemed like he was starving for her kindling because now… his fire was weak. He was begging her.

Tala bit her lips, frustrated, conflicted. She could just do the same to Neteyam as she did with Halloway, she didn’t need to comfort him.

The Tawkami glanced at her wrists still heavy with metal inhibitors, he needed her?

She would blame her drowsiness for it, just… fuck it. Fuck it.

“You follow my lead then.” Tala whispered and Neteyam swore he could feel his cock twitch at her tone. He nodded eagerly.

Tala then smashed their lips together. His tongue immediately sought inside her, to explore the cavern of her teeth.

She was practically sitting on him now. She could feel his bulge dig into her thigh, he was pawing at her, palming whoever fat he could. He groaned into her perfume.

Tala shushed him softly. She raised her hips just enough for him to frantically shove down his sweats and Tala delicately pushed the tawtute tewng to the side, it squeezed her pink and puffy folds so perfectly that it made him nearly weep. He was already leaking as he heaved, not noticing the bitter look on her face.

“Don’t worry.” She cooed so nicely in contrast. Her voice was like those tawtute myths he was told about by his father, angelic. She slowly and carefully sunk down her pelvis, his cock head breached her open none too gently and she muffled a high-pitched moan, letting Neteyam’s hard shaft split her open. The stretch ached but she kept her voice even and breathy.

“Be good.” She whispered and waited for his reply. The soldier groaned, every strand of muscle forcing him to not push her down right there and then.

Tala sunk down completely it made Neteyam groan harshly and loudly at the feeling of her tight and warm walls surrounding him. His nerves were shot. Naturally, he was about to fuck into her heat when she did it for him. She dragged her hips up unbearably slowly, both reveling how her cunt squeezed each ridge, so hot, so tight.

“Stay still.”

She slammed her hips down with a ferocity that made both of them moan loudly, she nearly cried out. She started to bounce, holding onto Neteyam’s broad shoulders for support.

“Mmmm…” Tala moaned low, each moan punctuated every time she felt her ass slap against his thighs. He moaned with her, finding himself on the receiving end of her fast pace. He groaned into her hair wantonly, cock twitching inside her.

“Fuuckkk, hahh, fuck.” He cursed softly then latched his mouth on his first mark on her. She stopped suddenly and it embarrassed him how nearly he fucking whined.

“No biting.” She cooed and Neteyam thought he was being driven insane tonight. Today. Since he had taken Tala.

He growled but nodded, settling into a tight embrace instead. He looked at her expectantly, was this allowed?

Tala’s smile was enough to replace the ache for stars he usually felt whenever he looked up in his room.

Then his eyes nearly rolled back when she slammed and bucked harder onto him.

“F-uuuck, haaah, aangh~” Tala graphically moaned into his ear. She panted and her tits bounced as she pistoned herself on his cock. “Aahhh, nnnggg…” she quietly moaned, angling her hips just so to make the fat tip brush against her sweet spots. Neteyam rutted into her uncontrollably, losing himself as he mindlessly chased her warmth. His mouth was open in a silent moan, holy shit.

Tala’s so fucking wet now and she rolled her pelvis to award herself louder moans from Neteyam’s lips.

“Li’T-tala, so good, fuck you’re so good.” He praised, face still stuck to the crook of her neck. She switched her pace and started rotating her hips, rolling them as she still lazily stroked herself along his shift. She felt her self-satisfaction spike when the soldier’s yellow eyes rolled up and fluttered, pupils were so blown out. She admitted he was adorable like this too.

She brought Neteyam’s hand to her belly, pushing down his hand with hers against the bulge there. They both groaned deeply at the sensation, Tala was near hiccuping from the pleasure. A toy that she was, she had only a toy’s ability to see Neteyam unravel. And she chased it hungrily.

His vulnerable expression contorted from the pleasure. To say Tala’s pussy was the best medication he’s had all week would be an understatement.

“Am I doing good, mighty warrior?” Tala squeezed her walls tight for good measure, a moan ripping out her throat as she did. It was worth it, hearing Neteyam’s louder and deeper one that ended with his teeth back on her skin. He quickly ripped his head back when he remembered her little rule.

“So fucking good, please. Fuckk…” He groaned, massaging her belly now even harder, the thought alone made him want to cum. Tala gasped.

“Mmmm, nnng!!” She squealed, and she fucked herself on his pulsating and thick cock even faster, the squelching sounds fueled the both of them.

Plap, plap, squelch, the mattress started to creak. The soldier switched to holding onto her hips, just to make each thrust that much deeper, to feel her cunt flutter at every brush near her cervix and Tala was seeing stars.

Each ridge and thick vein on his shaft was melting and massaging her cunt. She was enjoying herself fully, from the perspective of the toy she was. He certainly needed this toy so badly now.

“Mmm, mmm!! Haah, hahh, is this really helping? Is your toy pleasing you? Maybe we should stop…” She teased, suddenly slowing down, and was delightfully surprised when he mindlessly begged.

“NO! Fuck, please, dont’s-stop, such a good toy, Li’Tala. So fucking wet, so fucking tight.” He blathered, arms only tightening around her desperately.

Tala threw her head back when Neteyam reached between them, with intense accuracy, to squeeze her clit.

“Oahhh!! Mmmg- Neteyam!” She cried out, the sounds of slapping skin made him laugh dumbly. Their pelvises were completely covered in each other’s slick.

“Take my cum, Tala, need you to take all my cum..” he muttered into her ear and he used his grip on her clit to guide Tala’s pace, she was so close now. 

“Don’t stop, so fucking good ma’fil, Li’Tala…” he breathed out, his voice unsteady and deeply tinged in pleasure. The way Neteyam husked her name made her pussy walls convulse.

“Haa, haaa, ahh, I’m close~! I’m close, Nete-yam, Neteyam, so close, close!” Tala whined and dug their pelvises so tightly together that her pearl of nerves rubbed harshly against his toned muscle. She grinded on him wildly, his cock hitting her gummy walls so good, she abused her sweet spots with him.

“So hot, so hot…” he was praising her, the sight of her had made him completely forget how he felt like he was freezing just moments ago. Her soft breasts bouncing, torso in a light sheen of sweat and her eyes so fucking focused on him, her cunt was devoted to squelching lewdly every time she grinded on him.

He was close too, he could feel how heavy his balls were now and without either of their warnings, Neteyam spilled his load into her, it made her mewl as she came hard with him.

Black spots dotted their vision as they painted, their juices had overflowed inside Tala and usually the sight would irritate Neteyam, making him wanna fuck it back into her.

But Tala didn’t mind the mess. In fact, she wanted more. After a few seconds, she rolled her hips again and even though they stuttered, she felt herself able to overcome the crackles of overstimulation.

Her hands delicately laced through his hair to gently stroke at the base of his kuru.

Neteyam hissed loudly and squeezed onto her ass in warning, barely able to stop himself from bucking into her overflowing cunt.

Too fucking soon, the sensation of her pink flesh was overwhelming, the friction was making his muscles involuntarily twitch, he groaned as he rested his head back.

