#its just that their mothers can provide it easily

[confusion-est]

cw for nudity/blood/yapping under the crop (oh and also tumblr tanking quality for some reason, death)

Yahooo I didn't draw ANYTHING tboi related in like!! A while!! What uni does to a mf.

uhhh ive been thinking about designs and it kinda spiraled into an au? I won't yap about it here, I'll do that later, buuuut yeah. oops. Anyways Lilith in that au is kinda symbolic of a different mother figure (that isn't maggy) to isaac. Like. I guess he heard of Lilith and wanted to make something out of it, but also couldn't bring himself to make her a bad mom? Because that would force him to self reflect on his own home-life and he's not doing that, bro's 5?? So yeah, just kinda ran with that kind of take. Also Lilith's dress is inverted mom's dress on purpose, mostly because I didn't want to draw her with tits out, mostly. Also bit of unrelated demon/incubus lore because isaac strikes me as a type of kid to like... make a whole ass world surrounding his characters they can't just exist in the void. And it's totally not a way for him to express that he feels bad for wanting to leave his mom, because poor dude doesn't understand mistreatment. But yah that's it for now, wanted to draw isaac intercting with lilith but it's late, im tired. Maybe I'll do it later, when better explaining what I wanna do with these... things. Au??? Whatever.

[writing-mlm]

The line we toe

Summary: Why can’t you ever just have Clark? Why is there always a reason he’s only there in your memories and why did he have to ruin your birthday? Pairing: Clark Kent x NFL!Male reader Wc: 14.5k tags: hurt/comfort, not enough Clark groveling IMO, mutual masturbation, needy!Clark, dry humping, reader is also a witch, religion but its not negative, homophobia but its a misunderstanding

If there’s something small towns were known for it's their churches. They held out hope for their religion, spending every weekend in their Sunday best, listening to the preacher go on for hours. But Smallville was different, it always had been. 

Church for the town wasn’t some big event where you come in button-ups, slacks, and polished shoes. Most dressed however they pleased, saving their good clothes for special events. It didn’t go on for hours, one and a half at most. It also wasn’t every weekend, although the priest always went, no one was shunned for not going. No one spoke in whispers because they missed their Sunday service. 

But for most, the service provided the calm that they needed. When business got tough, when the farms didn’t provide enough crops, and things seemed bleak, the pews filled townsfolk. 

You sat in the front, messing with the cross on your rosary as your father preached. Your mother and sister sit next to you; your mother's floor floor-length black dress sweeps over your shoes and her white lace gloves holding your free hand. You don’t know what he’s saying, you never have but you don’t like being alone in your home

so you go to church with them. 

Your connection with God isn’t one you understand through words or through the scripture. It’s more… Flyleaf’s All around me than shouting and claiming you can hear someone speaking to you. Your faith is one to yourself but you can appreciate the church's amens and their hymns. Admittedly you like the hymns, even if they’re different from the ones you’re used to, often lacking the umph you’re used to in New Orleans. 

When church ends, you stand with your mother and find him in the crowd of people deciding if they want to leave or talk to your father. You find him easily, standing with his parents as they head out of the church, smiling as he talks to one of the older men about helping with their yard. Clark Kent. You’d always been drawn to him, somehow you’ve always been in the same class as him. He’s always the first person you see at school. 

Ducking your head, you grab ahold of your sister and head outside through the back door. The field behind the church has a small playground that she and the other kids tended to frequent during and after service. It’s nothing elaborate. A sandpit, swings, a jungle gym, a seesaw. Your father and uncle had built it one summer after he noticed some of the families couldn’t have a good time when their kids wouldn’t sit. 

“Good,” Your older brother groans as you get close. “I’ve had to piss for an hour!” While he heads inside, you see Clark getting into the family truck. His eyes catch yours and he smiles, giving you a small wave. You wave back, your hand barely higher than your hip as the truck pulls off. His blue eyes imprinted into your mind and his smile—

Holding your cross again, you stop the bubbling feeling in your stomach. Instead, you focus your attention onto the kids playing until it’s time to go home. 

At home, your parents start dinner while you finish up your homework. Your brother runs his drills in the backyard while your sister watches, he gives her a whistle so she can feel useful but you think she likes the power the whistle holds. 

“Hey, hun,” Your father enters your room and you look up from your textbook, the cross falling from your fingers and into your chest. “Dinners ready if you are.” He holds onto the doorknob as he smiles. Outside of church, he’s relaxed, more often than not he’s walking around in a white tank and old sweatpants that are probably older than you are. 

“Okay,” Getting up, you see your mother calling in your brother and sister, rushing him into the shower. He runs past you, nearly knocking you down the stairs and you hold onto the banister, glaring up at him. Feeling the cold metal against your fingertips, you continue into the dining room.

The table isn’t set yet, your mother is finishing up her tarot reading and your father is adding the final touches to the dish. Your mother tsks as she flips the final card, the reversed death. She holds the deck in her right hand and you watch as the cards fly into place before it zooms through the house and into the barn. 

It’s probably some lame joke. A priest and a witch getting married on a rainy day. But by the way your father wears her protection spell jar you know their love isn’t a joke. 

She smiles at you, the tension in her face dropping as you help your father set the table. The placements find their spots as you carefully recite the spell, your sister watches through giggles, touching the sparkles that encase your spells. “You’re getting better,” She smiles, grabbing your hand and squeezing it. “Remind me to add more spells to your grimoire.” You nod and settle down in your seat. When your brother comes down from the shower, everyone starts to eat. 

“I think I’ll make quarterback this year,” Your brother announces as he piles the chicken alfredo onto his plate. He’s mostly been a running back but he thinks being a QB in his final year will help with scholarships. Besides, he’s been encouraging you to be the running back but football isn’t really your thing. But you’ll try out to make him happy. 

“I don’t doubt you,” Your father grabs the garlic bread bowl and takes out two pieces. “Hey, why don’t you and your brother run through old plays before school tomorrow? Get him ready for the season.”

“Sure,” Looking at your brother, you wonder if it’s illegal for someone his size to be a quarterback for a high school team. 

—

“Hey, you okay?” Clark catches up to you as you rub your shoulder on your way to your shared first period. You nod, still rubbing it. Tracing sigils, you feel the pain starting to go away.

“I was running drills with Angel,” You explain. “He wants me to try out for the football team.” Clark smiles at that and you look away from him, grabbing your cross again. 

“You should. I bet you’d make the team.” The way his voice carries such hope, not an inch of taunt in it makes you sick. That stupid feeling in your stomach rises again. “I’m actually the assistant coach for the team.” He continues when you don’t say anything, the awkward pauses feeling like torture for him. You probably shouldn’t try and make the team, then. 

You stare at your classroom door as the halls clear out, not knowing what to say. “Cool, I guess I’ll see you during tryouts.” He smiles, walking away with a pep in his step. Watching him leave, you tear your eyes away as the bell rings. Still fumbling with your rosary, you enter the classroom as the lights in the hallway blow out, sparks flying about. 

Sinking into your seat, the teacher checks the hallway and rushes to pull the fire alarm. Apparently one of the sparks had caught onto a banner that quickly spread to the other posters and banners. 

“Way to go,” Angel punches your shoulder as everyone stands in the parking lot. “Totally missing out on a test cause of this,” Out of three children you’re the only one to have manifested powers. It’s a gene that skips a kid every time and you picked the winning straw by being born second, lucky you.

In the corner, you see Clark covering his ears as the fire alarms continue to blast and the fire trucks approach. He has to walk away, still plugging his ears as the sirens only get louder. No one else notices, watching as the fire ravages what you think is the math room for 11th grade. You haven’t even had that class yet and you destroyed it. Great. 

As far as first days go, this isn’t the worst. Classes still continue and you’re eventually dragged to tryouts by Angel. He forces you into the gear and lugs you the whole way to the field. Coach and Clark are standing next to each other, Clark’s eyes light up when he sees your heels dragging into the turf. 

“Hey, rosary!” Coach calls and you stand up straight, grabbing the rosary you’d tucked into the pants of the uniform. “Give it here, the boys will rip it apart.” Nodding, you hesitate before giving it to him. The cold metal slips from your fingers and you’re suddenly antsy. Bouncing between the balls and heels of your feet, your eyes dart across the field. 

Older kids play tackle each other and toss the football between themselves. Your brother talks with his friends and the freshmen awkwardly stand to the side. You don’t have any football friends, but you know them through your brother. “Rosary, get on the field!” Rushing over to your brother, the coach laughs while Clark offers you an apologetic look. 

Coach runs a test game and you stand behind Angel, wiping your hands on the pants before the ball flies to him. You run ahead and he tosses the ball at you, catching it, you look for a second before you remember. Running back. You gotta run and he points in the direction you go as the others head towards you. You manage a couple of yards before you’re eventually tackled to the ground. Your head bounces and your teeth clamp together as you roll onto your back. 

“Hey, need a hand?” Clark asks when your eyes open. Accepting his hand, he pulls you up and you stumble forward. He catches you with a chuckle. “That was good, you have a good chance of getting on the team.” That’s not what you wanted to hear, but your brother clasps his hands on your shoulder and cheers. According to the others, you made it a good distance. 

Try-outs continue for another hour before it’s time to go home. Your brother takes a shower first but you’re not so sure you want to shower with a bunch of men and get in the bed of your dad's pickup truck. While you’re waiting, Clark rushes over and leans on the edge. 

“Uh, between us, you made the team.” He smiles and then shakes his head. “But I came here to ask if you wanted to come to a Soul Asylum concert? Me, Pete, and Lana are going. Thomas was gonna go but he got grounded and I noticed the patch on your bag.”

Lana. His girlfriend. The thought makes your throat tight and you cough into your fist. “Um… I’ll have to ask my parents. But… I’ll let you know what they say.” 

“Cool… er… here, take my number.” He digs through his bag for a piece of paper and one, scribbling the house number to the Kent’s on it before folding it and handing it to you. “It’s next weekend, we’re meeting at Lana’s at six.” Taking the paper, you thank him and watch him leave. As he’s running away, your brother runs over and slaps the side of the truck. 

“Pop! He’s totally making the team.” Angel climbs into the truck, his praise dying as the door slams shut. The truck starts and you jerk as it moves forward. Riding in the bed isn’t anything new, your father even built-in handlebars for when people do. You catch your father looking back at you after every turn, making sure you’re still on the truck. 

When he parks the truck, you head upstairs to take a shower before joining your family in the living room. Your mother is wrapping her sage bundles and you happily join her as you talk about school. 

“Oh, Clark Kent invited me to a Soul Asylum concert,” The smile that graces your face makes your mother smile. “It’s next Saturday and they’re meeting at Lana Lang’s place at six. I think Pete Crushing is going to drive.” Your parents exchange glances for a minute, their conversation unknown to you and Angel.

“Okay.” Your father nods. “No drinking, no drugs, and you’re tending to the farm this weekend.” The farm has a variety of crops and an apiary with nearly a thousand bees, it’s mainly so your mother and you have easy access to materials for spells and such. Agreeing to the terms, you shake on it and you’re off to your room. 

—

At five forty, you make it to the Lang’s place inside of the town. Your mother does a quick protection spell over you and slips a protection sigil into your jacket pocket before you’re able to leave. She didn’t tell you at the time but she’d done a reading for the night and something was going to go wrong. But she knew you were going to be okay, so she still let you go. 

“Hello,” Clark and Lana are waiting in front of her place. They’re holding hands and your jaw tightens at the sight. “I’m glad you could make it.” 

“Had a weekend of farm work, but yeah.” Laughing, you join them and wait for Pete to arrive. The whole time the two giggle at each other and you try your best to ignore it, messing with your rosary. 

“Oh, right. Congrats on making the team,” Lana smiles over at you. “Clark says you’re an amazing running back. Must run in the family, right?” 

“Yeah,” A car pulls up and you nearly sigh in relief when it’s Pete. You take the passenger seat at their insistence and listen to the latest Soul Asylum album. It’s nice. And when you get to the venue Lana runs ahead, already scanning her ticket. 

“Right, here you go,” Clark hands you the spare ticket, his fingers brushing against your own. You snatch your hand away and thank him. He just smiles and meets up with Lana, leaving you with Pete. You get it, they’re a couple.

After the concert, you’re drifting off against the window when the car swerves off of the main road. You shout, gripping your seatbelt when you see that Pete had outright knocked out behind the wheel. The car careens and you close your eyes, scrambling for a spell and haphazardly spitting one out. Feeling yourself on the grass, you open your eyes and see the car smush in a ditch, Lana and Pete waking up beside you and Clark rising to his feet. 

A car stops and you turn, seeing it's a state trooper radioing for an ambulance and backup. Clark explains what’s happening as you grip your cross, heart beating out of your chest. The car is wrecked beyond recognition, tipped over, and bent under its own weight. 

When the ambulance and another cop come, you’re all driven back to Smallville where your mother is waiting on the porch with a blanket and cup of warm tea. 

“Hello, ma’am,” The cop nods his head. “Your son was in an accident coming back from a concert. Glad to report there are no injuries.” She pretends to be shocked as she pulls you in for a hug, stroking the top of your head. 

“Thank you, officer,” He nods and leaves, taking Clark back to the Kent’s farm. “Hun, are you okay?” Nodding, she checks on the protection charm and finds that it’s cracked. It did its job, good. “Come on. I made you grilled cheese and tomato soup.”

— 

In the weeks after the accident, Clark constantly checks on you and somehow you’ve been indoctrinated into his friend group. It’s nice since your old friend group has been slowly moving away since middle school but you don’t like being around Clark. He’s nice but he makes you nervous. You know why. But you can’t bring yourself to admit it. 

You love your parents, truly you do, but you don’t think they’d love you if they knew the truth. 

“I saw those damn two again,” Your mother sneers as she does your sister's hair for school. Your sister simply watches the Land Before Time DVD for the hundredth time while eating bits of granola and honeycomb.

“Jane and Betsy?” She groans at the mention of their name and you hide in your cushion. Jane and Betsy are the town's black sheep, they live together in a one-bedroom apartment and Jane has a clean-shaven head. Betsy has an assortment of tattoos and they don’t hide the fact that they’re not roommates but lovers. 

“Honestly, they need to hide their activities from the youth.” She continues on. “Forsaking the rest of us to see them. You know I talked to the Williams and they said they’re planning on opening a business.” Your father makes sounds of disapproval and you head upstairs to continue packing your bag. 

When you go back downstairs, you meet Angel and his friend in their car before heading to school. Once more Clark is the first person you see, although you see Lana not far away. They’re making a point to not look at each other, which makes it a bit awkward when Pete calls out for both of them. Lana looks at Clark before scoffing and walking towards Pete. 

“Hey,” Clark jumps, turning to see you. 

“Hey,” He doesn’t smile as he greets you, but he tries to. “Hey, um… I’ll see you during football practice, yeah?” Nodding, you watch as he walks away from the school. Sighing, you head in for your first class of the day. It’s not like you don’t have the same exact classes. Right. 

Clark doesn’t show up for practice that day or the next day, he’s barely in class but then he shows up and pretends as though the past couple of days hadn’t happened. 

“Want to be partners?” He asks, setting his lunch box in front of you. Choking on your water, he laughs and apologizes. “For the science project.” He clarifies, opening the box. “I know you’re pretty good with bees and stuff, I’m surprised no one has snatched you up already.” In truth, they had but you’d planned on working on the project alone. At least until he asked. 

“Yes. Yeah, sure,” Capping your thermos, you glance around. “So, we’re doing it on bees?”

“If you want,” He adds. “I just figured since you know bees and I’m good with football plays we could do some sort of… bee football game. Now that I say it out loud it does sound stupid.”

“No, it sounds nice. Unique. Uh, do you want to work on it at my place or yours?” 

“My parents are going out this Saturday to prepare for the Harvest Festival, so it’ll be quiet at my place.” He offers. 

“Sure, sounds like a plan.”

Saturday rolls around and Clark lets you inside, his hair pulled into a pigtail at the base of his neck but some pieces had fallen out and blocked parts of his face. It basically begged you to fix it. But you don’t, instead, you take your shoes off and follow him up to his room. You’d expected to work in the living room, maybe the dining room but being in his room was new. Intimate in ways you didn’t like. 

“You can sit on the bed,” He laughs when you stand at the door, messing with your rosary. Sitting on the bed he laughs again. “Get comfortable, you’re about to fall off.” He drags you back but forgets his strength and suddenly you’re on top of him. He’s still holding your wrist, his barely there grip makes goosebumps run down your spine. Naturally, his other hand had found your back, keeping you in place while you held onto him, clutching his sides. With wide eyes, you scramble off and apologize. 

“It’s okay, it was my fault. Let’s just… get started, yeah?” Waving his notebook you agree and the two of you begin to work on opposite ends of his bed. Eventually, there’s a call from the house phone and a knock on the door. 

“It’s probably my folks checking on me,” The two of you head downstairs and you open the door, finding your mother with a solemn look on her face and her death shawl over her shoulders. At the same time, you hear the house phone drop, clattering on the ground, and Clark staggers into the dining table. 

She drives Clark to the hospital to see Mr. Kent before it’s too late. She told you in the car he only had three hours left, that death was already in his hospital room waiting. She was right, of course. Mr. Kent is pronounced dead three hours later. 

The funeral is held at your church and the entire town attends wearing black. Mrs. Kent and Clark sit in the front, you’re a row behind them listening to your father talk about the life Mr. Kent had lived. His legacy. His family. Eventually, the procession moves to bury his body as it begins to pour down. 

Shifting your grip on your sister, you watch as your mother talks to Mrs. Kent and your father talks to Clark. You don’t know where you fit in all of this. What you’re supposed to do, if you’re supposed to do something. You’re Clark’s friend, his only friend since Lana and him broke up and Pete is trying to pick up where they left off, you should do something. Right? Talk to him at the very least. 

Passing your sister over to Angel, you start towards him. 

“I need some space,” He tells you when you get close. He walks away and you stand there, watching as he walks down the muddy road back towards his house.

—

Some time later and it’s summer break and you’re invited to a bonfire that’s being held by one of the cheerleaders. Angel quite literally drags you along by your neck, tossing you into his friend's car kidnapping style before they speed off. 

Once you’re there, your gaze naturally finds Clark’s. Following the funeral, he hadn’t spoken to you for two weeks. Not even for the project because the teacher automatically passed the two of you due to Mr. Kent’s passing. It was two agonizing weeks where you spent most of the time hating yourself for being upset he wasn’t talking to you. Hating yourself more because he was in your dreams and in them, you were more than friends. It made the silence and the guilt in your body all the more painful. 

You were back to normal now, well as normal as Clark could be following the death of his father and as normal as you could be after having fourteen dreams where you kissed him. 

“I didn’t think you’d come,” You admit, taking a seat next to him. He shrugs, looking at the fire in the trash can. Clarks never really gone to one of the parties but you’ve been to nearly all of them since you entered high school. Even if it is to just be a wallflower the entire time and so you can sober Angel up when it’s time to leave. 

“Ma thought it would be a good idea to get some air and I figured you’d be here,” He pushes his shoulder against yours and you nudge his back. “Can I ask you something?” Nodding, you watch as his eyes dip down to your rosary. “I’ve never seen you take it off, why do you wear it? You said you don’t like church,”

“I’m still vaguely religious.” You shrug, holding the cross. “And it was a gift from my aunt. She makes rosaries and made this when my ma was pregnant with me. It just means a lot to me, I guess,” Your hand drops and you see his hand begin to hover. “You can touch it, you won’t burn.” The two of you laugh but he grabs it, gently rolling his thumb over the intricate metal. Gulping, you watch him, eyes darting between his own before he drops it. 

“It’s pretty,” He says after a minute and looks towards the party. It’s loud, speakers all around, and shouting teenagers always makes Clark wince. 

“If you wanna go somewhere more quiet, there’s a creek some ways behind us.” He takes the offer and you guide him towards the creek beyond a small clearing of trees. 

The two of you settle on top of a rock. It’s clear that someone had already been there because there’s a blanket and two empty cans of beer below the rock. Neither of you mind as you flip the blanket and settle down, now sure there’s no bodily fluids touching your pants. “I’ve never been here before,” He said after some time had passed with the two of you spending it watching the water. 

“I come here every bonfire. It’s nice. Most people go the other direction to make out and stuff.” Kicking your foot, you see Clark turn his head towards you. Looking at him, your heart races. Even with the shitty flashlight at the bottom of his rock, you can see his stupidly pretty blue eyes and his smile that he’s slowly getting back. “Not what we’re… gonna… make out,”

He chuckles, looking to the creek for a moment before looking at you again. You’re still dumbstruck, staring at him and his eyes dip to your slightly parted lips. He hears your racing heart pick up when you notice and look back at you, your eyes darting between his. “Forgive me if I’m reading this wrong,” He mutters and leans in. His lips brush against yours and you lean in, closing the little distance. 

Your chest does tricks as you kiss— it feels so right that this couldn’t possibly be wrong. There’s no way this isn’t what you’re meant to do, that this is the wrong path. It’s new but it feels so familiar, kissing him. Across the creek a tree breaks but neither one of you seems to care, you think Clark doesn’t even notice. But when you hear a twig snap you pull away and jump down from the rock, holding your mouth. Clark frowns as he watches you mess with your rosary, hearing you muttering prayers. 

“Ready to go?” Angel slurs against a tree. You basically run to him, dragging him away from the creek. 

“Yeah, let’s go.” When you leave, you don’t look back at Clark but he hears your heart hammering and the way your rosary beads hit each other when you kiss the cold metal he’d touched.

—

That Sunday during church you’re watching the children, listening to the sermon through the open windows the parents use to keep an extra eye on their kids. You’re still thinking about the kiss, hating yourself for how you let yourself fall into temptation. Biting your tongue, you fix your clothes for the umpteenth time and pace about. Angel isn’t there to help, he’s gone off to college to play football across the country. Not that you mind, he’s gotten into a D1 on a full ride. Besides, at least he’s doing better than you are.

In the distance, Clark watches you. His mother had started going to service more often since his father's passing but this time he’d ask to go. You hadn’t talked to him all week, not answering the phone, your mother said you weren’t home whenever he asked but he knows you were inside of the barn with your father. He saw you. Heard you talking about keeping the bees safe for when the cold starts to come around again. This was the only place he could think of to talk to you. 

He excuses himself during prayer, it’s easier to leave that way and heads out towards the playground. You’re helping one of the boys learn to swing when Clark makes his appearance. “You’re a good teacher,” He nearly gets kicked by the boy and takes a comically large step back. You blink, not looking at him as your heart rate increases. “Can we talk?”

“Sorry, I’m busy.” Walking away, you stop a disagreement about toys before going to the edge of the playground again. He follows, dodging running children and stray toys. 

“I just… I’m sorry,” He says once he’s close enough. Your breath hitches and you inhale. 

“We were intoxicated, it’s fine.” Never mind the two of you hadn’t even had a sip of water. Not a pill, not a drink, nothing. Solemnly, he agrees to the lie and walks away. You watch him with a heavy heart, holding your cross as your chest tightens. You want so desperately for things to be different, for this feeling to go away. 

But you can’t. You return to watching the children, the ache never leaving.

