#i felt him on a spiritual level

[slytherinshua]

what the actual fuck guys i finally found the energy to listen to tws' comeback and they made me CRY :(((( this is literally their best title to date?? i knew they would slay cause they always do but then doing a more emotional and sentimental track instead of a bright one LORD I WAS NOT READY

[vaguely-concerned]

I am so so happy that lucanis' sensible neutral toned knitted sweater beneath his brooding hotboy black leathers turned out to be exactly the design cue crucial to understanding the actual nature of his character and personality that I took it for the first time we saw his default look fhsdkj. I continue to be enchanted by this detail in particular. it really does say it all

[pipedreil]

kinda wanna write a pynch fic but terrified of the real possibility of mischaracterizing them bc i’d rather die

[tiredmamaissy]

Ralak te Sepawn ieyk’itan: Special Episode VI 

Labor of Love - Part III

Masterlist ; Rut/Heat/Knotting Info

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

Hyperlinks are attached to specific paragraphs that when clicked on will lead you to its illustration by Ralak's insanely talented creator @zestys-stuff. Thank you so much for allowing me to play around with your characters!

Characters: Metkayina!Ralak (25) x Sully!Omaticaya!Reader (20) featuring Metkayina!Zu’té (29)

Warnings: zero smut, explicit childbirth, water birth, difficult labour, contractions, amniotic fluid, breastfeeding, family fluff, expletives, this is a bit angsty but there’s a happy ending

Word Count: 7.3k

Requested: Yes || No

Author’s Note: the following depicts a very detailed, difficult, and medically inaccurate birth. This is graphic. I am quite literally going to simulate a birthing experience in your pov and I strongly suggest opting out now if anything pregnancy or birth related could make you uncomfortable. Finally, this is most definitely not medical advice, nor should this be used as a reference for what to expect during birth. This is a fanfiction about blue aliens, after all. With that being said, let’s welcome Ralak into fatherhood!! Enjoy 😊

Synopsis: Things were moving too fast until they weren't moving fast enough. The time has come and you're starting to doubt your capabilities. But thankfully your mate is here to guide you through this.

<- Previous

“Okay, Toto. Just do it. Go in there.” Zu’té sounds breathless as he speaks to himself, turning around to face the door. He hears your whimper and his jaw tightens. “Shit. Okay. Right.” Just as he raises his hand to pull back the curtain, he hears a winded voice.  “Brother.”

Zu’té spins around to face the voice of an angel—Ralak.

“Oh, thank Eywa. Thank you great mother. Thank you.” Zu’té chants in relief despites being one of the least spiritual persons someone can meet. He knew deep down that Eywa answered his call. 

Zu’té makes eye contact with the dishevelled and worn out giant. His attention is immediately drawn to the lengthy gash on his shoulder that seems to have been stitched up in a haste. 

“Ay’ana.” Ralak growls when he sees him staring.

The colour drains from Zu’té ‘s face, but before he can respond, Ralak’s ears perk up when they hear what seems to be a low whimpering. It sounds as if you're straining and struggling to breathe. His eyes dart behind Zu’té and then quickly snap back to his brother, filled with panic. 

Zu’té just barely shakes his head, urging himself to focus on the most important thing right now. 

“Your mate is in labour, tak.”

Ralak’s eyes widen at the confirmation. He knew it. He felt it back inland. 

Without another passing second, Ralak pushes past Zu’té and enters his marui. You hear the faint flap of the door and try to shift yourself in order to keep some level of decency.  

“I said to leave.” You’re breathless, gripping relentlessly onto the wooden stilt.

Ralak’s frozen in place, taking in the sight of you labouring by yourself. One that no matter how painful, is a sight he has always longed to see. A sense of pride fills his chest, his mate is showing such great strength that it’s admirable. Bringing life to his child is something he will eternally be grateful for. 

But then he sees your fingernails. How they've gone dull from all your gripping and scraping, and his sense of pride quickly mixes with shame. Shame that he has left you alone in this. 

Your laboured breathing is audible, practically wheezing as you struggle to breathe through the last lap of this contraction. You keep holding your breath and it’s more than evident from the red tinge in your face. Breathing is no longer the thing that you’re most focused on anymore, it’s the pressure between your legs.

He doesn't want to startle you but he can’t just watch you suffer any longer. He approaches you cautiously, examining you in attempts to discern how far into your labour you are. 

You're glazed in a layer of sweat, glimmering in the faint light of the first sliver of sun. Your shoulders rise and fall rapidly as you pant faster than a viperwolf pup, and your belly is low and firm as it tightens from the contraction. 

Ears laid flat to your skull and brows tightened, you curl over and clutch your stomach. He releases his clenched jaw and lessens the distance between the two of you. He gently places his hands on your lower back, pressing into you with the ball of his palm. 

The warmth alone provides a bit of relief for you, allowing you to momentarily catch your breath.

“Zu’té.” You hiss under your breath, surprised he’s even come in, much less laid a hand on you.

You let go of the marui stilt to swat away his hand with a loud smack. The reminder of you labouring in the presence of another man that isn’t him makes him wince. 

“Muntxate [wife].” Ralak husks quietly, using his thumbs to rub circles into your back. Your ears lift from your skull and perk up when you realise it’s your mate, back home from the excursion.

Tears overflow and spill down your cheeks. Tears of pain. Tears of exhaustion. Tears of relief. 

“Ralak.” You let out a nasally sob, unable to look at him just yet due to the contraction still rippling through you. You speak between your moans, voice cracking.

“You’re back. You’re here. It’s happening, lak. He’s coming. And I—I thought you’d miss it. I thought you weren’t coming back. I thought… I thought—”

“Alright, alright. I am right here with you, tanhì. Mawey, mawey [calm, calm].” He hums steadily, already reaching behind him for his kuru. “How long have you been in labour?”

“D-Don’t know.” Your breath catches in your throat and your knees begin to tremble. “Too l-long.” 

Ralak’s heart throbs in his chest at the thought of you enduring this on your own for that long. The contraction is finally subsiding, and you're eager to find relief in your mate. You exhale shakily and grip his wrist as you try to straighten your spine. 

“Easy.” Ralak is quick to help you to your feet, holding you by your hip and arm. “Can you stand?”

You nod your head as you slump back into him regardless. “It’s happening, ‘lak.��� You wheeze, resting your head on his chest. Despite the slight sting, Ralak smiles, joyful to know his son will soon be born. 

“It is, my tanhì.” Ralak hums, swaying side to side with you against his body as he brings his glowing tendrils towards the end of your braid. He’s spent but he knows the exhaustion he feels is nothing in comparison to yours. “I am so sorry I have left you alone in this.” 

“‘ts not your fault, my love.” You murmur, lulling your head against his chest. “...not your fault.”

Though your contraction has passed, the pressure in your pelvis has a steady, constant groan vibrating in your throat. It’s a feeling that won’t let up, and the further you progress the more intense it gets. It feels like your body’s at its limit, unable to accommodate your babe any longer. 

“Mmmn—tsaheylu, please.” Your plea is drawn out and low, unaware that he’s already one step ahead of you. 

When he makes the bond, the pressure is instantly lightened but is quickly replaced with a sharp pain in your shoulder and back. He sucks in a sharp breath and grimaces from the sudden pain and pressure that flows into him.

You gasp and clutch your left shoulder, whipping your head around to look behind you. Immediately, you catch sight of his wound. 

Fresh blood spurts out between the ragged stitches and globbed over herbal concoction, dribbling down his chest and back in thin streams. 

“Shit.” You curse, ripping your queue away from him, abruptly severing the bond—causing the pressure to come back tenfold. “Fuck—you’re injured.” 

“I am fine.” Ralak insists, reaching for your kuru again.

“Tsaheylu will infect it.” You insist, keeping your kuru away from him. 

“Ke tare [it doesn’t matter].” He says sharply, catching his tone and softening it. “Allow me, please.” 

Ralak reaches for your kuru again, eager to make it up to you—to take the pain for whatever time you have left. But you shake your head firmly. 

The fact that making tsaheylu caused it to rupture and bleed, a gash that size will surely worsen with the influence of your labour. Ralak respects your wish, although he’s in disagreement with it. He’d never make the bond without your consent and he feels as if he’s already missed too much of your labour to continue the argument. 

“…what happened?” You ask shakily, terrified to know the answer. “Wh-What did they do to you?” You feel yourself begin to tear up.

Seeing him so hurt always made your heart heavy. 

Your question catches him off guard, bringing him back to the moment he saw his own karyu. He swallows, having trouble keeping his calm and figuring out what to say. He has no intention of keeping it from you, but truthfully it isn’t the right time to speak of such matters. Not when you’re nearing the peak of the birth of your firstborn.

“Not now. You are labouring.” Ralak says sternly yet gently, reshifting his focus and concern back to you. 

And if it weren’t for the unbearable heavy sensation in between your legs you would’ve protested. You nod lazily as your breath hitches repeatedly, your hand finding its way to the lowest part of your abdomen to press into it. Your lengthy groans start up again, you can feel your entire body begin to tense up.

“Another? So soon?” Ralak’s voice falters, concern now evident in his tone. He steadies himself behind you, pressing his hands into your lower back once more. 

“Pressure. ‘ts too much.” You pant, leaning forward and using your free hand on the marui stilt for support. 

“Pressure?” Ralak tries his best to understand what you mean. Thinking that he’s pressing too hard into your back, he eases up and apologises. You shake your head and quickly replace your hand onto the lowest part of your abdomen with his. 

“Pressure!” You yelp the word like a plea for help, hoping he’ll get it without you needing to explain. Talking is becoming more difficult with each passing contraction. When he does finally understand, his eyes widen and brow bones jump. 

“Ah—he is moving down, tanhì.” Ralak tries to speak calmly, sliding his other hand over your stomach. His fingers smooth over your skin, taking in its heat and supple texture. He then feels it tighten even more, contracting right under the pads of his digits.

“Tewti [whoa].” 

It’s the first he’s ever felt a contraction, despite being a mandated witness to numerous first breath rituals in the clan. He begins counting under his breath, trying to gauge your progression by determining how long they’re lasting. But before he can get into the double digits your low grumble turns into a high pitched cry. 

Ralaks ears immediately go flat, hearing a cry like that rip from your throat makes his heart tighten in his chest. He shuffles closer to you upon realising that you're curling over from the pain. Moving quickly, he supports your body weight with one hand to your belly and another over your chest. 

“Ralak!” You cry out, “Please! Do something!”

With that, Ralak’s hands slip back down to your lower abdomen, cupping your belly and gently pull upward. This always helped if the baby was sitting too low, relieving some of the heaviness and pressure on your bladder.

Instantaneously, the pressure relieves. Your cry dissipates into a loud sigh, your downturned lips flipping up into a small smile of relief. 

“Thank you—” Pop. “—ugh” Gush. 

You’re silent, but your face screws into a grimace as the pain rushes back in with a vengeance. You look down in a painful daze, feeling the trickle of liquid down your thighs and legs. Through blurred vision, you watch as a pool forms at your feet, as well as Ralaks. 

“Shit.” Ralak mutters under his breath, recognizing what’s just happened. 

His head whips around to the sound of the flap of the marui door. He looks behind him, met with the panicked, bulging eyes of Zu’té, who’s staring intently at the scene unfolding before him. He's just worked up enough courage to enter the room.

Zu’té finally makes eye contact with Ralak, and Ralak nudges his chin in the direction of the village, mouthing—‘Get a healer’. Zu’té nods and takes off at full tilt. 

“…fuck‘m sorry. My waters...” You mumble, fingers digging into his arms in attempts to keep you standing, to no avail. 

Your knees buckle beneath you, and you lose all ability to keep yourself on your feet. Ralak supports you, moving down with you rather than trying to keep you standing. He slowly and gently lowers you to the floor, away from the growing puddle. 

“What for? Your water breaking? No need to be.” Ralak chuckles breathily, trying to make it obvious that it’s no big deal—he’s unbothered by it.  

“Me-messed you up.” You grunt, breath straining as you lean all your weight back into him. 

“You did no such thing.” He reassures you through a quick breath, adjusting you into a more comfortable position.

You lay on top of him, shifting onto your side and off the sharp throb in your lower back. You clutch his bicep with one hand and keep the other snug under your bump. 

He’s more so in an awkward position than not, his back now against the base of the bed and his right leg propped up to keep you from rolling back. He has no issue staying put in this position if it means some sort of relief for you. 

But your groans only deepen, lengthening and ending with small grunts.

“You alright, mama?” He checks in on you through a whisper, knowing that things move quickly once the water breaks.

You nod your head, trying to be strong, but he can see right through it. And you know it. You sputter out a sob and shake your head, finally admitting the truth—finally facing reality.

“I know, I know, tìyawn. Almost there.”

Even without tsaheylu, he is able to tell how long you have left just based on your sounds and body language. With each little grunt he notices that your face shifts to a brighter shade of pink.

He takes note of your tail, and how it’s now tightly coiled, tucked to the base of your tailbone—out the way. Your shoulders are bowed and your stomach sits low, hard as a rock. 

“Oh!—Eywa, ple-ase.” You mumble a plea, eyes squeezing shut when you come to the height of your contraction. “Mmm’fuck—fuck.” 

“A little longer.” He places a firm, comforting kiss on the temple of your head. “It will soon be over.” 

You feel Ralak’s hand firmly patting your lower back, attempting to put the fire out. But now the pressure’s released, the pain is only more intense—spreading and morphing into a new feeling altogether. 

“Ralak—Ralak!” You panic, your head rolling side to side as you strive against this new sensation. 

“Right here with you.” He hums, pressing hard into your lower back with the ball of his palm. “What do you need?” 

You begin frantically tugging at your soaked loincloth, trying your hardest to get it off of you. Ralak quickly takes over, untethering the knot and slipping it off you.

“Need to—aahaa! I think he’s—haah—he’s—he’s coming!” You yell, unable to fight the new feeling. An urge you’ve never felt before. The urge to push. “Ralak—I’m scared!” 

“Listen to your body.” Your mate encourages you with a steady and calm voice. 

His gaze snaps down to witness your leg rising into the air and your hand hooking under the back of your knee. His hand cups over yours, helping you support the weight of your suspended leg. 

Ralak manoeuvres himself in a way that allows him to support you and see what’s happening. He gently tugs your leg back a little further, having a proper look. He can see just how swollen and tender the flesh between your legs is—ripe and ready. It’s time. 

“Muntxate [wife]. Bear down if you need to.” 

“I—I—urgh!” You cry out, finally giving into the urge to push, allowing your body to bear down in the way it’s been trying to. Holding your breath, you tuck your chin to your chest and sink your fingernails into Ralak’s bicep, pushing as best as you can in this position. 

“Good, good. Good push, tanhì.” His voice is hushed but steady as he watches in awe as your body flourishes. “Syeha si [breathe].”

As the urge subsides, you release your breath and gasp for air a few times. If he’s really coming, you don’t want it to be here. You had both discussed doing this in the comfort of your own lake. The lake in the cave, where your relationship with him had blossomed to begin with. 

“Not here.” You say out of breath, legs shaking terribly.

Ralak leans in closer to you, listening carefully to decipher your murmurs. You keep your eyes closed shut, unable to open them anyway. They feel as heavy as you do, weighed down with exhaustion and agony.

But as you feel your stomach tighten and the urge rush back in, you realise that time lessening. “Water—get me in the water, please!”

Ralak hesitates, scanning your body to see if moving you in this state is the right thing to do. He watches as you tense up in agony as you contract, and quickly the realisation dawns upon him, too. At this rate, the babe will be here at any moment.

And if your wishes are to give birth in the water, now is the time to fulfil them.

Ralak scoops you up into his firm clutch, rises to his feet, and rushes out the door. Taking his time down the steps, your grip around his neck tightens just as a groan rumbles in your chest. Your legs squirm in his grasp as they try to snap open. 

“Hurry! He’s coming!” You grunt, burying your face into the crease of his peck, biting down to fight the feeling. 

Ralak glances down at you a few times, brows gathered from the worry that plagues his heart. He’s holding you tight, so as not to let the wiggle of your body loosen his grip.

“Here.” He huffs out, nearing the entrance of the cave. 

Immediately immersing himself hip-deep into the water, he moves hastily, submerging you as he makes his way over to the ledge and helps you into position.

The ledge makes a smaller, more shallow pool in the lake, perfect for you to sit in with your back supported by the bank. 

Water is up to your chest, slushing and splashing against your neck as you desperately readjust yourself to get comfortable. Your head is perched on the bank of the lake, hands spread across to hold onto the rocky surface. Your toes grip the floor, rooting yourself to the ground to keep you stable, knees bobbing at the water's surface. 

“Fuck! Ralak!” You cry out, feeling your body act on its own accord.  

Ralak is already in front of you, one hand on your bump as the other slips between your thighs to feel your progression. All while he’s looking down at you with nothing but concern etched into his features, unsure of what more he can do for you without tsaheylu.