“What’s wrong? You don't want to?” Tala asked, her voice soft and sultry. The question just sounded like the deadliest taunt to him. She was rotating her hips and twisting him from inside her, his cock felt like it was being choked in different ways, squeezed and massaged in a way he hadn’t been before. She was fucking milking him, Neteyam only dumbly shuddered and thrusted upwards weakly.

Her tiny pussy was soaking him, his balls, and his mattress but that didn’t matter when it was the only thing on his mind, her gummy flesh was the only thing reminding him he was still breathing. 

After what felt like an eternity of the most delicious torture, Tala finally screamed her last climax and mercifully stopped, shivering from aftershocks of pleasure. She had pulled so much more ropes of cum from him and just staying inside her nearly made him cum again, it made Neteyam whimper low and hotly, his golden eyes barely able to stay open. Tala finally collapsed on him, muscles were burning and she was breathing heavily, but the look on his face made it all so worth it.

She was impressed with herself, her body was heavy with what felt like deep buckets of creamy liquid spilling out of her. She noticed now how tightly his tail had encircled her thigh, a slight mark left from it now.

“Fuck… Li’Tala…” Neteyam drawled out wearily, he collapsed onto his back and brought her with him. Her full name brought back shudders along her spine, the way he said it was positively lewd and so, so, intimate.

Tala hummed, fully able to feel the slowly calming pulse on his neck. She licked her lips, she was enticed. Not one had she left marks on him, she never felt a desire to.

The Omaticayan breathed hard, when he felt her fangs push past her perfect lips and onto his skin. It wasn’t deep, barely a bruise, but Tala finally figured out why he enjoyed doing it to her so much. The way his scent covered her face and somehow she could taste it in his skin was intoxicating.

She licked the small wound while Neteyam fought internally how horny he instantly became again despite his exhaustion. Tala hummed, the two too tired to even look at each other from where they rested.

“Good boy…” She said softly before fading into slumber. Only Neteyam could feel how hard his cock twitched when he heard her whisper. They were fucked out and warm and his miserable dreams were nothing but fuzzy images.

His own consciousness was fading fast and any shiver his body felt was definitely from no bite of cold, regardless of the sweat. Now it was more like pinpricks of pleasure and pain, definitely distracting. Neteyam closed his eyes.

He embraced Tala tenderly, he breathed in her hair, and his mind was completely soothed. He slept wholly to Tala, to the smell of her sweetness, the beat of her heart, the sound of her breath, choosing to forget about those damned dreams and his damned existence.

He breathed out once again, vague recollections of fire licking at his skin.

Neteyam forced the thoughts away by lightly running his fingers on the mark Tala just left on him, barely aching, he could only find it by carefully sensing the barest indentation. He then felt for the one he left on Tala all that time ago, the texture of the scar made it much easier.

Both comforted him, grounded him, he didn’t notice the way his tail wagged a bit too contently. All of his muscles relaxed and gratefully his sleep was dreamless.

His last thought was how much he enjoyed calling her Li’Tala than ma’fil.

tag list: @xylianasblog @itchaboi-itchyboy @hotdsworld @pandoraslxna @luvv4j4ybe11 @neteyamsyawntu @akoyaxs @whatevenisagrapefruit @teyamsatan @justcaptiannoodles @theblueflower05 @neteluvr @neteyamssyulang @plooto @hao-ming-8 @teyamsilly @vivid-ink @vampirefilmlover

notes: hi! finally getting into the plot portion of the fic lol, hopefully this will be all finished v soon! maybe 2 or 3 more chapters? hope yall enjoy~

[nysus-temple]

I saw you mention this twice this week and so I was wondering...what's the thing with Virgil's name being misspelled about?

I never heard of this in class so I'm assuming it has to do with the English version of his name SPECIFICALLY, right? I'm kinda curious

Oh this might get long.

I actually LOVE to talk about this silly little thing !! I had to search for a lot of stuff regarding it back when I had to do an university work about Virgil (and I've never been the same ever since).

A quick clarification first: yes, I only speak for the English, Spanish and "Latin" versions only. I'm not sure how he's called in Italian nowadays. Virgilio, perhaps (that's Spanish).

The whole thing about the name being misspelled is, well, we all know he was called Vergilius in Latin, even if now we refer to him as Virgil and Virgilio respectively, when the actual transcription should have been Vergil and Vergilio, at least if we follow the rules. The reason most languages nowadays keep that <i> in his name instead of an <e> is due to his name having been written as Virgilius instead of Vergilius for quite a LONG while.

At the end of 1484, Angelo Poliziano traveled to Rome for the first time as a member of a Florentine delegation. During that trip, Poliziano had time to look through ancient codices in the Vatican Library. Thanks to that, he had found that Virgil's name was, in fact, Vergilius, not Virgilius, as all the copyists and authors had kept calling him. And well, all the modern research agrees with him nowadays, the name of the mantuan poet has an <e>, not an <i>. It's not certain why Virgilius was the name used instead for so long, BUT we know that by the 5th and 6th centuries this was already the predominant spelling.

And you know to where those centuries belong to? The Middle Ages !! Bear with me, most of the shenanigans regarding poets such as Virgil have to do with that.

Virgilius was associated etymologically with both virgo and virga. It was more metaphorically than an accurate etymology, though. Why do I say this? Well, turns out that back during the Middle Ages, Virgil's Eclogue IV was read as a prediction of the coming of Christ (virgo) and "magic wand" (virga) due to a tradition that made Virgil some sort sorcerer capable of prophesying the birth of Christ.

This is, obviously, not a fact. But given the topic of the Eclogue IV, of course we were going to use that as an excuse to talk about the coming of Christ. (I wonder why the Eclogue II has been ignored for so long, hm).

There's also the traditions of the biographers stating that Virgil had a nickname, parthenias, due to his apparent timid character. And uh, why we do know he didn't like the public gazes much, I'm not so sure if we can take all these biographies as a fact. So take this last bit with a grain of salt.

(Before Poliziano wrote his work explaining why Virgilius was wrong, we DO have one or two examples of the name Vergilius being used instead, but those are odd cases I did not look into.)

You can see how in English this has already been starting to change. People will call the poet either Virgil or Vergil, since both are equally accepted.

My case? While Vergil sounds better, closer to Latin, I use Virgil instead in order to avoid the mantuan poet being confused with *checks notes* the half-demon with family issues. Believe me the DMC fanbase has found some posts of mine in which I tagged the poet as Vergil instead of Virgil, and the misunderstandings were hilarious.

Hilarious, yet understandable. Searching "vergil" shows you the character. If you specify "vergil, poet" it will correct you to "virgil".

In Spanish? Well, if you say Vergilio instead of Virgilio, everyone will give you a side eye. And while, both are accepted like in English, submiting academic work in which he's not being called Virgilio can end up in a bad mark.

I tried that, and the response from my professor was "I don't know, he has always been called like that, I suppose. Vergilio just sounds wrong, correct it."

[butterflydm]

Hi! I just watched Dune pt 2 and was thinking about the Aiel-Fremen similarities amd was wondering if you had any thoughts about the comparison because I love the way you write about WOT?

Thank you!