That behavior continues as school comes around again. You feel bad, of course you do. It wasn’t a mistake, you’d wanted to kiss him. The issue is you liked it and you want to do it again— Clark liked it and he wants to do it again. He tries to talk to you time and time again but you’re fast and somehow manage to evade him every single time. It’s hard, considering you’re never not around him. 

He continues to show up during church, helping with the kids even when it’s only your sister playing around. She likes him, says that he’s the best at her tea parties that you’ve started to refuse to play whenever he’s around. Clark doesn’t mean to ambush you every Sunday but it’s the only time he can hear your voice. The only time he can be around you for longer than a second before you run away. 

And it’s slowly chipping away at your resolve. 

One day he’d tried seven separate times and you’re glad when you’re home. Angrily kicking your shoes off you turn to head upstairs when you see your parents talking on the phone while holding a card. You recognize their voices, they’re friends from when you lived in New Orleans, and they used to attend service. 

“You’re right on time!” Your mother smiles as she beckons you further inside the house. “You remember Mickey and O’Neil, right?” You nod and your father smiles. It’s nice to be remembered. “We’re planning on flying back to New Orleans for their wedding, they want your father to officiate it, do you want to come? I know you’re back on the football team and everything but I know you miss it there.” 

Your eyebrows cross as you look at her, a wedding— a gay wedding that your father approved of? Your chest tightens as your world spins. You can’t manage a single word as you nod. What was different about them and Betsy? Did they not like gay women? 

“I thought…” You trail, lips pinched shut. “They’re homosexuals.”

“Surely are,” Your father smiles. “Unless one of them transitioned and we haven’t heard yet.”

“You don’t like gay people.” Sharing a look, your parents turn to you. Your chest rises and falls quickly and they can hear you breathing. 

“Honey,” Your mother's head tilts as she grabs your hand. “Why would you think that?” She pulls you down onto the couch and you thread your fingers over your hair. 

“You always talk about Betsy and Jane and how they’re bad people.” Your face twists as you try to understand what’s going on. What are they talking about?

“That’s because they tried to burn down the diner.” Your father explains, the diner your father owns. He does church on the side. “Jane got fired and the two of them decided to try to destroy it. It’s why Mr. Leon is in the wheelchair.” Your shoulders slump as you realize their hatred was never centered around who they loved. 

“So, you don’t hate gay people?” The waiver in your voice carries the pain you’re holding and your parents' hearts ache for you. 

“No, honey. Love thy neighbor. Only God can judge,” Your father presses his lips to the top of your head as you begin to cry. The two of them hold you as you cry, clutching their clothes for reprise. The floors shake as you cry and their grip on you tightens. “We’re sorry that you felt any different.” 

After some time, you pull away and wipe your face. They’re hesitant to let you go, but slowly they unwrap you from their arms and let you stand up. You feel like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders as you walk away. They watch as you go, squeezing each other's hand as a silent promise to each other.

Halfway up the stairs, as all of this dawns on you, you remember. 

Clark. 

You huff a laugh and turn around. Running down the stairs, you stuff your feet into your shoes and run the distance from your house to the Kent’s. 

Your feet bash against the dirt road, ignoring the pain in your calves and the cold air invading your lungs. You’re laughing the whole time, skidding to a halt when you see their mailbox. The lights are on and you see Mrs. Kent in the kitchen. 

Running up to the door, you’re panting as you knock on the door. Mrs Kent opens the door for you with a smile, wiping her hands on a dish towel. 

“Hey, sweetie. What’s going on? Is something the matter?” She asks and you shake your head, holding your knees. 

“Hello, ma’am. I’m here for your son,” You struggle to get out but she lets you in without any fuss. “Thank you, ma’am.” Taking your shoes off, you climb the stairs two at a time before opening his door. He’s on his bed, doing homework, and sits up when he sees you. He doesn’t notice the door closing on its own, not when you’re smiling like an idiot while rushing towards him. 

“I am so sorry,” You say before kissing him. He smiles, holding you close as you continue to kiss before needing air. Holding his face, you can’t stop smiling and admiring him. 

“What changed?” He doesn’t want to ask that, to ruin the mood but he needs to know. It’s been two months of this cold shoulder, of him doing everything short of coming to your home with flowers and screaming your name to the heavens. 

“I might’ve assumed my parents were homophobic,” You laugh, pressing your forehead against his. “Can we start over?” He nods, leaning in for another kiss, lowering himself onto his bed when his mother walks in. 

Jumping off of Clark, you stare at Mrs. Kent with wide eyes while Clark hides his embarrassed face. You peel yourself from him, sitting on the edge of his bed while pinching your lips closed.

“Let me know if you’re staying for dinner, sugar,” She smiles at you. 

“No, ma’am. My parents are expecting me back soon,” She nods and gives Clark a look before leaving. The door stays open and he starts laughing. 

—

Being a witch, you have certain little traits. You mix cinnamon into your coffee filters on the rare occasions that you drink it, you always have your mini grimoire on hand, and as of late, tracing protection sigils into Clark’s arm. 

You’re at your place after football practice because despite your brother no longer being there to drag you to tryouts, you’ve found you do enjoy the sport. Continuing your role as the best running back with Clark’s plays. 

You and Clark are in the living room under the blanket watching a movie he’d picked out. He’s no stranger to your home, so much so your family has gotten used to finding his shoes neatly placed next to yours. But they’re all out of town picking your brother up from the airport, so the two of you are free to do whatever for the next… you squint at the clock, three hours. 

Sometimes you think about telling him but your mother didn’t tell your father until they’d been dating for three years and it sounds like a solid plan to you. Besides, it hasn’t even been seven months of dating. You’d be foolish to tell him now. Especially when things are going steady. 

Sometimes you worry he’s going to wander into the barn or the basement, finding the assortment of items, and run for the hills. He has this weird way of always knowing where you are when he’s around. Pinpointing you in the crowd as if you’re the only person around. 

“Do you believe in aliens?” He asks as the movie credits begin to roll. 

“I’d be stupid not to,” You hum, turning the TV off. It’s too much work to pick out another movie. “Do you?” With a nod, he sits up and lays on his back, staring at the ceiling. He’s cut his hair, it rests around his ears nowadays but he keeps the front longer so there’s one particular curl that rests in the center of his forehead. It’s cute. 

“What if we could travel to outer space? See the stars and the planets like the astronauts do,” His eyes are still cast to the ceiling, darting about as if he’s imagining it. “Would you like an alien?”

“Whaddya mean?” Shifting, you sit with your legs tangled with his. He looks at you, leaning up on his forearms. 

“Would you date an alien?”

“It depends,” You grin, tugging at his pants leg. “Are they as cute as you?” He laughs and lays down again. 

“You hungry? Ma made lasagna last night.” Despite it being your offer and your house, Clark drags you into the kitchen and tosses the dish into the oven. Had he been someone with less restraint he would’ve heated it up himself but instead the two of you sit in the kitchen. You’re on the counter while he’s between your legs, staring up at you. You’re talking about anything and nothing, planning dates for the winter lights show a town over, talking about how much work your teachers had given for the winter break. 

Once the food is reheated the two of you eat like that. Still talking as Clark does the dishes next to you. You cringe as he does them wrong but he looks so happy so you let him. He eyes the bundle of spices above the sink and you try to see if you’ve left anything notably witchy out. Your tarot cards are still on the dining table and you send them down to the basement before he turns back to you. 

He wipes his hands on your sweater before you lean down and kiss him. He holds your legs, pulling you closer and the door opens. This is the fourth time the two of you have been caught, you’d think you would’ve gotten better at hiding it. 

“Woah!” Your brother shouts when he sees you two. Groaning, you look over at him. “Ma, you let them kiss in the house?” Clark dips his head down as you get down from the counter, crossing your arms as they all head inside. 

“Stop teasing your brother,” Your mother shakes her head. “Hi, Clark.”

“I gotta go…” Clark trails. “It’s getting late and my mom—“

“It’s okay, want me to drive you back?” 

“No, it’s okay. It’s only two miles.” He kisses you, a quick fleeting kiss that makes Angel snicker. “Er… see you Mr and Mrs (L/n).” He gathers his stuff and leaves, giving you one last wave before the door closes. 

“Come on, Angel!” You groan, tossing an apple at him. He catches it and takes a big bite before he farts and goes upstairs. “You know, the month before he left he’s the one who spilled all of moms homemade tomato paste.”

“You snitch!”

��

All good things must come to an end. 

Two years, well almost. You started dating in eleventh grade and now it’s the summer before college. The two of you knew that this was going to go one of two ways, long distance or breaking up. You’d gotten into the same D1 college as your brother and Clark was going off to Metropolis to pursue a journalism degree. What you didn’t think would happen was Clark having a completely different opinion from yours.

“There are phones and I have a car now,” You ramble, looking between his bleary eyes and red nose. “There are holiday breaks and long weekends. I’ll be traveling for games and stuff. We can make it work,”

“I can’t.” His lips wobble as he looks away and your breathing skips. “You deserve someone who can be there for you.” Lately, he’s been bailing, leaving dates early and sometimes he doesn’t even show up. Sure, but you’re sure there’s a reason for that. You’re sure of it. You’re willing to put in the work to keep the relationship going, you don’t care. You just want him. And for Clark, that’s the issue. He’s becoming Superman, he’s going to be unavailable and that’s not something you deserve. 

“Please,” Your voice cracks, holding your cross. “I want to be with you, I don’t care—“

“I’m sorry,” He stands and you follow him, desperately reaching out. “This is for the better.” 

“Don’t leave me,” You beg, watching as his jaw tightens. “How can you leave me— us? It can’t be that easy!” You reach for him but he moves away, his eyes flickering to the ground as he apologizes but stands firm on his decision. Clark leaves and you turn around, heading into your house with a heavy heart and a tight chest. 

That night your father holds you as you cry, riding out your first heartbreak while your sister calls your brother; telling him everything. 

Clark doesn’t see you when you leave for college, you don’t expect him to. Considering he’d left the day before. Mrs. Kent apologized for him, explaining that he was having some emotions he needed to process. It didn’t help you, not one bit. 

You spend the flight to school doing readings and getting strange looks from the old man next to you. Each one only makes you more and more frustrated, all of the signs pointing that this is the best course of action. This is how it’s meant to be. You’ve never doubted the cards before, especially when each reading is so similar but you explain it by assuming it’s because you’re so high up. So, you do one as you’re in the car with Angel. 

It’s the same fucking thing. 

“Stop doing those damn readings,” He huffs, waving his hand over the cards but he doesn’t touch them. “Clark broke up with you, so what? You’ve gotten a full ride to the best football college in the nation! You’re a witch! That fuck ass country boy will come crawling back when you’re in the NFL, trust me.”

“I miss him,” You frown, packing the cards back into the tin. Angel groans and smacks your head. 

“You’re not gonna miss him when you see the guys at college; there’s a bunch of Clark Kent’s in this world.” He says that as you look out the window, doubting his words. There is no other Clark Kent. “Even so, I know a couple gay guys. They’d be your type.” 

—

College football, ranked third most popular sport in the US after professional football and basketball, is an extremely taxing thing. Your days start early, running before the sun is up, drills, training until you can’t anymore, ice baths that you’re sure will kill you one day, practice, going to away games on top of maintaining a good GPA. 

You’re running in the cold, wearing shorts as you see your breath leaving your body in a foggy smoke. But hey, Angel was right. You had a couple of flings during college. A couple of DL’s, of course, maybe a single relationship that lasted a month but nothing of substance. You hate that you’re still hung up on Clark; it's ridiculous. You dated for less than two years during high school. He’d gotten over Lana in less time and you’re sure he’s off at school getting with some girl or whatever. 

“Happy birthday!” Angel shouts as the team all sit in a restaurant slash bar, celebrating the fact that the season is over and your school has won nearly all of their games. Plus, one of the guys' birthdays. You’re old enough to drink, but you stick to your water all the same. It’s a bad look for a star athlete to be caught drunk, which is why the team hadn’t gone to an actual bar as intended. 

Your eyes flicker across the restaurant and you catch a guy sitting at the bar. He’s drinking something brown, not even letting the ice have a chance to melt, and pretending he likes his drinks watered down. His eyes catch yours and he grins, turning in his seat to stare at you. You smile and look away, returning to your conversation. 

Sometime later, a waiter comes by and hands you a glass of… something brown. 

“I didn’t…”

“It’s from someone else,” She explains before walking away. Immediately, you find the guy and he raises his glass. Raising yours, you take a sip and you’re pleasantly surprised that it’s just sweet tea. Your brother snickers and nudges you out of the booth. The other guys encourage you and you agree, taking a fry before heading to the bar. 

“Hey,” You smile, slinking into the seat next to him. “I’m (Y/n),”

“Bruce,” He responds, shaking your hand. You shake his hand as you take him in, deciding to pursue whatever it is with Bruce. Even if it’s just because he’s nearly identical to Clark. 

Things with Bruce didn’t last long, sadly. Only around six months. He went awol after a bit but you weren’t angry by it. He was nice enough, and surely spoiled you a bit, too. Angel loved that part. 

“Get up,” Angel grumbles as you’re lying on the couch, staring at the Metropolis news channel, waiting for him to appear. His eyes move to the TV and he grumbles, snatching the remote away before changing the channel to ESPN. You grumble back and sit up, watching as he plops himself down, his girlfriend shyly waving at you. You wave back, resting your head on the armrest. 

“Ignore him,” He stage whispers to his girlfriend. “He’s moping about a boy from high school.” She wants to laugh, you can tell, but doesn’t for your sake while he sure enough does. 

“Eat a dick,” You reach behind her and smack his head before heading into the kitchen. 

“Why don’t you hit up that guy from that English class you had? With the red hair, he was cute.” He calls. 

“‘Cause,” You shrug, grabbing a bottle of juice. “Last I heard of him it was because people around campus got crabs from him. It was like thirty people,”

“Oh my god,” She gasps. “James? James uhh… Richmond?” She snaps her fingers and you nod.

“Yeah,” You laugh into the rim of the bottle. “I knew him before the crab's thing, still got tested, though.”

“This is the first I’m hearing about this,” Angel sits up, looking between the two of you. 

“Because you’re not on the men's side of school drama.” You shrug. “A lot of guys on campus get passed around. Especially James,”

“No, yeah, it was gross. My friend hooked up with him. It wasn’t just crabs.” Her face scrunches and you make a similar one. “He also gave her brother crabs and gono.” Tossing the now-empty bottle into the trash, you shake your head. 

“That’s so…” Walking away, you flop onto your bed and pretend to do homework. Instead, you spend your time doom scrolling on your phone. Facebook sure is a strange place.

—

You’d been there when your brother got drafted to the Kansas City Chiefs two years after things ended with you and Bruce. You’d watched from the waiting room as he stood on the stage, accepting the draft pick and getting the jersey number 55. Of course, he became the star quarterback by the time the season was over, cementing his spot on the team. 

This year it was your turn, you’d gone through the NFL combine, painstakingly trying your best to reach the qualifying numbers before getting confirmed you were going into the draft. That in itself was such a relief you literally collapsed onto your bed and cried. Currently, you’re sitting with your family minus your sister in the waiting room, your leg bouncing as you watch the other teams pick their drafts for this round. It’s still the first round of drafts and there are three teams left, so you’re not nervous that your name hasn’t been said yet. 

But man, are you terrified that your name hasn’t been said yet.

Angel laughs the more antsy you get— he thinks you got this in the bag, your father prays next to you and your mother rubs lavender lotion onto your hands. 

The commissioner heads to the stand as the Chiefs lock in their pick in record time. 

You listen as the commissioner reads from the card, your jaw drops as your brother jumps up and cheers, punching the air as your name rings through your ears. You stand, hugging him tightly as your parents join the hug. They damn near suffocate you before your brother pushes you towards the stage. 

Wiping your tears, you rush up and take your jersey, bouncing around with it as people cheer. The announcers talk about the fact that your brother is on the team as he rushes out and tackles you once you get off of the stage. 

“You fucking did it!” He shouts, crying. He pulls you close as you both stumble about. There are some technical difficulties as your excitement reaches the peak but nothing anyone could bring back to you. You don’t doubt someone had managed to get that on video, though. 

That night you sit awake, wondering if Clark had been watching. What would’ve happened if he was there at your side. How he would’ve held you; kissed you. Maybe he’ll text you, you haven’t changed your number since you’d gotten it. Your Facebook is the same, too. You’re still friends on there, he likes your posts sometimes. You look at his but you never interact with them.

But he doesn’t. He reports on the picks because it’s his job, you watch it with headphones on because somehow Angel can always hear when you listen to his reports. The way he says your name crushes you, he says it as if he doesn’t know you, as if you hadn’t spent years together and Angel shouts that you’ve blown out the lights again. He takes your phone away because he knows the lights are always a Clark issue. 

��

After four years of being on the team, you head back to Smallville for Christmas. You’d missed Thanksgiving due to the games (which you of course won) and are more than ready to lay in some snow for a while. Not to mention finally being home for a holiday.

You’re in town, doing some last-minute grocery shopping alone when you see him. He’s in the section of the store you absolutely need to go to, with your brother's wife pregnant she’s been craving nothing more than bacon-wrapped hotdogs dipped in Rotel cheese with pickles. It doesn’t sound half bad, so it’s a family food now. 

You stare at him, taking in his appearance for the first time in eight years. God, eight years. Angel is right, you should be over him by now. But you take him in as your walk slows until you’re standing behind him. He’s bulked up since the last time you saw him, he stands taller too. That shirt looks awfully tight around the arms and when he reaches up to grab a pack of meat the shirt tightens around his back. 

You blink away from him, looking down the empty aisles before you put your big boy pants on and continue to the meat section. Walking next to him, you grab the first three packs of hotdogs you see and turn to leave when he grabs you by the elbow. He softly calls your name and you stop, turning to face him. 

“Hey, Clark,” You greet, your heart pounding in your ears. He says your name again and it falls so nicely that you swear you almost crumble right then and there. 

“I’ve seen your games. You’re amazing,” He smiles, pushing his glasses up his nose. Never mind the fact he’s gotten tickets to six of your games and flown over two others. Not to mention he’s put himself in charge of all football complications at work. 

“Thanks. I heard you’re at the Daily Planet now,” Heard. You found out the day he posted it. Stalking his page like a madman between drills and games. Your TV’s default station is the Daily Planet and you have a monthly subscription to their newspapers. 

“Yeah, it’s great.” There’s a silence that hangs and you go to walk away but he stops you again. “Can we meet up soon? I’m free tomorrow if you are.” The hope in his eyes almost makes you give in but you pick yourself back up and grab another two packets of hotdogs. God, do you even need five packets of hotdogs? Probably not, but you can’t just put them back. It’ll look weird. 

“Maybe,” You shrug. “I’ll see you around, Clark.” Rubbing his face, Clark decides to keep on shopping; his ma doesn’t need much else anyway. He passed you at the checkout. You have all five packets of hotdogs, a gallon of eggnog, various snacks, and about three boxes of Rotel cheese. He doesn’t know it, but you spent extra time getting items hoping you’d see him again. Although he’s ashamed to admit it, he waits in the sky as you leave the market and get into your car, following you the entire way home while you listen to whatever the radio is playing at the time. 

He watches as you enter your childhood home and slowly drops down, standing at the window as you hug your parents. His heart nearly drops when he sees a pregnant woman hug you but he’s relieved when Angel kisses her cheek and she kisses him back. Your head begins to turn to the driveway and he takes off, leaving his footprints in the snow as the only proof he was there. 

You blink at the driveway, sure that something was watching you but your father calling your name drags you back into the house. 

You don’t bring it up when you get back to your family home but your mother knows something is up. Of course, she’d done a reading. But she doesn’t mention it. There’s other topics to talk about, like her upcoming grand baby, your sister making the debate team, your father's retirement, and your latest games. 

Spending time with your family is nice but you’ve spent the entire time thinking about him. How his hair looks better in person, his stupid glasses that kept slipping from his face, his fucking smile. You go for a walk after dinner, not wanting to blow up any more lights than you already have.

You walk behind the barn and stare at the vast spread of land your parents own. You know you’d hidden something somewhere along the property but it was so many years ago you’ve since forgotten. You hope it wasn’t something awfully important. 

“Hey,” Angel calls as you're walking aimlessly in the snow, hoping to remember the spot. “Ma’s worried about you getting sick. Come inside already,” Noddining, you take one last look out before heading inside. 

—

Week eighteen, the final week for the NFL season. It’s the last game before the Super Bowl in February, although you already know you’re a shoo-in for it. You’re up against the Dallas Cowboys, sitting in the locker room laughing and joking before pre-game interviews happen. 

You’re next to Felix Anudike-Uzomah, talking about something that happened in a previous game where Leo Chenal tripped over thin air and went flying into the coach. Leo, somehow hearing from across the locker room, sucks his teeth and tosses a towel at the two of you. 

“Interviews,” The coach announces, entering the room. Everyone settles down, watching as a group of five reporters and five cameramen walk inside. There’s a pair from NBC, Fox, CNN, ESPN, and the one that makes you and Angel look at each other, The Daily Planet. 

Clark stands in the most dorkiest outfit you’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing him in. A red bow tie, a pressed blue button-up under a darker blue vest, brown slacks, and a nice pair of loafers. His glasses are resting on the tip of his nose and you can tell he’s put in extra time doing his hair. 

A light blows out above him and Angel smacks your leg, silently warning you to get a grip.

“You’re booked for Rosary,” Coach tells Clark after reading from the chart. Your heart skips a beat and you look at Angel but he just sighs, holding his head. Clark’s eyes find yours easily in the crowded locker room that suddenly feels so stuffy. 

No. You’re upset with him. 

He’s just another reporter you’ll talk to for five maybe ten minutes. Not the guy you’ve been practically obsessing over for eight years. Highly embarrassing for a grown man who pays taxes and has constant offers from very handsome men who would worship him. 

Never mind that, you’re plastering a smile as you shake hands with Clark. No introductions are necessary, but you do meet the cameraman. Clark says he’s working as a fill-in for the usual cameraman, his friend, Jimmy Olsen. He waves, shouldering the large camera on his shoulder. 

“Big game today,” He smiles, the microphone in his hand doing nothing to obscure that bright smile he puts on for the cameras. “How are you feeling about it? You don’t seem nervous.”

“Yeah, sure is.” You nod, looking just under his eyes. It’s less intimate that way. You can’t see his stupid eyes that way. “It's always a bittersweet moment with the guys before the last game of the season. But, you know, we got this in the bag so I’m not sweating it.” He laughs, nodding. Shit, you hadn’t heard that laugh in years and it makes you weak in the knees. A light blows out and Angel looks at you from where he’s being interviewed, you look down to avoid his gaze. 

“Clearly, you haven’t lost a game in nearly thirty games. That’s impressive, recording breaking, in fact.” He says and you swear for a second, his eyes meet your lips. You look away, nodding. He’s making the interview so difficult for no reason, absolutely no reason at all.

“That’s such a blessing. I don’t want to say too much about it, I don't want to jinx anything.” He nods.

“Me neither,” He smiles. You stare at him, waiting for the next question but he just stares for a second before he inhales and composes himself. “There’s a rumor you’re settling down, is that true?” Oh lord, you pocket your hands and shake your head. This time you don’t look at him as you answer the question.