He witnesses your face turn red as you hold your breath again, using as much force as you can to push him out. 

Ralaks hand moves from your bump to cup your cheek, his fingernails raking away the streaks of sweaty hair plastered to your face and tucking them behind your ear. 

“Syeha si, tanhì [breathe].” He reminds you gently, exaggerating a breathing pattern you had rehearsed a few weeks ago, and you try to match his rhythm. 

But you’re stuttering and sobbing, unable to establish a pattern and push at the same time. Your back is on fire and it feels as if the baby isn’t moving any further down. 

The contraction finally ends with a loud wheeze and your head slumps back into the rocky bank. You shake your head as you struggle to open your heavy lidded eyes. 

Your vision is blurry and spotty. You glance down in a haze and lock eyes for a moment with the worried giant before you, and then you feel yet another contraction wash over you. They are on top of one another—back to back—with little to no break between them. 

“Fuck. Please. Please. Plea—” You weep weakly, eyes slamming shut as your chin makes contact with your chest, cutting off your pleas with a lengthy, guttural grunt. You push with what you have left, giving yourself a throbbing headache as a result. 

“Pushing so, so well.” Ralak praises you with a hushed voice, feeling something press against his fingers. 

As you strain, you feel the delirium set in. The panic of not knowing if you’re capable of doing this. Every inch of you more than ached, yet some parts of you have even gone numb from how long this has been going on.

You can barely get a proper breath in much less breathe the way you should when you’re pushing. You feel like your body may give out at any moment. 

“Keep going, y/n.” He encourages you, seeing your exhaustion and feeling you stop. 

“Ralak…lak.” You let out a sob and try to relax your body, but end up collapsing back into the rocky surface again. “‘m tired, lak.” You mumble shakily between laboured pants, “...want him out.” 

“I hear you.” Ralak tries to reassure you, now supporting both your trembling legs as they threaten to give out. “He will soon be out, tanhì. But you have to keep going.”

“No—oh, no, no.” You cry, tensing up from another agonising contraction. You didn’t think they could get any more painful. “No more. No more, please.”

“Come now, big push for me.” Ralak instructs softly, repositioning himself to help deliver his son. 

“Ugh—!” You scream, giving all you have left into this push. Beads of sweat roll down your temples at a concerning speed, and your face shifts to an even more vibrant shade of red. “Please! Please get him out of me!” 

“He’s coming out, tìyawn. Keep pushing, almost there. Almost there.” Ralaks voice is low and laced with panic, despite his greatest efforts to keep calm and collected.

This cycle repeats for some time, instilling worry into both you and Ralak. You’re having a difficult time, and it’s taxing on your body to keep this going.

Truthfully he can tell that you’re really struggling, and he’s getting a little more worried as time passes. But then he feels the baby press against his fingers and hope fills him once more. 

“That’s it. Push just like that, y/n.” 

“Fuck—” And just as last time, you collapse back into the bank, depleted with nothing left to give. You begin to think that maybe everything you’ve been hearing was right. 

Maybe you can’t do this. 

“I…I can’t.” You sputter defeated, letting your legs go limp either side of you.

“Mawey [calm]. You can. Your body is made for this.” He reaffirms for not only you but also himself, he’s too afraid to lose you. No, he can’t lose you, too. He’s experienced too much loss. 

“’s not comin’.” You shake your head lethargically, feeling faint. “He’s stuck.”

Hearing that makes his heart sink. Ronal’s words echo in his mind, putting him in a frantic state. He quickly composes himself, probing the tender flesh to help stretch it out. He feels something slimy and silken, and his ears perk up.

He’s right there. So close. 

“He’s not. I feel him, he is right there.” Ralak tries to keep calm for you, attempting to reassure you as he quickly thinks about the next best move.

Zu’té isn’t back with the healer and there's not much else he can do. He looks down at you, taking in just how uncomfortable you look as he tries to imagine just how much pain you’re in. With a position like this, no wonder your back hurts. His eyes widen. 

No wonder your progression has stalled. 

“Move with me. Easy.” Ralak croons, carefully tucking his arm under your back to sit you up slowly. He throws your limp arms around his neck, and brings you to your knees and then your feet—supporting your weight as you get there. 

“Lak, Lak!” You grimace and whimper as you try to work with your mate—your body is already so sore and weak that any movement is torturous. 

“Need to get you off your back.” Ralak huffs, holding you in position until you’ve adjusted. You hold on to him, arms wrapped tightly around his neck as you settle into a squat. “A few more pushes, mama.”  

“Haa—no, no.” You squeal in desperation, feeling his head descend even further down now that gravity has come into play.

Then your belly stiffens. 

You bite the flesh of your cheek until you taste blood and bury your face into the dip of his collarbone—refusing the urge to push. But the instinct overrides you completely, leaving you in a panicked and delirious state. 

“Take h-him out! Make the cut!”

“No, no cut. No cut.” Ralak utters a throaty whisper, pushing down into your lower back. “Bear down, muntxate [wife].” 

“Ple—ase.” Your broken plea comes out as a low grunt as you shake your head frantically, driving your dulled nails into your mate. “It hurts, it hurts!” 

“I know, ma’ y/n. But you must bear down, please.” His voice trembles, filled with worry, but his words are firm—non-negotiable. You continue to shake your head, fighting with what you have left, your laboured breathing deepening as you run out of strength to resist. 

Ralak’s worry quickly turns into pure panic. Panic that you’ve really given up. Panic that you really may not make it out of this. That…he’ll lose you. He knows what he must do, despite it being against your wishes.

He gives your kuru a quick stroke, his way of warning you. It sends a shiver through you, but the pain is so excruciating that you can’t resist this, too. 

Ralak quickly makes tsaheylu, bringing a brief moment of pure, instant relief, just enough to bring you out of your delirium. His wound reopens, burning and weeping. But not even that could prepare him for your pain. 

It feels like each vertebrae in his spine instantaneously shifts out of place. It is excruciating. And strange—that urge to push. He can feel it too. It’s like an itch deep under your skin. Irresistible and uncontrollable. 

“Push!” Ralak groans loudly, prompting you to bear down with whatever strength you can muster up.

You scream at the top of your lungs, achieving a frequency and volume so high it can be heard from the village. Ralak’s fingers quickly probe the tenderness between your legs to check your progress once more. Finally, he feels the baby’s head begin to emerge. 

“Perfect push, tanhì. Keep going, keep going.” Now he’s winded, flustered and speaking breathily. 

Your scream is cut off by your vulgar tongue, “Fuck! Fuck—it burns!” You cry out, feeling a bolt of white hot fire split you in two, making you jerk back. “It’s burning!” You sob, trying to wiggle away from the flame. 

“He’s crowning. His head, shit—” He huffs, realising that the babe is coming too quickly, not giving you enough time to adjust, “Stop pushing.” His fingers probe the taut skin in attempts to prevent you from possibly tearing, “Breathe him out. Just as we practised.”

Your fingers dig even deeper into him as your head snaps up to shoot him a deadly glare. Wasn’t he just demanding that you push? To ‘listen to your body’?

You take deep, intentional breaths, eyes flicking down to search the cloudy water as you try your hardest to resist. He can feel your frustration through tshayelu, he can hear your thoughts. 

“Syeha si, syeha si [Breathe, breathe]. Let yourself adjust. Let your body push for you.” Ralak tries to explain, using the bond to his advantage and setting a steady breathing pattern. 

‘I can’t do it.’ You think to him, unsure if you’re even doing it right.

“You can. You are. Just like that.” Ralak works with you, probing the tender skin once more as he feels the head emerge. “A little longer.”

But yet, you feel yourself giving in. 

“Can't. Help. It.” You whimper, your breath stuttering as it catches in your throat. Tears roll relentlessly down your cheeks. You need him out. 

Now. 

You drop to your knees and tuck your chin to your chest. “Haah!” Your breath finally releases, and a guttural, lengthy grunt follows after. 

Ralak feels you push — hard. He readies himself, steadying his stance as he traces his fingers around the circumference of his unborn’s head to help guide him out. 

He is, too, looking down into the murky water, trying his best to see what’s going on. All he can do is rely on his sense of touch and the feeling through the bond to help him. 

“Ngh—ugh!” You feel a pop between your legs and the pressure minutely releases. 

Just then Ralak feels the rest of your baby’s head emerge. He can feel the curls of his silken hair, and how they’re laid flat to his skull. Ralak nearly breaks down right there, but fights the array of emotions bombarding him all at once to recenter his focus back on you. 

“His head is out.” He croaks, supporting the babe's head with the palm of his hand. “Hair like yours.” 

Ralak gently unlatches your grip on his shoulder and guides your hand under the water and towards his. Aside from wanting you to feel what he’s feeling, he’s hoping that this will give you the strength to keep going.

You feel the sliminess first, and then the soft, velvety texture of your son's head. You weep, slumping your head into Ralak's chest as you focus on gathering as much energy during the small break from the contractions. 

It’s incredible to know that your body created this life. 

“Oh god…it’s him.” You barely whisper.

“You are so strong, you know that? Mighty.” Ralak hums, cupping the back of your head with his hand. You lift your head to look at him and he rests his forehead against yours, searching your eyes with his. “One more push for me, okay?” 

You nod your head, bottom lip curled over to touch your chin. His hand slips from your neck to your cheek, his thumb wiping away one tear of a thousand. The tightening of your stomach has you tensing up, gripping onto him for support. You groan and moan until the contraction reaches its peak, where you begin to grunt and push against the budding pressure.  

He steadies himself once more, quickly slipping his hand off your cheek back into the water. He holds your son's head with one hand, and hooks the fingers of his other hand under his son's left shoulder. It pops out with the help of his gentle tug, and you bear down even harder. 

“A little more.” He encourages you, waiting patiently to feel his son's right shoulder emerge. He feels the bridge of his shoulder and Ralak jumps into action, carefully guiding his son's shoulder out. “Perfect, there it is.” Ralak mumbles quickly, hyperfocused on ensuring a safe delivery. 

You whimper when the burning sensation comes back, shoving your forehead into his chest. It’s hard to breathe. Every fibre in your being has you wanting to hold your breath for more leverage to get him out. Your noises fade to little choked muffles, quick and uneven. 

“Breathe.” Ralak chokes out, feeling your burning lungs through tsaheylu. He immediately establishes a somewhat steady breathing pattern for you to sync into.

“Pwah!” You let out a shaky, harsh breath of air, panting as you try to sync with him. “Urgh—ah!” you groan as you push, surprised by how long this torturous contraction is lasting. 

“Please get him out of me, please, please.” You whisper into his chest.

“Shoulders are out, tanhì” Ralak huffs next to your ear, tenderly rubbing his cheek against your temple. 

“Catch him, Lak.” You wheeze, your legs shaking uncontrollably from carrying your weight for such a long time. He wants so badly to do the rest for you, now really sensing your weariness through the bond. But he couldn’t, all he could do was support you through every second of this. 

“I have him, muntxate [wife].” He whispers, lips pressed to your ear. “Last push.”

A hoarse, empty cry evades your trembling lips as you bear down a final time. Suddenly the pressure releases entirely, and you feel your son slip out of you and into Ralaks hands. You let out a loud moan of relief, immediately pulling away from Ralak’s chest to look down into the water. 

“He’s out. He’s here, tanhì. You did it, mama. You did it.” Ralaks cracked voice is full of relief. “He—he is so small.”

You fall back onto your behind, breaking tsaheylu with your mate. Your eyes search for your newborn but you can’t make anything out of the murkiness of the water.

You look up to witness tears fill Ralak’s eyes for the first time as he holds the baby underneath the water. Your back hits the rocky bank of the lake in solace knowing your son is in safe hands. 

Then Ralak grits his teeth and lets go.

“Lak. Ralak.” Your panicked, hoarse voice calls for him, but you’re too weak to get up. “Ho-Hold him, Ralak.” 

Ralak looks like he’s fighting his own instinct to scoop up his young and cradle him in his chest. And that’s because he is. It’s taking everything in him not to do just that, but he knows that this is the way. The right way. 

“Mawey [calm]. First breath.” Ralak gently reminds you of the Metkayina ritual. He knows he must do this, especially in the absence of the Tsahik. “Let him swim.” 

You watch intently as the water slowly clears, revealing the wiggle of your newborn's body. “Help him.” You plead with trembling lungs, having a hard time watching this unfold. 

Ralak stays close to his newborn, ready to jump into action in an instant. But the babe rises to the top all on his own—swimming directly from the womb. You burst into tears, chest swelling with pride and every emotion under the moon.

Nonetheless, Ralak taps his bum softly, his other hand hovering underneath his son's feet in the case he needs to intervene. This is the first moment where your son has made you both proud.

Your son breaks the water with his face, chubby cheeks and puckered lips. You hear the sound of his little, first breath — pwah. His eyes open as he looks around, catching sight of his father scooping him into his arms. 

“You did it, my little one.” Ralak whispers with a crack in his voice, shifting his gaze over to you. “You did it. I’m so proud of you.” He repeats in absolute shock and awe, and this time you know he’s talking to you, too. 

Ralak holds his son close to his chest and away from his weeping wound, using his body heat to keep him warm as he makes his way over to you. The babe wails when he catches your scent, squirming in his fathers arms as if he were trying to get to you on his own terms. 

“She is right here, son.” He whispers, bouncing him a bit as he places him in your arms, helping you hold him for the first time. “Hold his head.”

Your arms feel like jelly and they won’t stop shaking, but you’re eager to hold your newborn. Ralak tucks himself closely at your side, keeping a precautionary hand under your arm. Immediately, he calms, gurgling and cooing as he listens to the familiar and comforting thump of your heart. It’s all he’s heard in the past ten months. 

Teary eyed, you look down through blurred vision, taking in the sight of your son. Every feature. Every stripe. Every freckle. His dark turquoise skin, golden eyes, pointed pink ears. A tail like his father, but five fingered, like his mother. He is the perfect mix, the perfect balance. 

“You’re perfect.” You whisper, admiring his little coos and floppy, soft ears that lay flat against him. His head turns towards your bosom, puckered lips brushing against your top in search of your nipple. “Hungry? Hm?” You hum shakily. 

Ralak is quick to help you, helping you position him just right. Your son shakes his head as he tries to latch for the first time, and both you and Ralak watch quietly with wobbly smiles plastered on your faces.

With two fingers, Ralak presses down onto your breast, angling your nipple in a way that makes it easier for you and him. You can’t help the grimace on your face when he does latch and suckle, but it quickly turns into a smile as you watch him feed for the first time. 

“Rak’äni.” Ralak proudly announces the name of his first born son.

You look up at him, witnessing a tear or two roll down his cheek. You’d never seen this giant cry like this before. The past two days have been too much.

“Rak’äni.” You repeat with a smile, Ralaks eyes finally meeting yours. He leans in and meets your lips with his, kissing you tenderly. He lingers there forehead to forehead as he pulls away, allowing himself to be vulnerable—to soak in his emotions. 

“I love you. I see you, y/n. For life. And beyond.” Ralak sheds a few more tears as he speaks the words.

“Nìt’iluke [neverendingly; forever].” You say wearily, heavy lidded eyes struggling to stay open. 

Snap. 

Ralak hears the sound of a branch breaking underneath the weight of a person's foot. Ralak looks behind him, hand under the water clutching the dagger on his hip, ready to protect his family. He sees the silhouette of a woman standing at the opening of the cave, basket on her hip as the last rays of sun shine through her. 

The first eclipse is starting.

Is that how long this has gone on for?

His heart skips a beat as his eyes narrow to see who it is…to see if it’s how he suspects it may be. Did she really follow us?

He then sees a taller figure emerge behind her, then another, and another…and another. And soon he counts seven heads in total and it dawns on him.

It’s your family—and his.

“We have visitors, little one.” Ralak coos quietly at his baby, his thumb just barely gliding over his cheek. “Are you alright, mama?” His voice sounds muffled and distant, as if he were at the other side of the lake. “The healer is here.” 

“Tired...Hurts.” You mumble, letting your eyes fall shut.

You feel Ralak’s gentle touch as he tucks himself behind you, supporting you with his body. His arm is under yours, keeping the babe safely above water as he feeds. You can fully relax your body now, sinking into your mate’s pillowy chest. 

“Rest.” Ralak whispers. “I have you.”

“You won’t believe, brother. The tshahik is also in labour. And I couldn’t find you…I heard y/n scream and—oh…” Zu’té lowers his voice to a whisper, catching sight of the freshly born babe in your arms. “Tak. He’s here.” His voice falters even more as he nears his blood.

His only family outside of Ralak. He’s awestruck, taking in all the different features of a new kind as he feeds. The babe's skin resembles the depth of his mother, but the tone of his father. Stripes like an omaticaya. Tail like a Metkayina. Five-fingered.

Truthfully, the length of his stare has Ralak feeling a little uneasy and a bit protective. 

“Toto.” Ralak hasn’t called him that in years, “Meet your nephew—Rak’äni.” 