Oh, yes! There are tons. Watching Dune Part 2 definitely reminded me of how much the Fremen and the Aiel have in common -- Jordan had said that any similarities are unintentional, which I'm guessing is true, because Jordan was very open about how much he used other sources as inspiration when he was building his world (given the premise of the world -- that time is a wheel and everything that happened in our world also happened in WoT, it makes a lot of sense that he would do that -- Dune is also set in the far-future of our own world as well, so they share that root in common too).

From what I've read in various places, it's more that Herbert and Jordan were drawing on some of the same real-life sets of historical societies (there's a run-down here, though unfortunately it looks like the page doesn't exist anymore outside of the wayback machine) to inspire their desert warriors, which led to a lot of their similarities.

But something that's really interesting to me are the ways in which Dune being sci-fi and Wheel of Time being fantasy had an impact on the creation and the writing of the two societies. (some of my thoughts below do contain spoilers for the later books in the Dune series!)

Dune is sci-fi -- prophecies aren't real (for the most part). So the prophecy that the Fremen believe in was actually seeded by the Bene Gesserit centuries ago as a 'surprise tool to help us later' for any Bene Gesserit who might find herself in trouble on the planet.

WoT is fantasy and prophecy is very real, though not always interpreted correctly. The old Aes Sedai who tells the Aiel their prophecy for the future was very much on the level and trying to do her best to protect and save the Aiel rather than setting them up to be manipulated centuries down the road.

The Aiel (at least the leaders of the Aiel) are also very aware that they are meant to be tools in the hands of their prophesied figure and that only "a remnant of a remnant" will survive. They have been explicitly setting up their society as a tool, I would argue, by telling their people that the Three-Fold Land's purpose was to shape them to make up for their 'sin' against the Aes Sedai. So there's a self-awareness to their choices, even in the beginning. They know that their savior is also their doom and walk into it with their eyes open.

This is also a big difference in Paul himself and Rand, in that Paul is a manufactured savior and Rand is a real one -- a large part of that lies in that Paul is a sci-fi protagonist and Rand is a fantasy one (though we could always bring up Paul's son, Leto II, who becomes monstrous in order to try to save humanity from an existential threat).

Paul is a critique of the white savior trope -- he is a complete outsider to Fremen society, takes them over using lies that exploit their religious beliefs, and uses them to further his own agenda, destroying them in the process.

Rand is half-Aiel, so that makes him more akin to Paul's children with Chani than to Paul himself in that regard, in that he does have that blood connection to the Aiel (which lets him experience their history through the glass columns), but he wasn't raised by them, so there's that distance too.

But both Paul and Rand are very aware that they are using the Fremen-Aiel as a tool for their own plans (but again, here I loop back to the intentionality -- not only do the Aiel leaders know this all along, but Rand reveals to all of the Aiel the truth about their past, which means that they immediately fracture in a way that takes the Fremen years to begin doing), so they have that in common.

In addition to the difference between sci-fi and fantasy, we also have a big difference (in the books) in how the two sets of books examine religion. Religion is a much bigger and more explicit thing in Dune than in WoT -- Paul is able to build his following by exploiting his followers' religion to turn them into fanatics. Now we do have an example of some of Rand's followers turning into fanatics, but it's not in the Aiel but in Masema and what he does on the west coast, and the Dragonsworn are mostly not focused on, especially not in Rand's actual plotlines.

But, yeah, Paul Atreides, Rand al'Thor, (and I add Anakin Skywalker) kinda all exist in this sort of venn diagram in my head that I'm going to try to plot out:

[flygonscales]

I’m rereading the Saga of Darren Shan (Cirque du Freak) and oh my goddddddd

What do you put in your books Darren?? It is not often I read something so addictive. I saw someone describe them as being like crack. And yeah I can see that I don’t even read Animorphs books this voraciously

(Spoilers below)

And yet. Rereading the second half of the series. When you know who the vampaneze lord is and how it’s going to end. Just:

God. (Or should I say, Charna’s guts!) the planning that must have gone into the series. I can see the foreshadowing/just a prophesy that they don’t know how to follow properly because they don’t know how it ends. It’s like how a horror film protag doesn’t check why a cup fell down because they don’t know they’re in a horror film. Darren! You had Steve at your mercy! SEVERAL TIMES!!! Kill him! It’s unbearable!!! He’s lying!!!!!! This is like a fucking Greek tragedy mess of a plot!!!!!!!!

(Just try. Try reading Allies of the Night knowing full well what’s happening)

(The Greek tragedy comparison makes sense though, Darren is literally struggling against Des Tiny, even if he doesn’t know it)

And then, Mr Crepsley is dead, and Darren (post depression) and Harkat go on holiday to the nuclear dragon desert to gather panther teeth, gelatinous toad globes and Grotesque venom so they can go fishing for souls! It’s very reasonable that the war is drawing to a close so we need a break before the final battle but those toad spheres came of left field.

And then we hear the cirque du freak is returning to Darren’s hometown!! Love it when heroes return after most of their journey and discover they’ve changed too much to go back! But especially Darren, who cannot talk to anyone or even look around too much. He died. I LOVE IT I LOVE THESE BOOKS SO MUCH BUT I AM TEARING AND CRAWLING OUT OF MY SKIN THEY HURT SO BAD I JUST WANT MY BOYS TO BE HAPPY AND SAFE AGAIN)

(Boys includes: Darren, Harkat, Mr Crepsley. Vancha, Alice and Debbie. Not Steve Leopard. Fuck Steve Leopard. All my homies hate Steve Leopard)

And another thing: now I know about actual science - ‘vampire atoms are wobbly so they don’t show up on cameras’ - that is some of the most shallow pseudo scientific bullshit I’ve seen outside of JoJo’s. I love it. It’s so silly and makes no sense.

[averageanonymous]

Summary: After stopping Armageddon, Aziraphale and Crowley come up with a plan to avoid their mutual destruction by Heaven and Hell. (i.e. the bus ride from Tadfield to Crowley's flat)

☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

Aziraphale took Crowley up on his offer of a place to stay the night after Armageddon. After all, with the bookshop burned to ashes (he tried to ignore the way his stomach twisted in knots at the thought of his entire literary collection up in flames) his only other alternative would be to find a hotel. He'd never cared for hotels. And the demon was right. What did Heaven care where he slept? They were surely much more concerned with the fact that he'd overturned Armageddon and derailed their war.

As they took their seats on the bus, he turned that thought over and over, like one might a particularly interesting shell found on a beach. Gabriel had been quite upset. In fact, upset was certainly an understatement. He and Crowley had undone a war literally thousands of years in the making. It was no small infraction. There would be repercussions. He was very sure of it. And not just for him. He looked over at the demon at his side. Crowley was slouched low in his seat, head reclined. It was difficult to tell with the glasses, but he seemed so relaxed Aziraphale wondered if he'd fallen asleep.

“Crowley,” he said gently.

The demon immediately lifted his head, “What now?”

“What…? What do you mean, what now?”

Crowley sat up a bit, throwing his arm over the back of Aziraphale’s seat and turning his whole body to face him. “Your voice is doing that thing,” Crowley said informatively, arching an eyebrow.

"What thing,” Aziraphale asked, barely restraining his exasperation. But despite the growing unease he felt, he also found himself a little distracted by Crowley's arm. It was practically over his shoulders.