“Definitely not settling down. Maybe put on babysitting duty but nothing personal. I’m not rushing anything.” 

“Taking things slow,” He nods and you nod back. “Well, I think that’s everything. Good luck, (Y/n),” Jimmy puts the camera down and goes to clean the lens but Clark doesn’t stop smiling at you. He doesn’t even walk away.

“It’s nice seeing you again,” He says and you clear your throat, looking along the room. “We didn’t meet up last time.”

“No,” You agree. “We did not. I wasn’t free.” That’s technically the truth, your sister-in-law had given birth and then there were some personal issues you had to attend to. 

“How about—“

“I think coach wants to talk to you. Probably your next interview,” You interrupt and he looks like a damn picked puppy it makes you feel bad when he leaves. 

“You’re a lost cause,” Angel sighs upon seeing your crestfallen expression. You shove him and leave the locker room to get some fresh air. 

“Wait, (Y/n)!” Clark follows after you, his microphone and Jimmy left inside the locker room. You pretend to not hear him, choosing to wander the cold and damp hallways of the stadium before he catches up to you. “Please.” He whispers, unaware he’d caged you between himself and the wall. A corner, at that. 

“What?” You ask. 

“I just want to talk,” He promises. “One conversation. Ten minutes,”

“The game starts in five,” You point out and he huffs, checking his watch. “Bullet points?” His hand drops back to your forearm and he thinks for a second before he smiles. 

“Just this one.” He breathes and kisses you. 

You feel like a fool when you kiss back without any hesitation. There’s not even a seconds delay as your lips move with his, your hands finding his hair and his hands finding your thighs. His fingers press to them in this nearly bruising pressure and you get the hint easily enough. 

While, sure, you’ve kissed plenty of men. You’ve taken men to bed and they’ve taken you to bed. But you’ve never had a guy lift you up before and you imagine if they had, it wouldn’t have been as easy as it was with Clark. 

He holds you in place so well, so secure, that you’re sure he has an insane workout routine. But when you feel his muscles, you know that for sure. His bench press but be insane. 

God, you’re thinking about working out while making out. 

His blunt nails dig into the tights of your uniform and you hiss, opening your mouth in his. Gripping his well-groomed hair, your fingers thread in the dark strands before there’s a throat clearing from the end of the hallway. 

The two of you break apart like magnets and you stare at Angel. 

“Dude,” He sighs and you have to blink in the darkness to see him properly. “Come on, we gotta be on the field in three.” Nodding, you don’t look back at Clark as you run back into the locker room, fearing the earful Angel is going to give you later on. 

To say you won the game would be an understatement. You absolutely demolished the other team on their home field. It was such a sweep that you stopped playing halfway into the game and just had fun with the guys. During every break you’d see Clark in the press pit, watching you with a soft smile. 

“C’mon, gay boy.” Angel grabs you by the helmet and pulls you into the locker room while some teammates do their post-game interviews. It’s empty when you get inside and he’s thankful for that. 

“Making out with Clark is such a low,” He says, holding a hand up before you can start talking. “I get it; first loves are hard. But he dumped you and didn’t even say goodbye. It’s embarrassing that you’re won back so easily. Did he even say sorry?” His foot taps as he waits for an answer but you’re sure he already knows. 

“No…” You trail and he scoffs loudly. “He wanted to talk but I said the game was about to start.”

“Oh, so you skipped the apology and shoved his tongue down your throat?” He scoffs, crossing his arms. 

“I didn’t mean to!” You shout. 

“You didn’t mean to wrap your legs around him and hold his head? That seemed pretty intentional to me!” He shouts back. 

“Angel,” You huff, head in your hands. He sighs and sits next to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. 

“I get it, you’re a big boy who can make big-boy mistakes. This is a pretty big one, though. It’s just you’ve spent years trying to get over him and he’s sucking you back in. I don’t want to see you crying over him again, 'cause next time he does I’m getting ma to put a hex on his ass.” You laugh and shake your head. “I’m serious!” He laughs, knocking your head with his knuckles. 

“Just don’t do anything stupid, yeah?” He asks, his hand running over your shoulder to hold his own hand. 

“I won’t,” You promise. “It was just… heat of the moment.”

“Good. Now let’s go, we have a victory to celebrate!”

—

Heat of the moment— you’re a fucking idiot to believe that. To have believed that even, for a split second, that you weren’t still absolutely enamored by Clark Kent. Like some stupid, hopeless, idiot. 

Following the game Clark had messaged you on Facebook— a simple text, a simple congratulations text. You kept it to yourself, texting him on and off as the weeks progressed. Texts turned into photos; nothing scandalous. Pictures of food, selfies showing off his friends at work, your treadmill— simple things. Photos turned into calls. Maybe five minutes long, nothing of substance. 

Five turned into twenty, turned into an hour and suddenly your text and call logs were filled with C.K. 

Ashamed, you didn’t mention it to Angel. You don’t live together anymore, he lives in South Carolina while you moved to New York, closer to Metropolis than to Gotham, though. 

Even more ashamed, you noticed how even through your hundreds of hours talking, there was never an apology. Never an explanation. Nothing. You felt stupid every time you hung up, every time you replied so fast to his text only to be left on delivered for hours at a time. 

So, you started agreeing to dates. Your friends, teammates, and even Angel and his wife would set you up with guys. They were nice enough. Kind men who definitely made you happy, never too eager for something you didn’t want, never too fanboy, and you thought, for a while, that you could be happy with one of them. 

It was six months with him; a great, long six months of getting to know Thomas. He was a little older than yourself, in his mid-thirties. He was absolutely useless when it came to football and you loved trying to teach him. 

“Babe,” He called one day, in a tone that made your heart sink as you rose up from the kitchen island, ignoring the tomatoes that needed dicing. “There’s flowers for you.”

“From who?” He stands at the door with a vase filled with elaborate flowers, colors so vibrant you’re sure it’s fake. He grabs the card and flips it open. 

“I know it’s early, but I’m hoping this gets to you at midnight. Happy birthday, I’m sorry I missed the last eight. Expect more. Love, Clark. Who’s Clark?” He turns to you, shoving the vase into your arms. 

“An old boyfriend,” You blink, setting the vase down to follow after him. 

“You’re seeing him?” He asks, arms crossed, the card between his fingers as he reads over the words. “Expect more, Love, Clark.” He repeats and you sigh, running a hand over your rosary. 

“No! I haven’t seen him in like eight months. He’s a reporter and he came to a game and interviewed me. I haven’t seen him since high school.” 

“So, he’s just some stalker then?” Thomas asks and you bite your lip.

“No,” You drag out, wanting to be open with him and he goes to turn away but you quickly add. “I haven’t spoken to him since our first date. Honest, you can check my phone.” Taking what you say at face value, he puts the card down and purses his lips. 

“How does he know where you live?”

“I actually don’t know,” You admit. “I mean, he could’ve asked my mother. But, I don’t know.” He inhales and then caresses your face, his knuckles brushing against your jaw. 

“Okay,” He smiles and kisses you. “But you’re not off the hook. You didn’t tell me your birthday is in an hour!” You laugh, resting your forehead on his shoulder. 

—

“How’re things with Tommy boy?” Angel asks, pulling you aside as your birthday party rages in your backyard. It’s the day after your birthday and despite yourself, you didn’t cancel the already existing fake surprise party they’d planned for you. 

“He…” You sigh. “We broke up yesterday.”

“He broke up with you on your birthday?” He echos and you nod, eating a piece of cake to drown your sorrow. “Why?”

“…Clark,” He gives you a look and you snort. “Clark kept sending me gifts throughout the day, I kept telling him that I haven’t spoken to Clark in months but he stopped believing me after Clark sent me a signed jersey from that hockey player I like.”

“You only just started getting into hockey, though.”

“That’s what he said; so he thinks I’m still texting him. Broke up with me,”

“I hate to ask,” Angel trails off, face twisting with guilt and you huff, setting the plate down. 

“I haven’t said a word to Clark in ages. I don’t know how he got my address, how he knows these things— I… I don’t know but he just ruined my first good relationship since him.” 

“You think he’s stalking you?” 

“I’ll check later today; I asked mom to help with a reading and then a protection spell. But I really want to get drunk right now.” 

“I was hoping you’d say that, let’s go! Aunty Tiff brought her special punch.”

—

Magic is… finicky. Especially when you’re bordering on black-out drunk, stumbling into everything in your bedroom after Angel and forcibly brought you there. The party had since ended, everything was cleaned up and most people went home. 

You stayed up, embarrassed to admit you were drunk texting (and calling) Thomas that nothing was happening between you and Clark. He ended up blocking you and you just laid down, wallowing in your own self-pity before getting up and going for a walk. 

You don’t remember thinking about that teleportation spell, but you did remember suddenly being in the snow, barely able to stand up until you got the alcohol out of your system with another spell. You recognized Smallville and walked around for a bit, you could use the fresh air anyway. 

You don't realize that you’re at the Kent’s until you see the red barn. It just makes you angry and you brush your cold hands against your face, wiping away the angry tears. Turning around, you jump when Clark is in front of you. 

“Can we talk?” He asks. Dressed poorly for the weather, you stare at his red nose and then his eyes. It’s always those damn eyes. Blinking, you look out to the sky and then back at him.

“Fuck you,” You spit, brushing past him before you spin around and shove him. “How’d you get my address anyway? Know about that hockey shit?” 

“I asked your mother and I saw you’d posted it last month,” He explains, eyes flickering between yours. “Was I not supposed—“

“I got dumped on my fucking birthday because he thought I was cheating with you! With you! Oh my god, why can’t you just leave me alone, it’s been almost a decade and you’re still here!” 

“Ma lives here…” He trails and you shout, running your hands over your hair. 

“Here!” You wave your arms around and it clicks for him. “I finally stopped thinking about you and you just swoop back in, ruining everything, again!” 

“I didn’t mean to, I just wanted to show you that I still care.”

“You should've left me alone. You should’ve declined that interview, you should’ve left me alone when I walked out of the locker room. I should’ve ignored your texts and your calls.” You ramble. 

“Is that what you really want?” He asks, standing tall and you mimic his stance. 

“It’s better than whatever the fuck this is!” You shout. “You leaving without a trace and then reappear without an explanation. Expecting me to just go along with it and I fucking do because I’m holding onto some stupid childish hope that maybe you’ll change. Like this is some stupid story!”

“Let’s talk then,” He suggests. “I’ll explain everything— everything. I’ll answer any question you’ll want me to. And if you still feel like that then I’ll leave you alone.”

“Fine.” You huff. He smiles and takes you into the barn. To his credit, it’s incredibly warm inside. The Kent’s don’t own any more animals since Clark left and Mrs. Kent couldn’t tend to them anymore so it’s void of the animal smell you’re used to. 

He closes the door with a gentle thud while you lean against a pillar, watching as he walks in front of you. 

“I’ve wanted to say this since the day we broke up,” He starts. “I love you. I haven’t stopped. But…” Your heart drops as his face falls. “At the time I was coming into my own shoes. It took up my entire life. And it wasn’t going to be fair to you, you don’t deserve a back-burner relationship.”

“Were you doing drugs or something?” You ask, honestly confused out of your mind. This is fucking Clark Kent, a resident good boy who became a reporter. Not Timmy who tried to make meth in the chem lab a week before graduation. 

“No… I—“ He takes a step back and removes his hat. “I wanted to tell you so many times. But I was afraid,”

“You know I don’t like these cliffhanger conversations, spit it out.” You groan and he laughs before clearing his throat. 

“Fine.” He stands up tall. “I’m Superman.” Squinting, you make a noise. You have no idea what he’s talking about. Great. His biggest secret and you’re clueless. “The hero…?”

“Oh!” You gasp and nod. “The one from Metropolis?” Since graduation, you���ve been busy with football. Embarrassingly, you get your news from his Facebook and Angel. 

“Yes, that one.” He chuckles, watching as your face goes from one of realization to shock.

“You have powers, too?” Spluttering, he blinks. 

“Too?”

“I'm a witch,” You trail. “Not nearly as cool as being an alien, but I have cooler powers. So you dumped me to become a hero?” Looking between his eyes, he shakes his head and then nods, unable to form a proper sentence. 

“It’s complicated. But let’s get back to your thing. You’re a witch? Your dad is a priest!” He takes a step closer while your back is still to the pillar. 

“And my ma is a witch. We're from New Orleans, that’s a pretty common pairing. You’re the alien! Are the Kents also aliens?” 

“No, I crash-landed here when I was an infant. Your mother is a witch, too?”

“Yes, it’s a family thing. Your folks hid this for years!”

“You hid this for years!”

“Because it’s a family secret!”

“So is mine!”

The two of you pause, staring at one another. Holding your cross, you don’t know where to go from here. Sinking to the floor, you stare up at him while he slowly gets to the ground too. 

“I don’t want to lose you again,” He grabs your hand. “Please, can we start over? With everything on the table, no more secrets. No more running.” 

“Clark,” You wince and he falters. “I can’t go back to us if you’re going to run away again. And I really liked Thomas.”

“You said you liked him,” He grins as though he’d discovered the secret loophole in destroying the bad guy. “Does that mean you’re over him?”

“It’s been a day, asshole. And you didn’t respond to the first part.”

“No-no! I won’t, I promise. We can start slow but I’ve spent nearly a decade missing you. I just need to be close to you.” He pleads with this desperate look on his face that makes you melt. All of your resolve goes flying through the window when your eyes dip down to his lips, red from the cold. Leaning in, you kiss him. 

You’re not clear-minded, this is the years of missing him coming back. It’s because you don’t like being called a liar or being dumped on your birthday so you might as well kiss Clark now that Thomas is gone. You’re acting without thinking, even as he kisses you back and holds you so tenderly. 

He climbs on top of you, caging your legs between his thighs, and keeps you close. Licking his bottom lip he doesn’t waste time in opening his mouth, moaning at the feeling of your tongue touching his. Gripping his head he hisses and pulls away, fumbling with your jacket. You follow his lead, maybe stupidly because you’re eager to get him out of his jacket and then his shirt. He tosses his plaid shirt to the ground and realizes his lips have been off of yours for far too long. 

“Shit,” You hiss when he slams his head into yours, pushing your head against the wooden pillar. He apologizes but you hardly hear it over the kissing and him damn near dry-humping against your stomach. You can feel the wetness through his thick jeans and it gets to a painful point where he takes off his belt. Technically, he rips it off, snapping the belt into two, and undoes the button in a blissful haze.

He shifts on your lap, putting one of your legs between his, and grinds down. His knee presses against your own and you suck in a breath, holding his thighs to keep the pressure there. 

“Can I- fuck,” He pants, moving his hand to his boxers, palming his erection. “I need you,” His eyes find yours, the glasses barely hanging on the tip of his nose. His face is a rosy pink, and flushed and his eyelashes wet. Taking his glasses off, you send them onto the tractor and move your left hand from his thigh to his hard-on. 

“Like this?” You ask, touching him through the wet fabric. Your thumb moves over his tip, using gentle motions that make him whimper against you. His head drops to your shoulder and his hips buck into your hand. 

“Please,” He whimpers, his shaking hand grabbing your own. “Touch me, please.” Shoving your hand into his boxers, he crushes a part of the pillar behind you when your hand wraps around his dick. It splinters and you mutter a spell to fix it while taking care of Clark. 

He’s huge, unnaturally so, it’s probably why he wears such baggy jeans now that you think about it. Smearing his precum against your hand, you start to stroke up and down the shaft. Your other hand starts to work on your own pants but he shakes his head, fumbling with your pants. In his haze, he rips your jeans open and you huff a laugh. 

He apologizes before kissing you, his moans dying inside your mouth while you feel his hand working the outside of your boxers. Your dick twitches in his hand and he uses his free hand to move your waistband low enough that your dick springs out. Glancing down, he spits onto his hand and starts jerking you off. 

“Clark,” You moan, head tilted up while he starts kissing your neck. The noises in the barn are pornographic, the slicking sound of the two of you working on each other, the loud kisses he’s leaving across your body, and the moans you’re both doing nothing to hide. He says your name as his eyes squeeze shut, his hips bucking erratically. 

“I’m close,” He heaves. “Keep doing that, please,” Working his dick, his hand slips from yours but you’re focused on him. Focused on the way his chest rises and falls with each moan, how you can see his moans mixing into the air, how his face is red and his hair is starting to stick to his forehead. He leans back, staring at you as he cums. It sprays, landing on your hand, chest, and neck. He continues to shoot weak spurts that slide down your hand and his dick, coating his boxers and pants. 

But his dick doesn’t go flaccid. 

“‘M sorry,” He pants, watching as your eyes close when he returns to your dick. “It’s the alien DNA… it doesn’t— just let me take care of you,” Nodding, you focus on the feeling of his hand working your dick, how he squeezes every so often and peppers soft kisses against your neck. It doesn’t take long before your back arches and you spill onto his hand. 

Coming down from your high you watch as Clark cums again, this time into his fist. The two of you pant, staring at each other before kissing again. He wipes his hands on his jacket before guiding your hands to his hips.

Yeah, you definitely needed this. 

He walks you home after sneaking you into the house to clean up. You teleport back home, Clark still attached at your hip but a little woozy from the reporting. The two of you catch up while not quite holding hands. It’s a ridiculous sight between two twenty-nine-year-old men but, hey, no one is around to judge. 

“You remember when we went to the Soul Asylum concert?” He brings up when he’s about to leave, finding excuses to stay close to you. 

“Yeah, I saved us,” You nod. He stops walking and you look back at him. “I said a protection spell.”

“I pulled everyone out of the car.” He tells you. You squint. 

“I said the spell first. Maybe it compelled you to pull us out,” You shrug. 

“A spell didn’t compel— yknow what? You’re right,” He kisses the top of your head. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“We’re going to Smallville to see the lights at six tomorrow,” You offer, barely hiding your smile.

“It’s a date.” Watching as he flies away, you laugh and head inside. 

“You fucked Clark Kent?” Angel asks once you’re inside the house. Your parents, niece, and sister are already upstairs asleep, it’s just him and his wife watching Hallmark movies. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” You shrug, leaning against the archway frame. 

“Really? Because you left this house with white a t-shirt and your pants are open,” Looking down, you see the blue jeans with a busted button and plaid button down you’d grabbed and licked your teeth. 

“Maybe you forgot what I was wearing,” He inhales, leaning back on the couch. 

“Mm, so we won’t be seeing Clark around?”

“Who knows,”

—

The next day you meet Clark in town, he not so subtly walks up behind you and places his hands on your hips to get your attention. You smile but don’t look away from the lights and squeeze his hands as a form of recognition. Your folks notice but don’t comment on it. 

The light show is lovely and you don’t blow any of them up by accident. Which your father thanks you for just before you leave with Clark. 

“So, this is real?” He asks, eyes darting between your own. He bites his bottom lip as he waits for your response and you nod, rolling your eyes when he cheers and leans in for a kiss. He peppers kisses along your face and you laugh, holding his neck with your eyes shut. “I promise I won’t hurt you again.” 

“You better,” You sigh and cross your arms. “I heard Superman is allergic to magic.” 

“Maybe a little,” He whispers, forehead pressed against yours. “You’re my weakness, huh?” He chuckles and you snort, pulling away from him. Holding your cross, you find your family walking along the stalls but your brother keeps an eye on you the whole time. 

Clark grabs your hand, lacing your fingers together and the two of you enjoy the lights and the food for the night. At some point, you end up back at your church. It’s the same as it was when you left, although there’s a pride flag hanging off of the window. Your parents didn’t want anyone to get the wrong message ever again. 

Heading inside because your father never locks the doors, you and Clark settle in the pews and you lay your head along the back of the pew, staring at him. 

“What’s it like? Being an alien?” You ask. “Have you seen the stars?”

“I have,” He smiles, brushing snow from your shoulder. “And it’s… I don’t really feel different. Aside from the x-ray vision, heightened senses, heat vision, and other stuff.”

“Are you a Martian? Is that racist to ask?”

“No, it’s not. I think— I’m the only alien I've ever met. But I’m a Kryptonian, my planet blew up and my birth parents saved me.” He explains. “I’ve never known anything other than Earth, but…” His eyes light up as he realizes something. “My pod had this… crystal and I discovered so much about my heritage. It’s around the time I started pulling away. I have this place in the Arctic, if you’d like to see it.”

“I would,” You nod. “We should go soon, before I have to head back.” He agrees, removing his glasses now that he doesn’t need to keep up appearances. It's more than the glasses, he’d later tell you. Superman stands taller, speaks with more authority than Clark Kent, and a host of other minor differences that add up. It sounds horribly complicated. 

“What’s it like being a witch?” He asks and you huff, staring up at the ceiling. 

“It’s such a process. Did you know— I know you don’t, don’t worry— that every single witch has a prophecy?” You laugh. “My mother was that she’ll become the reason the wolf becomes victorious.”

“The wolf?” He squints. 

“The Chiefs mascot is a wolf,” You explain and he laughs. “Yeah, her prophecy is the reason I’m in football. Her brother's prophecy was he’d become a zookeeper. Some of them are really mundane.”

“What’s yours?” He asks and you shrug. 

“Something about becoming a red witch. I think it was a rose, or maybe a scarlet. I’m not sure. It’s been years since I’ve read it.” 

“What’s a red witch?”

“Honestly, I have no clue. But, when it happens, I’ll know.” You wave. “It’s probably harmless, the Chiefs are red, so I guess it’s that. I dunno. But aside from that being a witch is cool. I have all these powers that I can do whatever for,”

“I hate to ask,” He cringes. You huff, knowing the question. 

“No, I don’t use them to play football. Only a minor protection sigil so players don’t get injured. It’s engraved on their helmets.” He nods. “Don’t go reporting that, though.” You tease.

“It’s off the record,” He laughs and it slowly dies out. “What about us?” Us. There’s an us now. You stare at him and shrug, slowly smiling as an idea creeps in the back of your mind.

“It would be cool if we announced it at the next Superbowl. Like I win and run and kiss you.” You laugh. “Or you’re interviewing me post-game and we kiss.”

“That’s so corny, we should.”

[byunpum]

Tsa·zìskrrmipaw

Pair: Neytiri x Y/N human baby x Sully family

Warning: Mention of dead, soft moments, mama neytiri <3

Request: (Anon) I love how you describe neytiri being our mother. Can I asked if you could react or make a small oneshot about how neytiri would adopt us.

AVATAR MASTERLIST | Part 2

Neytiri learned of your existence when your mother gave birth 1 year after neteyam's birth. It was big news in the clan. Mo'at attended the entire birth, as norm could not do anything else. Your mother had complications with the delivery, and she was losing a lot of blood. And the baby could not come out. After a labor of more than 5 hours, the woman died leaving mo'at with no choice but to deliver the baby on her own, asking eywa to keep the newborn alive. Norm was at her side, helping her, ready to provide oxygen to the newborn as soon as it came out of the woman's womb. To his surprise, just as mo'at pulled you out and the woman wiped the baby's nose with her hand and tapped the baby's back to make it respond. All this happened very fast, norm hear how the baby takes a breath and starts to cry. As if she could breathe air easily. Mo'at looks curiously at the man, placing the baby on her chest trying to pacify the baby.