“Rak’äni.” Zu’té repeats through a whisper, keeping his distance from the babe. “Fyole [beyond perfection].” 

Ralak relaxes, smiling proudly. “He is.” 

Zu’té fumbles with a small satchel on his hip, taking something out of it in a haste. He hands Ralak something small, something delicate. It's weaved to perfection, with colours of the sunset.

"For him." Zu’té says in a hushed voice, unfolding the garment to show his brother. It's a hat, an entirely new concept to the Metkayina. Ralak looks at him, a little confused, eyes bouncing between the strangely shaped item and his brother. "For the child's head."

Ralak smiles, his furrowed brows relaxing when he understands. Zu’té raises his brows and gently nudges it closer to the babe in your arms. Ralak nods, watching as Zu’té slips it on his head as gently as he can.

"Toto, that is very kind—"

"Don't flatter yourself." Zu’té cuts his brother short, pulling back to see the finished result of his hard work. It fits perfectly. "I had plenty of time."

Zu’té steps back, giving you two some space.

A sudden splash of the water makes Ralak jolt in his skin, but he calms down once he realises that it’s the healer situating herself next to you so she can tend to you. He isn’t all here right now, either.

“You did well, sa’nu.” You recognize her voice and strain to open your eyes, vaguely seeing her features.

She was at all your lessons with Ronal. The only one who didn’t look at you like some sort of alien. The only one who treated you with respect.

“All on your own. You need to be strong for a little while longer, alright? This may hurt.”

She begins gently massaging your abdomen under the water—a step that is empirical for healing. You clench your jaw and squeeze your eyes shut, shoving your head back into Ralak, who is visibly trying to withhold his look of displeasure.

“I get that look quite a bit. It’ll be over soon, sempu.”

You look down with foggy vision and see the hat on your baby's head. Immediately, you know who made it. You turn your head, looking directly at Zu’té and smile, mouthing 'thank you'. Zu’té returns the smile with a slight nod, remaining silent.

A high-pitched, excited voice has both you and Ralak turning your heads to see your little sister. 

“Woah! Mama, look!” Tuk exclaims, tugging Neytiri by the hand to get a closer look. 

“Shh, Tuk. He is asleep.” Neytiri hushes her youngest, nuzzling her into her side. The others stay quiet as they approach, crouching down at the bank of the lake to look at their new family member. 

“I am so proud of you, my daughter. He looks like you.” Neytiri whispers, raking her fingers through your knotted hair.

You exhale a shaky breath and smile weakly, leaning into your mothers comforting touch.

Jake looks down at the suckling babe in your arm, eyes burning as they gloss over with tears. “You did it, babygirl.” 

Hearing your fathers words after so many years of feeling like a failure, you can’t help the sob you sputter out. 

“D-Daddy.” You cry shakily, breath hitching. “It was s-so h-hard.” 

“I know, baby. I know. But you did it. ” He coos at his own baby, rubbing your shoulder as he looks over to Ralak. “You both did.” He smiles with his son-in-law, cupping the back of his head with his other hand. 

Neteyam and Lo’ak wait patiently at the back, not wanting to crowd you. Neteyam is particularly worried for you, he’s been beating himself up for not checking on you when he knew deep in his gut that he should have.

Lo’ak is… nervous, despite his big talk about being the best uncle. Your parents pull back, allowing some space for you, Ralak and the healer. 

“Guys.” You sniffle, craning your neck to look at them. “C-Come see your nephew.” 

They approach cautiously and kneel down next to you and Ralak. Neteyam smiles, golden eyes quivering as he takes in his features. 

“It’s uncle teytey.” Neteyam takes his nephew's tiny hand, his thumb grazing over his five fingers. Then Neteyam looks at you, his expression going from bright to glum. “I’m sorry I didn’t check on you.”

You shake your head and smile, barely keeping your eyes open. “Don’t be.” 

“Y/n. I—” To your surprise, Lo’ak is speechless. “He is beautiful.” 

“Thank you, uncle Lo’ Lo’.” You smile with another sniffle, using that god-damned nickname he wouldn’t let up on.

Lo'ak returns the smile, hearing it fall from your quivering lips makes his heart full. You finally lean back against Ralak's chest, allowing your eyes to close, heavy and swollen from all your shed tears of joy and pain.

You feel the healer’s hands leave your stomach and make their way to your chest where she ensures the babe has latched properly. “Perfect latch. You are a natural, y/n.”

You smile wobbly at her words, feeling extra proud of yourself. 

“I will leave the medicines here, ensure she takes them on time.” She’s speaking to Ralak, who is also in a daze, gazing down at his son. “I will come and check on her tonight. Until then, she needs to rest. No heavy lifting.”

Ralak finally averts his attention to the healer, a smile on his lips as he nods. He’d never let you lift a finger, anyways.   

“Ralak, your wound is open.” Neytiri speaks with concern in her voice. 

The healer looks down to see his mangled laceration. “Eywa…Now, this will hurt.” Her eyes go wide and she immediately gets her things to sew him back up. Neteyam and Lo’ak look at the bleeding gash with wide eyes. Jake grimaces. 

“D-Does that hurt?” Tuk asks shyly, peeking out from behind Neytiri to see. 

Ralak shakes his head with a smile, too overjoyed with the safe delivery of his first born son to even notice anymore.

“No pain. Only happiness.” Ralak says softly, accent heavy on his tongue as he looks back down at his now stirring babe. 

[mpregtales]

Luke & Owen Part 4

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] ⬤ [Part 5]

One evening, after a quiet dinner at Owen’s dorm, Luke found himself cradling his belly absentmindedly, feeling the baby move beneath his hands. Owen, noticing the gesture, moved closer, his eyes soft with affection.

“Can I…?” Owen asked, his hand hovering near Luke’s belly.

Luke smiled and nodded, lifting his shirt to expose the smooth, stretched skin. “Go ahead.”

Owen’s hand rested gently on the curve of Luke’s belly, his fingers tracing the contours with a kind of reverence that sent shivers down Luke’s spine. This touch was unlike any he had ever experienced—it wasn’t clinical or casual. This was deeply intimate, filled with care and admiration. Owen wasn’t just acknowledging the pregnancy; he was connecting with Luke on a profound level, recognizing the vulnerability, strength, and beauty that came with his changing body.

“You’re amazing, Luke,” Owen whispered, his voice filled with awe. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you.”

Luke’s heart fluttered at Owen’s words, but there was something deeper stirring within him—something primal. His body, so full of life, ached with a tension that had been building for weeks. His hormones had reached a fever pitch, and as Owen’s hand moved gently across his belly, tracing the smooth, firm skin, Luke felt a need rising within him that he could no longer contain.

He leaned into Owen’s touch, kissing him again, more deeply this time, with a hunger that surprised even himself. The kiss ignited something between them, and Owen responded in kind, his hand moving with purpose as he caressed Luke’s belly, the connection between them growing stronger with each moment.

Owen's hand roamed lower, exploring the firm but softening expanse of Luke’s body. His touch was gentle but deliberate, and when his fingers trailed down to Luke's hips, Owen’s breath hitched slightly. Luke’s once-athletic frame had changed in ways that were impossible to ignore—his glutes had grown fuller, rounder, as the pregnancy progressed, creating a striking contrast between their muscular firmness and the soft curve they now held. The added weight made them bounce slightly with even the smallest movement, an undeniable testament to how much Luke’s body had transformed.

With both hands, Owen reached back to Luke’s mountainous cheeks, cupping them fully, one hand on each side. The sensation of Owen’s hands gripping the firm, muscled flesh sent a jolt of electricity through Luke’s entire body. His glutes, once firm and solid, had become round and bouncy, growing in size as his pregnancy progressed. Owen’s fingers pressed into the muscular mounds, appreciating both the firmness and the give in their new fullness.

The primal desire that had been building within Luke for weeks began to surface with full force. The way Owen held him, his hands reverently caressing every curve, every change, made Luke feel both cherished and desired in ways he hadn’t expected. The tenderness of the moment was almost overwhelming, but it wasn’t just tenderness—it was something raw, something powerful.

Owen slid his hands beneath the waistband of Luke’s gray sweatpants, his fingers pressing directly against the bare skin of Luke’s cheeks. Luke gasped softly as Owen’s hands found their way deeper, grabbing his backside more fully. The intimate contact sent a surge of heat through Luke’s entire body, his cheeks flexing involuntarily under Owen’s touch.

For a moment, the world around them seemed to melt away. Luke’s breath quickened as the sensations coursed through him, the intensity of it all nearly taking his breath away. He had always imagined this kind of connection with someone, but the reality of it, especially now, while his body was so profoundly changed, was more than he had ever anticipated. It was more than just physical—it was emotional, spiritual even.

Without thinking, Luke instinctively shifted his weight and rolled over onto all fours, his knees spreading wide on the bed, his back arching as he pushed his now-mountainous cheeks out toward Owen. The position made him feel vulnerable, exposed in a way he hadn’t felt before, but it also felt right—natural. He had cradled life within him, and now, he offered himself fully to the man who made him feel safe, adored, and wanted.

Owen’s gaze never left Luke as he took in the sight before him. Luke’s backside was full, round, and inviting, the muscle beneath the growing softness flexing subtly as he held himself in position. Owen’s hands returned to their place, this time with even more intensity, caressing and holding Luke’s cheeks with a mixture of admiration and desire. Luke felt his heart race, his body responding to the way Owen touched him, how his hands seemed to worship every curve, every inch of his body that had changed during this pregnancy.

There was no rush between them, no urgency. Instead, it was a moment of pure connection—a shared understanding that this was more than just physical attraction. Owen wasn’t just drawn to Luke’s body; he was drawn to Luke, to who he was, to the incredible strength he had shown throughout this entire journey.

Owen leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to the small of Luke’s back, just above where his belly began to curve outward. Luke shuddered under the touch, feeling the tenderness and care in every movement Owen made. For the first time in weeks, Luke felt at peace with the changes his body had undergone, at peace with the way things were unfolding between them.

Luke could feel the weight of his body shifting as he remained on all fours, the roundness of his belly hanging beneath him, a reminder of the life growing inside. His heart raced with a mix of anticipation and vulnerability. This was a new level of intimacy for him, one that went beyond the physical—it was emotional, a leap of trust that he had never taken with anyone before.

Slowly, he began to tug down the waistband of his gray sweatpants, the soft fabric sliding over the curve of his hips. As the material slipped lower, his ripe, full, rounded cheeks were exposed, their muscular firmness giving way to a subtle jiggle as the elastic band cleared the plump mounds. The sensation sent a shiver through Luke’s body, not just from the cool air that brushed against his bare skin but from the intensity of the moment.

Owen’s breath hitched. “God, Luke…,” he whispered, his voice thick with awe. He couldn’t take his eyes off the sight before him, completely overwhelmed by the raw beauty of Luke’s form—by the fullness of his body, the way his cheeks seemed to invite his touch. Without hesitation, he reached out, his hands caressing the smooth, firm skin of Luke’s backside. His fingers traced the curves reverently, marveling at the way Luke’s body had transformed, the pregnancy giving him an undeniable allure that only heightened Owen’s desire.

Luke let out a soft moan, the sound escaping his lips unbidden as Owen’s touch sent ripples of sensation through him. It wasn’t just the physical sensation that overwhelmed him—it was something deeper, something primal that stirred within. His hips, which had grown fuller and rounder over the months, tingled with a strange, unfamiliar energy, as if they were calling out for something, someone, to fulfill the desire that pulsed deep within him.

This was his first time being intimate in such a way with anyone, and the vulnerability of the moment was almost overwhelming. He had imagined what this might feel like, but nothing could have prepared him for the reality. The weight of his belly beneath him, the fullness of his body, and the primal longing that flared in his core made him feel raw, exposed in ways he hadn’t expected. Yet, at the same time, it felt right. So right.

Owen leaned in, his breath warm against Luke’s skin as he placed tender kisses along the small of Luke’s back, moving lower. Owen parted Luke’s massive cheeks with both hands revealing his moist, quivering hole. Owen was overcome by desire and buried his face between Luke’s cheeks, licking up the moisture there and tantalizingly prodding Luke’s hole as he squeezed the mounds of his cheeks. The sensation was unlike anything Luke had ever experienced, and he gasped softly, his body reacting instinctively to the intimacy, to the tenderness. Every touch, every kiss sent waves of warmth through him, making it hard to focus on anything but the feelings building within.

As Owen pulled back, he fumbled with his own waistband, his hands trembling slightly from the intensity of the moment. He slid his pants down, his body responding to the overwhelming desire he felt for Luke, revealing his long hard ten incher pulsing with intensity. He paused, taking a deep breath as he prepared himself, the weight of what they were about to share sinking in.

“I want you,” Luke whispered, his voice filled with longing. The words surprised him, but they came from a place of deep desire—one that had been growing ever since he had first felt Owen’s touch.

Owen, his heart pounding in his chest, reached for the lube on the bedside table, his hands moving with care as he prepared them both. He coated his manhood generously and his fingers moved gently over Luke’s entrance, applying the cool gel with reverence. He leaned in, brushing his lips softly against Luke’s left cheek as he worked, letting the intimacy of the moment build. He could feel Luke’s body responding, the tension in his muscles giving way as Owen took his time, making sure Luke was comfortable, making sure everything felt right.

Then, with deliberate care, Owen positioned himself between Luke’s cheeks, his hands steadying Luke as he guided himself forward, his bulbous tip resting on Luke’s quivering entrance. As Luke pressed forward, the initial sensation was intense—Luke’s cheeks flexing as they adjusted to the head breaching him. Owen eased into him inch by inch, Luke’s breath caught in his throat as he felt the fullness, the sensation of being connected in such a profound way. It wasn’t just physical—it was an emotional release, a moment where everything seemed to fall away except the two of them. It seemed that the length of Owen’s manhood would never end until his firm muscular crotch was pressed firmly against his plump round cheeks, completing the union.

As Luke held himself steady, he was overcome with a feeling of deep satisfaction he had never experienced before and pressed himself back into Luke’s crotch deeper, jiggling his mounds as Owen let out a deep moan. Owen began to move his hips slowly, his thrusts a steady rhythm, mindful of Luke’s body and the way his cheeks bounced to each gentle thrust. Luke, feeling overwhelmed by the pleasure and the closeness, began to move with him, their bodies finding a rhythm together. Each movement brought them closer, both physically and emotionally, deepening the bond that had been growing between them since the day they met.

The room was filled with the sounds of their breathing, of whispered words of affection and love. Owen’s hands never left Luke, one hand resting on his hip, the other sliding up to cradle Luke’s growing belly. The weight of it, the roundness beneath his palm, was a reminder of the incredible journey they were on together. It grounded them both in the moment, in the life they were building together, one step at a time.

The pressure began to build deep within them. Luke surrendered himself fully to Owen, allowing him to grab his cheeks and stroke his own hard and impressive manhood below, his belly rocking with each thrust. As Owen reached the peak of his desire, his movements became more urgent, the intensity of the moment overtaking him. Luke, lost in the sensations coursing through his body, arched his back, his cheeks flexing and bouncing with each thrust.

The warmth of Luke’s body against his own, the way their bodies moved in perfect harmony, and the sight of Luke’s ripe, plump, pregnancy-thickened bubble butt bouncing on him brought Owen to the edge. And then, with a final, deep thrust, Owen climaxed, his breath catching in his throat as he held Luke close, the warmth of their shared moment enveloping them both. Luke moaned softly, the sensation of Owen’s release filling him deeply inside, the weight of it a reminder of just how far they had come together.

Owen leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Luke’s cheek as they both caught their breath, their bodies still humming with the afterglow. Slowly, Owen pulled back, his hands never leaving Luke as he gently helped him roll onto his side. They lay there together, side by side, Owen’s hand still resting on Luke’s belly, cradling the life that was growing inside him.

“I love you, Luke,” Owen whispered, his voice filled with tenderness and certainty.

Luke, his heart full, turned to face Owen, his eyes shining with emotion. “I love you too,” he replied softly, the words carrying the weight of everything they had been through, of everything they had yet to experience.

In that moment, everything felt right. Luke knew that, no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them together, bound by love, by trust, and by the undeniable connection that had brought them here.

By the time Luke entered his eighth month of pregnancy, his body had transformed in ways that left him in awe—and, at times, in discomfort. His belly had expanded into a large, firm globe, stretching his skin to its limits, making every movement a challenge. His once firm and athletic glutes had softened and rounded, growing noticeably fuller and adding weight to his hips. The sway in his walk had become more pronounced, the fullness of his cheeks and the pressure from the baby creating a rhythm in his gait. Even the simplest tasks, like getting dressed, had become an ordeal. Pulling his jeans over his wider hips, feeling them hug his newly expanded curves, was a reminder of just how much his body had changed.

The pregnancy had also brought on more cravings—he’d never been one to indulge much, but now, Luke found himself reaching for foods he never thought he’d want. Owen teased him when he dipped pickles into ice cream, but there was something comforting about these strange combinations. His growing body demanded nourishment, and Luke was more than happy to oblige.