“You know, the I'm overthinking something, and it's got me all worked up thing,” Crowley grinned like, well, like a snake.

“Oh, honestly, my voice does not do a thing, you're being ridiculous,” Aziraphale scoffed, albeit somewhat self-consciously.

“Alright, then,” Crowley shrugged, settling back into his seat, “What's up?”

“I was just thinking about Heaven, Hell, Agnes’ final prophesy… All of it. I don't know what they'll do, but they're not going to just let us go. We need a plan,” Aziraphale worried, drumming his fingers on his leg idly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the strip of paper he'd caught from the Nice and Accurate Prophecies. He read it over again.

“Give me another look at it,” Crowley said, holding out his hand. Aziraphale gave it to him and he read it aloud, “When alle is sayed and all is done, ye must choose your faces wisely, for soon enouff, ye will be playing with fyre. Right, well let's work it out then.”

“Well obviously it means us,” Aziraphale said anxiously, “It's not a coincidence that I found that.”

“Fire… You don't think she means literal fire? Hellfire?” Crowley looked up in alarm, “You think they'd try to, what, finish you off? Permanently?”

“I'm afraid what I've…we've…done… It's quite unforgivable,” Aziraphale said quietly, turning his gaze out the window, but the only thing he could see in the dark glass was his own reflection.

“So what about the rest of this,” Crowley demanded, looking at the paper again, “Choose your faces wisely, what's a different face gonna do if you're roasting in Hellfire?” His relaxed demeanor had evaporated. He raked his fingers through his hair, teeth clenched.

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley again, and his heart skipped ever so slightly. “If Heaven has determined that I am to be executed, I think it likely that Hell will want their pound of flesh as well.”

“Nggggh yeah, you're probably right,” Crowley muttered, scowling.

“But what if, well, we could…” He gestured with his arms between them.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “What, switch places?”

“Shhh,” Aziraphale shushed him, glancing up, “But yes. Just until we know it's all done with. I don't imagine they'll wait long… You take my place in the fire. And when Hell comes for you with Holy Water, it'll be me who gets it.”

Crowley leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingertips steepled. “Well that'll definitely throw them. You don't think they'll see through it, though?”

“I think they'll make far worse assumptions than a face swap,” Aziraphale speculated, “But when it's done with, they might just…leave us alone. For awhile, at least.”

Crowley thought for a moment, then leaned back in his seat. He held out his hand. Aziraphale looked between the offered hand and Crowley's face. He could just see the demon's vibrant yellow eyes through the dark lenses. His gaze was steady. Aziraphale took a breath and rested his hand atop Crowley's. The moment their skin touched, a warmth suffused him. He told himself to just breathe, and closed his eyes to focus on pulling the celestial energy he needed for the swap. Then Crowley's fingers laced through his, their palms pressing together, and Aziraphale found it a challenge to think of anything else.

Focus, he reprimanded himself sternly.

“All clear, no one watching,” Crowley murmured. The warmth coursing through Aziraphale burned brighter. He opened his eyes and looked down at their joined hands. Only his hand was now lean and long-fingered, his coat black. He looked at Crowley, and it was his own face he saw, gaze unfocused with concentration. He glanced into the window. Crowley's reflection stared back. The swap had worked.

Crowley took a deep breath beside him, relaxing into his usual slouched posture. He didn't release Aziraphale’s hand. Aziraphale tried not to read into it.

“Honestly, Crowley, it's not enough to look the part,” Aziraphale heard Crowley's voice say from his own mouth. It was going to take some getting used to. “I would never sit like that.”

“Me?” Crowley, in Aziraphale's voice, scoffed, raising an eyebrow at him, “What about you? Would I ever sit like that, or talk like that?”

“Oh, alright,” Aziraphale huffed, “We both have some work to do.”

“Well good thing you're coming to my place then. Plenty of time to practice,” Crowley said as he made a show of sitting up very straight and proper. He let go of Aziraphale’s hand so that he could fold his hands primly in his lap, and Aziraphale tried not to mind the sudden absence.

“Well, how's this, then, my good fellow? Tip top? All tickety-boo?” Crowley's imitation of his diction was exaggerated to an almost comedic level. Aziraphale might have taken it as mockery, but for the smile that Crowley gave him. It was genuine, his eyes betraying a softness that Aziraphale rarely ever saw, his eyes almost always hidden behind his glasses.

Aziraphale grinned back and then slouched dramatically into his seat, his legs splaying in every direction, knee colliding with Crowley's, as though his bones had melted.

“Oh, come on, that's too much,” Crowley complained, “You look like a deflated balloon.”

They both laughed as Aziraphale sat up, though not as straight as usual, and Crowley slouched slightly, though nowhere near his usual lounge.

The bus finally pulled to a stop outside Crowley's flat. The angel and the demon stood up and exited the bus. As they stepped down onto the street, Crowley reassured him, “It's all going to be fine, angel.” Then he took Aziraphale’s hand and gave it a single quick squeeze. It was done before Aziraphale was even sure it had happened. Even still, he couldn't stop the smile that grew on his face. He nodded in agreement, and followed Crowley into the building. He watched his own body walking with only slightly less than Crowley's usual swagger and shook his head. They most certainly did have some work to do.

☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

Thanks for reading! Some background for this little bit of imagination below the cut, if you like!

I have a few headcanons that inspired this. First, that although we all know they held hands on the bus, there must've been a reason (or excuse) more than just 'they wanted to'. They did want to, obviously. But as far as relationship progression, it's hard to go backward. If they held hands on the bus for no other reason than they wanted to, they should still be casually holding hands in Season 2 (it's 4 years later!) Hence, doing the Face Swap. It had to happen at some point. It involves holding hands. The bus is as good a place and time as any.

My second headcanon is that they spent that night working on each other's tone, diction, gait etc. Aziraphale, especially, I think, would've wanted to make sure he had it right.

Finally, and this one isn't addressed in this ficlet, but Adam's "Reset" applied to Aziraphale and Crowley's physical locations. That morning, Aziraphale-as-Crowley woke up still in Crowley's flat, but Crowley-as-Aziraphale was magically transported to the bookshop (where "he" belongs, everything back in its proper place) and woke up there. Which is why he wouldn't have seen the Bentley yet.

Anyways. Just some fun things I've thought about in my idle moments! I love hearing other people's ideas so if you want to share, I'm all ears! Or eyes, since, you know, it's the internet.

[zkoh001]

I haven't read Pjo in a hot minute but I just had had the most glorious dream about it, and I feel like, I need to share my feelings on the series.

Now, for context, I read them in the order of: Tlh, SoN then the first five books, MoA, HoH, and a good gap later BoO. I absolutely fell in love with the first HoO, the only hard copy I keep of the series, so I was a little bummed when I learned there was no other book of them (MoA haven't come out yet). I liked Percy, but had no previous connection to him, and I was more interested in the worldbuilding in Camp Jupiter.

All in all, my weird experience with this series makes my nostalgia much more nostalgically connected to the , and lost trio than the OGs, and I would proudly wear purple over orange, sue me. (Not saying I didn't enjoy it when I bing read the first five books before MoA came out. I think the chapter system was a huge loss in HoO) Now, Tlh is still my absolute faw, and I was a bit bummed when we didn't explore the new characters (neither Hazel and frank nor Jason, Piper and Leo) in favour of following two characters we already had a whole series on.