After about 5 minutes and norm monitoring the baby, he notices how the lack of air began in the newborn. Putting on a special oxygen mask that your mother had prepared for you, he watched you breathe. Norm wanted to check something in his head, he thought it couldn't be true, but he wasn't wrong. After 10 minutes of letting you breathe human oxygen, he removed the mask and saw how the newborn kept looking to the sides, very calm. This child had the respiratory system of the na'vi. He almost fainted, how could this be possible.

Norm took it upon himself to investigate, and what a surprise he got. Your mother was a doctor, she had been one of those responsible for the creation of the DNA of the avatars. She had been injecting herself with a modified DNA for months, just so her baby could breathe the air of Pandora. Of course, this was very irresponsible of her, and Norm understood why she was hiding this experiment. He would never have allowed a baby to be experimented on like that. But well…it was too late. This was a surprise to everyone, the first human who could breathe in Pandora. Max and Norm discovered that this was only possible for fetuses, and not all of them. Only those that could survive the treatment, for your release your DNA withstood all the changes. And lucky for you…Mo'at wanted to take care of you, not as your mother but as your guardian. She felt a kind of responsibility, your mother was a very good person to her, and she had trusted her with everything. So she would take care of her daughter. And that's when neytiri met you.

She had given birth to lo'ak 5 months ago, and finding out that there was another newborn baby was very interesting to her. Her mother never told her that the baby was a human, neytiri thought it was another na'vi woman who had given birth and could not survive. And about the human who gave birth, well…she lamented the event but didn't think much of it. She could hear Jake lamenting, and everyone else but it wasn't her problem. She was on her way to her mother's hut, Mo'at had called her to ask her for a favor and to meet the new baby. Neytiri entered very excited, seeing how her mother was sitting there cradling something on her chest.

"Mother…did you call me?" speaks Neytiri. Mo'at settles herself more so that she is now seated in front of her daughter. "Yes, I want to ask you a favor" neytiti nods her head, now sitting up. As she settled lo'ak more on her chest.

"I think you already know about the human-woman who gave birth and died, right?" moat asks.

"Yes…it's very sad news" says neytiri, she doesn't want to imagine that scene. Now she was a mother and she can't imagine how hard it must be for a baby to be alone without its mother.

" Now that you know…I need you to take care of this baby" mo'at pulls out a human baby from her chest, of course she wouldn't have seen it, it was very small compared to her baby. Holding the newborn baby with only one hand, so that her daughter could see it. Before neytiri could speak, mo'at begins;

"She…her mother did not stand the birth, she is a very special baby neytiri…she can breathe our air, she can have a good life. Since you and your partner have adopted kiri, and jake is part of the humans. I think it would be the right thing to do, to help this baby grow up. Besides, you are the only woman who has just given birth, this baby needs to be fed with mother's milk," speaks Mo'at.

Leaving neytiri speechless, she more than anyone else knew that she did not like humans that much. And now she was asking him to take care of one of them. She adopted kiri, because the baby was a na'vi. And she accepted jake, because he had his na'vi body. But now that she would take care of a human child? His mother was going crazy. "Mom…I can't do that, get someone else to do it?" speaks neytiri in protest. Mo'at shakes her head, her mother looked calm. Placing the baby now, in a kind of nest she had prepared. This one was in front of her, in front of her feet.

"Daughter I wouldn't be asking you this if it wasn't necessary, this baby can't be raised by humans. She needs to breathe oxygen from these masks from time to time" mo'at held for a moment the mask norm had left for the baby. "But it's not just that…this baby's feeding is also from a na'vi. Norm already tried to feed her food that is used for human babies and she threw it up. She won't accept it, I thought you might be able to help. It's just feeding and basic care. You don't have to take care of her or adopt her." Mo'at speaks.

Neytiri was still looking at the baby with curiosity, she could have a lot of anger with humans. But she was not a monster, she was not a savage. What she was seeing there was a helpless creature, which she could tell was a little weak. Neytiri touches one of the baby's feet a little, seeing if it had any movement. "I'm afraid it will die if it doesn't feed well in the next few hours" says mo'at. Neytiri sighs, and thinks for a moment. Feeding a baby is not a bad thing, indeed it is very common in the clan. Helping and feeding the children in the clan was something that the women of the omaticaya clan helped each other with. So she would do it as a way to support her mother.

"It's okay," neytiri says, moving lo'ak a little to the side of her chest. Taking the human baby in her hands, carrying it carefully on her breast. It was very delicate and small. It weighed almost nothing, she was afraid that if it moved too much it would hurt the newborn. Neytiri moves the ornaments covering her breasts a little, bringing the creature close. Carefully positioning and guiding the baby. Noticing how the baby opens its mouth desperately trying to seek a maternal touch. After a few seconds, Neytiri watched as the baby began to suck with ease.

Neytiri settles in more, and places the baby on her forearm. She watched as the baby sucked the milk with great enthusiasm. She felt sorry, and an anguish filled her heart. She was such a small and helpless baby. Neytiri noticed how now lo'ak had gotten up, but did not begin to fuss or anything. He just started to move his little hands, until he found the human baby's foot that was right next to him. He touched it carefully and curiously, closing his hand. "Hey careful…be gentle" says neytiri in a low voice, trying not to wake the baby and not to upset her son.

After feeding the baby, neytiri continued to hold the baby to her breast. The baby had fallen asleep, and she looked more peaceful. She had finally eaten since she was born.

"Daughter…if you don't want to do it I understand…but I trust you and " mo'at is interrupted by neytiri. "Mother…it's okay, I will take care of her. After all she is a baby and she needs our help" says neytiri, stroking the baby's tiny head.

"Ok…Neteyam come here!!!" shouts jake, watching as his one year old son ran as fast as he could around the edge of the family hut. Kiri was next to him, playing with some toys. Jake watched as his partner entered the hut. Neytiri had her eyes on her chest, cooing at something. Jake thought it was lo'ak, but noticed how Neytiri had another net over her chest, and was holding something else. Jake gets up from the ground, and walks over to her.

"And what do you bring there?" asks jake. Watching as neytiri giggles softly, moving the net a bit revealing the face of a human baby. "That's it… it's newborn" jake quickly approaches taking the baby in his hands. It was instinctive, they already had their own children and seeing another baby was very common for them, they acted on their instincts. Cradling the baby in their arms. "This is that woman's baby, huh?" asks jake. Hearing how neytiri answers him with a "hmm". There was a small silence, until neytiri explained everything to jake. The man was a little surprised by his mate's attitude, she didn't usually act like that. Neytiri wouldn't even go near spider, and now she was taking care of a baby girl. A human baby.

"She needs to be fed and cared for…mom told me she needs this to breathe sometimes" says neytiri, holding up an oxygen box which had a small oxygen mask. "Well…there's nothing we can do" says jake, laughing a little. Neytiri moves closer to jake and gets closer to smell a little bit of the baby's hair. "She's very precious and special" says neytiri.

"yes….is very special" says jake. Until jake feels someone touch his feet. It was kiri and neteyam who wanted to be carried, they wanted to see how much their parents were doing. Jake kneels down, showing the baby to his sons. "She's a baby…just like your brother" jake speaks softly. A little neteyam reaches over and gently touches the baby's nose, to start laughing. He thought the baby was funny, and kiri does the same. The children were amazed at the baby their father was holding in his arms.

Neytiri didn't know what she was getting into, but she knew she was going to do her assignment very well. She herself began to doubt, the more Y/N grew up, because it was more than obvious that this baby was going to stay with them, after taking care of you for 6 months Neytiri told her mother that she would adopt you as her daughter. This news filled mo'at with joy. She knew she had chosen well, and that her daughter would do a great job. But now neytiri was doubting herself.

The mothers could be a little rude if they wanted to, it had been five years since Y/N had come into their family. And the Sully's had raised the girl as one of their children. There was no preference, no special care. You were a na'vi in the eyes of her family, but to some members of the clan you were still a strange human who shouldn't be in the village. It was more than evident that you were a human, but what human wore no mask at all?. Except you, and this bothered neytiri a lot. She was always hearing how some mothers commented on your appearance and made ignorant comments. Making fun of her for thinking she was the mother of this strange creature. This did not stop Neytiri, even though it hurt her, she went ahead with your raising. But it was normal for her to doubt her parenting and whether it was right for her to take care of you.

Neytiri had gone for a walk with all her children, sitting in a nice meadow. Watching her children run and play. Neteyam, kiri were running around. While lo'ak was lying with his head lying in her lap, while taking a nap. And Y/N she was beside her playing with a wooden ikran, making it fly. As she stood calmly by her side. Neytiri She hadn't been so calm in a while, taking out her bow that hung from her back. She used to carry it, in case there was something dangerous. She began to fix some details, like the loose string. Taking her knife to sharpen one of her arrows.

Neytiri was so focused, she didn't notice that Y/N had gotten up from the floor. You were small, so you didn't make much noise. You look for some branches, a rock, and some ropes from the trees that were on the ground. Running now to sit next to your mother. Neytiri notices how you sit down again, and is surprised to see how you have all these things between your legs. Trying to put them together, and imitating Neytiri. Copying how she was sharpening her arrows. "Honey…look it's like this" says neytiri, following your game. Giving you a stone that was next to you, for you to play with.

You were next to her, copying what she was doing. What was she worrying about, she felt a little silly. Here was the child she doubted she was raising right, imitating her. She chuckled to herself, stroking her daughter's face a little, pulling up the oxygen mask around her neck over her daughter's nose so she could breathe a little. Watching as the little girl continued her work of creating a bow. She knew that life at your side was going to be difficult, but it was going to be worth it. She knew that.

[haveihitanerve]

I am a proud Bruce Wayne can cook believer so I, a humble tumblr user, request Bruce cooking with his family.

YES. sorry that was loud. But yes 100%. i gotchu

Dick: Dick awoke to the sound of sizzling. He slipped out of bed slowly, padding down the stairs into the kitchen. Alfred was off on a little veteran excursion with old friends, and it was just him and Bruce in the manor for the week.

Bruce was standing at the stove, humming along to the soft music playing, an apron wrapped around his waist as he flipped something in a pan with one hand, messing around with a spatula in the other. He turned when Dick entered the kitchen, smiling.

"Hey chum, you're awake! Wanna help me cook some breakfast?" Dick nodded, climbing onto a chair to peek at the eggs Bruce was making. "I'm making omelets. They're simple and quick and provide you with lots of good protein and vegetables." Bruce informed him, lifting him off the chair and onto his hip instead, handing him the spatula.

"Go on, flip it." Dick laughed, leaning over the pan to flip the omelet. "Nice work chum!" Bruce cheered, sliding the finished omelets onto two plates. "Now we make some bacon- and.." Dick leaned against Bruce's chest, watching as he easily moved around the kitchen, explaining every step as he went. It was nice. Cozy. Domestic.

Jason: Jason awoke to the smell of frying bacon. He slid down the banister into the kitchen, and padded over to Bruce's side, who was leaned against the counter, drying dishes. "Hey Jay lad." Bruce greeted with a smile, bending down to lift him up. "What's up?"

"What're you making?" Jason asked around a yawn, peering around the kitchen for the source of the smell. "Oh," Bruce grinned, bending down so he could peer into the oven. "I'm making breakfast muffins. They've got bacon, eggs, cheese, and jalapeños." Jason's stomach rumbled and Bruce laughed, standing again.

"It'll be ready in a few Jay." He plopped Jason on the counter, grabbing a cookbook off the shelf. "In the meantime, wanna help me get started on this pot roast for dinner?" Jason nodded, running his hands along the old, yellowed pages of the cookbook. Bruce smiled as he watched him, collecting the ingredients.

"It was my mothers." He informed him, picking the recipe. "and one day," He bopped Jason's nose with a spoon. "It might be yours." Jason smiled.

Tim: Tim awoke to the sound of clanging dishes. That was... strange. Tim jumped out of bed, hand closing around his bo staff. His parents were off on another one of their little adventures. He was home alone. There wasn't anyone else in the house. Or, not supposed to be.

Tim crept down to the kitchen, keeping his back against the wall, before slowly peering inside. Bruce was standing at the sink, filling dirty pots and pans with soapy water, an apron wrapped around his waist, though clearly not big enough for him, so Tim assumed it belonged to the old cook who must have left it when Janet fired her.

"Uh," Tim cleared his throat and stepped into the kitchen, leaving his staff in the hallway. "Bruce? What are... you doing here?" Bruce turned to face him, smiling brightly.

"Timmy! You're awake! Lovely, sorry to drop by unannounced, but you mentioned yesterday not eating breakfast lately, and, well, I figured I'd stop by and make you something." He wiped his hands on a towel, suddenly seeming a little nervous. "If- if that's all right?" Tim nodded slowly, unsure.

"Uh, yeah- yeah no that's fine. What um, what for though?" As far as he was concerned, Robin hadn't done anything wrong lately, and he definitely hadn't done anything that warranted Bruce coming over to make him breakfast. Unless this was Bruce's way of softening the blow of firing him... Something curdled in Tim's stomach.

But Bruce smiled, set at ease again, and turned to his dishes. "Oh no reason, you just mentioned not having eaten breakfast and well," he laughed lightly, sticking a brush into the sink to help his cleaning. "Its... a little bit of a tradition, you know." He shrugged. "For me to cook something. For every Robin. You don't, uh, live at the manor, but that doesn't mean you should miss out."

Tim blinked in confusion. Bruce was... openly sharing a Robin tradition with him? That was new. Bruce sighed, apparently knowing it to, and turned back around. "I'm sorry Tim, I should... this is weird.. I should have told you I'd be coming and... you're permanent Tim."

Tim stared at him wide eyed. "I'm what?" He repeated, utterly confused and a little scared. "You're permanent." Bruce repeated, eyes utterly serious. "i know I haven't always been the best towards you, but I'm trying. I want to- I want to fix that. And be there for you. Like your parents should be. I'm not trying to replace them- I just want you to know I'm here and-"

He was rambling, words moving too fast for Tim's ear to pick up, his own cheeks flushed as his hands moved awkwardly in his haste to explain. Tim didn't care. He'd stopped listening after 'you're permanent'.

Before Bruce had a chance to react, before Tim could stop and think more about what he was doing, he was across the room, his arms wrapped around Bruce's torso. Tim's mind finally connected to his body and he tensed, waiting for Bruce to push him away, to say "no thats not what I meant"... but after a short pause, Bruce's arms wrapped around him.

He was warm and strong and solid, firm and protecting. "I've got you Tim," Bruce whispered, his breath tickling Tim's ear, but the words sweeter than anything he'd ever heard. "You're permanent."

Steph: Steph didn't know how he was in her house. She wanted to know how he'd found her much less. As Bruce Wayne, even, not as Batman. She just stared at him. At Bruce. Standing in her kitchen, awkwardly, holding a Walmart bag of groceries. He cringed, lifting said bag. "You wanna make some waffles?"

Stephanie didn't even know what her life was, anymore. Here she was, ex-robin, remade Spoiler, standing in her cramped, crappy kitchen apartment, making waffles with fucking Batman, except it wasn't Batman, it was Bruce, and he was wearing her obnoxious purple apron and was singing along to her horrible music taste and he was good at singing damn it, and he was laughing at her jokes and even making his own and he even let her lick the spoon and the waffles looked delicious and...

"Why are you here Bruce?" She asked finally, while they were waiting for the last waffle to finish, and Bruce had already moved on to do the dishes for her. "Hm?" Bruce returned, pretending like he hadn't heard her, or understood her, though she could tell by the way his shoulders tensed that he had.

"Why are you here?" She repeated, crossing her arms. Bruce sighed, shoulders slumping. "Because I messed up." He whispered quietly. Steph stilled. "What?"

"I messed up." He repeated, and returned to his scrubbing, doing it more forcefully than necessary, and not turning around to face her. "I- I shouldn't have fired you Stephanie." And that was when the world slid out from under her feet.

"W-what??" She exploded. Bruce bit his lip, knuckles white on the scrubbing brush. "It- it was wrong of me to fire you. I- I'm sorry." And any fight she was gearing up for went out of her. "I was just so mad, and- and I was missing Tim and Dick and Jason and everyone... and its no excuse." He turned, finally, meeting her eyes. "Its no excuse. Not for how I treated you, not for any of it. And, I'm sorry."

Steph stared at him, rendered speechless for the first time in her life. Bruce fidgeted under her stare, but to his credit did not move away, or break eye contact, or flee. "Why now?" She finally managed to squeeze out. Bruce sighed, and it seemed like enough of an acceptance of his apology for now that he turned around again, and resumed doing the dishes.

"I don't know. I guess... I guess because I realized I hadn't done it with you yet." he gestured to their pile of waffles. "Cooked. Cooked for you. I cook for every Robin. For every Robin I've ever had I've cooked. And I- I didn't do it for you. And its because you weren't there for very long but truly its because I didn't want to. I didn't want you to be Robin. Because that meant Tim truly was gone. Because I only get a new Robin when the old one is gone. Gone for good." He shrugged. "There's no excuse."

"Those sounded like some pretty good ones right there." Steph joked lightly. Bruce smiled at that, but still didn't turn around. "But they aren't." Steph swallowed, and slowly walked closer, taking a rag and slowly drying off the dishes he finished.

They worked in silence for a while, until all the dishes were cleaned and put away again, and Steph motioned him to sit down at her rickety old table, and served them waffles.

"I forgive you." She said finally, when they had both eaten their fill. Bruce looked at her. Clearly shocked, but... listening. Staying. She loosed a breath, leaning back in her chair the way Jason had taught her.

"I forgive you because... because you have some pretty good reasons and because... well these waffles are really good." That got a smile, a crack in his mask, and Steph smiled back before she could stop it.

"But mostly..." His smile faded and he waited. Waited. Stayed. "But mostly I forgive you because you apologized. And because I want to. Because well," She smiled ruefully. "Robin can't ever stay mad at Batman for too long can he?" Bruce smiled back, smaller, more subdued, but he smiled back. "No," The words sounded almost sorry. "No he cannot."

Damian: Damian awoke to the smell of home. But... that wasn't right. He wasn't home. Not, not at home. He was at the Manor. At Home home. But the smell...

Damian slipped out of bed, walking to the kitchen. He found Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, and Steph there, yelling at each other and cooking, Bruce and Jason doing the most work while Steph handed them things, Tim read stuff aloud from a big yellow cookbook, and Dick watched, occasionally sampling things and calling for more of something.

"What's going on?" Damian asked, and his words cut through the chatter like a knife. Silence fell. Damian regretted speaking immediately, wishing he hadn't come downstairs at all. But Bruce turned with a smile, still stirring something that smelled so familiar.

"Hey Dami," he greeted, nodding his head for him to come closer. "Happy Birthday. We just decided we'd get together and make you something special for breakfast." Tim nodded and he and Dick herded him to the table, sitting him down and tying a napkin around his neck.

Jason appeared from the kitchen, carrying a tray that wafted like home. "We made a bit of everything," He eldest brother said with a sheepish smile. "Wasn't sure which you'd like." He set the tray down and Damian couldn't stop the tears from welling up, not as he beheld the staples, the dishes Mama had made him. That he had shared with Grandfather.

"Wh- why? What?" Damian looked around at all the sweaty, proud, flour covered faces, beaming at him from around the table. "Do you not like?" Bruce asked in concern, brows furrowing.

"NO!" Damian returned, a little too forcefully, cheeks turning pink. "No." he said, a shade quieter. "Its lovely, but, but why?" Steph grinned, leaning over to ruffle his hair. "Because, little moon, it's Robin tradition that Bruce cooks for you. And, well, since we're fairly certain you're gonna be the last of us,"

"I don't think B's hair can take anymore." Jason grumbled. Tim snickered in agreement and Bruce smacked the back of his head with a small, fond smile as Jason ducked, laughing lightly. Steph rolled her eyes at them, winking at Damian as she continued. "We figured the rest of us would pitch in too." Dick grinned, leaning over to pour him a glass jellab. "Happy Robin Birthday Damian."

[pedge-page]

I loved your Mother Who Indulges fic. Never read a lactation kink fic before and the combination of Joel liking the breastmilk so much that he actually gains weight from it was really good.

The way you wrote Joel enjoying the milk, the scene with him sneaking to the refrigerator, getting off on the sensation of his bigger body and then surprised that Reader helps him finish drink off the milk glorious.

I was wondering if you would be interested in writing more fat!Joel feeling good as a bigger man (Has Tommy said anything to Joel about his weight gain?).

I was wondering if you'd like to write a scene where Joel is enjoying a meal, then he has to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants because he's getting uncomfortably full.

Thank you !! I'm glad to have introduced you to some new combination of kinks and concepts for Joel! Idk if you meant for this ask to be smutty (probably not) but my brain just kept writing so I hope you still enjoy!

This can be read with Mother Who Provides and Mother Who Indulges, or as a standalone

Extra Helpings

Fat!Joel x F!Reader

Warnings: unprotected sex, feeding, cockwarming, talks of weight gain, breastfeeding, food play, vaginal fingering, oral f receiving, cum eating, dom!Joel this time around, slight anal fingering, brief daddy kink

18 + ONLY

- - - -

Now that Joel was a few sizes larger than last year prior to your baby being born, neither of you really let it deter your fun. In fact, he seemed to be in a much chipper mood than before. Having more energy with you and the baby, smiling bigger and brighter, and --not that its a big deal or anything--much much hornier.

Its as though before Joel wasn't really giving himself the right kind of nutrients. Just eating enough to get by, not really paying attention to vitamins or fats or anything.

When he looks in the mirror now, he feels... good. In a very odd sense. With his near beer gut middle pertruding out, he would not even come close to "fit" physically, though his line of work still gets his heart pulsing and muscles flexing better than most his age. But the sheer effort it takes to get up, the way he lumbers and feels the weight of himself shift...its like his ego is blooming physically. He's a bigger man for it.

Joel tucks his hands underneath the swell, giving himself a good lift. Shit, he really has gotten thick. Bouncing lightly on his heels , he turns to his side in the mirror just to see the vast amount of space his profile now takes up.

It makes his loins ache. Especially how you were begging him to fuck you missionary, feeling his new body up and caging you beneath him with no room to escape but to take it all...

Hes gonna get a boner before dinner even starts.

He's gotta say, beastmilk was like super serum, and not just for babies but for grown men too. Now that he was bigger, that also meant a bigger man with a bigger appetite. and you were very happy to indulge.

Joel plops down heavily at the dinner table. You had been chopping some taco ingredients and marinating chicken all day, so he was exceedingly excited for dinner. rubbing his hands together, you set down his plate of 10 warmed tortillas and enough fixings to feed a large family.

He smiles back up to you as you stroke his rosy cheeks. "There's more on the stove if you run out, I'll heat it up for you."

He kisses your palm. "You're so good to me."

you giggle and take your seat. "Eat up, big boy."

And he did. Joel woofed down 8 tacos easily in the first few minutes, grease and bits of melted cheese dribbling down his fingers and wrists before slurping it back up and sucking his digits clean. You ended up making half dozen more before he started to slow down, adjusting himself in the chair.

Joel coughed, raising himself uncomfortably then sitting back down with a wiggle. "Shit, m'gettin--kinda full."