Despite the physical changes, college life went on. Luke tried to keep up with his classes, though he was finding it more difficult to navigate campus with the weight of his pregnancy. His friends were especially supportive. For Luke, though, Owen was more than a support system—he was becoming the person Luke could count on when everything else seemed to fall apart.

And things were falling apart. The family situation back home had deteriorated further, and Luke could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, even from a distance. His parents’ marriage, once held together by their shared hope of another child, was unraveling fast. Arguments became the norm, and the tension between his mom and dad was palpable. His mom, Julie, was trying to hold it together, still clinging to the dream of raising a baby, while his father, Mark, had become increasingly detached. Luke, always the peacemaker, had been caught in the middle for too long, and it was becoming clear that no child could fix what was broken between them.

Then came the appointment that changed everything. It was a routine check-up, one of many Luke had gone through during his pregnancy, but this time, the doctor had news. As the ultrasound wand glided over Luke’s massive belly, revealing the now-familiar image of the baby on the screen, the doctor smiled. “Would you like to know the gender?”

Luke glanced at Owen, who was sitting beside him, holding his hand. They both nodded.

“It’s a boy,” the doctor announced, her tone warm and gentle.

A boy. Luke’s heart skipped a beat. He had always dreamed of having a little brother—someone to look after, to play with, to share experiences with. But now that dream was tangled with something far more complicated. He had also dreamed of having a son one day, a child he would raise with a partner he loved. And now, here he was, carrying a boy—a baby who was both his sibling and, in many ways, felt like his own.

The emotions hit him hard. Luke felt protective of the child growing inside him, but he also knew the reality of the situation. This wasn’t just his baby—it was his parents’. Or at least, it was supposed to be. The internal conflict raged inside him. He loved the baby, but how could he give him up now? Especially when his parents were barely holding it together.

He cradled his belly frequently, his hands instinctively finding their place along the firm, round surface as if grounding himself. As the baby kicked and rolled inside him, Luke felt a deep sense of connection, a protectiveness that surprised him. Yet this protectiveness came with its own set of complicated emotions. It was one thing to feel a bond with the child he was carrying, but it was another to know that the baby was, in fact, his brother. This created a strange, internal conflict—he couldn’t help but love the baby, but the knowledge that it wasn’t his own child twisted his feelings in uncomfortable ways.

As his body continued to change, so did his emotions. The pregnancy hormones surged through him, amplifying his feelings of attachment to the baby. There were moments when Luke found himself imagining a life where he kept the baby, where he and Owen raised him together. It felt right, in a way, to be this child’s protector. But every time he let his mind wander down that path, he was brought back to the reality that this baby was supposed to be his parents’. It wasn’t his to keep.

Luke, who had always felt like the glue that held his family together, now felt helpless as he watched them crumble. One evening, after Luke had returned from an emotional visit with his parents, he broke down in Owen’s arms.

“I don’t know what to do,” Luke confessed, tears streaming down his face as he cradled his now large belly. “I can’t believe I thought this would fix things for them. It’s not going to. And now… I love this baby. I want him. But how can I take him from them? And how can I leave him with them when I know what a mess everything is?”

Owen held him tightly, pressing a kiss to his temple. “You didn’t know this would happen,” he said softly. “You were trying to help. You’ve always been the one to keep things together, but this isn’t your responsibility. It’s not your job to save their marriage.”

Luke nodded, wiping away the tears, but the guilt gnawed at him. He knew Owen was right—he shouldn’t have volunteered to be the surrogate. He had been so desperate to hold his family together, to give his mother what she wanted, that he hadn’t fully considered the emotional weight of what he was taking on. Now it was too late for an abortion, not that he could ever bring himself to do that. He loved this baby too much. But the idea of handing him over to his parents, knowing the state of their marriage, made Luke sick with worry.

“I don’t think I can do it,” Luke whispered, his voice trembling. “I can’t give him up. I can’t let him be subjected to what I went through as their kid. He deserves better.”

Owen cupped Luke’s face in his hands, looking into his eyes with a tenderness that made Luke’s heart swell. “Then don’t,” he said simply. “We’ll raise him. Together. I’ll be there every step of the way, Luke. You’re not in this alone.”

The words hit Luke like a wave, both relieving and terrifying him at the same time. He knew that Owen meant every word, but the reality of the situation was daunting. Still, the idea of raising this child with Owen, the man who had been his anchor throughout this chaotic time, filled Luke with a sense of hope he hadn’t felt in months.

The next day, Luke sat at his desk, staring at the blank email screen for what felt like hours. His body ached—his belly rumbled with kicks, his glutes and hips sore from the strain of carrying the baby. The weight was no longer just physical. He could feel the emotional burden pressing down on him as well. He had always been the one to fix things, to keep his family together, but now it felt like everything was falling apart, and he was helpless to stop it.

He rubbed a hand over his stretched belly, feeling the baby shift beneath his palm, a wave of warmth and protectiveness washing over him. Luke loved this child—more than he had anticipated. The idea of handing him over to his parents, knowing the state of their crumbling marriage, filled him with dread. He needed advice from someone who understood this journey, someone who had walked the path before.

With a deep breath, Luke began to type:

Hi Aaron,

I hope you’re doing well. I wanted to reach out to you because I could really use some advice—and I figured you would understand what I’m going through more than anyone else.

I know I mentioned before that my parents were considering surrogacy, and I ended up offering to carry their baby. Well, I’m pregnant. It still feels surreal, and I’m about eight months along now. It’s been a lot to process—more than I ever anticipated.

At first, I thought I could do this for them without getting too attached, but now… I don’t know anymore. I’ve grown really close to the baby, and with everything going on at home—my parents’ marriage falling apart—I’m feeling conflicted. I’m scared that if I hand the baby over, he won’t get the life he deserves.

Also, I’ve started seeing someone. His name is Owen, and he’s been incredible throughout all of this. He’s been my rock, and I’m beginning to wonder if we should raise the baby together. The thought of giving him up to my parents feels more impossible by the day.

I know you’ve been through some complicated family dynamics yourself, and I’d really appreciate any advice you can give me. I’m struggling to see what the right path is here, and I don’t want to make the wrong decision for the baby or myself.

I know your daughter’s planning on coming to my university for a campus visit soon, and I’d love to meet up with you if you have time. It’d be great to talk in person.

Thanks so much,

Luke

Luke hit "send" before he could second-guess himself. He leaned back in his chair, his hand absentmindedly caressing the swell of his belly. Now, all he could do was wait.

The response came quicker than expected:

Hi Luke,

First of all, congratulations on your pregnancy. I know it’s a complicated situation, but I want to start by acknowledging that what you’re doing—offering to carry a child for your parents—is incredibly selfless and brave. However, it’s also okay to feel conflicted, especially now that you’ve bonded with the baby.

I can understand the attachment you’re feeling. When I carried for my stepson, I also felt that closeness to the baby, and it can be emotionally intense, especially when you have unresolved family dynamics at play. The fact that your parents’ marriage is struggling complicates things even further, and it’s completely valid to worry about the kind of environment the baby would be entering.

It sounds like you and Owen have built something special together, and the idea of raising this baby with him isn’t far-fetched at all. Family takes many forms, as I’ve learned through my own experiences. The most important thing is that this child is loved, supported, and raised in a stable environment. If you feel that’s something you and Owen can provide, then that’s a discussion worth having.

I’ll be on campus next week with my daughter for her tour, and I’d be happy to meet up for coffee. I think it’d be helpful for you to talk through everything, and I’m happy to listen and offer any advice I can.

Take care, and I look forward to seeing you soon.

Aaron

The relief Luke felt was palpable. Aaron’s words had a way of cutting through the confusion and guilt, reminding him that there wasn’t a single path to family. There were options—real ones. And Aaron had lived through it all.

The following week, Luke found himself sitting at a small table outside a caf�� on campus, nervously rubbing his belly. Owen sat next to him, offering a comforting smile. He hadn’t met Aaron yet, but Luke had told him everything about the advice Aaron had offered, and Owen had been eager to meet the man who had made such an impact on Luke’s journey.

When Aaron finally walked in, he smiled warmly, his presence immediately putting Luke at ease.

“Aaron,” Luke greeted, standing slowly, his belly jutting out in front of him. “Thank you for meeting us.”

He looked the same as Luke remembered from their earlier interactions—calm, confident, and wise beyond his years of experience. Beside him was his daughter, a young woman with a kind smile and an eagerness to explore the campus. After some brief introductions, Aaron’s daughter excused herself to start her tour, leaving the three of them alone.

Luke felt a wave of emotion hit him as Aaron sat down. It wasn’t just that he was seeking advice—he was looking for reassurance, for guidance, and perhaps most of all, for permission to let go of the expectations he had set for himself.

“You look great,” Aaron said warmly, glancing at Luke’s belly. “How are you feeling?”

Luke let out a small laugh. “Big,” he admitted, rubbing the curve of his stomach. “But okay, I guess. Physically, anyway. Emotionally… that’s a different story.”

Owen, ever the supportive presence, placed a hand on Luke’s back, gently rubbing in silent comfort.

“I read your email,” Aaron said, leaning forward slightly, his voice calm and understanding. “I know this has been a tough journey for you, and I want you to know that whatever decision you make, it’s okay. You’ve taken on so much for your family, but it’s also okay to think about yourself—about your needs, your life, and your future.”

Luke nodded, feeling the weight of Aaron’s words. “It’s hard because… I thought this would fix things for them. But now, I’m not so sure. And I’ve grown so attached to the baby.” He looked down at his belly, feeling the baby shift beneath his hand. “I love him, Aaron. I don’t know how I’m supposed to just… hand him over.”

Aaron listened carefully, his expression thoughtful. “When I carried for my stepson, I had similar thoughts. I wondered how I would let go, especially knowing that the baby would grow up in a situation that wasn’t typical. But the truth is, you’re not just handing him over. You’re giving him a chance at life, and you’re still a part of his life—whether that’s as a parent or as an uncle, or whatever role you choose to take.”

Owen chimed in, his voice steady. “I’ve told Luke I want to raise the baby with him. I’m here for whatever comes next.”

Aaron smiled, clearly impressed by the strength of their relationship. “That’s the foundation you need—love, support, and understanding. If you two feel that raising this child together is the best path, then that’s the decision you should make. Family doesn’t have to look one way. Love makes a family, not just biology.”

Luke felt the tension in his chest ease as he listened to Aaron’s words. This was what he needed—someone who had been through it, someone who understood the complexity of surrogacy and family dynamics.

“But how do I even begin to explain this to my parents?” Luke asked, his voice tinged with fear.

Aaron took a deep breath. “That part won’t be easy, but honesty is key. You’ll have to explain that you made this decision with the best intentions, but circumstances have changed. It’s about what’s best for the baby now, and you have to trust that they’ll understand that. It might take time, but they’ll come around. And you won’t be doing this alone—you have Owen, and you have me, if you ever need advice.”

He paused for a moment, looking between Luke and Owen, as if weighing his next words carefully.

“And listen,” Aaron continued, his voice soft but resolute. “I know how overwhelming this can feel, especially being in college and trying to balance everything. Lucas and I are nearing a big transition ourselves with our twins heading off to college, and we’ve got this big house… plenty of space. If you need somewhere to stay after the baby is born, somewhere stable while you figure things out, you’re more than welcome to move in with us for a while. We’ve been through this before, and we understand how complicated it can be. We could help take some of the pressure off.”

Luke blinked, surprised at the offer. He hadn’t even considered the possibility of moving in with someone like Aaron, someone who had been through the same kinds of unconventional pregnancies and family dynamics. The idea of having that support—of being surrounded by people who understood the weight of what he was going through—felt like a lifeline.

Owen squeezed Luke’s hand, nodding thoughtfully. “That’s… incredibly generous, Aaron. We really appreciate it.”

Aaron smiled warmly. “It’s not an easy road, but you don’t have to walk it alone. And if having a safe place, even just temporarily, can give you the stability you need while you’re adjusting to everything, I’d be more than happy to offer that. You and Owen are building something special here, and I’d hate for the weight of all these changes to make it harder than it has to be.”

Luke felt a knot of emotion tighten in his chest. The relief, the support, and the sense of belonging that Aaron was offering felt like a gift he hadn’t expected. It gave him a glimpse of what life could be like—a life where he and Owen didn’t have to struggle through this on their own, where they could find their footing together with the help of people who genuinely cared.

“I don’t know what to say,” Luke finally managed, his voice thick with gratitude. “Thank you, Aaron. That means more than you know.”

Aaron placed a reassuring hand on Luke’s shoulder. “You’ve got a community around you, Luke. Don’t ever forget that. And you’re not the first person to face these challenges. What matters most is that you and Owen make the decisions that feel right for you and the baby. Family isn’t just about biology—it’s about who shows up, who’s there for you, and how much love you can offer.”

Luke nodded, his heart swelling with emotion. He glanced at Owen, who was smiling softly at him, and suddenly the future didn’t seem so daunting. Yes, there were still hard conversations ahead—especially with his parents—but knowing that he and Owen had a solid support system, knowing that people like Aaron and Lucas were in their corner, made everything feel more possible.

“Thank you,” Luke repeated, his voice quiet but sincere. “We’ll think about it… and I’ll talk to my parents soon. But knowing that we have somewhere safe, that we have people we can lean on… it makes all the difference.”

Aaron smiled, giving Luke’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “That’s what family does. And whenever you need us, we’ll be here.”

The conversation stretched on, filled with stories from Aaron’s own experiences—his unexpected pregnancies, the surrogacy for his stepson, and how David and eventually Lucas had been his rock through it all. Luke felt a renewed sense of clarity.

As they parted ways, Aaron hugged Luke gently, his hand resting briefly on Luke’s belly. “You’ve got this,” he said softly. “Trust yourself. You’re going to be a great parent.”

Luke smiled, tears threatening to spill over. “Thank you, Aaron. I really needed this.”

Owen and Luke watched Aaron walk away, his calm presence leaving behind a sense of peace. Luke took Owen’s hand, feeling the weight of the decision no longer crushing him. They could do this—together.

The breaking point came a few weeks later around his ninth month of pregnancy, when Luke returned home for a visit. His belly had dropped by then, the baby settling lower as his due date approached. The weight was a constant reminder of the life he was about to bring into the world. His glutes, now full and round, added to the strain on his lower back, and every step felt like a challenge. As he sat at the kitchen table, cradling his belly, he knew it was time to confront his parents.

The conversation started quietly, with Luke gently broaching the subject. But it wasn’t long before emotions boiled over. His mother, Julie, was on the verge of tears, her voice trembling as she spoke. “We thought... we thought this baby would help. We thought it could bring us back together.”

Luke felt a pang of guilt, but he knew the truth. “Mom, this baby can’t fix your marriage,” he said, his voice steady but firm. “You and Dad need to face the fact that things aren’t working. You can’t put that on me—or on him.”

His father, Mark, sat silently, his arms crossed, but the tension in his posture was clear. He wasn’t ready to hear this.

Owen, who had been sitting quietly beside Luke, finally spoke up. “Luke’s right. You two need to deal with your problems without putting this baby in the middle. He deserves better.”

Julie’s tears fell then, and Mark’s face hardened, but Luke pressed on. “I love him. I’ve been carrying him for nine months, and I can’t just give him up. He’s more than just a sibling to me. I’m going to raise him.”

Julie looked up, her eyes wide with shock. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” Luke began, his voice filled with resolve, “that I’ll raise him. He’ll still be your son, and you’ll always be his real parents. But Owen and I will raise him and give him the life he deserves.”

There was silence in the room, the weight of Luke’s words hanging heavy in the air. Finally, Julie nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just want him to be loved.”

“He will be,” Owen said softly, his hand resting on Luke’s back, offering silent support.

Mark, still silent, gave a curt nod. “If that’s what you want, then... we’ll respect it.”

It was a bittersweet resolution, but Luke felt a sense of relief. The burden of holding his family together was no longer his to bear. He had made his choice, and now, all that was left was to bring this baby into the world.

As the ninth month of his pregnancy drew to a close, Luke’s body was at its limit. His belly, now massive, hung low, stretching the skin tight across its surface. His hips had widened even more, and his glutes—full, rounded mounds—jiggled with every step. The weight pressed down on him constantly, making even sitting a challenge. He often found himself cradling his belly, feeling the baby’s movements beneath his hands, a constant reminder of how close he was to meeting his brother.