The prophesy is about Jason and Leo, Piper is their glue and mediator, so why don't we get to know more of them? Leo learning to accept his powers could have been an arc. Piper should have realised there's no point in judging Drew, or her mom for being more girly than her, and that it doesn't make her more or less. Jason was a kid soldier but we can't explore it, because we can't explore him, only the effect he has on others. Why doesn't he have any like... friends in Camp Jupiter?

I saw a post about how we could have had a situation where Reyna and Octavian constantly bickered, and Jason played mediator (mirroring his mew team, where Piper fills that role sort of) We could have had them be friends, to not make it feel like nobody even misses Jason... It could have made the falling out more tragic. (Of course, that would require Octavian to be an actual character instead of a generic concept, and then maybe I would feel something at his death other than "wait, what?")

Oh, what could have been. Alas, I know a lot were happy to see Percabeth, so I shall cease whining about what could have been, and appreciate that I still have Tlh.

Also, If you want me to share my dream, tell me (I prolly will anyways but oh well.)

[likeburningcoal]

LMK season 5 Episodes 3-4 spoilers below the cut!

SWK is very grumpy about the headache he will presumably be having this whole season. Tang, your loud rambling is not helping (JK ILY)

“I didn’t think they were real!!” Tang, you should’ve learned by now, assume any super powerful thing is real until proven otherwise.

Sketch plan section!!

Monkey king brand band aid

Hype man M-M-M-Mei!

I love MK’s little Nüwa drawing!

“It’s burning!” Tang, you guys survived the Samadi fire incident, I think you’ll live

Toasted peach!

Also SWK making sure Tang gets to do the lore dumb is adorable. And Tang is so happy he gets to do it!!

Lots of painted style, love it!

“There’s always a temple” “m-mmhmm, yep”

“Sounds like Tangy’s on board!” Sandy, I love you so much, you deserve so many good things. Hold on while I grab some silver star stickers from Shifu Subodhi just for you.

As someone who just got home from a hiking trip in the mountains, I feel you MK, stairs are the worst. I wouldn’t climb all that either.

Alpine Sandy!!

Tang can’t climb either those weak ankles though!!

Pigsy questioning is MK knows ‘trial by fire’ is a metaphor is hilarious considering he raised that boy, he’s probably the one that taught him most of the metaphors he knows.

Li Jing sitting by his magic tracker muttering ‘hmm, yes, they will use magic and I will find them’ is absolutely what SWK is picturing.

Cloud doesn’t count as magic I guess.

Pigsy, you have to carry him! His weak ankles!

“It’s just my good fluffy boy! Loophole baby!” Alright, cloud as SWK’s pet fics are needed now.

Well if it isn’t the consequences of his own actions.

Pheonix!! Fenghuang to be exact!

MK mocking SWK about the “trial”

Creation flashbacks?? Also since MK was like made directly by Nüwa doesn’t that like, make him the equivalent of royalty? Hand sculpted monkey right here.

“Classic final boss aesthetic” he’s not wrong.

Is MK prophesied to fix the pillar or is this a past life kinda situation?

“I’m feeling confident!” Traps!

The return of smarty kid!!

SWK got free acupuncture

Lots of references this season!

Grumpy SWK

“They represent my many many dads!” They acknowledged it!!!

I love how SWK is the only one with any damage, thus indicating he keeps taking the blows for (the likely oblivious) MK

“First time was just a city, don’t get cocky”

“You know you just gave me a third path I have to choose from right?” “Bud! You know what I mean!!”

“I thought maybe we’d find a map that we’d never end up using” so be fair, you did use the Samadi fire map.

Oooh! Flashback!!

Oh I do not like the implications of this.

OH I DO NOT LIKE THE IMPLEMENTATIONS OF THIS!!!

This was a legend of Zelda dungeon. They even got a shiny stone at the end.

SWK is in denial, but also he’s right.

They made it just in time to turn around.

Did anyone have Tang’s weak ankles on their season five bingo card?

So Nüwa made MK to be there to fix the pillars of one ever got busted again, right? Like we’re gonna find that out and it’s gonna be a big moment of MK realizing he’s not Chaos but was created to stop it. Then it’s gonna be a “you can choose how to be, you don’t have to be what you were made” thing from SWK because MK goes super self sacrificing. Calling it now.

One of these days the end credits will change to MK.

Episode 4!! I’m probably gonna pause after this one to give me time to really soak in the season and watch some more tonight (I saw as if I’m not planning on rewatching this multiple times)

Decisions are not MK’s strong suit.

“Kid takes one how to write seminar and now he wound shut it with macguffins.”

Sandy sees MK getting overwhelmed and steps in!

“I love this new commanding Sandy” “didn’t know big blue had it in him” he’s been reading a self help book.

Sandy training! Mo standing guard!

Sandy training is therapy I hope

“Yeah that was a lie”

Have I mentioned Sandy is my favorite?

“Breadstick shoulders”

Sandy: MK you need therapy. Sit.

“I’ve got my trauma bottling process down pat!” That’s the problem MK

As someone who only recently started meditating, Sandy is actually explaining ways it’s helpful really well. So PSA that if you have anxiety, especially if it’s like mine and your mind continuously makes up scenarios that will never happen and you rarely feel yourself in the present because of it, try meditating! It can really help!

MK is also me.

Sandy MK bonding was not something I expected this season but it was something I wanted so badly!

MK that is not a demon that is just a snake (probably?)

Secrets tunnel!! Secret tunnel!!

Sandy’s little worried marker thing!!

Stone snake!!

Sandy looks so offended that the tortoise questioned MK’s worthiness.

“I am not ready for the test” “be here now” “but I don’t wanna!”

Sandy getting a hug until MK meditates

“Hey get off my Sandy!!”

Sandy being so supportive despite the circumstances!!!

Ooooh! MK vs Monkey MK in the mind!! Monkey MK taunting!!

“You like it” dang the voice acting for that line was nice!

MK going into monkey form to try and protect Sandy!!!!

“There’s parts of all of us we don’t like, but it’s always still us.” Sandy hitting with the deep quotes.

Still in monkey form!! With it controlled!!

Sandy angry for MK’s sake!!! “Was it enough? Was he WORTHY?!”

I’m pausing for a second because this episode is so far one of my favorites. It’s so good. I need a minute.

I want more backstory to Sandy.

“Pigsy always said you were this rage filled guy and…I just never believed it”

Mo is a good guard cat!

Mei destroyed the car this time!

I’m sorry Sandy, you deserve a lasting vehicle.