"Don't force yourself, baby, when you're done, you're done--"

Instead, your husband leans back in his seat, his tightened flannel shirt riding up his ridiculously pronounced belly. he skillfully slits hiis fingers below his pudge, and the click of his belt comes undone, followed by a relieving pop of his jean button. "ughghhyeah--" he groans, his belly, no longer restrained, doing the rest of the work by forcing the zipper down fully so that all his extra stuffed gut can breathe.

Your jaw is still open, eyes refusing the depart as you watch it bounce and settle. He's a little proud of himself by your dumbfounded look, smirking and wiping his mouth with a napkin. He gives you a show by sitting up and letting you marvel at the little extra jiggle.

"What? I like ya cookin," he chides, getting you to blink and resettle your focus a little higher again. It doesn't help how blown wide your pupils are, the way you shift and clench your thighs. His eyes glaze down your body, licking his lower lip slowly as if he's about to have his main course. Palming his growing bulge, he grunts, "How bout desert?"

"I--made--made you--uh--" your face was warm, legs squeezing together, unable to stop your gaze from drifting downward every so often at the enormous swell in the middle and his brazen display of pants drawn open at the dinner table.

Joel's large chunky hand glides up along your thigh, the heat of it making your insides churn deliciously. he keeps riding it up, up, up, under your little shorts and towards your center.

"Can ya spread for me? Always make me such nice things to eat. Can't stop eatin what ya put in front of me. Wanna give this one a taste," he whispers darkly.

You part your legs as two fingers slither through your soaked folds. Despite your gasp, you spread wider, letting Joel play and pat your wet juices. He curls his fingers inward, scooping some of your arousal before withdrawing and shoving the sticky solution into his mouth with a moan.

"mmmm oh babygirl, that's so sweet," he hums, eyeing you from the side with a devious smirk as he boldly licks and sucks his fat digits clean. He smacks his lips with each one, savoring the salty tangly flavor--the best taste in the whole world.

"Ya said you made me somethin too?" he asks softly, rocking back and patting his belly casually as if he wasnt just fingering you under the table and sucking your juices clean.

"i--cookies..." you choke, wondering why you feel so empty now. "I wanna feed you cookies."

He shurgs and gestures for you to get on with it, and you don't wait a second. Stumbling into the table slightly before gathering the fresh warm plate you had just baked from the oven.

Joel claps his hands together like a giddy child. With his legs spread wide, you straddle his thighs, your stomached pressed against his lower belly. He wraps one arm around your waist and pulls you flush, whining as the hardened, wet print of his clothed cock kisses your warm pussy.

"Take this off." He helps you shuck off your top, leaving your swollen breasts exposed. "oohhh yeah..." he rolls his tongue, clicking at the beautiful sight of you naked on his lap. You can feel his hands instinctually take their place on your tits, cupping and massaging them in his beefy grips.

You giggle, moaning a little before taking a larger chocolate chip cookie and presenting it to his greedy lips. Joel opens his mouth as wide as possible with a dramatic "aaahhh" as you slot it in for a generous bite.

"Milk n' Cookies!" he grumles through his chewing.

You tilt your head in confusion , were it not for the way he opens his mouth again, a few crumbs spilling down your chest, ducks his head lower and latches on to your breast.

"mm--mm--mm" he hums loudly between each gulp of your sweet milk.

"Fuck," you whisper, closing your eyes. Your hips work on their own, grinding down on his bulge to relieve the pressure that was building in your stomach.

He pulls away with a pop, kissing the little pebble of milk left from your nipple. "How bout Milk n Cookies with a good ol cockwarm for me?" he suggests, gripping your hips and humping you harder against him.

"Ah huh," you babble, using your free hand to pull his cock from his boxer slit and shove it underneath your shorts, aligning to your slit.

"There we go-that's it baby--that's it--sink right down--thereyago!"

You both sigh contently. With his stomach and your cunt filled to the brim, you kiss his nose lovingly before getting back to his cookie munching and titty sucking routine. all while slowing bouncing on his throbbing member.

"Joel--I can't--can't do it--"

he finishes his last swallow of your milk before helping set the plate down on the table behind you. "Ya did it, baby. Let Daddy take care of the rest."

He plants his feet flat on the floor, leaning back slightly, gripping your ass and thrusting upwards.

you fall forward, a moaning, useless mess as Joel uses you like a little fleshlight.

Sweaty and pressed fully against his large frame, comforted by the extra fat now built there, you hug him tightly as he pounds up into your squelching pussy.

"Like that, huh? Like gettin me all fat, every fuckin' day, just so you can sit on my cock and ride me?"

Yeah! Yeah fuck--fuck yes Joel--love it, love you so much!"

"Yeah? Everyone keeps askin me what I been up to, gettin this big. told em my wife feeds me, s'all. Think they're jealous, baby. They want a good little housewife who lets em suck her fat tits all day fill them up. Ain't sharin ya with no one."

You nod into his shoulder, cross eyed and too blissed to answer anymore.

"Joel forces his thumb into your mouth. Saliva and drool coat it sloppily before he draws away and spanks your ass cheek, smiling as it jiggles. The room is filled with skin slapping and your babbling pants.

His thumb brushes over your butt, inching closer to your other unoccupied hole. He presses down with the tip, the pressure againdt the rim of your hole sends jolts of pressure. Theres a moment of panic that settles over you: Joel was always blessed with strong, delft large fingers. But since his bodily change, they've only gotten proportionally thicker, ans that means extra stretch for you. He works around in circular motions before being able to slit inside, guiding you up and down with his thumb in your ass as anchor.

"Tommy even makin' comments. Kid thinks he knows shit. Told em, I said I was eating pussy, drinkin' milk, and gettin my cock sucked every hour, every day, and ya cooked me whatever the fuck I wanted. Does that sound like a bad bet? Hell no, fuckin' heaven is what is it."

"Joel, baby, I'm bout to--"

he lifts the two of you up and sets your back flat against the table, spreading your legs wide. Joel growls like a beast before letting his mouth latch on to your mound, eating you out.

its all tongue and slurping and sucking on your twitching clit. You whimper over and over again until you're gripping his hair and cumming, pistoning your pussy into his jaw as he drinks your orgasm for all its worth.

"That's my good Momma," he gasps, twisting and scissoring his thick digits deep inside you and slamming your spot repeatedly. All while his tongue swirls in fast circles around your swollen clit.

Your head rolls to the side, still heaving from your high as Joel jerks his red, beating member to completion over your body. "FUCK!" He grunts, spewing ropes of his creamy seed all over your tits.

You yelp and laugh when he crashes on top of you to lick it all clean, sucking his salty cum and your sweet cream all in one go like a messy dog lapping at peanut butter. The newly padded layers of his body cushion you securly under him, not that you minded at all. In fact, you welcomed the warm, heavy feel of him surrounding you, strong and secure, hugging him close as the two of you suck air, breathing in the table of cookies, tacos and sex.

he plants his lips between the junction of your breastbone. "You're always gonna be my favorite snack, ya know that?"

- - - -

taglist:

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop @himboelover @callsignwidow @wintersquirrel @fluffygoffpanda @picketniffler @bbyanarchist

[strawberri-blonde]

The Little Warrior’s Needs - Neteyam

Photo edits to @cinetrix

Summary: Neteyam takes your one-month-old son out for the day so you can rest, then when they get home you smell another woman’s scent on your family.

Warning: No warnings that I can think of. Maybe curse words????

Masterlist

You wake up to the sound of soft cries. Instinctively, you reach out and press your hand against the woven basket that Neteyam had built for your son months before he was born. As your hands felt the cold, empty basket, your heart sank. You finally opened your blurry eyes and looked down at the basket to see that it was, in fact, empty. 'Ateyo,' the desperate plea of your baby's name escaped your lips.

"Yawne," you feel a hand grab your wrist, making you realize that you had not looked right beside you where Neteyam currently lies with your son in his arms. "Baby, he's right here." You barely slept a wink last night, exhausted from your one-month-old son's incessant crying.

With a heavy sigh, you open your eyes and stretch your sore body. "My beautiful mate, he really took a toll on you last night." You shook your head trying to disagree, while you maneuvered yourself into your mate's side, kissing the soft texture of Ateyo's head.

He looked just like his daddy, such a handsome little man, you thought, letting out an exhausted yawn. Neteyam watched with worried eyes as yours began to close once again, even with his son grabbing at your chest, clearly ready to eat. Your motherly body had grown used to Ateyo's wants and needs over the month, ready to provide for the little creature.

"Hold on, junior." It was a nickname his dad, Jake, had given the infant as soon as he was brought into this world. And Neteyam couldn't help but agree, he was his little mini-me. "I got you."

Shifting his body, the warrior brought his right arm behind your head giving you some kind of support, then held onto his boy's bottom as Ateyo easily latched onto your swollen nipple. "Wish daddy could do that." Even in your sleep-deprived state, you couldn't help but let a warm smile make its way onto your face.

You placed a hand under Neteyam's to help cradle your son on your chest, wincing as he hungrily drank from you. "Such a beautiful, caring mother." Your head nuzzled into Neteyam's chest, craving his loving embrace. The man pressed kisses onto the top of your head then trailed down to your forehead. "I'm so sorry that I fell asleep on you, muntxate. I can't believe I did that."

You hummed against his warm skin, allowing your sleepy eyes to partly open and meet Neteyam's gaze. His amber iris was filled with guilt, which made your heart ache. "Teyam, you went on a huge hunt yesterday," you whispered, raising your hand from Neteyam's arm to cradle the back of Ateyo's head. "You managed to kill a Talioang all on your own and even dragged the beast halfway to the village with just your Ikran before help arrived." Neteyam loves it when you speak about his accomplishments with such pride in your tone. "You provide nourishment for me to be able to produce milk for our baby, so one night of me being up with Ateyo is a sacrifice I'm willing to make."

Neteyam pressed a kiss to your lips, trying to express how much he loves you through this simple act of affection. "Next time, wake me up." You chuckled into his mouth while caressing Ateyo's cheek, causing him to slowly droop his eyes into sleep.

"I'll try, yawne."

Neteyam kissed your lips again, running his fingertips against his son's back, watching him get milk drunk off your sweet breasts. "No, you will," you didn't reply, only nuzzled your head into the nook of his neck, letting the warrior hold onto you and the baby. "And to make it up to you, I'm gonna let you rest. I'm gonna take Ateyo with me today." This had you pull away with widened eyes.

"But neither one of us has taken Ateyo out in the village alone." It's true. You and Neteyam would take Ateyo to the village to socialize as a family, but you always did it together because both of you were kind of scared to do it alone, fearing that something might happen to the little guy. There's plenty of things that can hurt the baby in the village, but it was safe at home.

"I know, Y/n, but I want to do this for you. Plus, I want to show off my son to the trainees. I want to let everyone know that we created such a handsome man," Neteyam cooed while pressing kisses to your forehead, then kissing Ateyo on the crown of his head.

You smiled warmly, then sank back into his embrace. "Just be careful, yawne, and if there's one misplaced hair on his head-"

"Calm down, mama. They'd have to get through daddy first." Hearing that allowed you to go right asleep in Neteyam's arms with Ateyo nursing on your chest. With a partner as good as Neteyam, you were beyond grateful for your little family.

_____

As you awoke for the second time today, you subconsciously reaching your hands out for Neteyam's warmth. However your body needed a few more minutes of rest, so before opening your eyes. You fell back to sleep.

This time, it seems like you've woken up by the silence of your home. No sound from the little mouth that used to chatter for milk every few hours. Your eyes slowly flicker open, but your mind feels fuzzy and slow. As you roll over, you realize the bed is empty. At first, you let your mind roam free, wondering where the child is, until you remember that Neteyam mentioned taking him out this morning.

A wave of sadness washes over you. You've never been apart from Ateyo since he was born. The baby was always within arm's reach, even when you were learning your tsahík duties with Mo'at. And Neteyam was always by your side.

Even when he had to go back to training with his dad, he'd make sure you had everything you needed, so you wouldn't have to leave the swaynivi for anything. You let out a loving sigh, thinking about how amazing Neteyam is as a mate. You decided to take his advice and relax.

Climbing out of the swaynivi, you made your way through the dense forest. The birdsongs of the late morning welcomed you as you inhaled the scent of flowers and greenery. It had been almost two months since you had taken a walk through Eywa's creation, as Neteyam had you bedridden near the time for Ateyo to be born.

You couldn't help but giggle, reminiscing about how Neteyam would always get a little flustered whenever you accidentally bumped into a tree or attempted to hunt a tiny bird. Fortunately, your pregnancy progressed quite smoothly, with only sporadic spurts of morning sickness and some minor body aches. Before long, the air in the forest resonated with the sound of your contagious laughter, filling the surroundings with pure joy.

As you felt the hard dirt turn moist under your feet, you knew you were heading towards the small waterfall. Maneuvering yourself around the narrow paths that were clearly overgrown with plant life, the quiet sound of rushing water filled your eardrums. The excitement of the moment caused you to run through the foliage like a kid.

As you dashed through the familiar bushes, you gracefully skip past the leaves and stumbled upon a hidden gem—a small waterfall gracefully flowing between two majestic rocks. Its height barely accommodated Neteyam's towering frame. The water descended with a sense of liberation, creating a delicate mist that danced in the air as it cascaded down the enchanting boulders.

The water was so clear that you didn't hesitate to walk in. You gasped at how cool it was, but still welcomed the feeling and so did your achy muscles. The water just barely reached the bottom on your cheeks. With nimble fingers, you untied your top and glided the material through the water. You figured that while you were here, you'd wash your clothes and make new ones, since you have the time.

Once you were satisfied with your top, you placed it against a sunlit rock. Carefully, you untied your bottoms to repeat the process. Satisfied with them, you gently laid them next to your top. The soothing sounds of the cascading waterfall beckoned you closer. Slowly, you turned in the water, making your way to the steady stream, and stepped into its refreshing embrace. The cold temperature took your breath away, but it was exactly what you needed. After a month of caring for a newborn, you felt your muscles relax as the stress washed away with each droplet.

As you lower yourself into the water, sitting cross-legged, you feel its gentle touch on your tender breasts. Closing your eyes, you relish in the pure bliss. Inhaling deeply, you find a momentary escape from your worries. Your fingers delicately trace the stretch marks on your stomach, cherishing the beautiful reminders of your precious baby boy.

The cold water washes away the sweat and grime, and you can't help but cup your breasts in your hands, feeling how full they are with milk. Guilt and sadness consume you as you think of Ateyo. You wonder if he's hungry, trying to relieve some pressure from the milk buildup beneath the water's surface. But you know that Neteyam is more than qualified to take care of your son; you're just being a worried mama. Shaking away the worry, you continue to relax, knowing that if Neteyam needs you, he'll find you.

_____

You spent some time by the cascade pond and discovered plants with roots that are good for oral health. You made a paste out of them to help with Ateyo's teething pains or for hygiene purposes. Since Eywa is a great provider, the leaves of the plant didn't go to waste. You even made yourself a new outfit.

The leaves' smooth texture provided great support for your breasts, alleviating the pain when they were full. Your loincloth fit perfectly, accentuating the vibrant green against your beautiful blue skin. You skillfully wove a thin, cut-up leaf around your tail, adding an exquisite touch to your attire. And of course, you made two bracelets woven in the same pattern throughout your entire look.

The bracelets weren't meant for you, but with your heart racing, you practically skipped through the forest. You entered with nothing but your drained body, and now you feel so refreshed. Plus, you're also leaving with a brand new woven basket, holding your old clothes, paste, and the two special gifts. It's been quite the adventure.

As you come home, you feel a tinge of sadness seeing that Neteyam and Ateyo haven't arrived yet. Your heart sinks a bit, thinking that your baby might be hungry if Neteyam hasn't fed him. To calm your nerves, you settle down on the woven mat in your home, patiently waiting for their return.

However, the minutes felt like an eternity. Finally, you hear footsteps approaching the home, and Neteyam appears with your baby in his arms. A huge smile makes its way to your face, and you jump up from the mat, catching Neteyam's attention.

As those captivating amber eyes locked with yours, your heart stirred with a rush of emotions. You couldn't help but watch in awe as Neteyam sported a mischievous grin and swiftly ascended the tree, ensuring Ateyo was safely nestled in the Iveh k'nivi s'dir, snug against his chest. Once he reached you, you instantly wrapped your arms around his biceps, pressing kisses to the back of your baby's head. "Oh my goodness," you cooed, peeking your head next to Neteyam's so Ateyo could see you.

His tiny face lights up with pure joy, making Neteyam laugh. Ateyo's eyes sparkle, and his little mouth forms the sweetest grin, melting your heart instantly. "My handsome man," you grab under Ateyo's arms and pull him out of the baby-carrier while Neteyam's hand flies under his butt for extra safety.

Once you had your sweet baby cuddled into your chest, Neteyam leaned in and kissed your temple. You turned away from your son for a moment to give your mate a quick kiss on the lips. "Oh, he must be so hungry," you said, reaching behind you to untie your new top. But Neteyam gently stopped you with a touch on your arm.

"Actually, baby, he's eaten." Your eyes widen at the news, and as Ateyo reaches for your unbraided hair, his sloppy mouth presses against the smooth fabric of your top. "Well, it doesn't look like it, but I swear he did."

"How-" Before you could utter a word, a powerful aroma of feminine pheromones enveloped your senses. Your body instinctively responded, ears flattening and a low growl slipping from your lips.

"Shh, mama." Neteyam sensed your maternal instincts awakening, gently cradling the back of your head and drawing it towards his neck. He enveloped you both in a warm embrace, with the baby nestled between you. However, it didn't ease your worries, as you could still detect the scent on him. "I apologize, it was Rini. I thought you wouldn't mind."

Rini was an amazing friend you connected with because both of you experienced pregnancy together. Neteyam often went hunting with her mate, Talion, and it was comforting to have someone who understood your journey. "I took him to the training grounds, and he got fussy because this big guy never wants to stop eating." Honestly, you didn't mind. The  Omatikaya women often support each other with milk supply or other needs. It wasn't Rini's scent that bothered you; there was another pheromone that triggered your primal instincts. "So Talion suggested that Rini could feed him, and I genuinely believed it was innocent-"

You shook your head and gave him a teasing lick from his collarbone to his earlobe, rendering him speechless as you explored his neck, drenching him in your scent. "That's not it," you murmured, taking a deep breath to compose yourself.

Neteyam tangled his fingers in your hair, gently pulling you back to kiss your moist lips. "Could be anyone, baby. We had quite an adventure today," he whispered. As you gradually regained your composure, you felt a bit silly for overreacting and mumbled a 'sorry' against his lips. You then leaned in to shower Ateyo's face with kisses, enjoying the adorable sounds he made, which you assumed were laughter.

"Don't you dare apologize for loving us," he said, causing a wide grin to spread across your face as you looked up at Neteyam with adoring eyes. "And let me tell you, if I ever caught even a hint of another male's scent on my family, someone I didn't know, I'd instantly go into protective mode." You couldn't help but appreciate how Neteyam always seemed to have the perfect words to make you feel less overwhelmed by your hormones. "But I'm sorry, yawne, I have to get off topic because you look so amazing." You blush as Neteyam compliments your appearance, and Ateyo looks up at you with a smile. "Did you make this today?" He leans in and nuzzles his face in your neck, inhaling deeply.

"But I also whipped up a few other goodies." Neteyam's curiosity is sparked, and he leans in closer, resting his chin on Ateyo's head.

"Well, isn't that a funny coincidence because we actually got you a surprise too!" Your expression turned to one of delightful surprise as you pulled away slightly, catching sight of a beautifully woven satchel draped over Neteyam's shoulder. It was something you had been too caught up in the moment to notice before. "But why don't you go first?" He playfully suggested, gently smoothing Ateyo's tiny tuft of black fuzz for hair with a smile.

With utmost care, you cradled Ateyo in your arms before gently detaching from Neteyam. Your hands swiftly retrieved the meticulously crafted basket. Extending your hand towards him, he grasped it willingly, allowing you to guide him to the floor. There, side by side, you both settled into a comfortable position, sitting cross-legged as excitement filled the air.

Neteyam quickly grabbed the satchel slung over his shoulder and placed it in front of him, while you opened your own bag. "Well, I whipped up some oral paste for when Ateyo's little teeth start coming in, and to keep our breath minty fresh," you proudly shared.

"So that's where you got the new outfit from." Neteyam's keen observation about your new outfit brought a grin to your face. As you playfully twirled the seashell containing the paste in your hand, your boys gently explored the fabric of your top, their hands filled with curiosity.

"In fact, I had some extra material, so..." Your voice trailed off with anticipation as you reached into your bag to put the paste away, before revealing the woven bracelets with a radiant smile. "I made something special for my boys."

Neteyam's eyes widen with excitement as he takes in the two bracelets that you held in the air. "Did you really make these for us?" he asks in awe, grabbing them from your grasp to show them to Ateyo. The bracelets are intricately woven from the leaves you collected from the plant from the waterfall. Each one crafted from nothing but love resulting in a one-of-a-kind gift. "They're absolutely stunning, babygirl! I can't express how much I'll cherish this," he exclaims. "Thank you from the bottom of my heart." Neteyam plants a soft kiss on your cheek before placing the bracelets on Ateyo's wrist and his own. "You're so talented."  He cradles Ateyo hand in his marveling at the matching bracelets then he leans in for a long, romantic kiss on your lips.

"Really it was nothing," you mumbled against his lips hearing Ateyo gurgling as he instantly brought his wrist to his mouth to suck on the woven jewelry. "Just wanted to do something special for my boys that's all."

Neteyam shook his head wearing a huge grin kissing you again before pulling away to open his own bag making your nose flare as you smell that aroma again. Shifting Ateyo in your arms you grabbed Neteyam's wrist making him halt his movements to turn to you. "I smell it again." This had Neteyam lift his face, appearing lost in thought as if he was pondering something.

"Maybe," he began, causing you to release your grasp on him and instead rest your hand on his thigh. "We also went berry picking," he stated, pulling out a small purple berry and raising it to your lips. Without hesitation, you accepted it, even though you could smell that pheromone lingering on the fruit. Then, it hit you.

"Was it Marali's trees that you both ventured to?" Marali, a wise and experienced Na'vi woman, has dedicated her years to nurturing a magnificent array of plants that sustain our village. As she gracefully ages, her body started to undergo a natural transformation, signaling the end of her ability to bear children. This change brings about a shift in a Na'vi women's scent, which grows more potent as her womb determines that her time for motherhood has passed.

"Indeed, it was," Neteyam declared with a knowing smile. "The moment she laid eyes on Junior, she couldn't resist him. Can you blame her? He bears an uncanny resemblance to me." Playfully rolling your eyes, you bumped into his shoulder. As his words sank in, a warm blush spread across your cheeks, making you realize the intensity of your earlier outburst. Sensing the shift in your emotions, Neteyam leaned in and planted a soft, affectionate kiss on your lips.

Whispering sweetly, he said, "I adore your protective nature, yawne. I adore everything about you. You do so much for our family." His words made your heart flutter, and tears of joy welled up in your eyes. Lost in the moment, you didn't even notice him discreetly pulling something out of the sachet, cradling it in his hand.