Part 5

[emiko-matsui]

I can't really let go of the hallway scene with Porter because it felt like so many got the wrong takeaway. I believe that Porter genuinely likes Fig, he's liked her since day one of freshman year way before he ever wanted/needed her as a champion. I do not think he likes Kipperlilly. He noticed that Kipperlilly was spying on him and was fucking pissed off about it. He played it off and helped Fig to her feet and brushed her off, but he fucking pinned down Kipperlilly (who should be well-versed with Porter's fighting abilities after all that time in Farhaven). I think he's gonna discard the Rat Grinders as soon as he can, but I do genuinely believe we're gonna get a scene in the final battle of Porter offering Fig a place in his empire. He trained her and I think she's his magnum opus outside of the manipulation. I think he would be delighted to work with her and has not pushed anything with her because he's so astutely aware of her competency level and past with the bad kids and I think this makes Porter, maybe subconsciously, like her even more. Fig is a multiclass Bard/Warlock/Paladin, but spiritually she's always been a barbarian in the same way Gorgug has. I genuinely think Porter's been right about that. I believe he would've gotten her an MCAT without needing her signature. He's working with Kipperlilly and pinned her down spiting them both, he's actively working against Fig and he helped her up and told her we gotta work on your technique a bit more

[mswyrr]

Qimir consistently aches to see the pain the dark side causes Osha and I believe this will lead him to resist Plagueis' plans in s2.

His first moment of regret and resistance is, in fact, at the very completion of his seduction! He gets Osha to put the helmet on - and it hurts her. It's causing her pain, so he fights to rescue her from that. Even though, presumably, this was (with Plagueis, whether knowingly or unknowingly) the goal.

Let's backtrack a second and reflect on the seduction itself. The show creator/lead writer, Leslye Headland, has said that it wasn't manipulation on Qimir's part, that he meant everything he said. Two relevant quotes from the same interview with her on this point:

"So, in my opinion, Osha is extremely in denial about her own anger at the Jedi and at her father, i.e. Sol. She's in extreme denial about that because she feels like she's not allowed to be angry, and she's in an enormous amount of pain over her sister and their history, and she also feels like she's not allowed to feel that. So, someone coming in and saying, “Actually, feeling all those things is not only okay but actually could restore your spiritual foundation,” is almost too much. I don't think that's manipulation. I think he's telling her the truth."

"[T]he relationship between Lo and Jen in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon was an influence in the writer's room. We referenced that relationship over and over again. The intentional parallel is that they are equals and their relationship is earned through mutual vulnerability, not intimidation or manipulation."

However, someone can be themselves misled and so mislead you too, from a place of sincerity! That is, perhaps, the most heartbreaking way of all to mislead someone. Qimir is lost - the Jedi path damaged him and he (like so many Jedi before him) snapped to the Sith path. It's not working for him, it's causing him pain likely, but he believes it and shares from that place. But the moment Qimir sees this path is causing Osha pain, he feels compelled to do something to help her.

Once he gets the helmet off Osha, Qimir seems relieved when he learns the vision Osha *thinks* she saw, of Mae "killing a Jedi without a weapon." (Which Qimir somehow knows is the goal here - to get Mae or Osha to fall - presumably because Plagueis either gave him the vision or told him directly to try to get that to happen?)

He's content with the idea that Mae will be the one to do it, fulfilling the vision/directive, and actively seeks to make it happen from this point on. He tries to talk her up into doing it at the pivotal moment, but that's not what she's about, her feelings about Sol are not so out of balance for her to "fall" as the Jedi and Sith understand it. She feels anger but also wants justice most, not revenge.

I read disappointment in how Manny plays his reaction to Mae's "No" - disappointment at "failing" sure but also I think it's related to the fact that he wanted it to be Mae, not Osha.

This was cemented for me by the way he played Qimir's reaction to Osha's fall. He's not celebratory, though he's just accomplished what he had been trying to since he began teaching Mae! He seems stricken, actually. There's no pleasure or satisfaction in his "success"! Witnessing Osha's pain only makes him feel compassion and bow his head in sorrow. This "success" is ashes in his mouth.

As a mutual on Twitter pointed out to me (♥️_LokiDokie!), Leslye's commentary in this interview supports this reading of Qimir as grief-stricken by what he's seen:

"Then it's like this passing through, stepping over the threshold, that actually will bring them closer together, which is so interesting. But the motivation I gave to Manny in that moment — in theater, we would call it dramaturgically — for, “Why is he stepping over to do that,” because it said it in the script, was, “You have been in this position. If you have a red lightsaber, you have felt this level of despair, rage, and dejection. So go over there and let her know that you have had that experience.” And he just did that beautiful thing. I was like, “Jesus Christ.”"

His reaction is a stark contrast to Mae, who never fell to the dark side, and doesn't understand what she's seeing - she mistakes this for Osha being liberated from Jedi mindwashing. THIS is what Qimir's face would look like if he thought this was a good thing and was happy about it:

The contrast is quite stark.

Qimir's sorrow for Osha continues as he attempts to comfort her and then sees she's bled the saber.

Intriguingly, Qimir has the helmet on and is "hiding" emotionally when he wipes Mae's memory. We don't get to see how that pain effects him. But the pattern throughout the episode is that when Osha hurts he aches too.

In the final scene, Qimir approaches Osha, again, without triumph at any of this. He's gotten everything he thought he wanted, but he looks at her and I read concern, sorrow, wariness.

He steps closer to her and takes her hand supportively, continuing his pattern (3 times in this episode!) of physically coming close to help/comfort her when she's hurting.

Then he raises his chin with resolve, but no happiness. They are facing the future, but they are "doomed" on the Sith path. Romantic love cannot live there anymore than it can thrive on the arid, repressed Jedi path. I think he suspects that - whether or not he's knowingly in league with Plagueis. Whatever is coming, the Sith path can only cause Osha more and more pain...

He cannot help but ache with her when he sees Osha in pain and want to help her. I cannot imagine an s2 where they continue down the Sith path without him breaking under the strain of watching the pain it causes her - he could endure it himself but seeing her do it? He'll snap. And that romantic love--something BOTH the Jedi and Sith reject and denigrate--that will help them escape imo. Here's a quote from Leslye I interpret as supportive of this reading. She references how the Sith path is inimical to romantic love and then alludes to the tantalizing possibility of escape:

HEADLAND: Oh, yeah! Again, they’re Sith. It's a different vibe. To me, it's gonna hit different because of their allegiance and who they are. So, yes, it is framed as romantic, but I do think, again, it's not gonna turn out great. I think if he's training her, “One to hold the power, one to crave it.” So they're starting off as equals, but what's gonna happen? Like in Romeo and Juliet, it's amazing because right at the beginning they're like, “Okay, these two die. Let's start the play.” As you're watching this incredible love story unfold, and it's one of the most beautifully iconic plays ever written, in the back of your mind, you're like, “This is not going to turn out well.” I want to clarify: They are not necessarily doomed or destined to fail as a team. But the Sith rule of two denotes a power imbalance. Which clearly, due to the final shot, is not their relationship. Also, Plagueis complicates their journey as Sith, because we know his apprentice is eventually Palpatine. They will not defeat him.

I feel pretty confident that the love he feels for her is pivotal to their journey away from the Sith path and what Plagueis wants for Osha - both because Leslye knows this is not a good path and because of the deep sense of care and connection Qimir already feels for Osha.

Combine this with Leslye's comments and imo it being unlikely that they'll repeat the same pattern with Qimir & Vernestra that they did with Sol & Osha and just the overall "sameness" that would come of hammering the endless cycle in more and I just don't buy that as the direction we're headed.

It is possible to tell it as a relentless tragedy and keep hammering the endless, inescapable cycles but, while tragedies are valid (I enjoy hotd!), even they have a narrative form more varied than that usually. And this IS a "coming of age" psychological/mythic Star Wars story at the end of the day. And one Leslye (happily gay married with a child!) drew on her own experiences (with religious trauma) to write... she didn't end up trapped in darkness why would a young protagonist like Osha have to?

Here's the full Leslye quote about religious trauma, since I believe it's vital to understanding where she and the writing team are going to take Osha, Mae, and Qimir:

You have a play, Cult of Love, coming to Broadway this fall. It’s about a Christian family gathering for the holidays. It’s inspired by your own experiences with your family. You were working on it at the same time as The Acolyte, from what I can tell. Did they influence each other? Our director, Trip Cullman, and I were talking about how it’s called Cult of Love because all cults have a dream, and the dream is really beautiful. Even Jim Jones started out trying to desegregate Indianapolis. This family in the play has this dream that they follow to the logical conclusion, which is that they never achieve it. I was raised Christian. Christianity is the ultimate dream. It’s a beautiful concept that God becomes human in order to love you more. Then you look at what Christianity has done to the world: colonization, genocide. It was a beautiful dream that doesn’t justify the human action that comes along. The Jedi also live in a dream, a dream they believe everybody has. In The Acolyte, the pilot ends with the line “An acolyte kills the dream.” The drama is to wake up to the fact that the dream doesn’t exist.

I think the point is for Osha and Qimir to wake up to the fact that both the Jedi and Sith "dreams" do not exist. They are toxic mirrors of each other - and Osha and Mae were born into a culture (the culture of the Coven and their mothers) that didn't see the force in the binary way the Jedi&Sith both do. Mae, who remembered and kept to the pov of the Coven, never fell to the dark side in a Sith way --she felt anger but balanced with a desire for justice, even when she killed-- it was only her sister, taught repression and self-denial by the Jedi, who did. Qimir and Osha have a conceptual/spiritual escape route open to them if they wish to use it.

Finally, Leslye has said that she's written Qimir as her "shadow" (in the Jungian sense) and that she feels close to him - and what does he want? "I want freedom." I don't think someone driven by that desire is going to just surrender himself AND the woman he loves to Plagueis the Creeper.

My wife was like, “What do you want to say?” I was like, “I wanna say that people don't want me to exist as a gay woman, as a woman in this particular space, working in this wild sandbox.” There was a whole crew of people who believed in me, but deep down, I felt like, “I am unaccepted for who I am because of what I believe in and wanting to wield my power the way I'd like without having to answer to the legion of people that just exist out there.” By the way, I think everybody feels this way. I think that's why it resonates when you're honest about yourself, and you get personal about it. When he says, “I want freedom,” that's what I want. I just want freedom. I want to be able to just be out there and be myself and be the type of artist I want to be without having to answer to anybody. That's why I feel so close to him.

[mallleus]

Part 2 of the hispanic spouse for Stan Pines HC cuz I can’t control myself

Mabel adores the relationship you and her grunkle have (“Morality is relative”)

Stan is surprisingly very touchy

Teases you a lot

(Lightheartedly) bickers with you

Beans take up too much of the freezer space

No idea what the hell Dipper is talking about but he’s family so you listen anyway

You have a whole factory line for tamale-making when the little pines twins are there

^ “ We’re tired of this Tia/Tio (Y/n)!” “ That’s too damned bad! Now keep cutting the tin foil and banana leaves”

Stan tried to drink your cafecito☝️ONE (1) time, he felt like his heart was gonna explode (Ford drinks it regularly)

Chismosa Stan

You have a hyphenated last name (L/n)-Pines

" Ah, Stan, look at your pancita <3" " I can't tell if you're complimenting me or calling me fat-" " Have some more food, you're too skinny" " If you say so!"

He went into the kitchen for another Pitt soda and you roped him into making food

He's used to Irish goodbyes, you're used to Hispanic goodbyes (saying goodbye to everyone, the dog, the neighbor, the squirrel outside, everyone)

Stan saw a cookie container and got so excited only to be in complete dismay when he saw sewing supplies

Vincente Fernandez and Selena Quintanilla were played regularly. ( Mabel doesn't know what the words to "No Me Queda Mas" mean but she feels it on a spiritual level. She's her Lana del Ray)

Part 1 Part 3

[thecapricunt1616]

Cinnamon - (c.b. one-shot)

Snippet (more BTC): “Can I- take your panties off…p-please?” He asked shyly “wanna make y’feel good - wanna taste your pussy I miss it s’much - tastes so good baby please lemme taste you” he said and his whiney husky voice mixed with his breathlessness from being shoved into the fabric of your dripping cunt made you clench around nothing. 

♡ One Shot Inspo: Cinnamon invokes lust and is considered an aphrodisiac. It can be used in love spells as well as for sex magic. Burn cinnamon to stimulate your spiritual powers and increase your psychic ability and awareness.

♡ Summary: Carmy hasn't had pussy in 2 weeks....he nearly died (he's a drama queen, but you love it) So, being the loving amazing GF you are you Mountain Dewed it up down left right (oh!!) switched it up like Nintendo - and did it so well you put his ass to sleep. (I listened to Espresso the whole time writing this its literally all I could think about hahahah)

♡ W/C: 4,140

♡ Posted Date: 05/12/2024

♡ A/N: HEYYYY!!! Okay okay so MORE STAGEFRIGHT because the amazing wonderful talented goddess level writer @l4long-winded sent in ♡THIS♡ big brain beautiful ask, and let me tell you I had some THOUGHTS!!! I have such a worship kink so .... yeah this was v fun to write. I hope you love reading as much as I loved writing. My dear please send in a request whenever you want!! Requests are open per usual :D

♡ Warnings for BTC: Kinda Sub!Carmy, Smut, Fem!Reader, AFAB!Reader, No use of Y/N, No use of physical descriptors, Black!Fem!Reader friendly (i'm pretty sure pls tell me if smth needs editing!), Kinda Virgin!Carmy, Not edited (we die like men)

♡ 𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 ♡ ➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ♡ ➵ 𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞 ♡ ➵ 𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 / 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘵 ♡ ➵ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 ♡

It had been quite literally a fortnight since Carmy had been able to fuck you. It was all he’d thought about, well - when his brain wasn’t busy going a million miles an hour about the restaurant, which is exactly what had taken up so much of his time lately. He’d usually be grateful for this kind of work, the kind of work that he’s going in at 3:15 and not getting home until 11:30 pm or midnight when you were already fast asleep. 

He was exhausted, emotionally, physically, mentally, spiritually - but sexually?! He wasn’t sure he had ever been so wound up before. His nightly sessions of jerking his cock in the shower, biting his hand to keep as quiet as he could while he thought of the view of you when he came in that night. One leg hoisted up, nightgown ridden up over your ass. The one you knew he loved, and some of his favorite panties. 

You called them your lazy girl panties because you told him you only wore them when you weren’t expecting anyone else to see them, but that very fact meant drooled over them. The slight discoloration from being so old, the little threads hanging off the leg holes and waistband. The tiny hole right in the waistband that he loved to thumb with while cuddling in bed. 

 Two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty six hours. Twenty thousand, one hundred and sixty minutes. 

That had been how long he had gone without being inside of you. He didn’t know his dick could get depressed, but his dick was fucking depressed. Getting off felt like a chore. When he’d jack off, he took an extra 15 minutes yanking on the thing because he could barely cum anymore, even though his balls were aching like he needed to. 

Every time he got home, he’d stand in the doorway, just watching you. You would be peacefully asleep, chest lightly rising and falling, your beautiful body covered by some loose sleep thing. A loose sleep thing that he fantasized about ripping off into shreds. 

Tonight though - he could cry. You were up - you were fucking awake. Through his own selfish desires he didn’t even realize it was abnormal, the only thing he could think about was the blood rushing to his cock at the mere idea you could possibly potentially be in the mood. “Baby?!” He nearly tripped over his own two feet rushing to your shared bedroom. 

You were sat up on the bed, book on your thighs - a loose nightgown that accentuated your curves and hugged your peaked nipples uncovered by any bra. He could bust in his pants and all you were doing was reading. Reading what? He could care less honestly because his cock was starting to hurt. 

You sat up, putting your legs over the side of the bed to get up and greet him “Bear! How was work love? I wanted to stay up so that we could - what’re you…” you trail off confused as he slinks to his knees before you, between your thighs and lifting up your leg, putting the top of your foot to his lips. 

“In…22 minutes” he starts between kissing up your bare ankle and calf “it..will have been..15..days..” he stopped at your thighs, his cheek smushed against the flesh, he looked like he could both cry and that he was coming home. “Since I touched you. Please. Please baby - can I make you feel good? Mm?” He mumbled into your skin. “Please princess? I’m dyin’ here. I’m fuckin- I literally cut my hand t’day thinkin’ bout you. I fuckin need you” he kissed over each little tiny inch of your flesh. He was…worshiping you. 

The idea sent waves of warmth flooding your core. “Yeah baby?” You took his hand, seeing a bandage over his knuckle and kissing it gently. 

The feeling of your lips to his skin made him whimper “please- please please please” he begged, sitting back on his feet and looking up at you through his bangs, pushing his hair back quickly before his hand found your calf once again, rubbing little strokes into it “please?” He asked softly, his big blue eyes blown wide with lust. 

You gently cup his cheek “and who’s fault is it?” You were teasing now. But you knew the bastard loved a challenge, and you also had been horny and your fingers were nothing compared to Carmys. 

“Mine. It’s mine. My stupid fuckin job angel I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, how can I make it up? What can I do pretty? Mm? I’ll do whatever you want” he begged you and kissed over your knees and calves, pressing short little pecks to the skin. You grabbed his greasy curls at the root, raking through a few of the knots gently before pulling him to look at you and he moaned gently at the sudden firmness 

“Do you know I’ve been fingering myself to fall asleep. All alone - for all those days you said. My poor hand” you held it up and he brought it to his lips on instinct, kissing the pads of your fingers before opening his mouth expectantly. “Good Bear” you purr and his eyes flutter shut as you stuck in your middle and ring fingers, slipping them over his tongue. He moaned at the contact, not holding back. 