This episode is probably gonna sit next to Amnesia Rules as one of my favorites (I love Sandy too much guys)

[arwainian]

Reading This Week 2025 #1

Happy New Year! And so I welcome the first full year in my life that I will not be a student for part of it. This feels very strange. There will be no one setting my reading list for me at all I have complete and total freedom! A bit terrifying. I want to stay committed to continuing to reading theory and literary analysis beyond university, but doing it entirely on my own and with no set schedule or deadlines like a looming thesis is going to be a challenge. Besides that, my reading goals for the year are to read more indie and self-pub, and to maybe set up a proper non-tumblr blog to share long form writing on the books I read, and other stuff for public viewing. we shall see what I come up with and what methods I pick for setting up a website. okay, NOW i'll tell you about what I've read

Finished:

The Night Guest by Taylor Titmouse This was technically read at the very end of last year but it was still during the week I'm covering. I treated myself to a bundle of Taylor Titmouse's erotica and romance works right at the end of the year and will be slowly working through them when I want to read some fantasy erotica. the night guest was pretty fun though I think I genuinely hated the oni guy in it for most of the time. SO irritating in possibly every way. I am glad that the innkeeper milf had fun with him though

Unpainted by Dani Finn I also will be taking a dive into Dani Finn's work, thanks to a nice holiday bundle that got me most (or maybe all?) of their current work. I think this wasn't the best book of theirs for me to start with tho, because I might have felt a bit less lost and a bit more engaged if I started with a different book from this setting. ah well, it was still a mostly pleasant experience even if I have a few structural gripes

Assassin's Fate by Robin Hobb, audiobook narrated by Elliot Hill at long last.... I have read all of the mainline Realm of the Elderlings books. my reaction to this book took up a full page in my reading journal. i will condense it here for brevity. 1) I love Bee with every ounce of my heart which at times made this book very difficult to read. she is the specialest little girl in the world and has suffered more than Jesus Christ himself. I think she should get to kill anyone she wants forever and no one gets to scold her for anything ever. 2) the journey to Clerres was excrutiating, as it could be labelled Fitz's transmisogyny arc. his hatred toward Amber specifically as a way for him to process his hurt feelings and distrust of Beloved was such a nightmare to get through. 3) the ensemble cast in this book is excellent. Love Ash/Spark, Lant, Per, Motley, getting to see the cast of the bingtown and rain wilds books again! all really well rendered, wonderful characters. 4) oh I LOVE the way prophesy and foresight work in ROTE through dreams. prilkop's hand on bee's foot, explaining how he knew the flame in his dream was her.... that nothing happens to her she happens to the world!! fuck yeah

North Continent Ribbon by Ursula Whitcher What a luck find at the library! I had been considering buying it when I fortuitously ran across it in my library's new purchases section. I think my favorite stories are the final two in the book where the Fishercats and the worldbuilding around engines are properly built out. it made the whole setting snap into focus for me. I like the way it approaches questions of what happens if we let AI/computers make decisions that affect peoples lives, what happens when someone gets hurt, who do we blame it on? this setting answers that all along there are exploited people behind those computers, who might be held to account but those at real fault who created the unjust and exploitative system will hide happily behind those disposable lives

[bingejesus]

Spoiler Review of S4 Episode One

Ok so I gave a non spoiler review of episodes 1-3 buuuut it is now time for the spoilers I will be tagging these so no one who does not want to see them will. If somehow, you are reading this part, please please please be aware that from this sentence forward there are spoilers for season four episode 1 of The Chosen. Ok? Ok.

…

Episode One:

Ok so literally episode one John the Baptist is martyred. And it is breathtakingly beautiful. The dancer who played Salome was phenomenal, I don’t think she had a single line, her whole thing was practicing and performing the dance which I feel like really shows how this was all Herodias’ idea and she was really just a pawn. At the same time, we flashback to young Mother Mary visiting Elizabeth and Zechariah, which was funny and sweet and so heartwarming. It really is odd to see a woman clearly in her 70s or even 80s pregnant but knowing the story it just made me so happy. We also see Joanna going to tell the disciples and Jesus about John. It’s all intercut between Zechariah’s prophecy about John as a baby, the party, Joanna, and the actual death of John. The scene of the execution is somehow beautiful even as we know something horrible is happening. As John is being led away, he quotes what Jesus had his disciples tell him, “The lame walk, the blind see, the dead are raised,” and he says, “The way of the Lord is prepared.” Which just sent shivers down my spine. We see the silver platter John’s head will be served on and the soldier says that usually it’s used for a wedding banquet to which John says, “I’ve never been to a wedding banquet, but I’m going to one.” Which again, I’m just sobbing at this point. Right as John is about to die, he looks out a window and sees a spotless lamb feeding outside, like a final sign that his mission is fulfilled. Obviously we don’t see a severed head, but the swing of the axe is just as impactful. We cut to Jesus by himself, as if already preparing for the news. When he is told, we see him mourn. Rip his clothes, and cover himself in dirt. It’s heartbreaking to say the least. Also, it is important to note that Ramah returns and everyone is gathering together. Then, we see Joanna arrive and tell Andrew, and then everyone else. The last thing we see is Jesus approaching the group, torn clothes, dirt on his face, looking…disillusioned? It’s hard to describe it. Almost like he’s been too emotionally exhausted to have a readable expression.

Another thing to note, was that Zebeddee and sons have the olive oil ready and are giving it to the local synagogue for ritual purposes. Yousef says it is to benefit local enterprise, but Rabbi Akira is skeptical. Tamar goes with them but is not allowed in the synagogues being both a woman and a Gentile, obviously upsetting her. (Big James offers to stay with her instead of going in!!!!!!! The ship is real!!!!!)

Oh and I just remembered that Salome did have a line and it was just to say, “Anything?” When Herod says he’ll give her anything after the dance.

The interweaving of baby John and John’s execution was beautifully done. I was sobbing. The moment Zechariah can speak again, he begins prophesying and we hear it over John being led in by the soldiers. I like that John seemed nervous (as obviously anyone would be) but he wasn’t necessarily scared. It was that last moment of seeing the lamb that made him smile just as he died. Oh wow like I said I was crying.

It’s also incredibly hard to watch Jesus cry. I expected it to be, but obviously being a Christian and a follower of Jesus makes it so much harder. Especially after the love and laughter we’ve seen him experience as well. They do not shy away from humanity and that is such a welcomed thing.

Episode One was expected, but still managed to be utterly brilliant in writing and storytelling. We all knew John’s death was coming and it was made into a realistically sorrowful but beautiful reality. I cannot wait until I have it at my fingertips to watch again and again.

So that was episode one. Episode two coming soon!

[wordiestbird]

So I finished Kamen Rider Decade the other day...

And I do indeed have some thoughts about it, both as a whole and how it adds some interesting character to Tsuaka's whole deal in Zi-O (and I should really re-watch that at some point too). Thoughts below the read more, spoilers abound as you might expect.

[atieflingtime]

GAME: A Fool’s Errand by Mike Free

DESCRIPTION: “You are the jester in King Lyrics’ court. Through mere observation you discovered a conspiracy threatening their rule. You now have the fruitless task of warning their majesty.”

ITEMS NEEDED: A deck of playing cards (jokers included)

THOUGHTS: I read the rules wrong! I used both the number and suit of the same card to determine the petitioner, rather than drawing one card for the kind of petitioner and a second one for their relation to the conspiracy.

My mistake didn’t wind up taking enjoyment out of the game at all (which is a plus in my books!) since it also means it didn’t rely on everything being followed exactly. The only thing is I had to adjust to not getting repeat petitioners, but that’s because of my mistake rather than anything in the actual game haha and it still worked out well imo

It was pretty interesting to play through a situation where your goal is futile — like no matter how much your jester character desperately wants to warn the king about the conspiracy, they are destined to ultimately fail.