You felt Ateyos's head on your chest drop slightly from drowsiness. Neteyam opened his hands, revealing a sight that left you in awe. It was a magnificent woven necklace, a true work of art. The intricate patterns and vibrant colors mesmerized you. The delicate clay pendant held a tiny heart at its center, resembling delicate fingerprints, with a sprinkle of tiny crystals embedded in the material. With gentle fingers, you traced the contours of the tiny heart, feeling a sense of connection. "It's Ateyo thumbs pressed together to make a heart."

You take the necklace from Neteyam and examine the detail of the jewelry. The intricate curves and creased of Ateyo's little thumbs are captured perfectly and the jewelry shines brightly. You're overwhelmed with emotion as you clutch the necklace to your chest.

"I love you, Neteyam," you declare, your voice filled with affection. Your lips meet his in a deep, passionate kiss, expressing the depth of your love. As you hold him close, mindful of Ateyo nestled on your chest, you cherish the bond you share as a family. Although it's been some time since you last pumped milk from your breasts, the ache is starting to make its presence known. However, you choose to set aside the discomfort, not wanting anything to spoil this precious moment between you and Neteyam.

You were truly amazed by the necklace, rendering you almost speechless. It's a precious keepsake that immortalizes your son's tiny thumbs, allowing you to carry it with you always. Neteyam delicately takes the necklace and places it around your neck, softly brushing his lips over the spot where the clay meets your skin making your breast feel even heavy under his touch.

"I'm so glad you love it, Y/n," Neteyam exclaims with a smile. "Whenever I see you wearing it, it will always bring back memories of Ateyo." He gently strokes your chin, his touch tender and affectionate. "The crystal and colors I chose are a perfect match for you." Your heart swells with a mix of emotions as Neteyam vegans to showers you with kisses.

You tilted your head to give him more room as he nibbled on your neck, causing an involuntary gasp to escape your lips. In that moment, a small mishap occurred as the inside of your top got wet. The fullness in your breasts caused a bit of milk to leak.

The air filled with the sweet scent of your milk, causing mixed reactions from those around. You felt a bit embarrassed, but Neteyam's eyes showed a different emotion. Just as you were about to speak, Ateyo's hungry cries interrupted the tender moment. You chuckled playfully, and Neteyam grinned, shaking his head. He gently removed the Iveh k'nivi s'dir from his chest and suggested, "Should we put the necklace aside and take care of our little warrior's needs?"

"Shhh, Ateyo, I've got you," you whispered, gently comforting the baby, while Neteyam helped you take off the lovely necklace. He then rose to prepare the nursing area for the three of us. Once the space felt warm and inviting, Neteyam reached for his sachet and pulled out a small wooden jar. He walked over to you, helping you to your feet, and tenderly planted kisses on Ateyo's soft scalp, soothing him. "We swung by Mo'at's, and I picked up some oil that's good for your sensitive nipples," he shared, causing a rosy blush to grace your cheeks as Neteyam sported a mischievous smirk. "I know he's a determined eater because Rini... Well, she couldn't help but make funny faces during his early lunch. She even mentioned that their own son doesn't eat that aggressively, which made me feel even more sympathetic. But you, you never complain, yawne. You're an incredible mama."

You kissed Neteyam's lips, placing your finger in Ateyo's mouth to soothe him. "Neteyam, I have nothing to complain about." You admitted letting him guide you to the nursing area. "Our family is everything I've ever wanted." You and Neteyam share a kiss as he helped you untie your top, releasing your breast out in the comfort of your home.

Neteyam lifted up the top of the jar grabbing a little amount of solidified oil and rubbed it into his hands to turn it into a liquid before looking at you like he was asking permission making you grin out a nod. In a complete non sexual manner, your mate softly applied the oil over your sensitive tits. "Suppose to have a cold feel to the skin," experiencing his soft but strong hands over your heavy breasts felt so good. "... to release some of the pain and Mo'at said that the oil can even keep Ateyo's lips soft."

"Really?" you mumbled, adjusting your son to a comfortable position and allowing him to latch onto your breast. He drank eagerly, while you could already feel the effects from the mixture.

"Yeah, daddy might have to check it out for himself." This had you rolling your eyes at his silliness, while Neteyam only snickered. He rose to his feet and sat behind you, pulling you into his warm chest, allowing you to sink into him and letting him carry the weight of you and his son.

As Ateyo nurses noisily from your chest, Neteyam smiles fondly at the peaceful sight and reaches an arm around your body to caress his son's head. Ateyo pauses for a moment to look up at his parents before getting back to sucking. Your eyes couldn't move away from your little handsome man, and you find yourself saying, "Neteyam, you really spoil me too much. Not only did you give me the cutest, sweetest baby, but you genuinely take such good care of me. I feel selfish sometimes."

Neteyam softly caressed your back, a smile appearing on his face radiating with pride at your appreciation. "As your husband, it's my duty to take care of you," he responds, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss on your forehead. "I want you to always be happy and well taken care of. Along with Ateyo, you both are my life." Neteyam leans in and plants a kiss on your temple as Ateyo continues to feed. "But yes, I'll admit that spoiling you is one of my favorite activities." He chuckles, his fingers leaving your back to caress your cheek. "I don't expect anything in return because you already do so much for us. I love making you feel special."

Without your knowledge, earlier Neteyam had discreetly placed the satchel near the nursery area. He momentarily shifted to grab the pouch, then settled back behind you and your son. With a gentle gesture, he presented a berry to your lips, saying, "Now eat, because I know you're hungry after nursing our little one."

Your eyes light up as you feel an unexpected berry against your lips. You turn head and shift your eyes to meet Neteyam's eyes, which are filled with a playful gleam. The two of you share a mischievous smile and you take the berry, eating it hungrily. "You didn't have to do this, Neteyam," you say, your cheeks flushed and your eyes shining. "But I'm very glad that you did." The two of you share another sweet moment together before Neteyam reaches back to the satchel, feeding you another one.

As you savor the last bite of the berry, the sweet juice lingers on your tongue. With Neteyam's gentle caresses and tender kisses, you feel comforted in his embrace. The three of you, united as a family, share this precious, quiet moment together. Closing your eyes, you let the warmth of the scene envelop you, filling your heart with pure happiness for our small but hopefully soon growing family.

Hoped you like it feedback is appreciated!!!

~ Caroline

[celestialtarot11]

🪬 Astro Aspects 🌀

🌙 Moon- saturn aspects relate to the phrase “I’m resilient because i had no choice”

Additionally, moon saturn aspects can indicate an emotionally cold mother figure, or being physically absent at some point in their lives. Moon represents the mother, so it’s important to look at that placement. It can also indicate divorce or separation in the parents.

Moon conjunct pluto 🤝 moon saturn aspects

Sun touching north node has the ability to get famous or widely known in a community! Until the native is aware of their skill set & strengths, and finds practical use, the native may choose jobs that don’t fulfill them. Depending on the severity of the aspect, the native will find criticism in their jobs, or find it hard to climb up the ladder (squares especially) But when the native finds exactly what they’re good at, the native lives a happy life in terms of money & career ✈️💨

Venus-pluto and wanting to know everything about a person. You want to devour them with your eyes, and touch every part of their mind. When the native is awakened to the power of their presence & how intelligent they are, the native radiates an impactful energy. Those around them can feel the intensity, especially when they are one on one, it’s felt even more. Maneater energy 💅🏻

Venus opposite pluto has the ability to either bring necessary destructive change in their partnerships, but also rebuild and provide solid structure. This energy is neither bad or good. It can go anywhere, hence the void state. These natives are constantly creating in their relationships. Beautiful 🌀

Neptune aspecting the ascendant creates such a mystifying aura. People like to gossip about these natives, and people constantly wonder about who and what these natives are doing all of the times. These natives attract attention just like that, and can manifest easily. These natives are also prone to addiction and getting high to cope.

Neptune aspecting Venus does not know limits in love. Very similar to a pisces venus/scorpio venus. This native wants to go deep all the way, and can also embody scorpionic energy. These natives will love deeply even if it’s unhealthy, and will stay in unhealthy situations. Their commitment is real, and loyalty unmatched 💅🏻 But it can cause a detriment to their health.

Sun sesiquadrate pluto also carry an intense aura. Although this aspect is seen as minor, it still affects the native. Transformation through ego is big, and necessary. Native constantly finds themself in this lifetime 🌙✨

Sun trine pluto creates a resilient individual. An individual who goes through intense circumstances, one after the next. There’s always a shift challenging the individual to empower themselves. When meeting this person, even if they are a libra rising, you will feel their power radiating from within. Or they display that. Even if the native is sweet and kind, there is always an underlying powerful energy.

Mars trine pluto have insane ambition. Especially if mars is in the 6th house. Absolute powerhouse of the cell 🤣 they ARE the mitochondria. Mars trine pluto smile and laugh, and say “try me again, I dare you.” Once this native is awakened to their power, its game over. Even more powerful when this native finds themselves embracing change and inner conflict. It provides them peace to constantly do shadow work. These natives do not like their shadows running the show 🤡

Sun aspecting neptune, ya’ll are powerful spiritual channelers. Ya’ll tap into spirit like no tomorrow and receive visions, dreams of the future and get intuitive gut feelings. All of it. But also have the ability to attach ego to this ability and become prideful of spiritual nature.

Book a reading with me here 🤍

Thank ya’ll so much for reading this 🤍✨ enjoy and feel free to comment reblog or like! Id love to hear feedback 💗

[crimson-and-clover-1717]

Mother Teach, Ed, and Self-Determination CW: Emotive

I want to explore Ed’s mother in the red silk flashback, and its lasting impact on Ed.

Mother Teach begins with the imperative, ‘Feel it, boy’. There seems to be a certain lesson in showing Ed the thing he cannot have, before explaining the rich folk she works for own many items of this quality; so matter of fact as if it’s nature’s law.

When Ed asks in innocence the question, ‘Why can’t we have things like this?’ Mother Teach comes up against an alternate line of thinking which she seems never to have considered. She blinks in what could be surprise before giving what appears to be an obvious answer: ‘It’s up to God. He decides who gets what’. This establishes the idea that life is ‘not up to us’, but controlled by an external locus: God, providence, fate… ‘He decides’.

Mother Teach is conditioned to believe in determinism, and who can blame her. Her life is decided for her. What hope of agency for a poor, indigenous woman in a world run by a rich, white patriarchy? And it’s easier to attribute the decision to God, His unfathomable will. God is also likely and conveniently a rich, white man, so the issues blur somewhat in who is actually doing ‘the determining’; but frankly, the outcome is the same. It is safe to say God isn’t a poor, brown woman.

Ed carries this belief into his future life, struggling with agency, succumbing easily to manipulation; not having beautiful things despite acquiring riches, and giving up quickly in the face of setbacks. The second part of Mother Teach’s explanation, ‘We’re just not those kind of people’ further reinforces Ed’s class and race inferiority, which again he carries painfully into adulthood. These words are spoken with some emotion. We hear the shake in her voice as she acknowledges certain truths about the limitations of their existence.

The impact of his father on Ed’s psyche is largely plain in the cycles of abuse with older white men, but the transmission of generational trauma via Ed’s mother is also significant.

Mother Teach isn’t trying to be cruel. She clearly loves her son, and the silk is a love-token which she possibly took without permission so her child could have at least one chance to look upon and own a ‘beautiful thing’. But her own trauma means she further damages her son’s self-esteem during this interaction. She doesn’t want Ed to be a dreamer or believer in a better life. Best accept your lot, know your place, then you won’t be disappointed. There is a certain wisdom to it; and had she an average son with a dullish mind, it’s probably sound advice in this particular time and place.

But her son isn’t ordinary. He is a genius, an empath, a creative, as well as prone to overthinking and melancholy. His race foremost, and class also, are against him, and that is outside of his control; but everything else is up for grabs with someone as brilliant as Ed if he can find inner worth. He might always have to live within a subculture to find both success and happiness, but he may have done so sooner with a stronger internal locus of control, and belief in his own worth and agency, had he received a different message in childhood.

As it is, he lives a life in the shadows, emulating and enhancing further the toxic masculinity revered in the dominant culture which is so against his true nature. He uses his genius for strategy and theatre to enrich himself for protection and subsistence only, never going beyond and allowing luxury or beauty; and when finally world-weary and screaming for change, finds himself trapped by the ghosts of his childhood, some of whom are reshaped into new human forms.

One of many things which saddens me regarding Ed’s sacrifice in killing his father as an act of protecting his mother is I don’t feel it changed anything much. It was a micro action against a macro problem. If Ed possibly then ran away, his mother would’ve had to do what she always did: find another male protector, possibly a white man to enable a certain social standing, and she would likely be back within a similarly psychological and physically abusive situation. It isn’t inevitable this would happen to a woman in her situation, but it’s the most likely outcome because her choices are so limited. And that’s hugely tragic for both herself and Ed.

It’s often said for Ed, there’s a psychological affinity between Stede and Mother Teach. The rich, white man who is kind and optimistic is everything Ed’s mother could’ve been with those same sociological advantages. Stede is able to self-determine. He is a repressed gay man in a heteronormative society, but much of the world is built with his empowerment in mind, and he is able to take full advantage of that and change his path. Both Stede and Mother Teach love or loved Ed, and in an unequal world, one of them at least is able to model a different way of living; help push open the psychological door enough to allow Ed himself to begin to change his stars, and self-actualise as the person he truly is.

Writing this made me sob…I’m sorry if it does the same for you reading it

[istoleyoursk1n]

Hello there! I’ve seen your stuff and it’s very good! I have one for the main crew with a Dhampire!Tav. That’s essentially a half vampire born from a mother infected with vampirism and they have all the benefits of being a vampire with no, minus the thirst for blood that’s more a craving and provides a power boost, negatives. Tav tries to abstain from blood as much as possible, but does give in for emergencies.

•❅───────────✧❅✦❅✧───────────❅•

How would they react to a Dhampir!Tav

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: ̗̀➛ ASTARION

“Ugh. Just so you know, there can only be one. And it doesn't take much to see who’s the better vampire, darling. You best not go snacking on the delights I've claimed for myself.”

You’d think he’d be relieved but he's more so irritated by your presence at first. You’re quite literally everything he wished he was, something that makes him envy you.

You don't have to constantly satiate your thirst for blood and you can walk in the sun! Sure, he can do so now, but that's only because of the squirming little parasite in his head.

However, over time, he’d get over his bitterness, realizing that perhaps he cared for you more than he initially thought.

Sure, you have advantages he only dreamed of obtaining himself but having another vampire by his side did prove to have its own perks. All so suddenly you are both drinking goblets of blood in place of wine, dancing in the glow of the luminous moonlight as the nocturnes you are.

He's a horrible influence because there's no doubt he made you indulge in your blood cravings more than you ever used to.

Though, he’d have it no other way. He does quite enjoy the sound of a vampiric power couple racing through the night, it appeals to every fanatical dark dream he's ever had and it makes it all the more special.

: ̗̀➛ WYLL

“To see not one but two fanged companions join us on our little adventure? Well, I can't quite tell if I should be relieved or tense. Regardless, it's a pleasure to have you.”

It was conflicting enough to have one vampire in camp but two? His job was to slay monsters but you don't seem to be posing a threat at all. Less of a threat than Astarion at least.

He very quickly moves past his whole ‘but aren't I meant to kill monsters?’ conflict in favor of befriending such a compelling companion, one he finds himself growing quite fond of.

And there was just something so incredibly romantic of being a monster hunter himself and falling for a creature of the night (and sun at this point).

As corny as it sounds, he’d been dreaming up that fantasy for a while now, finding himself going out of his way to woo and win over a vampire's undead heart.

One blissful dance by the lake against the twinkling stars of night, hands interlocked, and the sudden burn of piercing fangs caressing his skin only for his own soft kiss to follow—romance and its finest.

All so suddenly he's fallen head over heels for the same type of beasts he's sworn to rid of, though you are no beast in his eyes, more of an angel whose sharpened teeth could be nothing more than a sweet blessing in disguise.

: ̗̀➛ GALE

“The more the merrier I suppose. You never know when one needs four sets of fangs in the journey ahead. Perhaps, you could talk sense into another particularly bloodthirsty friend of ours, hm?”

And then there were two.

He didn't quite trust you around him at first, you were still a vampire, and frankly after the Astarion encounter, he’d rather not be bled out dry.

Over time, he’d grow curious. It's not every day he encounters a dhampir out and about. He’s read about them of course but studying an actual dhampir was a whole different story.

He would often compare you to the books he’s read about your kind to the actual information you provide him, noting that once the whole absolute mess is over, he’d gladly rewrite the dhampir section of his book collections.

Eventually, the fact that you're a dhampir would easily go over his head. He can't see you as anything else except for the companion he's grown to be incredibly fond of.

Perhaps he’d try to find other ways to satiate your blood cravings if he's ever reminded of them, doing his own little research as to what the best substitute could be. It's more so for convenience so he wouldn't have to witness another chicken being drained raw.

Other than that, he's completely contented with you, fangs included. There is no other he could have chosen to have endured this treacherous journey with.

: ̗̀➛ KARLACH

“Fucking hell! Another vampire?! Well, shit, I must be pretty damn lucky or something. Between you and me, I think it's great to have another fanged friend join us, you have got to meet Astarion!”

She gets excited over the fact that you're a dhampir for about a day before it goes over her head.

She's seen far more threatening things than a human half-vampire to ever feel the slightest bit of intimidation at your presence.

Besides, if you ever do try biting her, good luck handling blood as hot as the flames of Avernus. That’ll give her a good laugh.

She has a lovely little thing for nicknames and if she gets to call Astarion ‘Fangs’ you’re being called ‘Fangers’. Cheesy, but it makes her all the more happy.

And if the need for blood ever arises, fret not, she would gladly beat the shit out of some bastard goblin for you to snack on (if you don't mind the taste of goblin blood of course.)

Overall, the fact that you’re slightly vampiric never bothered her at all. You’re the best thing that's ever happened to her and she wouldn't mind no matter what form you took.

: ̗̀➛ SHADOWHEART

“It seems that another vampiric acquaintance joins this strange little party of ours. I suppose finding ways to satiate another vampire’s odd diet wouldn't be too much of a hassle with all the dead goblins lying around. Enjoy the meal.”

She was a bit apprehensive at first. She was already a little put off by Astarion being a vampire, she didn't quite trust herself bearing her neck around that man and now there's you.

You’d have to slowly build some trust in her if she were to ever let her guard around you, of course, there are the playful jabs here and there but she seems mostly impartial with your presence for now.

Her weariness fades soon enough, it's not as though your blood cravings are bad enough for you to turn to your own companions for a taste. She’s only ever seen you feast on animals.

Over time, she’d grow contented with your presence, hardly ever pointing out your own vampiric features as you seem quite normal for the most part.

Your advanced healing at least gives her a break from having to constantly use her healing spells so she's at least grateful for that.

She truly doesn't have any qualms about you now that she fully understands your capabilities and who you are as an individual. You are a lovely companion to have and it's fairly nice having you by her side.

: ̗̀➛ LAE’ZEL

“Chk. Best you keep your thirst for blood on our foes lest I pull out your sharpened fangs from your gnawing mouth. I will not have you or anyone come to draw blood from my own skin.”

As long as you don't intend on placing her fangs anywhere near her, she doesn't care.

She’ll base her opinion on you depending on what use you could provide to her, and seeing as you are essentially a vampire without all the negative effects that come from being one, that's perfect!

You are quite effective in and out of battle, an admirable trait she has directly told you on a handful of occasions.

It's rather flattering to hear ‘compliments’ or more so tactical observations come out of her mouth from time to time but she does seem quite impressed by your abilities.

Even the part of you that craves blood is one she doesn't quite mind as long as you aren't senselessly draining out the blood of every creature you pass.

If you two do grow close, she does actually hunt animals for you, bringing them back to you as ‘tokens of appreciation’ so you’d have something to snack on (She doesn't want to show it but seeing you indulge makes her happy).

At the end of the day, she truly sees you as a worthy companion to travel alongside her. A companion she wishes to treasure and travel with for as long as time allows her.

: ̗̀➛ HALSIN

“How lucky am I to have lived long enough to witness vampires having the capacity to walk in the sun? Truly such a special gift to have especially for someone like you. Perhaps one day all of your kin could have the chance to see the sun again.”

The least concerned out of all of them.

He’s lived long enough to understand whether or not you could possibly pose a threat and honestly? You don't even seem intimidating enough to phase him.

The only thing he's actually upset about is the fact that you have to kill precious creatures of nature to satiate your occasional cravings for blood.

He wished there were other alternatives, and honestly, he’d rather see you snack on a goblin than the poor critters living in the forest. Though, he does understand how foul the taste of goblin must be.

At some point, he probably would have offered himself as a substitute for your blood cravings. Better him than the animals. Though, you couldn't quite tell if he was nervous or excited about the prospect of you biting into him.

It turned out to be both when you first tried, and now it's become quite a normal thing for you two. Halsin doesn't seem to mind and you get to have a free snack from time to time.

Besides, there's something about your fangs that makes his own heart beat a tad bit faster than usual. A detail you don't miss at all and something he's very much aware of.

He trusts you enough to not drain him, and regardless, he treasures you as a companion. What you are could never stop him from being as close to you as he is now.

•❅───────────✧❅✦❅✧───────────❅•

[indignantlemur]

Hello, I've been reading up on folklore and cryptids alot as of late. What kinds of criptids do you think andorians would have come up with and would you be willing to talk about a few? I can imagine an older member of the clan trying to prevent the youth from doing some more dangerous stunts around the clan hearth similarly to how parents would around the campfire at night.

Hey there!

That's a good question! Andorian cryptids aren't something I've put too much thought into just yet, but I have a few ideas I'm happy to share! Andorian folklore and mythology describes a few cryptids, mostly of the legendary one-of-a-kind variety.

A great example of an Andorian cryptid would be the Fog Spirits.

Purportedly birthed by the Fog Mother, a figure of legend sometimes thought to have been an Aenar woman, the Fog Spirits (often simply called Spirits) are ravenous, ghoulish creatures cursed to suffer eternal hunger and deprivation. According to legend, the Spirits of Andoria are responsible for the majority of misfortunes that can befall one on the planet's surface, particularly when dense fog covers the frozen sea-ice.

Most Andorians don't believe the Spirits are real, of course, but even the true believers aren't in a hurry to take foolish risks trying to prove anything one way or the other.

Another cryptid of Andorian-origin is the Iridescent Veeg.

Mundane veeg are a carnivorous, predatory species native to Andoria, insectoid in nature and possessing a shockingly effective ability to camouflage themselves for ambush attacks using mirror cells embedded in their chitin. The only signs they give of their presence are the tell-tale yellow flash of an iridescent chitin plate found on their thorax, a low-frequency trill, and the occasional six-toed claw mark found upon the ceiling. A veeg can and will hunt and eat full-grown Andorians, and anything else it can get its claws on.

The Iridescent Veeg, however, is much smaller and nearly entirely translucent, almost wraith-like, with an eery, oil-spill like shine across its body where an ordinary veeg would be nigh-invisible. It is carnivorous and opportunistic, as all veeg are, but lacks the size and strength to take down larger prey; accordingly, it prefers the softer meats of foolish children caught unawares, having wandered too far from home. While the Iridescent Veeg has been 'sighted' many times, no evidence of its existence has ever been confirmed.