You smiled a bit, tugging his jaw open and he looks up at you, cheeks flushed and drool beginning to drip down his chin. “You’re pretty” you said softly and he swirls his tongue around your fingers before sucking on them gently, not breaking your gaze. Your stomach flips with excitement, your panties becoming uncomfortably wet but you weren’t going to let that show. He deserved to beg. 

“Do you deserve to be sucking on my fingers though?” You pull them away suddenly and he gasps a bit a the unexpected emptiness of his mouth, a pathetic little pout appearing on his lips. 

“No” he said softly and you grab his cheeks, smushing them gently “but I can make you feel soooo good - you deserve it” he told you and you pat his cheek gently with your hand, your wet fingers leaving a glistening streak on his cheek. 

“I know I do. Are you gonna eat me out? Like a good boy?” You laid back on your elbows, spreading your thigh and resting one of your feet on the edge of the bed, showing your panties that had grown a large wet spot during your conversation. He watches every move you make, his eyes focusing on the wet spot you sighed softly, deciding to take pity on him. “You can sniff my panties, you little freak” you giggle and he looked up at you like a kid on Christmas 

He wasted no time shoving his nose right in the wetness, inhaling your sweet yummy scent and groaning “thank you” he mumbled into the curve of your ass, his hot breath against the skin causing your clit to twitch and goosebumps to appear on your skin. You feel him taking another deep breath and nuzzling his nose back and forth to get deeper like a dog and you couldn’t help but giggle, raking through the knots in his curls as he stuck out his tongue and caught the fabric of your panties with his teeth, sucking the juices out of the fabric and moaning hotly. 

His hands were everywhere, rubbing over your calves, your thighs, your stomach, pushing your nightgown over your tits and rolling a peaked nipple between his fingers. You bit your lip, head falling back slightly and grinding your hips into his face, using his nose to get yourself off. “Go ahead Bear take off your jeans, you’ve been good t’night and I know you’re probably hurting” you told him 

He sighed into you gratefully “y’too nice t’me” he kissed over your clothed pussy a few times as he unbuckled his belt with shaking hands, the anticipation was killing him. 

“No me being nice would be telling you that you could touch yourself. And no dripping on my carpet” you told him as he pushed his boxers and jeans enough to let his cock free that was indeed dripping already. His boxers were creamy and wet with pre, he had been pathetically grinding against the boxspring as he sucked your panties like it was his life source. 

“Shit-“  he said, wrapping a fist around his weeping tip as he continued tonguing and nosing at the fabric between your legs. “Can I- c-can I please?” He begged pathetically, that softness to his voice you loved so much. A sweet whiney grunt leaves his lips as you pull his hair, forcing him to look at you. 

“What have we talked about? Use your words.” You said firmly. 

“Can I- take your panties off…p-please?” He asked shyly “wanna make y’feel good - wanna taste your pussy I miss it s’much - tastes so good baby please lemme taste you” he said and his whiney husky voice mixed with his breathlessness from being shoved into the fabric of your dripping cunt made you clench around nothing. 

“I wanna cum twice before you even think about touching yourself. Also take your shirt off you’re way overdressed for my taste.” You dropped his hair and he nods obediently, standing and shoving off his jeans and tugging his shirt off by the neck in that stupid jockish way that had you wanting to shove him down back first on the mattress and ride him until his balls were empty. 

Instead you kept your cool, crossing your arms over and slipping your nightgown over your head before taking off your panties, flicking them at him playfully to which he balled them up and pressed them to his nose, inhaling deeply. This caused you to laugh as you adjusted your pillow to lay back, spreading your thighs and gathering some of your wetness from your hole, dragging it up to your clit and rubbing little circles into it. 

“Mmm are you gonna keep sniffing those like a pervy-puppy or are you gonna come make good on your promise. I’m surprised this poor hand hasn’t fallen off” you teased and he dropped the panties where he was standing, coming and crawling on the bed, laying in front of you and hoisting your thighs over each of his shoulders 

“Mmm” he hummed, his eyes fluttering shut and leaning in, resting his cheek on your thigh and inhaling. “Smell so fuckin’ good” he mumbled “mouth is literally watering” he kissed your inner thighs sweetly, ravishing the skin in gentle affection. “God I missed this fuckin missed this s’much. Every morning this pretty fuckin pussy is just beggin me” he kissed your mound gently, dipping his tongue out and moaning at the taste of sweat and lotion on your skin, lapping it up like a life source. 

“Yeah? I think you’re the beggar” you mused, jaw falling slack as he licks a stripe up your heat, moaning pathetically at your taste. His eyes rolled back slightly before fluttering shut in pure bliss “mmm so pretty baby” you coo and he smiled slightly, his cheeks a blushy pink that matched the tops of his ears. He nuzzled into you, nose rubbing over your clit in the way that made you gasp, your toes curling lightly “good boy” you praised, voice breathy and light 

“Taste so good” he mumbled into your cunt, squeezing your thighs gently with his tattooed fingers. He moaned into you, watching you with wide lustful eyes. 

“Those pretty eyes” you said softly, gently brushing his warm cheekbone with your knuckle and he hums into you gently. He sucked your folds between his lips, pulling away slightly and rubbing your thighs up and down with his calloused palms, squeezing gently. You moaned hotly and couldn’t contain the cry that followed when he finally stuck his middle finger in your dripping hole, hips bucking to try and get more of him. 

“So soft, so so soft” he mumbled into your clit before kissing it gently and taking the now swollen throbbing bud in his mouth, flicking his tongue over it quickly. His fingers twist and curl as he pumps them in and out at a languid pace. You felt that familiar jolt of pleasure as the pad of his finger brushed your g spot. 

“Augh- ah- yes bear” you mewled, “right there- there” you grab his wrist and squeeze it and in response he curled his fingers the same way and you dug your feet into his shoulder blades in pure extacy, causing him to grunt into you and curl and uncurl his fingers in a rhythm that had your eyes screwing shut and loud strings of curses and moans tearing from your chest as you came undone over his fingers, dripping down his wrist already. But with how long it had been since you had him this way, that was to be expected. 

“Good - good bear good bear” you mumble praise as your orgasm washes over you he works you through it, resuming pumping his fingers - your dripping arousal being able to be put to use as lube. The schlick,schlick,schlick sound of his fingers is what you come back to, your mind fuzzy and swimming through a warm sea of pleasure, sweet jumbled moans and whimpers coming from your lips. 

“God you sound so fuckin’ pretty baby I love you so fuckin much m’so sorry m’so sorry I haven’t been around as much” he mumbled into you and you shake your head 

“S’okay shhh- shh just keep doin’ what you’re doin’” you push his head back down, watching as his eyes flutter up to look at you and he sweetly offers his other hand for you to hold, your heart melting at the gesture. “Such a sweet boy” you coo, taking his hand and lacing your fingers together. He smiled a bit in response nuzzling his nose against your clit, his lips making cute little smacking noises against your cunt. 

“You’re so messy” you giggle a bit, seeing as the tip and bridge of his nose were wet with your slick, as was his chin and entire mouth area. “Your face is so wet baby” you told him and he looked up at you 

“Mmm m’neck is wet too” he paused to say before resuming and you gently caress his cheek, the only sounds filling the room being the wet drill of his fingers and the smacking of his lips, like he was trying to devour a popsicle before it melted. 

You felt your second orgasm quickly approaching, your walls fluttering around his fingers, he curled up into that spot and that was your undoing once more, your hips pushing back into the mattress and spine arching off the bed towards the ceiling slightly as your orgasm crashed over you with no mercy to be had. 

“Jesus- fuck!” You cried out and he held your thighs open for you so you wouldn’t crush him by mistake, your hands shaking as you went to wipe the tears that had gathered in your eyes that were screwed shut from the intensity and Carmy stops you, carefully wiping your cheeks with his dry hand and removing his other carefully, wiping it dry on the sheets he always changed for you afterwards and cupping your face while you came down. 

“You did so good baby, so so good” he kissed your forehead gently, rubbing your hair and caressing your back with loving strokes. When you were finally coherent enough once again, although you were exhausted - you realized Carmy was still rock hard, pitching a full tent in his boxers that were wet with pre as he coaxed you through your orgasm. 

“That’s gotta hurt” you told pull the fabric, causing his cock to come down with it and when you release it it springs back up to full standing causing you to giggle a bit 

“Mm does but m’back. I can’t go t’night babe. I was gonna go take care of it in the shower don’worry” he yawned, rubbing over his face you furrowed your brow, slightly offended. 

“What? Is my pussy not good enough?” You teased 

He looked at you quickly “wha- no - I mean- I mean yes? No- no your pussy is good your pussy is- is perfect I fuckin’ love y’pussy but I can’t go tonight baby my back fuckin’ hurts” he explained 

“I can ride you you know” you said and his big blue eyes widened a bit. You’d been together for 6- no 7 months, and it was true you’d never ridden him, not yet anyway. 

Carmen was a missionary man, not in the boring way, in the way that he’d get home from work and fuck your brains out while going on and on about his frustrations from the day. 

People wouldn’t usually call it dirty talk, but something it turned you on more then anything that between calling you perfect and beautiful and made for him that he was just casually going on about his shitty day like his balls weren’t essentially spanking your ass with how hard he needed it. 

“Uh- oh-o-okay. Yeah. Sure- I. Mmhmm” he said and fixed his pillow, adjusting his hips for you “hop on I guess” he said shyly and you laughed at his sudden switch in attitude. 

“Have you never been ridden you poor thing?” You asked and his cheeks went cherry red as well as the tips of his ears and bridge of his nose as you straddled him easily, resting your hands on his abs for leverage. 

“No.” He muttered. “I- I just…I dunno it never..came up” he swallowed thickly, averting your gaze nervously. 

“Hey.” You said “eyes” you told him and his eyes met yours immediately, “I’m honored to be the first person, yeah? I’ve told you a billion times bear - I love you. I love being able to show you new ways to feel good, it makes me so excited” you held his hips gently and he wrapped his hands around your wrists, needing to be touching you somehow. 

“It just…it doesn’t make me seem like…like a bitch does it?” He mumbled shyly, insecurity lacing his voice. You tucked your hands under his warm back, laying yourself over him fully, embracing him and resting your forehead on his. 

“You know how I feel about that word, and no it doesn’t make you seem less manly baby. If anything, it’s super sexy and it’s so sweet that you felt brave enough to tell me. Thank you for telling me. I’ve heard for the guy it feels really good cause all you gotta do is lay there, you wanna try sweetheart?” You ask softly, kissing the bridge of his nose gently and a small smile forming on your lips when you tasted yourself on your lips upon pulling away. 

“Yes please” he said softly, eyes fluttered shut as you cover his face in little butterfly kisses. 

“That’s my brave bear” you place a kiss to the base of his throat and he smiles a bit, cheeks going redder by the second. It was adorable how shy he got when you showed him affection like this, you knew he adored it more then anything - but he’d never be brave enough to ask for it - at least not yet.  

You sit up, “can I touch you baby?” You confirm, rubbing your hands down his stomach and his abs tighten at the contact. In response he nods, swallowing thickly and goosebumps rising over his skin. His cock twitches as you grab the waistband of his boxers “so sweet and responsive” you said softly, tugging them down easily as he lifted his hips for you slightly. 

“Jesus” you mutter at the sight of it, the tip weeping and pink crying to be touched. “Poor thing, you’ve been neglected- has Carmy been abusing you in the shower huh?” You said in the direction of his cock with a playful voice of concern. 

“Jesus fuckin Christ-“ he chuckled, covering his face with his arm a big goofy smile on his face. “You are gonna kill me” 

You smiled big, leaning down and licking a stripe up his length and he whimpers softly, abs and stomach clenching at the contact, a large bead of pre gushing from his slit that you catch with your tongue. He shivers adorably, groaning at the feeling of you licking over his sensitive tip. “If y’keep fuckin doin’ that ‘m gonna cum” he breathes, the vein in his neck present seeing as he was holding himself back, his balls drawing up and releasing in a rhythm. 

“Jesus baby i dunno if you’ll last that long we’ll have to do this again so you can get the full experience mm?” You grab his shaft, lining you two up and slipping it through your soaked folds, he let out a breathy moan, back arching slightly and you let out a sweet ‘mmm’ when his tip bumps your clit. 

“Please please please can I be inside you please” he begged pathetically, voice whiny and shaking - he was going to be coming undone very soon you could tell, which is why he was desperate to be inside of you before he was too soft to do so. 

“I dunno can I see those pretty eyes?” You asked, he was still hiding behind his arm, likely still feeling embarrassed this was his first time but you weren’t going to allow that. He shyly removed his arm, looking up at you and swallowing nervously. 

“H-hey” he said softly and you smile softly 

“There’s my bear” you leaned in, kissing him lovingly as you sink down on him fully, his jaw goes slack so you settle for kissing his chin and cheeks and nose “Feel good?” You giggle into his skin and he lets out a pathetic little ‘uh-huh’ 

“H-holy oh god” he groaned when you simply roll your hips, getting yourself off with the friction of the curly patch of brunette curls at the base of his cock. You sat up, using his chest as leverage to find a good rhythm bouncing on him and he nearly growls, a sound you’d never heard him make. 

“Ooo am I releasing the bear?” You teased and he chuckled a bit 

“Shut up- fuck Jesus oh god” his head falls back on the pillow “i-i-shit” he rambled and you giggle a bit, causing him to whine at the feeling of your walls clenching around him as you continued to ride his cock with all the tricks you could remember. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever fucked you so quiet before” you tease, sure your hips and thighs were burning from how quick you’d built up to moving, but his eyes were practically rolling back and the whimpers you were drawing out of him were nothing short of heavenly. He was shaking for Christ sakes. “Are you gonna cum? Mm? Y’gonna fill me up baby?” You asked him, rubbing his chest gently 

He finally opened his eyes, looking up at you with those big blue eyes, blown out fully with lust, pants falling from his lips and his dirty blonde curls stuck to his forehead with sweat. “Mm-mmhmm” he moaned out, grabbing your hips to have something to hold and the action making him realize he could help you move. His jaw dropped slightly at the realization and he looked up at you for approval. 

You smiled and nod a bit “you can help honey- that’s really nice of you” you said and he helped push and pull you off his cock, he looked down, mesmerized by the view of his cock burying inside of you, he pushed you down with more force and you moaned, “just like that baby, you want it harder huh?” You ask and he nods quickly so you rolled your hips a bit harder. 

He bit his lip, nose scrunching up cutely. He was holding back. “Bear- I know it feels good but you can cum, you need to sleep” you cup his cheek gently and he looked up at you like a sad puppy 

“It feels s’good baby” he whined and you nod, stroking his cheek gently. 

“I know honey. We can do it again t’morrow night yeah?” You kiss his forehead and with that he releases into you with something resembling a cry covered with a grunt, of course he had to cover it. He pulled you into a deep messy kiss, wrapping his arms around your back, rubbing gently and reaching down to squeeze your ass, feeling cum dripping out of you down over his balls. He smiled a bit, pulling away to ask “Mmm can we sleep like this?”

[celaenaeiln]

in like a one person gets one, who would dicks soulmate (platonic or not idk) be? i’ve asked this to several ppl and the answers are usually wally, donna, or jason though i’ve seen some ppl say slade, roy, and bruce.

Anon your ask has literally been haunting me at night. I thought I knew the answer but then you hit me with a Donna!! But between Bruce and Donna, I can't decide so I'll just present a case for both.

Bruce

Bruce and Dick are soulmates on a cosmological scale. The DC universe ordained them to always find each other because they're quite literally a fated pair.

Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight Issue #23

Bruce: The only regret is that I'm out there alone. It felt good having someone at my back, being part of a team...but no sense wasting time wishing for something I'll never have.

Dick: He's cool, dad...d'you think we'll ever see him when we play Gotham?

The universe literally brings them together no matter the circumstances.

Convergence Issue #4

"The bond between you and Bruce Wayne echoes in every reality."

I don't think there's any stronger evidence for Dick and Bruce being soulmates than this.

But if that's still not enough I have more-

The Multiversity: Guidebook

In Bruce's world he lost Dick and in Dick's world he lost Bruce, but still in the end they somehow find each other. In every universe that has Batman, if someone is his partner it's always Dick.

In the medieval ages world-

Batman: Dark Knight of the Round Table Issue #1

The world of "A Christmas Carol" with Ebenezer Scrooge -

Batman: Noël

In a world where Bruce is a doctor at Arkham -

The Batman of Arkham

Dick is always there as his second.

Here's another interesting but depressing fact: In worlds where Dick Grayson has died as Robin, Bruce Wayne has never taken in another Robin.