Perhaps having some reference to what sort of timeframe in-game we’re playing under? I think that’s really the only thing that could be a tweak, but tbh ain’t ABSOLUTELY needed since players can decide how long time is between petitioners. I kinda threw myself off since I didn’t make myself any time indicators in my own text-playthru but I intended it to be seen as taking place over several years!

I think I played for about 3 hours? Definitely could have gone on for longer but my shuffling put my two joker cards only one card apart lol

Also I’ll be entirely honest I don’t know anything about jesters or courts but I had a lot of fun :P

unedited playthru is under the readmore (:

The King: (8 of diamonds) A prophesied demi-god Goal of the conspiracy: (Queen of hearts) eradicate loyalty to the king

The King is prophesied to be a demi-god, half-seeded from the god of the sun. There’s a conspiracy brewing to eradicate loyalty to the king — people whispering he’s no sun god’s son.

The Jester is a rather rude man. The sharp smile combined with a foxed face makes even the kind words he says, however infrequent, sound rude and disingenuous.

FIRST PETITIONER: 3 of Clubs A merchant asking for a permit to sell wine; unaware of the conspiracy

I could hear the merchant approach before he rounded the corner to walk through the archways of the hearing hall. He was already fat and jingled with the coins in his coin purses. His strides were clipped and unconfident, and the etching of uncertainty showed in the flush of his face. This wasn’t anything I hadn’t watched happen before. People are funny when in the presence of others they think are above them.

Watching his flushed face as he spoke to the court of the god-king — I didn’t realise anyone could costume themselves to look like they had berries smeared across their nose and cheeks so thoroughly without ever touching the fruit — it seemed just pedestrian petitioning for a permit. The maroon of his clothes stitched in greens and yellows didn’t look familiar, and there was no other families in the area with royal ambitions that had that particular stitching colouring that I could recall. And I would be able to, if there were.

After the rambling, disorganised, and frankly extraneous request was ended with the merchant’s voice petering out, my god-king looked to me and gave me a nod. The beginning bell of my performance.

In a fluid motion, I got to my feet and removed the heavy winter weight cloak I’d left sat beside me. Fashioning it around me in a crude approximation of the size of the merchant, I bound to the court’s floor making deliberate movements to the bells on my wrists with my footfalls. Jingle your coin at me, and I will jingle back. It means nothing to me.

A wide arc of my arms out hold them as far apart as I was able, punctuating the movement with a flick of my wrists to make the bells tink. “Oh dear, glorious, illustrious, golden god-king of whichever other descriptors my father of name Orszak before me told me to call you to flatter you.”

Small stifled chuckles rippled through a few of the court attendants.

“I wish to request permission to drink my wine-wares inside of the city walls for coin!” An over exaggerated sway as I stood, “pardon me, I want to sell the wine I am unable to drink myself to the fair peoples of your inner city.” I jingled my wrist-bells again, tugged at the lapels of my overcoat. “We produce it ourselves; Orszak family name is proud. My father was the businessman, I’m merely inheriting his routes.”

Glancing over to the Merchant, his large grey eyes were fixed to the floor.

I postured my hands out, palms up but not supplicating like a beggar, my back kept farm-straight. “My father and elder brother, Tomasz Orszak, were only recently unfound through their route. An injured and scared ass only what we’ve found so far.” My nod was slow, and could easily be mistaken for a theatrical over-exaggerated motion, but my unwavering eye contact with the god-king let him know my personal answer. “I am the second-son and thought always my future was in the fields.”

The second eldest Orszak merchant rubbed a wrist, one of his meaty hands covering over the pulse point and lightly wiping the crooked and dirt-marred thumb of his rubbing his skin. Nerves from a fish out of water. Or a farmer without a field, I guess.

The god-king raised one of his slender, gilded hands. I straightened and stood as motionless as I was able. The courtiers sounded like they were holding their breath.

“You are approved for you and your foodwares to be sold inside the inner city,” the god-king’s voice was smooth and tinny, “I ask for your family to write a formal request with your situation, in addition to sending one of your ilk to acquire the permit.”

The merchant visibly sagged in relief — all the tension pulling his spine tight leaving in an instant. He thanked the god-king in a thick and clumsy country term, and left quickly.

I knew the look in the god-king’s eyes was saying to me that I was took harsh in my initial portrayal. That’s fine. He’s allowed to be wrong about things as interpretive as art. Though that certainly wouldn’t be an opinion I’d ever let taste oxygen.

SECOND PETITIONER: 9 of Diamonds A doctor needs subjects for research ; a neutral party in the conspiracy

Doctors always had a particular stench that seemed to follow them. Maybe death, but more likely just a miasma of sickness. This one was different from the rest. They stood rod-straight, but their shoulders rounded forward to create an odd gathering of fabric draping over their chest cavity. When told to remove any of their garb, they refused. A curiously higher-than-expected voice carried muffled from the beak-mask of the doctor. I decided not to include that peculiarity in my performance.

Not being able to see the doctor’s face made my job more challenging, but when the god-king gave his nod, I had no choice but to perform.

They were aware of the conspiracy for treason — I could tell that much — but it seemed they weren’t swayed to either way. Doctors were hard to convince into the kingdom, and seldom lasted very long. I wasn’t about to dissuade this one from continuing.

I stood as tall as I was able, jutting my chest out instead of caving it in like the doctor was. There must be a reason they’re keeping that posture, and I was not going to draw attention to it with my performance. “”Regardless of any situations that arrive,” I tried my best approximation of their accent, eating my Rs and pushing the sides of my tongue to my teeth, “matters of the body still need to be investigated.”

Arching my arms to hold my palms up to the gilded ceiling, a position of higher pleading. “These subjects of research will help future generations of the sun-god’s kingdom.”

Eye contact. Slow nod.

Approval.

THIRD PETITIONER: 3 of Diamonds A merchant asking for a permit ; neutral party to the conspiracy.

Immediately, I didn’t like how this merchant walked into the court. He looked too at-ease and comfortable.

His ashy straw-coloured hair laid in a thick plait twisted around itself and pinned against the back of his neck. Impossibly intricate embroidery made the previously soft felt-fabric stiff and likely itchy. Stabbing storm-silver in jagged patterns through the cobalt sky of his coats. A brilliant red waist-apron secured with a thick blue cord weighted at the ends with metalcrafts spilled down his lap like a bloody waterfall.

The nod.

“God-King,” I tried to force my voice to have the same tenor as the petitioner, “even as I stand here asking for permits to continue growing my hoard of silver, I speak to you as one powerful man to another.” I glanced to the merchant, his dark eyes glowering at me from where he stood. “Do you not deign to meet me on the same level? Truly it isn’t so far down?”

A murmur of light shock and gossip rustled through the rest of the court.

“These goods are merely the work of others, but I know I’m among compatriots when it comes to building things off others.” The merchants face was flushing in anger. I locked eyes with the god-king, and lolled my head side to side in a ‘no’ while speaking, “There’s few differences, yes?”