And a third cryptid for you, is the Creeping Mock-Vithi.

The vithi plant is a common sight on Andoria, particularly round the coastal cities. It's a flowering vine, sporting wickedly curved thorns and large, fleshy flowers which are commonly consumed with a sweet syrup (or honey, on Earth.)

The Creeping Mock-Vithi, however, is not a plant at all. Reported to be a an eerily intelligent organism which only resembles a vithi plant, it is (as most things on Andoria are) carnivorous, with a curious predilection for the slow and inebriated, whose sluggish movements are most easily snared by the creature's vine-like appendages. Nearly indistinguishable from the genuine plants themselves, the Creeping Mock-Vithi is given away by a single pair of beady black eyes amongst the tangles of thorns and petals.

Many a dock worker has stumbled home far later than usual, claiming that they were set upon by this creature after having an ale after work. Few provide any credible evidence.

Hope you enjoyed the read! <3

[cerastes]

Are there any notable supporters you reccomend? I kinda ignore the class except for gnosis (and I do use scene and deep color in IS a bit) and I wonder if I'm actually sleeping on some fun units.

YOU CAME TO THE RIGHT NEIGHBORHOOD, MOTHER FUCKER, I LOVE SUPPORTERS.

Suzuran - 6* Decel Binder. The moral of Arknights is that children make excellent soldiers, and Suzuran proves this. Her two Talents are really good, as she serves as an incredibly potent SP accelerator for Supporters (+0.4 extra SP per second, so Supporters will charge 40% faster, herself included), and all enemies suffering from Slow (the actual status effect Slow, not the movement speed reduction effects one can find on Manticore or Chung the Hung, for example) in her range are also inflicted with 20% Fragile (so, they take 20% extra Phys, Arts and True damage from all sources). It doesn't have to be Slow inflicted by her, any Slow will do, so Angelina's S2 machinegun Slow will render an enemy vulnerable to an ass kicking quite effectively, as will Podenco's S2, and any source of Slow additional to Suzuran herself. S2 gives her an extra target on every attack, 2 extra targets with Masteries, alongside a minor Attack buff and, more importantly, infinite duration, meaning she can control more enemies at once and better prevent Slow Dilution (what I call when you Slow an enemy, then the next enemy passes them, making them the next target, and so on, diluting damage and clustering them; this isn't necessarily bad but it can be undesired depending on you strategy). Her spotlight stealer, however, is her S3, which expands her range, provides strong passive healing (so unhealables can be healed), doubles her Fragile Talent (40%), and Slows everything in range. Gnosis Fragile is bigger (50%) but he only maintains it in comparatively shorter bursts, Suzuran's S3 last 35 whopping seconds, and enemies that are Slow-immune are far fewer than Freeze-immune. This section is particularly big because, yeah, Suzuran just really does that much, she combos VERY well with other Supporters, can be slotted in any team, and just generally works, I'm not even a Suzuran fan, she's just that jacked.

Podenco - 4* Decel Binder, real name GODenco, also slots easily into any team, can switch to healing on her S1, or provide bursts of Silence, AoE Arts damage and Slow on good upkeep with her S2. She also provides a minor passive buff to other Supporters. If you need to Silence things, you think of the best Silencer, Lappland, but sometimes you need to Silence a LOT of things, enough that Lapp might get overwhelmed, well, that's when you use GODenco S2 and suddenly that entire cluster of 8 exploding spiders won't go boom no more. She's really good for Slow Dilution because of her single target into AoE skill, so she combos really good with AoE hitters like Artillerymen, Fortresses, Chain Casters, Qiu Bai S2, etc.

Shamare - 5* Hexer, a good execution support, as she applies 30% Fragile to enemies in range under 40% HP. Her main hat trick, however, is her S2, her signature Cursed Doll. At S2M3, the Cursed Doll, which you deploy on the field and it affects its tile and the 8 surrounding tiles, will provide an absolutely ungodly debuff of -50% ATK and DEF to all enemies in said range. One of the rare ATK% debuffs in the game, and in my opinion the best, it'll make even Gopnik hit like a wet noodle. What's more, since it's not an active skill, the moment you drop your Cursed Doll, Shamare will immediately begin charging the next one! With a charge of 30 and a doll timer of 15 seconds, her true charge time is 15 seconds. Basically, you can cycle 15 seconds of regular enemy stats and 15 seconds of halved enemy stats. This is legitimately insane. Since Shamare's stats are also unimportant, you can just leave her at E2Lv1 (unless you want her Module, which imo is not worth the lv2+ and I'd only get the lv1 if you really like her) so she can be a cheap and powerful investment.

U-Official - NUMERO UNO CAMPEAO DA PENTA

Quercus - 5* Abjurer. I'll keep it simple here: Her healing with Module is bonkers, and she provides Shelter (damage reduction%) to units in range above 70% HP, 60% with Module Lv3. S1 is her permanent Healer mode, toggable on a long cooldown, while S2 is her burst healing window skill, notable in that it provides SP to healed units throughout its duration. Quercus is sleeped upon, she's a REALLY strong Supporter that provides SP, healing and bulk.

Orchid - 3* Decel Binder. I include her here if you want to play Integrated Strategies, because she's always a good free pick there. She's the Slower that Slows.

Roberta - 4* Artificer. I include her here because my stream audience will disembowel me and chain my flayed corpse outside the Museum of Modern Arts if I don't, she's my meme unit. THOUGH, her Shield-providing, DEF enhancing tools can come in handy.

Valarqvin - 5* Ritualist. The IS4 free unit. Significantly stronger in IS4 due to built-in Necrosis Damage on autoattacks, but even outside of IS4, she can be useful for bursting or key enemy elimination with S2, as Necrosis is a strong effect with a built in, decaying ATK% debuff (again, rare) and unmitigated DoT (total of 12000 damage over 15 seconds, 800 dmg per second). Nothing so far in the game resists this, so go ham.

Angelina - 6* Decel Binder. Angelina's whole thing is that she's not a standout unit in any regard, but she can support practically every team, can so strong sustained damage and Slow against single targets with S2, strong multitarget Slow and reduced Weight for Shifting with S3, and passively increases party ASPD and gives them passive healing (works on unhealables). Angelina is kind of like a crowbar or a length of rope in that she's as useful as you can be creative with her, never as a stand out, but as a good brick in the overall house.

Ling - Limited 6* Summoner. Kind of an obligatory mention, but basically, God Mode. One of the gamebreakers, as she can produce 4-Block replenishable immensely powerful summons with multitarget equal to block, Arts damage, and damaging auras. Yeah. Even without that monster of an S3, she can sub Burst Damage and crowd control really well with S2. Her applications are insane, she's so strong that we can be here all day, so we won't do that, she's a very well documented unit.

Skadi the Corrupting Heart - Limited 6* Bard. Again, another well documented unit, but she can basically E3 your units with the sheer stat heft she provides through her S2 buff, can deploy an extension to this range with her Seaborn Summon, and if you really want to go ham, she can enter Microwave Mode with S3 so True Damage cook the shit out of anything, in addition to providing a really big Attack bonus to units in range while at it. Well documented unit so I'll keep it brief but yeah, godlike unit.

There's a few more, like Proviso and Scene, but that's enough for now. "Your forgot to mention--" I didn't forget, you do it.

I hope this helps, anon!

[lightlycareless]

This is random but the mc and Naoya remind me a lot of hades and persefone.

Hiii!!!!

I haven't been able to keep this ask out of my mind; at first I was like "How?" but after revisiting the myth it got me realizing that yeah, they do have striking similarities omg.

It got me writing a bit 🙈🙈🙈 though of course I took some (a lot) liberties so please don't quote me for accuracy hahaha. Still, I hope you enjoy it 🥺

warnings: naoya is an a_hole. he thinks with his head but you know, not the one on top of his shoulders. so there's sexual innuendos but not too explicit. also, I tried not naming the gods but I couldn't help myself with some, mainly those that just... idk, made sense for me lol.

Happy reading!!

You felt trapped.

Alone. Useless, without any real motivation or purpose.

Even when your duties are indisputable, your work equally important as the other gods as your mother often said, for the mortals and their livelihood depended on it, you still feel unfulfilled. Believing a simple replacement could easily do the same, ultimately providing no real worth to your presence.

And yet, no matter your stubbornness, your mother constantly refuted your claims. Whether by inundating you with doting, reassuring words, or forcing you to stay in the mortal realm, the place where you and your mother were venerated to do their work: tending the fields, guiding expectant mothers through childbirth, and furthermore, keeping everyone healthy, sustained.

“Our duties here are important, my daughter.” She would say when noticing the dark cloud of her insecurities make way to your mind once more. “No one can do what we can.”

No, of course not, you suppose.

But it didn’t mean that’s all there is to life.

Unfortunately, that is something you wouldn’t be able to find out on your own, forced to limit yourself to what one of your mother’s friends, the only true connection you had to the outside world, said.

“Can you believe they made two gods compete for the right to name a city?” Shoko, the goddess of witchcraft, crossroads, amongst many other things, says. “If I were a higher god, I wouldn’t go through those theatrics, I’d simply do it.”

“Who ended up winning?” you wonder, deeply curious.

“Inumaki, the city is now called Inuyama.”

You chuckle.

“I would’ve liked to see how that happened.”

“Ah, you wouldn’t like it out there, you know?” she’d go on. “Mortals can be very nasty when it comes to it. You’re much safer here, with your mom.”

“But…”

“Perhaps for your birthday.” Is all that she says, every year. As always. And just when you think you’re finally to see more of moral realm, something suddenly happens, and your back at home… again.

“What about other realms? There are other gods, surely I could…”

“Absolutely not.” Shoko interrupts. “You know how your mother feels about them. Where do you think mortals get their vicious nature from?”

“From the gods…” you repeat dutifully, just like you were taught since a child.

“But not us, of course. We’re the cool ones.” Shoko attempts to jest, and you follow along, kind of. Not that it mattered, you wouldn’t be able to discern such a fact either way.

The heavens, where most gods remained, were far from your reach just the same way it was for the mortals.

And the underworld… well, you weren’t allowed to pry on that matter, less stride into it, but truth to be told you weren’t too interested in it either; not when its entire existence was the anti-thesis of your own work.

And your freedom, though you wouldn’t know so until much later.

Naoya felt trapped.

Alone. Useless, without any real motivation or purpose.

Even when his duties are indisputable, his work equally important as the other gods, if not more, he still feels unfulfilled. Any other fool could perfectly work as a replacement, providing no real worth to his presence.

But such is the weight of being the sole god in charge of a whole realm; to take care of the dead sounded as tedious as one could imagine, so more than feeling inadequate, Naoya was growing tired of it.

When the other gods could have their fun, he… well, he was relegated to taking care of their mistakes. Cleaning up after their messes, he supposes. What happens after the party is over.

Naoya never asked for this job, but when the clown of his old man decided to suddenly retire and dump him with all his duties without prior warning, he didn’t have much of a choice.

And such, that is where he stood now.

However, it didn’t mean it was always like that—there were still opportunities that rose to the occasion, the same ones he’s quick to seize, such as the party invitation he got a few days ago: a reunion for gods to have in the mortal realm with no real purpose outside of having a good time. A yearly (officially, at least) endeavor.

“The mortal realm?” Naoya repeats—in the dominion of no other but the goddess of harvest. “Now, isn’t that curious?”

The stuck-up goddess that refused to mingle with any others, apparently too good to do so, opened the doors of her very own home to host their silly little party.

It only serves to prove that her prude demure was nothing less than an act; must be if she was still willing to beget a child with one of them. Not so proper now, is she?

A daughter everyone knew of but had yet to be seen from outside rumors and whispers. Though the way she kept her in absolute secrecy, one could even dare to say she spawned her herself through her own talents.

“Probably another snotty goddess, just like her mother.” Naoya eventually concludes, a secret that doesn’t weigh much on his decision to attend, but he won’t deny that uncovering their secrets was highly intriguing: a distant goddess like her is bound to have some. Many, in fact.

Perhaps if lucky enough, he’ll even be able to put a face on that wretched daughter of hers, and who knows? If she’s adequate enough, have some fun with her too. To spoil the little flower she’s oh, so fiercely protected from his kind, ought to get an interesting reaction from her.

And if not, he could always rely on the nymphs and mortal women that always seemed to find their way to him.

These were his absolute favorites. His go-to, if you please: just a few tricks and they’ll be on their knees ready to please him.

“Will you be attending, Naoya?”

One of his fellow brothers asks, a sly smirk on his face as he puts away the letter.

“Of course. I must—after all, I have the strange feeling that something good is to happen.”

Though the Fates have long decided so.

“I hate how he makes these decisions without consulting me beforehand. How he thinks he can just order me, in my own house, to do whatever he wants!” Your mother reproached as she ordered all the nymphs to make haste for the preparations of tonight’s party.

Apparently, the location for their yearly reunion is chosen through a random fashion, as the King of the god’s fairly dictated: she just had the misfortune of being selected this time around.

Ah, but the god’s antics are not ones she’s unfamiliar with, a part of her believing this was done so intentionally after the many years she managed to escape their vices.

She’s the only one that keeps to herself all the time, after all, making it hard to believe they were even in the same pantheon, but alas, your mother will do once more what she has done so countless times before: make the best of her circumstances, and navigate through their eccentric antics—all while protecting you.

“When will they arrive?” you ask, clearly excited to host a party (that isn’t your birthday) for the first time in your life. The possibilities that this entailed were endless. You’d be meeting other gods, and they’d be meeting you too! Oh, just what kind of stories of their greatness will they share? Surely far more interesting that what you could provide.

Unfortunately…

“Just before nightfall, but don’t worry my adorable little rose, you won’t even notice them because you’ll be safely guarded in your room.” She gladly proclaims, much to your shock and disappointment.

“But, mother—”

“Not another word, Y/N. My decision is final.”

As they always are.

Just like her ensuing regret, her feeble attempts to distract you from the clear solitude you are to experience—which stopped working once you became aware of your entrapment.

“Oh, but my sweet, precious honeysuckle, don’t be sad. You’ll be in the company of your good friends! I do not wish to spoil their efforts but, they’ve prepared all kinds of fun games for you to partake in; and if that wasn’t enough, I will also be preparing your favorite snacks, so you won’t feel left out of the celebration! Now, doesn’t that sound delightful?”

“Yes, mother…” If you were younger, perhaps. But your life had always been like this, so you had no real point of comparison.

“I’ve also set up your favorite blankets just in case my little apple runs cold, and of course, how could I forget, your plushies! Which I’ve just washed so they’d be extra fluffy.”

“Mother, I’m— I’m not a child anymore.”

“Oh, but you are to me. You’ll always be my little flower.” She smiles, cupping your face and kissing your cheeks. “Now, we still have a long day ahead of us, so how about you help me? While I go pick up more fruits for tonight, you head down to the fields near the village and tend to the mortals. They’ve been quite insistent, and I don’t think I’d be able to go another day listening to their incessant prayers! Think you can do that, pumpkin?”

“Of course, mother.”

“I knew you could.” She smiles, placing one last kiss on the top of your head before retreating, forcing you into your newest duty and envy towards the mortals: to have their prayers listened to if something you could only dream of, wondering if perhaps the life of a mortal was easier than that of a god.

It must be nice to have someone to seek help from, someone that cares to listen—but who ever listens to the gods? That’s not how nature works, never will.

Maybe it was time to finally give up on that dream of yours of knowing the outside world: what goes beyond the four, firm walls of your home.

If you only knew.

Per usual, Naoya arrives a few hours late for the party.

He never liked being punctual: be there too early and the mood is as dry as his kingdom, too late and all the good selections are almost done. Tainted. And he never liked being served leftovers.

Thus, the god of the underworld knew exactly when to arrive, though others weren’t too appreciative of his tactics.

“You should at least have the decency to greet the rest!” a god says, the same one that always seemed to have a bone to pick with him.

“Not like I haven’t seen them before.” Naoya dismisses them, uninterested in saluting the gods that barely acknowledged his own presence.

“Then the host as a bare minimum. You know how difficult she is to get along with.”

“Ah, is that why her home was selected to host this year’s reunion? With hopes she’ll soften up?” Naoya teases. “He doesn’t fool anyone; he did this to irk her. Or perhaps get a glimpse of her daughter? Either way, I cannot wait to see where that takes us—think she might try to suffocate us with vines just like she did last time?”

The god ultimately concedes to his words with laugh. In the end, no matter how almighty they thought themselves, they were nothing but creatures that sought their own pleasures: whether wreaking havoc amongst their ranks or serve themselves with the devotion of those beneath them.

Just like Naoya intended to do now, already setting his eyes on the first conquest of the: an “innocent” nymph who had been batting her eyes at him since he arrived.

A good start before moving onto mortals, Naoya thinks as he takes a cup from the nearby table, drinking the tasty wine he presumes to come from your mother’s meadows, before approaching her.

“Is there something you wish to tell me, little nymph?” He breathes, a sly smirk on his face as he watches her quiver—undoubtedly out of attraction. It’s so pathetic yet endearing. Naoya’s blood rushes down at the sight of her blatant passion.

“No, of course not, my lord.” She murmurs back, eyes shyly glancing up to him, before looking away when his gaze proved too much to take. She may act coy, but she knows what she’s doing—trying to reel him in. Were all spring nymphs like this, so wanton, or was it just her?

“Is that so?” Naoya adds. “Because you’ve been staring at me since I arrived.”

“I was simply… mesmerized by your greatness.” It’s more likely that his preceding reputation gave her sufficient knowledge on what buttons to push to earn his interest—but if that wasn’t the case, she had already won his favor through her charm. A beauty worthy of the virtues she serves.

“Care to show me what my greatness has inspired within you to provoke such act?”

“I cannot do so here.” She responds, taking the bait—or perhaps he was the one to fall in her trap? “It is unbefitting of a god like you.”

Not that it mattered if he was the one to ultimately win in the end.

“Take me where, then.”

“Are you sure you don’t want us to stay?” Mariya, the oldest and most loyal of your nymphs, ponders your dismissal. She, being the one you entrusted most of your thoughts with, was the most willing when it came to refuting your mother’s firm orders. As much as she could, anyways.

“No, it’s fine.” You insist, smiling. “I don’t feel like doing anything tonight, really.”

“We prepared all this for you.” Another, Hitomi, says. “Is there really not one thing you wish to do?”

You shake your head, she sighs.

“Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no. Don’t be.” Hitomi frets. “I can only imagine how difficult this is to you.”

To have the possibility of meeting the world, and yet, forced into to your room… but this is how things always went on, right? Your safety was your mother’s utmost priority, her main purpose in life since she learned she was expecting you.

You ought to give up a losing fight after centuries under her protective watch.

At least you had their unbreakable friendship, which always strengthened your heart during your darkest moments.

“Go have fun.” You insist. “I’ll be ok; I’ll probably just head to sleep or something.”

“You know we can’t do that; your mother is going to kill us if she learns we’re not with you!” Haruko cries.

“We can stay at the meadows or even go to the nearby village; the gods won’t be there if the party is over here.” Mariya suggests. “Most of them, at least.”

“Sounds like a plan.” You smile. “Go, I’ll be fine.”

“Alright, then. Goodnight.” They say, bidding their farewells and retreating.

After getting ready to go to bed, you look out the window, taking in one last look at the god’s party; it may be far, but you could still hear the music, the cheers, the overall good time they seemed to be having. It simply reaffirmed your suspicions, you’ve never been to one, but you always imagined they were fun. They must be if they keep doing them.

You know it’s hopeless to wonder at this point, but you still play with the question if you’d ever get the chance to assist one. You didn’t even have to stay through its whole entirety, just getting a quick look around and call it a day. That’s all. You’d at least get the opportunity to say you’ve been to one!

Not that anyone’s counting.

“Maybe in a few centuries.” Is all that you say before heading to bed, ready to dive into the realm where all your deepest desires were real.

…

…

…

“I…lac…” you suddenly hear someone whisper, close enough to think it came from just outside your bedroom yet heavily disconnected from your thoughts; leading you to believe it was simply part of your imagination, perhaps even a nightmare…

Until the loud, following response proved you wrong.

“Hurry already, I don’t have time for your games!”

And then, the door suddenly slides open, jolting you awake as you try to make out the passing figures through the darkness of the night, squinting your eyes before gasping when discerning not only one of your least involved nymphs barging her way into your room, but also in the company of a man you have never seen before—a man that shouldn’t be here.

“Taeko?!” You cry, snapping the young woman out of her feverish trance and into you: the severity of her actions.

“Y/N!” It wasn’t intentional, she thought she had led her one-time lover to the guest bedroom (or any other room that wasn’t yours for that matter), but her ignorance in her very own job, and overruling desires would play against her that very night, leading to this. “I—I wasn’t—”

“Who—who is he??” you fret, and Taeko, unable to fathom the depths of her mistakes, or have the courage to face them, does the one thing that would’ve placed her in deeper water if everything else hadn’t transpired: she bails on Naoya.

Quickly letting him go, turning around, and running into the hallways, as far away as possible whilst considering voluntary exile—a punishment she knew would get in the end if this somehow made way to your mother’s ears.

But until then, you’d have to deal with her wrongdoings instead: a slightly tipsy Naoya that has yet to understand what just transpired, struggling to whether be angry at the nymph who had the audacity to abandon him… or admiring the breathtaking beauty that stood before him.

A much, much more alluring sight that’s got him considering how he could even settle for something lower, when you were right here?

Naoya, against his very own survival, chooses the latter. Because even through the murkiness of his mind, he’s still able to discern the fact that your kind of exquisiteness is not one he gets to see every century—thus, should enjoy as much as he could.

Unfortunately, you do not think the same.

“Who—who are you?” you breathe, tightly clenching onto your blankets. If being invaded in the privacy of your own bedroom wasn’t enough, you still had the misfortune of being exposed in your nightgown.

Why is this happening to you? Is this the fate’s twisted way of fulfilling your prayers of meeting the outside world?

“Do you not know who I am??” Naoya gasps, offended by your seeming ignorance. Looks like alcohol wasn’t enough to sway his narcissistic tendencies, because in his mind, how is it possible for anyone to not know who the king of the Underworld is?

“No, I… don’t.” you press your lips together. And this partly infuriates and amuses him. You must be the kind of girl that likes to tease before succumbing to him; you’re only lucky that he finds you deliriously attractive, because had it been anyone else—

“You’re—you’re bleeding.”

Huh?

“Wh—what?” He groans. “What do you mean I’m bleeding??”

“There, on your side, you’re—you’re bleeding.” You repeat, pointing at the splotch of gold that extended the longer it went unattended, staining his robes.

Naoya looks down, quickly remembering the origin of said wound: a small altercation with some defiant subject just a few days ago before tonight. Or more likely, confronted by the husband of a nameless lover he bedded. It wasn’t supposed to happen, of course, but even almighty gods like him could suffer through their arrogance.

All that was left to wonder is how it managed to reopen again, was it his poor job at patching it up? Or the accidental bumps along the road your bedroom, courtesy of Taeko’s and his eagerness?