This is because on top of the fact that Dick and Bruce as fated to meet, Dick means the entire world for Bruce. Like sometimes Bruce will come across a case with a child involved and the first thing he'll think about is Dick.

Batman: City of Madness Issue #2

Bruce's mind and life is literally consumed by Dick Grayson on a cosmologically spiritual level.

Donna

Donna is Dick's soulmate on a twin-sister spiritual level. Dick and Bruce are two halves of a whole, yin and yang. Dick and Donna though are one person. Their relationship is like taking paint and mixing it together to get something new. Like in those comics where two people look at each other and there's a "zing!" and suddenly it's an instant connection. That's them.

Titans (2016) Special 1

additionally:

Titans (2016) Special 1

New Titans (1988) Issue #89

Dick and Donna have no secrets. They're like a jigsaw puzzle, their pieces fall right into place.

He's always there for her-

The New Teen Titans (1980) Issue #38

They're so special and integral to each other that when an evil witch erases Donna from everyone's memories, there is only one focal point for her. One focal person for her throughout the years. Even though he doesn't remember her, Dick literally goes back in time with his future daughter Mar'i to help Donna, his soul-sister-

The Titans (1999) Issue #25

In every. single. moment of Donna's past Dick appears again and again to comfort her and be her pillar from Robin to civies to Nightwing. In the "Who is Donna Troy" Arc, as the story goes from the origins of Donna to the present, it becomes very clear that Dick is her centerpoint.

They're the definition of soulmates.

She knows him better than anyone else and he knows her. She even had him walk her Donna the aisle for her wedding. He was given that honor because of who they are to each other.

Tales of the Teen Titans Issue #42

I...

just-

Tales of the Teen Titans Issue #50

to love like that...

They're made for each other.

[venussaidso]

𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐘'𝐒 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 — Vedic Astrology Observation (based on shows/films part 7)

The lyrics of the song suggest a deep yearning for connection or depth, describing a sense of distance or separation. Something can be fading away, like a memory you can’t quite grasp. Something is lost and obscured.

The character Dorian Gray is the most perfect example of the negative influence of Ketu, in the way that he has a corrupting influence of those around him due to his extreme yet effortless magnetism.

This character's magnetism works quite like a void, sucking others in, promising fulfillment, but he is fundamentally empty -- again, like a void. He is known to be a depthless, yet mystifying being. Ketu is still an illusory planet, and we are reminded of this from the way he draws people in as if he possesses something profound to give, only for this perception of depth to turn out to be an illusion. Because, ultimately, Dorian is devoid of true substance. Yet there is no denying the subconscious effect he has on people; so strong, in fact, he unintentionally sends them to madness. He always seems to leave behind a trace of chaos wherever he goes.

His entire being works like a gravitational force. The modern iterations of this character usually being portrayed by Ketuvians, we see him absorb everything he effortlessly magnetizes. The admiration, unlimited energy, and desires of others, pulling them into his orbit. His beauty is mistaken for substance, his allure for depth. Yet, as people draw closer, that's when they start to lose something of themselves. As we know, Ketu drains and destroys. He quite literally functions like a blackhole. His influence is so extreme on a subconscious level that it shoves people to abandoning their convictions, indulge in their darker instincts, and stray from their true selves. This is because Dorian, though vibrant in appearance, is a hollow shell that paradoxically creates a vacuum around him as he consumes the life and energy of those who fall under his spell.

It comes as no surprise that the version we know him as is played by the Magha Sun native Ben Barnes. Mula native Stuart Townsend also played him. And a version of Dorian Gray in "Penny Dreadful" is played by Ashwini native Reeve Carney.

On that note, Reeve Carney's Dorian Gray was tangled up with a double Ketu native in Penny Dreadful in an intoxicating affair. As usual, Ketu people are mutually drawn to each other immediately. In Penny Dreadful, Dorian is captivated by Vanessa Ives, who is played by Ashwini Moon, Magha ASC Eva Green. He is taken in by her mysterious intense nature, seeing in her a reflection of the dark beauty he already embodies. And Vanessa is drawn in by Dorian’s undeniable charm and darkness, a darkness she feels within herself too.

In my recent post, I edited and added more (fictional) Ketu-Ketu interactions in the media. There is always mutual recognition between Ketuvians, their attraction always feeling fated yet so short-lived by either 8H circumstances or extreme unfulfillment (in this case for Vanessa and Dorian, who are different manifestations of Ketu. Vanessa, who has inner turmoil, seeks spiritual depth. Dorian, who is internally empty, lives to absorb worldly things and people, sucking everything around him dry).

Although it turned out he'd never felt for anyone as he did for Vanessa (to the point of seeking her out, something she could only capture as he became magnetized by her Ketu force), in the end, their relationship is one more moment in his endless cycle of shallow, unfulfilling experiences. This exploration of his Ketu influence also reminds me just how similar it is to Rahu because, to some extent, Rahu deals with these same themes too. My vampirism exploration for the nodes validates just how illusory and consuming these shadow planets are.

As some of you know, I'm of the unpopular opinion that Tom Hiddleston is a likely Ashwini Moon. I wanted to use his character in "Crimson Peak" as addition to this observation.

Thomas Sharpe's magnetism is predatory, having a rather vampiric quality as he embodies this tense nodal energy. Though he has more depth than Dorian Gray, in the end he is still nothing more than a beautiful illusion with darkness surrounding him. Typical as he consumes those who become ensnared in his web, draining their spirit. Unlike Dorian, he deliberately devours the resources and life force of his victims. Another nod to this theme of Ketuvians who, intentionally or unconsciously, function like black holes themselves. Leaving those who become sucked in to ruin.

In the film, the female lead embodies the final girl nakshatra trope, being his only victim to get away. She is portrayed by Magha Moon Mia Wasikowska. Ketu-Ketu pairing gone wrong.

Also, Ketuvians are often seen playing ghosts or are casted in projects that have this supernatural element! Moon nakshatras come second in the horror genre, too.

The main stars of the film either have Ketu Moons or a Moon nakshatra in their lunar mansion.

The film is literally written & directed by Hasta Sun Guillermo del Toro.

You will often see Moon nakshatra natives working with Ketu nakshatra natives. I see these pairings in friendships and other forms of relationships a lot; [Tate x Violet from AHS].

Ashwini Moon Tom Hiddleston portrayed Thomas Sharpe's ghost.

Magha Sun Patrick Swayze in the film "Ghost".

Mula Moon, Magha Sun Taissa Farmiga and Hasta Moon Evan Peters as ghosts in American Horror Story.

[cthonic-bunny]

hii!! could u pls tell us about having someone’s mars sun and venus in our 12H pls (synastry)!?! 😵‍💫

Do not interact if you are a minor. (18+)

Oh, wow! You probably have no idea just why you want them so much. In more unfortunate situations, the planet person can give you nothing tangible and maybe even be breadcrumbing you, but you just can’t get enough. It’s like, they can give u nothing and you’ll still pick them over other people who are trying to give you the world. You want to figure them out and enter their world, especially because there is something “inaccessible” or “mysterious” about them. You want to know how they think. This is especially true from the house person’s perspective. With 12H synastry, I always learn soooo much about myself and my unconscious desires and tendencies (whether as the planet person or as the house). I noticed that Mars and Venus in the 12H of a synastry or composite chart can indicate this relationship might start off as an affair or 3rd party situation.

Of the placements mentioned here, my least favorite to experience was definitely Mars in the 12th. I had read once that this placement can create blockages in being able to have s*x with one another, and that’s exactly what I experienced. It’s like you get so close but just can’t for some reason. Could lead to performance issues at the start of a s*xual relationship, in some cases. I noticed it’s super easy to feel vulnerable with the mars person as the 12th houser, but it’s not consistently reciprocated from the mars. Mars can notice everything about the 12H person, and can try to force them to talk about it or they have to point it out to them. In an unhealthy dynamic, the mars can get gratification at how weak the 12H becomes for them. In the positive, it’s crazy how the mars person can teach you what you like s*xually. They can learn your body extremely fast. It’s like your body and mars are having a conversation that you are left out of but get to enjoy the rewards of it. I never got to have s*x with mars, but the way he would touch my body and explore me made me literally c*m from kissing. It was the craziest thing I ever experienced and was super shocked LMFAOOO (TMI, sorry). I’ve never experienced that again in my life. Mars can have different ideas about spirituality than the 12H, and will be down to debate why they have certain beliefs. It can be super easy for mars to hurt 12H’s feelings. I don’t know why this placement can make the 12H person more submissive than they are with other romantic partners, but it does. The mars can sometimes fight to be in your life, but once they are there it seems like they can panic and leave after they’ve brought destruction you have to live with. Sometimes I felt like I “irked” the mars person on a subconscious level even though I was always nice and sweet with him. He would be super nice with me and then one moment make a snarky comment or just switch up completely without warning. I sometimes felt like he wanted to like me, but a part of him somewhat disliked for reasons unknown to him.

Sun in the 12th house synastry has potential to be nice. I feel like this is a placement where you guys can recognize something inexplicable in one another. “Yeah, I know exactly what you mean.” I think this leaves nothing off the table, and all topics are fair game. You can find a lot of unconditional acceptance with one another, even with the parts you might hide from others. The 12H person might feel instinctually comfortable expressing their quirks or behaving the same way they are when there’s not a soul in sight when with the sun person. “Let’s be alone together.” The sun brings light and warmth to the dark nebulas the 12H person swims in. The sun person can probably help the 12H person come out of their shell and show themselves to the world. The Sun person might want to lift the 12H person up. The 12H person might also see through the persona the sun person can let off. The sun person could confidently feel like they have the house person figured out, but the 12H person’s foggy neptunian energy can always catch the sun by surprise and they realize they didn’t dig as deeply as they thought. The 12h person can teach the sun person to be more introspective and can teach them how to appreciate time to themselves. The sun person might change the depth of their thinking or topics they engage with after their interaction with the 12H person. In a negative interaction, the house person can see every move the sun person is gonna make and knows how react in the way that will bruise the sun’s ego. The sun underestimates the 12H person a lot. When they experience conflict, the sun person will try to embarrass the 12H person and can try to paint them as weird, and the 12H person will swallow up the sun into their dark oblivion and drain their light as retribution. Also in the negative, the sun person can compare themselves to the house person and can at times feel like they are having an identity crisis and resent the 12H person for it when the house person was just doing their thing and being authentic. I noticed that the 12H person represents a lot of things the sun person wishes they could exude and it can make the sun feel dimmed and their egos to be challenged. The house person can also represent qualities the sun person hasn’t really seen in person before, and they can envy the individuality of the 12H person. The sun person can dislike how philosophical the 12H person makes everything. If engaged in conflict, the 12H person can dream of the sun in ways that show the sun’s intentions or moves. The 12H person’s connection to the dead or the spiritual realm might be intimidating to the sun person, even if they believe in the same things. They might resent that the 12H person seems to be more spiritual gifted than them. the sun person might have more paranormal experiences when around the 12h person. The 12H’s spirits might become “visible” or "active."

For Venus in the 12th house synastry, that eye contact must be crazyyyyyyy. The dreams you have of one another can feel euphoric. You guys can idealize each other and can dismiss one another’s red flags. In private is when this relationship thrivessssssss. Like absolute heart eyes. Late night hang outs. Wanting them irrationally. Your thoughts are now entirely consumed by one another, but you still might not display that to one another until you guys are back together in person. I feel like whispering amongst each other is a big thing. “Let’s make a fairytale.” Wishing you can find books or movies that have a similar set up as you two so you can relive certain moments. “You’ll see me in hindsight tangled up with you all night burning it down, someday when you leave me I bet these memories follow you around” from wildest dreams by Taylor Swift puts it perfectly. Good luck forgetting one another even if the relationship never comes off the ground. “Say you’ll see me again even if it’s just pretend.” You long for one another. You feel like this is a love sent from the heavens. This person exemplifies your dream girl or boy, that you didn’t think existed and now you NEED to have them. This feels like your chance and living out ur favorite fan fiction or romance novel. The ups, the downs, the depth, the confusion, the consuming rush of love. The daydreams, the sweetness, the intimacy. “Your love is my drug” vibes for real, (Kesha is a Pisces after all). However, this can also be a relationship that needs to be kept secret for some reason. This can be because one or both of you might have another relationship someone feels trapped to. Not sure what security you’d have with one another if you fully got together. “What if it was all for nothing?” Maybe a fear of being outcasted from society or judged terribly for getting together can be an issue present in your relationship. Fear of expressing or confessing romantic feelings out of fear or rejection can make this relationship become an extremely confusing one or be an incredibly drawn out slow burn. Check out my post on 12H Venus in the composite for more of an idea on what energies can be present with this placement. Intimate eye contact feels like: “let me dive into your pupils and take a swim inside of ur soul.” Bonnie and Clyde vibes, “if we go down, we go down together and meet in the next life. The 12H also rules over prison, so hopefully this doesn’t apply to you two— but it emphasizes the partners-in-crime dynamic.

[loredrinker]

I Would Not Lay With You Under False Pretenses

In my Dragon Age Inquisition head canon, Solas and Lavellan had a sexual relationship. Throughout their time together in Inquisition, I’ve always imagined them sharing that kind of intimacy - it felt like a natural progression to me. (Despite not getting those scenes in the game—though we know they intended to.) I'd also like to thank the writers for leaving it open to interpretation on purpose. (I’ve held this interpretation long before Veilguard, and with the revelations of Solas’s memories and regrets, it has actually deepened my understanding and added even more layers to this perspective.)

Why is this my take?

On a personal note, it just makes his betrayal way juicier, more devastating, and tragic (And I'll be honest, I am totally into that level of tragedy).

From a more analytical perspective, I interpret Solas as spiritual (he was a spirit first, after all), and the kind of man who falls in love with someone’s mind and spirit before anything else. For Solas, sex isn’t just about physical desire; it’s a spiritual act – and it’s his spirit that seems to be the most wounded throughout the games. This kind of intimacy feels like it could provide him with some healing and to me, it seems a natural progression for him to connect intimately with someone he truly loves.

So, here are some of my justifications for this interpretation (this is a long post!): 

Solas is lonely – we all know this. His immortality and all the secrets and regrets he carries isolate him. Lavellan’s love is one of the few things that lets him connect with someone who sees him. Their intimacy would become a refuge from his solitude. 

It’s his moment to just be Solas. When they’re making love, he can set aside being Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf, and just be a man. Vulnerable, open, and present. That’s something he craves but seems to rarely happen.  As his letter in Veilguard to a romanced Inquisitor says - “...put my plans aside and simply stayed with you as Solas...as I wanted”. 

It’s not deception—not really. While he hides that he is Fen'Harel (by omission - his words, not mine!), I don’t think making love to Lavellan is deceptive on his part. For him, it’s the purest expression of his feelings. Words can lead to lies, but in their intimacy, the truth of his love shines through. That’s why his line in Trespasser, “I would not lay with you under false pretenses,” resonates with me in this interpretation - he means it. He wouldn’t make love to her unless he truly loved her. And he does love her, deeply and honestly, even if the life Lavellan knows is built on secrets.

And perhaps, in his mind, this intimacy is also a gift to her - a way of saying, I truly do love you. In moments where words risk exposing too much, this is how he shows her the depth of his feelings. For a man as burdened by guilt and secrecy as Solas, this act becomes a truth - an offering of his unguarded self, if only for a little while.

(On consent: Many valid arguments suggest Lavellan can’t truly consent, given she doesn’t know his full truth. I’ve thought about this a lot. For me, my Inquisitor is not passive. I played her as an intuitive and intelligent, and experienced woman. She is aware that Solas is holding something back. She senses his sadness, a chasm within him, a fight within him. She chooses intimacy with him despite knowing he’s hiding something - not out of ignorance but out of love and faith. Partly because she believes her love can offer him solace and maybe even help him heal and of course, she too is seeking the same connection with the man she loves, that he is seeking with her. What I'm saying is, my Lavellan is an active participant in her own choices. That’s why I find her relentless pursuit of understanding after Trespasser so delicious—she owns her choices and chases answers.)

Love overwhelms him. Despite all his restraint, his love for Lavellan overwhelms him (look at the way he gets lost in her kisses alone). Making love is the only way he can fully express the depth of what he feels for her (other than the actual truth, but he chickens out on that). In those moments, they exist together beyond guilt, secrets, or duty.

It anchors him. For an immortal like Solas, stuck between the past and the future with no real connection to the present, being with Lavellan pulls him into that present. Imagine what a relief that would be - to stop carrying the weight of eternity, even briefly, and just feel good in the moment. 

It’s a reclaiming of his humanity. Lavellan brings out the parts of him that are still human. Sex is a way for him to reconnect with those fleeting, mortal emotions that may have dulled over centuries of war, betrayal and...well, immortality. 

Sex as a spiritual act. Sex, in itself is very spiritual - it is more than just a physical act - it’s an exchange of energy, a union where two spirits connect and strengthen one another. Each moment of intimacy strengthens their shared connection, draws them closer, forging strands of energy that tether them together. This isn’t about taking - it’s about giving, receiving, and creating a sanctuary for each of them.