Denial of the petition. The merchant spat at me when he left. I’d fear I’ve made more enemies than allies in my time here but I don’t particularly care either way. When the god-king dies, I’ll still be alive.

FIFTH PETITIONER: 4 of Hearts A famous musician hoping to be commissioned ; loyal to the king.

If the clang of brass and the hollow noises sounding when she rounded a corner too closely weren’t enough of a tip-off, then her poufed hat with feathers and filigree certainly took out the guesswork.

She hoped to be commissioned for at least one ballad extolling the virtues and benefits of the god-king and his kingdom. From the rolling of her silver ring, however, I believe she was hoping to be taken on as a resident artist. Those kinds of silver rings were made by hand only for those who you loved.

Nod. Expectations or my performance.

I took a supplicants posture. “Would you not want someone so deeply in love to write and sing about the beauty inside the fair kingdom of the god-king?” A jingle of my wrist-bells and I dramatically gripped my abdomen. “For one to give you and your subjects the love I have felt inside my heart and soon to grow in my belly?”

Wide-faced fear and surprise jolted through on the musician’s face, her lips sticking out just a bit as she ground her teeth to try and keep the expression from pulling any noises from her throat.

Eye contact to the god-king. “Merely exchange my talents to the god-king in return to consistent work and stable housestays for me and mine.” I nod to him.

The musician glossy eyes nearly overflowed when the god-king said she will be held for contract, and her own may also live in one of the sites in the inner city.

FIRST JOKER DRAWN

My words were quick and plain. “There’s a conspiracy whispered through the inner city and the fields outside it.” I stood straight, shoulders far more relaxed than I felt. There was far more than whispers snaking their way through the ears of the god-king’s spheres of influence. Even the more loyal subjects of his were wavering in their faiths.

I’m not wholly surprised.

The god-king has been taking less and less interest in the common subject — preferring to dote on emissaries from surrounding kingdoms, boldly to the detriment of the people that keep him safe.

“If there’s more than a whisper, then that’s when we will simply order them buried,” the god-king’s voice disgusts me for the first time. It sounds greased from the pheasant poached in butter he’d eaten with the jewel-dripping emissaries from the southwestern country lining the border.

I nodded. I couldn’t look him in the eyes.

“Leave if there’s nothing interesting to come out of you, then.”

I did as I was told.

SIXTH PETITIONER: 10 of Spades A diplomat attempting to establish a new trade agreement ; part of the conspiracy

The diplomats were certainly a sight to behold.

The main speaker out of the pair of them was tall and glinting with the sheer amount of filigree inlaid to the layers of cloth draped so delicatly in dizzying amounts. I couldn’t make sense of when a swath of fabric ended and another started, or if they were just metres-long sheets of finery folded in meticulous ways. Her hair hung heavy over her back near-below her shoulderblades, with the ends of it somehow tied and pinned under so the shown length was only half the true amount. It was covered with constellations of filigree pins inlaid with precious stones.

Her companion was a man in similar stature to her. His foxed face reminded me of my own, though his eyes were rimmed with a purposeful soot, and his mouth was less scarred from teeth. The same dizzying swaths of fabric made up his clothing, though his seemed less imbued with threaded metal since it didn’t glimmer the same way as the speaker’s did. There was a heavy overcoat of fabric placed over his shoulders, splitting somewhere under his long hair from the single pane down his back, to two tails down either side of his neck. The leather belt holding it tight to his waist almost looked out of place, but it clinked and glittered with chatelaines full of golden curiosities.

“A new trade agreement needs to be worked out,” the Speaker’s voice was clear and decisive. “Your kingdom is left wanting.”

The god-king sat with glazed over eyes — bored before any conversation had ever started. This was exactly why the conspiracy has been able to grow like wildfire. Apathy was oxygen to its fire.

I watched the man, beautiful and glinting, move his rough hands over to an empty spot on his belt. Probably habit from having a sword or other weapon hung there for longer than it rested elsewhere. “I implore you to listen to the Speaker,” is voice held less presence than the Speaker’s, but it was oaky and I wanted to hear more.

A moment of pause before the god-king waved his hand dismissively and turned to me. “Perform. Now.” His eyes slid off me as soon as the word was spat out.

I ground my teeth. I didn’t expect to be treated as even partly an equal, but I never would have though the king I served to the detriment of my life milestones to not even look at me as he spat commands.

Rising from my seat — downgraded severely from my previous spot near the court’s seats, to a threadbare pillow on the chilled floor with the petitioners — I exhaled and dropped my shoulders. Trying to relax my jaw and prevent soreness from grinding my teeth. I stood straight and unwavering, feet squared and arms bent lightly out at the elbows with my palms down. I can feel the metal in my over-cloak bite me in the ribs.

“I implore you to listen to the Speaker,” I repeated the man’s lovely oaky words in my own thistled voice. A deep, measured breath shook its way out of my throat. I repeated the Speaker’s words with as much clarity as I could lend my own voice. “Your kingdom is left wanting.”

SECOND JOKER The conspiracy is successful ; game finish.

I threw knife.

Gods don’t bleed, and neither do their offspring. The former king proved to be neither.

[go-go-devil]

18 & 28 :3

18) Are there any fics about the games you enjoy?

Well definitely your Bloodborne fics. That last one you wrote in particular was phenomenal!

As of now I haven't read too many Dark Souls fics. The first one I really started atm is this still-ongoing one called Alter Vita - A Second Chance, which is the story of a Chosen Undead trying to fulfill the prophesy whilst rediscovering her forgotten past, and which also shifts perspectives between certain other npc characters

Seeing other fic authors willing to write whole stories about their DS playthroughs has even been inspiring me to start writing my own. Honestly as long as something can keep me writing, it's worth putting the effort into

28) What’s your favourite variation of Patches?

Keh heh heh heh, I thought you'd never ask!

As of right now, Dark Souls 1 Trusty Patches is my fav. I felt the set-up for his traps were a lot more interesting compared to how they were in Demon's Souls as well as his overall personality. I LOVE the fact that you can be locked out of having him as a merchant if you tell him you're a cleric (with him trying to murder you with his bare hands no less). It really makes him seem like his own person outside of being "one of the merchants" you get in the game, and I love speculating on why exactly he has such a burning hatred for clerics and the Way of White as a whole

Granted, I am still quite fond of Demon's Souls's Patches the Hyena for being the first version of him I ever saw, and for his almost child-like demeanor whenever he's trying to butter you up. I personally like to hc that it's his own way of talking down to players who've been so accustomed to npc's giving them free treasures in the kid's games they grew up playing

Bloodborne's Patches the Spider is adorable since I find spiders inherently cute animals, and it's probably the most drastic subversion from his character yet with him being religious (in a one-man cult to a single alien being, but still religious!). Though it does pain me how little he's utilized in that game. Short-questline, hard to even find in the Chalice Dungeons and doesn't sell unique items, had the revelation of his mother cut from the plot, and he doesn't even gossip about the other npc's T_T

I know next-to-nothing about Patches the Unteathered in Elden Ring since I wanna go into that game blind, and while I haven't played Dark Souls 3 yet I have actually had Unbreakable Patches spoiled for me and oh my GODS I can't wait to experience his questline in that game and its DLC!!!