This shared energy would then carry spiritual significance for Solas. He is a man fractured—both wisdom and pride, split between dualities that circle within him. Through this connection, this literal merging of their bodies and spirits, he might find a fleeting sense of wholeness within her.

Side note: This is why I don’t think Solas is interested in casual sex. He’s far too deliberate, introspective, and connected to the significance of mind and spirit. For someone like Solas, casual encounters would feel hollow, draining him rather than sustaining him.

And then there’s the mythological and religious imagery. He’s an immortal rebel god; she’s the Herald of Andraste. The symbolism! I just love how this imagery elevates them to something timeless and otherworldly.

The Fade connection. Solas holds the Fade sacred, a place where reality and fantasy blur. This parallels the merging of bodies in sex—the blurring of secrets and truth, pain and solace. For someone like Solas, whose love of mind and spirit is central, making love would be sacred.

(And harkening back to my side note above, I’m convinced Solas has had very few lovers in his long existence - two for sure, maybe three. I have theories about who those others might be—not Mythal!—but that’s for another discussion.)

But of course, this is Solas we’re talking about. So all of this romantic theory comes with a heavy dose of tragedy and pain. 

Every time they’re intimate, their bond deepens, their shared energy strengthens, making his inevitable betrayal hurt that much more (oh hindsight, I hate you!). He knows the truth will break her heart, but he can’t resist her! It’s both a wonderful gift and a festering wound to him.  

For Lavellan, these intimate moments are about trust, connection, and offering Solas her love. For Solas, he is offering his love as well, but for him these moments are tinged with the weight of his secrets and the heartbreak he knows he’ll cause. That contrast - their shared intimacy against the shadow of his betrayal - it's just what makes their relationship so compelling to me and why I am completely comfortable with this interpretation.

*since first posting this I have edited it to be a bit more streamlined and removed some redundancy.

[charmwasjess]

Strap in for the Soresu form III Obi-Wan lightsaber post. This is gonna be a sad one, girlies. We’re getting into Obi-Wan’s Fucking Trauma. 

Qui-Gon’s death changed literally everything about Obi-Wan’s life, right down to the lightsaber form. Still a Padawan himself, he had to watch as an extinct monster from his nightmares* utterly took apart the form he’d learned since he was a child, and then, to complete the destruction, slaughtered the teacher who’d taught him the form and raised him. The devastation of Qui-Gon’s actual death had to be the last in a cascading series of horrors that started with the gut-sinking realization that Qui-Gon was losing. And if all of that weren’t enough, Obi-Wan also loses his own lightsaber in the same duel, a psychological blow to his personhood which we don’t have to guess at the significance of. Obi-Wan tells us the cost of it himself in AotC: this weapon is your life. 

The Duel of the Fates on a sheer physical level is a devastating thing to consider. It’s a grueling, full out running battle, the likes of which we don’t see elsewhere in the saga. The beauty (and pounding musical score) of the fight distracts from the sheer brutality of it. Maul is physically attacking them at every turn; he manages to kick Qui-Gon hard enough to knock all 6’3 of him off his feet; he dumps Obi-Wan into a fall that seems to be several stories high. We don’t see Obi-Wan get back up off the floor with Qui-Gon’s body at the end of the duel, and I’d be surprised if he was physically able to even stand again so after the adrenaline faded and the soreness and exhaustion took over. He just been whirled in a lightsaber blender. 

I can’t imagine how hard it was for him to pick up a lightsaber again after the trauma of that battle - much less, a new, unfamiliar one, not the kyber crystal that had been his since he was a child. The new canon’s emphasis on the spiritual relationship between a Jedi and their crystal makes this detail even more excruciating. The Ataru form itself must have felt broken and unusable. How can you put your trust in a form once you watched it be broken so ruthlessly?

And this is where Obi-Wan is so endlessly beautiful as a character. He goes through this horrifying experience of violent unmaking, and instead of avoiding lightsabers as an understandable trauma response, or picking up an overwhelming power and dominance form like V, he remakes himself into a master of Soresu: a form of simple, complete defense. He doesn’t attempt to become a weapon of attack like Maul did to disintegrate Ataru; he makes himself invincible, untouchable, with a perfect defense. Soresu works the pieces that fell apart for the Jedi in the Duel of the Fates to an advantage. It is a form of ultimate endurance, of playing out your opponent and staying up in a fight until the attacker is exhausted or angry. It preserves and it lasts. It is philosophical. It is considered. It lacks the showy flash of Makashi or Ataru and returns to the basics, even working in some of that battlefield meditation that Qui-Gon so believed in. And in that simple economy, it’s gorgeous and effective. 

I have to wonder: is Soresu, on some level, a form of kinetic self-soothing for a person who faced an incredibly traumatic battle at a young age? Does Obi-Wan use it that way?

All of this is perfectly in keeping with the themes of the character. Obi-Wan’s story remains about life, about hope, about survival. The word he uses to describe the Jedi to Luke in the OT is important to me. “Jedi knights were the guardians of peace and justice.” Guardians. And what better lightsaber approach for a person who sees his role as one of protection than a form whose signature move is called “The Circle of Shelter?”

*Maul, of course, is a tragedy in his own right, but that’s a different post. 

[necronatural]

The Reigen Arataka Deranged NormalMan Review

Do you ever think about how Reigen has like. A really strange belief in The System and How Things Should Be. Like REALLY strange. Whatever he's got going on is so much weirder than "scammer with a heart of gold".

I think it all comes together if you read the 10th Season 3 omake like, seriously interrogate this:

This is normal, if comedically thoughtful and realistic for a shounen character. This guy talks like a mandatory reporter. What's strange is what immediately follows:

"AS A SPIRITUAL SPECIALIST" DOING A LOT OF HEAVY LIFTING HERE REIGEN

Not only did he hunt down the families of the children bullying his client (insane. where did he get that info), he also contacted the school as if he were representing his own son in order to get justice, and then hunted down a source of complaints when the school fell through.

This is like a genuinely bizarre level of commitment to the bit, and the bit is "the system works, and if it doesn't work, we will find a system that does work, and if we cannot, hell or high water it is my PERSONAL RESPONSIBILITY to make the system stop slouching so it works again".

Long thread on the manga with this reading⬇️

Before I start. Reigen adopting Teru is more IC than you think but I don't think it is IC in the way people think it is. I think about this a lot and I think people who do it because they like Reigen aren't understanding how into his bit he is. Guy who talks to social services

So remember the arc that won people over to Reigen despite the fact he's an asshole who takes advantage of Mob and derides him constantly in order to keep him complacent?

He has Mob's phone on his GPS. This makes sense; he's been taking him out and about since he was 11. Very responsible!

Reigen dismisses the "Boss" mistake thinking well, it's a misunderstanding, but it got me in. Yet as soon as he heard they're committing crimes, he VISIBLY puts on his Boss Pants to chastise them. Again, normal so far. I think any scammer with a heart of gold would do this. (And foreshadowing for why he retried reprimanding the Claw Cadres a second time after getting power.)

Again. He's a scumbag. So he leaves Mob to beat their asses using his previous rhetoric. But then!

Reigen's shady morality is more like "people who can take care of things should take care of things". To him, Mob is the Authority on Espers, and can handle conflict like this. Immediately upon becoming aware he can't, Reigen thinks "oh, okay, so the only person who can take care of things is someone who can deescalate". (Pictured: Deescalation)

Okay. Besides the fact this is insufferable as a general concept - YOU just told him to handle it YOU are the source of his stress - his first step in deescalation is to force Mob to back down. Rather than asking him not to fight, he reestablishes "rules" in order to convince Mob he must back down - the same way he tried using what he said to worm his way out of dealing with this shit - and then sets himself up as the authority figure to which the others must obviously defer in matters of His Boy, like a parent accepting criticism at a PTA meeting. This isn't Reigen claiming Mob so much as "in order for them to not attack Mob, they must view me as a representative for Mob".

And like a good authority figure:

Continuing with his phrasing:

If you think about it, this is like...an objectively very strange and incredibly bold approach to this situation. They're homicidal. Reigen is a DERANGED level of Normal Man. He has this image in his head of normalcy, of the world at standard operating procedures, and reinforces it right through an entire conflict. Carceral beliefs don't even factor into this, simply expressing his principles and expecting them to fold.

And they do lol. I keep wondering how Shou must have felt listening to him talk like that

We see a little more of his good side in work; when he was getting so little work it was affecting his grocery bills, this moneygrubbing scammer still asked for like $200 to clear an entire city of hauntings. (His regular exorcisms are around $30). Fair prices are part of his principles of how the business should be. He operates basically at-cost. He mentions he wanted to come out here because he's bored. He's killing time as a career.

Aside:

Just realized he called Mob in last minute so Mob didn't know he accepted crops instead of money. Shigeo didn't like that

So consider that he never got caught here and there was a call on the news to hunt him down at the end of this bit: for the average viewer of the anime, it's just funny, but this is part of the Mogami pre-arc so we've gotten a hold of him by now; he probably holds an inherent belief that the police will intercept him and not Mob. Why wouldn't they? Why would an adult man want to dress up in a highschool girl's uniform? The System will understand.

Not relevant to my point but I like how he realizes what's wrong with Mob way before the final arc, just not why it's happening. Also he doesn't say anything.

With the way his principles are, you really get the feeling that Reigen does his best to avoid culpability specifically because if something happened that was his fault, he'd have to step up to the plate to compensate for that, which is troublesome to him who is a career time-killer. It does not occur to him that an actual bad person and scammer would not step up to the plate as a matter of course. This is his way

What I find really interesting is that this Militant Insane NormalMan does have a sense of wanting something "special", but rather than whip Mob up the way Dimple did Ritsu, he ended up projecting his own values onto Mob, as if he could recreate a special "self" within him. He's always deriding him and baiting him and lying to him in hopes of creating a superb person that a special individual like Mob finds admirable, as if Mob is the authority on his quality of character. Sad! lol

Anyway, it adds a lot more kick to this famous line. Reigen genuinely believes in Authority

Authority works!

And if Mob (the authority on espers) doesn't work, who's the person who MUST step up to the plate [common sense]? You guessed it.

There are other aspects of Reigen's character that everyone and their dog has already picked up on (his self-loathing is the entire reason the way he talked to Mob in Confession arc hit so hard), but this one's my favourite. He's insane

[nyerus]

The Narrative Importantance of Hualian's Sexual Intimacy

This is a repost and minor edit of a thread I made on Twitter yesterday. This is a topic I have always wanted to talk about because of how often it comes up in TGCF fandom, time and time again.

‼️CW: mentions of sexual assault, self-harm, bodily injury‼️

⚠️Major spoilers for the entire novel ahead⚠️

---

Saw a question the other day on what relevance Hualian being sexually intimate by the end of the novel had to either the narrative or Xie Lian's character arc.

In short: it bears significant relevance, especially in context of other themes the novel explores like bodily autonomy.

Throughout the novel, we see time and time again that Xie Lian is often dehumanized by pretty much everyone—including himself—with the sole exception of Hua Cheng. I've talked more in depth about it in an old twt thread, for those interested. @/stalliondany on twt has also made an excellent recent analysis that goes deeper into the specific ways Xie Lian was used as a physical shield, martyr, or scapegoat for others without thought to his humanity or suffering. I highly recommend reading it first!

But to sum it all up: it's important to Xie Lian's character arc to keep in mind that he is used to seeing his own body as a tool to solve problems. And in crucial narrative moments, he is robbed of his bodily autonomy, and either brutalized or violated in service of others.

One of the plot points that ties together all these concepts is actually... Xie Lian's chastity vows. That will be the main focus of this post.

When he was a young teen (or possibly as a child), Xie Lian took an oath of chastity because such was the norm for cultivators seeking ascension in Xian Le. To Xie Lian, even as he grew older, he never had an issue with this because he just never felt sexual attraction to another person, or any desire to be intimate in that way. Even if he yearned for the concept of being loved. And indeed, at first glance, his chastity vows may seem like nothing more than a side note. Or even a funny gag when it comes to Hua Cheng (later).

In reality Xie Lian's chastity vows are not only used against him, but paint a very disturbing picture with regards to his repeated violation.

The Land of the Tender scene is the most obvious example of this. Xie Lian's vows are directly tied to his spiritual powers, and because it affects how his followers see him. They place a high value on his chastity as being vital to his moral character.

For reference, an excerpt from TGCF vol. 3 of the English print translation, page 135:

Xie Lian's method of cultivation required a pure body. Those who worshipped the ascended cultivators who practiced this path were firmly convinced of the transcendence of gods untouched by earthly desires. If they couldn't protect their purity, their following would no doubt collapse and their powers would be devastated. It wouldn't be as serious as plunging from godhood to back to mortality, and there was still the possibility of recovery after many more years of cultivation—but with things as they were now, there was no time for him to sit behind closed doors and cultivate for years!

As a reminder: it is Bai Wuxiang who orchestrated this whole thing. Him trying to compromise Xie Lian in this way is horrific on many levels, yet that's not the main point I want to make here. It's that to preserve his "pure body," the solution Xie Lian realizes is to severely harm himself. To impale himself with his sword through the abdomen.

The juxtaposition of having to maintain bodily purity versus the gruesome violence inflicted on his body is extremely stark.

This grim contrast is no more evident than in the 100 swords scene. Where Xie Lian's body is literally brutalized and defiled to an unthinkable degree. To the point where he, quote: "no longer looked human." Yet he emerges from that temple physically "pure" all the same. His chastity vows were not broken, his body healed without scars. As though he was untouched.... And yet, he was completely destroyed mentally. It left permanent effects on him as a person. It's even worse when the scene is read analogous to sexual assault, as many have talked about before. I think that interpretation actually hits the nail on the head, especially keeping in mind the Land of the Tender scene and all the similarities between them.

Following the 100 swords scene, Xie Lian of course has a complete disconnect between himself and his body. I believe this is part of why he doesn't really feel pain, except when he is with Hua Cheng, who treats him and his body as one. As a person who is cherished, and loved. Hua Cheng is adamant in his adoring treatment of Xie Lian. Small injuries are also something he cannot tolerate because he knows what horrors befell Xie Lian in the past. (He was present at both the terrible moments mentioned above.) He will not let any of that continue, regardless of what Xie Lian says, because he sees it as injustice.

Xie Lian is willing to use himself as a tool to help others no matter the personal cost. He even thinks of it as something he must do, or that he deserves as penance. But Hua Cheng is the one person who asks "what about you?" He's the one that insists "your happiness matters." And it is Hua Cheng that takes issue with Xie Lian's chastity vows as being unfair, unlike everyone else. Regardless of Hua Cheng's reasons for this diegetically, symbolically it means a lot that he is the one opposed to this.

Just thinking about the chastity vows on their own for a moment: Xie Lian can indulge a little bit in stuff like alcohol, which isn't great to begin with for him. But he absolutely cannot engage in "pleasures of the flesh." He can totally have his flesh ripped from his bones, literally, but actually experiencing any kind of sexual gratification? Now that would make him unclean, and lesser.... Why? Because unlike everything else, that's something Xie Lian would do simply for himself to feel good. And what greater crime is there than to ever dare put himself first?

So Hua Cheng—being the one person who puts Xie Lian first above all else—thinking that such a restriction doesn't make sense is important. Hua Cheng being the person who Xie Lian breaks those vows for in the end is important! (Especially because it seems to have been an easy choice for him.)

And of course, the scene with Jun Wu and the Virginity Detector Sword™ has to be mentioned. Again, there's symbolism to be had! The perpetrator of two of the most physically violating moments of Xie Lian's life (both of which were sexual in nature; one literally and one allegorically) being the one to "check" Xie Lian's virginity... oof. Yikes. It's dramatic irony. It's deeply uncomfortable. Especially because Jun Wu probably wanted to know if Xie Lian slept with Hua Cheng, as he already knew Xie Lian wasn't the ghost fetus' father.

So it's once again a stark juxtaposition: of Ghost King Hua Cheng disagreeing with the purity vows, wanting Xie Lian to break them for himself and his own freedom. Versus Heavenly Emperor Jun Wu wanting to weaponize those vows against Xie Lian in whatever way he can, intact or not, to keep control over him.

Naturally, there's something to be said for the real-world problem with such purity vows being used against people, to judge their moral character, societal expectations, etc. Elephant in the room. It's very on the nose, so there isn't even much to say about it that hasn't been said already.

In the end, it comes down to how horrible it is that when Xie Lian tries to help others, it results in immense harm to his body every time. Yet he is expected to continue to bear it, for centuries, by others and also himself. Until he meets Hua Cheng, who helps him rediscover what it means to be happy, and to be loved. So yes, it's absolutely relevant that in the end, Xie Lian decides to break his purity vows to be intimate with Hua Cheng. That he's able to put himself in Hua Cheng's hands, and let himself be treated with affection and desire. It's Xie Lian finally forgiving himself, and beginning to heal.