Guess it doesn’t matter now that he’s in this situation—though he didn’t expect you to rush to his aid.

“Wait, let me help you.” You insist before he’s able to do as much as move, rushing towards a nearby cabinet and taking out a small aid kit, filled with all kinds of utilities one might come to need in situations like this. Your accessibility to such things makes Naoya chuckle, already labeling you as prone to incidents. How adorable.

“…What?” you ask, quickly growing flustered at his reaction.

“Does this happen to you often?” He teases, his golden eyes taking in your face now that you light up a nearby candle; you were even more gorgeous like this. Though he preferred you… with less. “Do gods stumble upon your bedroom quite frequently?”

“No.” you frown. “This was for me. I’d often prick my fingers when I first started my duties … but that was a long time ago.”

“Ah, let me guess—a spring nymph?” Though for a nymph, you sure had commodities honorable of a goddess. And the perfect mounds on your chest too—Naoy has never been happier in his life to be given such a sight. He’d let himself get wounded more frequently if that was the reward.

You were tempted to correct his wrongful assumptions soon after, feeling somewhat afflicted that he’d confuse you, however your mother’s warnings are quick to step in, telling you to keep your identity a secret and let him believe you were nothing more than a serving spirit to the goddess of harvest. But why?

“Yes. I am.” You respond. “I take care of my moth—of the goddesses meadows and fields”

“Silly little nymph, you’re supposed to be careful when—ouch!”

You sharply pressed against his wound in retaliation, whether by his current remark of the pasts, it didn’t matter. What mattered is that you made the god of the dead eat his words.

“Sorry, I guess my hand just slipped.” You responded nonchalantly, moving on with your work. “You know, silly little nymph things.”

“Fine, fine. I get it.” Naoya squirms once more underneath your healing craft, cleaning and patching his wound with unprecedented care… that takes his whole attention upon noticing the striking warmth emanating from your hands.

Followed by the uncharacteristic calmness that engulfed his senses, leaving behind his lustful desires in favor of… peace. Silence.

Something he has never experienced before with anyone else, not even those that proclaimed their utmost loyalty to him.

And certainly not with a nameless nymph, whom he rightfully assumed to be lying about her true identity. You had to be much, much more than that if this was the effect you had on him.

But what?

Just who are you?

“It’s not a deep wound so it should heal quickly; with the right cares, at least.” You note, performing the last adjustments to his treatment before retracting. “There, it’s done. Good as new.”

“I hardly constitute a patch worthy of a god.”

“I guess I could’ve just let you bleed out.” You snap back, Naoya smirks, finding your quick answers amusing. Cute, even.

Definitely cute.

“But I guess I owe you my thanks, don’t I?” Naoya says, reaching out for your warm hands, convincing himself it was with the sole purpose of tasting you, and not because he wanted to bask deeper into your gentleness. Lulled into peace.

You, however, instinctively attempt to break away from his grasp, but the moment you give his touch a second longer of your consideration, you find yourself unable to resist him. The coarse edge on his skin that signifies an extensive, powerful story yet, laments the pain he must’ve endured to get to that point.

A deeper meaning to his presence which you soon verify to that of a god, just as he drunkenly admitted not so long ago.

A god.

He wasn’t delirious; he told the truth.

But still, he wasn’t supposed to be here, your mother—she wouldn’t like it.

And yet…

“What—what are you doing?” you blink, taken aback by his sudden closeness. His intentions were clear, he intended to do the only thing he knew to repay favors for little things like you, which your mind called for you to cease immediately!

But then, your heart… succumbed to the magnetic energy calling you to him; something, somehow, was slowly telling your subconscious that he was much, much more than what your eye saw.

That you’ve met him before, in some… lifetime. In some future, and today, right now, this kiss was the only way you’d recognize him.

So why won’t you just give…in…—

“Y/N!” With otherworldly timing, your mother suddenly calls for you, innocently performing her routinary checks on her adorable flower, while presenting perfect excuse to get a breather from the obnoxious gods she could not wait to see out of her haven.

Your hidden salvation, Naoya’s damnation.

“Y/N, darling, are you ok? Asleep already?”

“Mother!” you gasp, quickly freeing yourself from Naoya’s grasp and looking over to the door, where her footsteps were quickly approaching. Louder, and louder…!

“Mother?” Naoya repeats, unsure if he’s heard right—or perhaps even unwilling. Surely, this wasn’t possi—

No. it wouldn’t be impossible. If anything, it just made every make sense!

“She’s your mother?!” He breathes again. “The goddess of harvest is your mother?!”

“You’re not supposed to be here.” You swiftly say, completely disregarding his shock and subsequentially pushing him towards the window, the only route of escape he had this very moment less he wished to face her ire: which legends only described as devastating. “Get out, hurry!”

“Y/N… I saw your nymph’s out by the fields—is everything alright? Why did you dismiss them? Oh, don’t tell me you got into an argument…”

“No, mom, of course not! I just wanted to sleep early, that’s all!” you respond, returning to Naoya. “Get out, now!”

With one strong, unprecedented push, Naoya finally falls out your window with a loud thud that’s thankfully deafened by the nearby party; but even overwhelmed with pain, and some frustration at your imposing rejection, all he could utter was—

“When will I see you again?” he asks; the first time in his life doing so. Naoya just… he was unwilling to let you go.

Not when he’s yet to have you.

…Yet to know more of you.

Of the goddess with the warm hands, the gentle touch.

The sweet, rose-like scent that remains imprinted in his mind for eras to come.

“Never.” You firmly assess before shutting the window.

But he doesn’t let it get to him, if anything, it’s an invitation, a challenge—

A pursuit of the question that is left lingering on both your and his mind once the night is over:

What is this feeling settling in my heart?

I have like 5 more parts in the work so have fun looking forward to that :)

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #56 – Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow by Gabrielle Zevin

At the start of the year, I set out to try and read more proper literature. Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow was not a book I had ever heard of, or by an author I knew anything at all about. But it was on my local bookstore's and local library’s staff pick lists, and has a bunch of awards, and I think showed up on some list of Goodreads recommendations. So 9 months later I finally worked down the list to it and went in totally unprepared and with zero expectations or preconceptions.

The book’s well-written and well-executed, but I can’t say it really worked for me. Or properly, it absolutely was working for the first two thirds or so, but by the end just felt like it lost a lot of the touches that had made it interesting and was just drowning in its own sentimentality.

The book follows Sam and Sadie, two Californian wunderkunds growing up in Los Angelos in the 1980s. They meet in a children’s hospital, where Sam is being treated for a foot the was nearly shattered in a car crash and Sadie is visiting her elder sister as she’s treated for cancer. The two of them instantly begin bonding over playing Super Mario Brothers and begin a friendship and a creative partnership that will - as they grow up and found an artistically and commercially successful video game studio in the late 90s – define the shape of both of their lives, no matter how turbulent and conflicted it at points becomes.

For reasons that probably boil down to the audiobooks my mother played on road trips as a child, I’ve always had a fondness for books that track the broad sweep of a life or lives, zooming out and stretching across the years and decades. So I actually digested this a decent bit more easily than I do a lot of modern litfic that I’ve tried. For the first few hundred pages, it all even holds together very well, bouncing around the timeline and providing childhood episodes and context as it's relevant and making the central relationships compelling and emotionally plausible. Unfortunately a couple of experiments in form (one worked for me, one really didn’t) eat up a lot of page count in the final act, and entirely kill the sense of flow and structure. Not at all helped by the narrative voice losing a lot of its charm and the story growing wholly predictable (and a bit saccharine) in the closing pages.

I say ‘central relationships’ and not ‘relationship’ because describing the book as being about the relationship between Sam and Sadie is just, basically false advertising? Marx – Sam’s college roommate, later Sadie’s boyfriend, the business manager of their video game studio - is for most of the book at least as important a character as the two leads. He’s a much less interesting character – entirely too much of a natural saint, compared to how very flawed and petty Sam and Sadie are both allowed to be – but he’s a key part of the dynamic and most of the book is properly about different permutations of the trio bouncing off of each other. No other character gets a tenth of the focus and exploration of those three, and are really more props for narrative and to incite development than anything else.

The book has (until the end, anyway) a strong narrative voice that I really enjoyed, but which also may have caused me to set my expectations entirely wrong for what the book was actually planning. The only way I can really describe it is that the book reads like one of those New Yorker longreads that are trying very hard to convince you they’re not just rubbernecking some fascinatingly dysfunctional relationships and personal drama among some semi-notable creative figures. Your Bad Art Friends and similar. Deeply opinionated and gossipy, but making a show of seeming detached and objective, always making asides written from the perspective of the modern day and quoting interviews from years later about events as they occur in the narrative. As someone who is a slightly guilty fan of exactly those kind of longreads, it did make for a very fun reading experience.

But it also made me get my hopes up. Which is to say, the early chapters make quite a few references to how latter in life Sam and Sadie wouldn’t be on speaking terms, and how ‘something’ happened at Unfair Games in 2005. I was looking forward to something some messy and newsworthy interpersonal drama of the kind that doesn’t leave either of them (or anyone) looking good. The falling out does occur, but in a way that’s mostly just piles of misunderstandings and a stubborn refusal to communicate from both of them. The company always stays ostensibly together, and things never get much worse than quietly cherished bitterness and a refusal to speak. Which feels very emotionally believable, as incredibly frustrating as it is. The dramatic rupture that happens in 2005, well-

The book’s use of violence always feels slightly unreal. It intrudes on the narrative in ways that, like, they are things that happen, but feel so exaggerated and on-the-nose they took me out of the reading experience, at least a bit. A woman jumps off her balcony to her death and happens to land right in front of a young Sam. His mother stops her car on an LA highway to avoid hitting a dog, and he asks her something that keeps her talking and not moving for the crucial moment before an SUV slams into them, killing her and permanently damaging his foot. And the great end-of-second-act rupture that occurs in 2005 is a pair of homophobic gunmen storming into their office and shooting Marx because their cozy MMO lets gay people get married. Any one would have been fine, but combined they make the illusion of violence as random and capricious wear a bit thin and the writerly artifice underneath a bit too clear, at least for me.

As far as period pieces go – the story isn’t nostalgia bait, but it isn’t not nostalgia bait, either? It’s a few years before my time, so I suppose I just don’t appreciate it properly – the experience of growing up in and living through the late ‘80s through 2000s is one the book cares deeply about replicating. It generally does an excellent job making things feel of-the-moment, if occasionally by having the narrative draw pretty heavy-handed comparisons to what would be different in the present. The aesthetics (fashion, public art and marketing, fads and consumer trends) are all there, and the characters experience them like people to whom they’re novel and trendy. (Personally I could have done with a bit less effort spent describing every single outfit, but if I had memories of what people actually looked like wearing them I might appreciate it more.) It does similar things with LA and (to a far lesser extent) Boston – every other place the book touches on feels vague and a bit unreal, but LA is rendered with a real sense of place and love for the city and it’s little eccentricities.

The area where the book is absolutely nostalgia-bait is video games, and the whole heroic era of rapid changes and improvements to the medium where new boundaries were being crossed every year and a handful of sufficiently talented and dedicated first-time devs could create something genuinely revolutionary. The book even manages the neat trick of making almost every fake game the protagonists create a) plausible for the era and technology and b) actually seem like something I would want to play (less so the Pioneerville MMO created in the final act, as with many things). But I do genuinely want to play Master of Revels quite badly.

The book does share a common failing with what feels like almost every period piece, where by complete coincidence the major characters all conveniently happen to be on the Right Side of History for every really major (that is, from the perspective of the present, character-defining) political issues. This is made a bit more irritating by the fact that despite all being quite radical on the issue of e.g. gay marriage (or just not being even slightly homophobic) from the vantage of the early Bush administration, none of Sadie, Sam or Marx ever even conceive of it as being political.

The book doesn’t conceive of itself as really having politics at all – but again, in the way of a New York Magazine feature where having certain sets of liberal convictions is just a matter of personal decency and morality. A certain unexpressed but present sexual conservativism, a view of class where Sam’s grandparents owning and running a successful restaurant counts as being from the wrong side of the tracks, hyper-conscious of race but without much to really say about it. You’re all familiar with the style, I’m sure.

Anyway yeah, not a bad book by any means, but one that lasted long enough and ended weakly enough to expend any real passion or affection I’d built up for it.

[utilitycaster]

A thought in my head I’d like your take on about Liliana (and the whole campaign). You’ve talked a lot about how this campaign is more streamlined/like a module, like Matt wanted to tell The Moon Story this campaign, and for many reasons the Hells seem to have less agency than previous parties. I’m curious if Imogen ever could’ve convinced Liliana to join them, like if Matt would’ve let it happen or he always wanted to let this moment happen. Like Imogen didn’t often get to roll persuasion? It was just a lot of trying and failing to convince her mom, whereas like in campaign 2 Essek, someone the characters didn’t even know was bad, they managed to convince him to “switch sides” without even trying. Idk just all the circular arguments with Liliana, like “I can fix him, I can steer him in a different direction, I can’t leave the children, I can’t help you” it just feels like Matt was never going to let them bring Liliana over to their side

So this is a wild personal hunch but I honestly do not know if Matt realized initially that Imogen would try to persuade her mother. Like, I will admit to having a lot of D&D instincts that are very different than Laura's because I would have absolutely have gone for the assassination and Liliana would have possibly been out of the picture long before now, presumably (and to be clear, that would have had its own consequences! Ludinus probably would have gotten someone else to broadcast the Downfall information). I wouldn't be surprised if Matt was surprised that Imogen cared this much about someone who was consistently unhelpful and had abandoned her.

But more generally I think that Essek and Liliana are just different people. Essek did not believe in a specific cause and generally thought Ludinus sucked, but would at least provide some answers. I think by the time the Mighty Nein rolled around he was already having some regrets, even if they were largely self-interested at the time, and so being treated as just a normal guy was enough to start the process of shaking him out of it. He also was intended as an interesting recurring NPC, and the party adopted him for a number of reasons.

Liliana was already fully on Ludinus's side when the story started (though, again, aware enough to know Imogen should probably stay away) and was intended as an antagonist. It makes sense the party would cross paths fewer times with her than the Mighty Nein with Essek. There was no opportunity to hang out with her socially without the fact that she was fully in this cult hanging over everyone's head; we knew she was part of the Vanguard before we met her in person. I think it's more that like, the DC to pull her away was very high! She is either indoctrinated or genuinely of her own accord believes in the cause of the Vanguard. I think if Imogen had done a better job during the initial ritual things might have been different, but once she locked into the path I think it is reasonable DM-ing not to have her so easily swayed.

[highfantasy-soul]

Katara: NATLA Edition - Waterbending

In the Netflix show, Katara's main teacher was the world - she observed, she learned the spiritual side of bending from Aang (and a little from Jet), and she learned from opponents she fought (including Pakku)

This is SHOWING Uncle Iroh's lesson to Zuko in Bitter Work (book 2) about learning as much as you can from everywhere even if they aren't directly doing your own style of bending. By learning about everyone's cultures/styles/philosophies of the world, then you have a more rounded view of the world and can incorporate new things into your own bending.

I think an important distinction people are missing when they compare LA and animated Katara is that in the animated series, we see Katara WATERBEND more, but in the live action, we see her PRACTICING waterbending more.

In the animated series, she's already doing very useful things with her waterbending (lifting a fish, throwing water and freezing it, breaking apart an iceberg with her anger, pulling down a bank of snow,  lifting a whole wave of water, pushing and pulling a wave, pulling water from Aang's lungs, pushing the water while she's in it to get to shore faster, lifting water from a river to freeze as a block on a guy's head, lifting and maneuvering water in the air) before she ever even gets a hint of training. She just 'naturally' knows how to do all that through her own trial and error - no advice from Aang about the spirituality of bending, no training from the scroll, and no using moves she's seen other benders do just making it water.

The only times we see animated Katara training is in The Waterbending Scroll episode - which is the entire point of the episode - and in the trio of episodes up in the NWT - again, the whole point of her arc in those episodes. Everything else, she's done on her own and there's no moments of her training during the other episodes, she just waterbends.

In the live action, we see Katara constantly practicing, even when she's just in the background of a scene or traveling from place to place - she's ALWAYS practicing her stances or playing with water to get better.

In the live action, Katara is struggling with ALL of waterbending, not just the technical aspect of it - because bending is a highly spiritual practice where you have to be in the right mindset to do successfully. We see every single step of Katara's waterbending practice journey - from not even being able to lift a globe of water to holding her own against a master.

We get to see the process of bending from start to finish which really fleshes out the magic of the world in an organic way while providing one of our leads with more depth that ties them to the themes of the world and of their own culture and how the oppression of the Fire Nation affects her mental state.

In the animated show, we hear Katara talk about how losing her mother hurt her, yet we really only see the fallout of that trauma, not her inner turmoil over it. We see her taking on a 'motherly' role in the community and with Sokka, we see her anger at the firebenders, we see how she's had to grow up too fast and just wants to be a kid, but the actual death of her mother and its affect on her isn't shown.

I like how the live action specifically shows how Katara's mother's death affects HER - she doesn’t just share the story to connect with others, it's not just the 'reason' she acts the way she does, it's not just something that impacts her relationships with others: if no one else in the world existed for Katara to interact with, Katara would still have a journey to go on surrounding Kya's death.

In the LA, the fact that her mother was killed by a firebender looking for HER - and she tries to save her mother using her waterbending and it doesn't work because she isn't strong enough yet, directly affects Katara herself independent of anyone else. That trauma keeps her from being able to waterbend easily like she does in the animated show and it's one of her main arcs: the arc to learn waterbending isn't just a technical journey for her like it is in the animated show, it's emotional too.

Generational trauma due to horrific violence is shown both in external issues to grapple with as well as internal ones our characters have to face alone.

I really like how the live action broke down Katara's waterbending and we got to see the 'less flashy' aspects of it. She's not constantly doing huge and impactful moves, she's steadily growing in power and confidence one small step at a time. She doesn't do it alone - she has so many teachers who help her along the way with both the physical and mental aspect of bending and to me, her progression in power is much more clear in the live action than it is in the animated show.

[thedeafprophet]

The Captivating Princess: An Overview

As I have been pondering that most content around The Princess is not easily accessible, I have decided to do a little write up on who she is. This will not be unbiased - many are aware of my in depth views here- but hopefully it will provide a good summary.

I will try to keep it light, but there will be some ES spoilers in here. Discusisons of information from: The Gift, Say It With Flowers, Reunion, and A Crown Of Thorns, plus some references to Sunless Skies. I intend to mostly focus on who she is in Fallen London though, not in skies.

Who Is She?

'At the very front, cross-legged on the floor, sits the Playful Prodigy. She has the cheeks of a cherub and blue, mischievous eyes. In her arms is a baby, wrapped in a black swaddling-cloth: presumably the Captivating Princess.' - The Gift

The Captivating Princess in universe is The Traitor Empresses' youngest child. Unlike the other royal children, she is an entierly fictional character, and does not have a real world counter part. She was born the year of the fall, 1862, making her around 37 in 1899 (or more accuratly, 40 as of 1902).

She is the most social of her family, frequently seen outside the Palace while her siblings are not . She can be found in both upper society functions, and sauntering down into the.... less savourey locations in London. She does so love to mingle. She is throughougly beloved by the people despite her collection of scandal, and is an extremely popular figure within society - captivates them, if you will.

The player can become aquainted with her at The Feast of The Rose, should you wish to spending some masquing at the Duchess' Banquet. She is also who helps you return to court in the making your name: persuasive arc. She does so have a penchant for the arts...

Most of all she is noted for her habit of honey - both the rumour of her having her own honey-den in veilgarden... and other, less savoury aspects around such.

The rest of the overview below the cut will be going into more detailed, more spoiler heavy, and dark matters

Content warnings: Child/infant endangerment, drug use, torture, bees mention

Matters Of The Palace And The Honey

'No one will tell you what happened, but the word 'traitor' is whispered in the palace corridors. You cry for your mother, and someone gives you a jar and a spoon to quiet you.' -A Crown Of Thorns

One cannot begin to go into the rest of The Princess' character without first going over the issue of the red honey. To go over the entire lore surronding red honey would be a whole post on its own, so i will give just a brief run down here.

Gaoler's honey, which is called red honey for the colour of its hue, is an eviler version of prionser's honey. It is made when bees crawl through people's mind, made of their memories. It is excrustiatingly painful for the victim, who relives the pain every time the honey produced from them is consumed. The Palace contains its own set of 'cage gardens' where people are imprisoned and their memories collected. Cheery, right?

The Princess and her family have all consumed the red honey, the whole of The Palace seeming to have taken to if very soon after the fall. How they got it so quickly after the fall, I don't know, but they seemed to have a lot of it going around.

Its likely The Princess was fed it from infancy, alongside her siblings and other family members. Text implies in general the children in the palace were heavily neglected after the fall, even being given the drugs to make them be quiet. Its...well, an utterly horrible image of how those kids were treated.

Oh yea and it turned all The Princess' siblings into horrifying monsters. The details around what happened are unclear, but it seems to be some connection between the frequent consumption and a 'bad batch' that did Something to the royal children, turning all but The Princess into physically monstrous forms. And most are still consuming it. 10/10, another great move by the british royal family.

It is very likely it is why she is as she is today. Whatever she is, she's not exactly human. She continues to consume it regularly, and on occasion 'shares' it with others.

What Exactly Is She

'Only the Captivating Princess looks as she did in the mirror. Among the nightmares, her beauty is worst of all. It rakes your eyes like fire. ' -The Gift

 "The change imposed by the Red Honey was a gift. As it was to me. The rest of our family proved... inadequate to the wonders on offer." - Reunion

I don't... know. Not really. Sunless skies has her shedding her skin and revealing a bee-like monster underneath, but that was after some considerable other lore stuff and in a different game, and i dont consider it directly applying with in FL.

Within the neath at least, The Princess is quite powerful. Not just for her political role and image as the beloved princess, but also for her seeming power of persuasion and adoration. Her beauty is considered maddening, everything pales to her existence, and its hard not to just immediatly fall to your knees and do every single thing she's asked of you~

Which while i'm sure is a common experience for some around pretty women, is clearly an indication of some sort of mental power here.

She's also considerably stronger then she looks, and i surely do not believe most would stand a chance against her in a physical fight. Nor do i personally believe simple weapons would do much to harm her.

'The Princess' expression curdles. She shoves the table, which sends plates spinning to the floor. She treads on meat as she advances. She has dropped the knife. She does not need it.' - Reunion

Matters Of Morality And Personality

'She points at the Spinster. "I had to compel her from retirement. Since her fiancee is my maid, I had leverage. She should have just done as I asked. Clearly, there's something wrong with her." - Say It With Flowers

The Princess is entitled, cruel, and uncaring towards others. Everything you'd expect from a british royal, but with the added effect of being literarly monstrous instead of just metaphorically. She evidently always expects to get what she wants and has a tendance towards aiming for suffering just for the sake of watching others suffer. And thats without getting in how her frequent use of red honey is directly causing extreme harm to the victims.

All of this tends to be hidden under her vaneer of sweetness. She acts so lovely and sweet and kind, and would do as she was sentencing someone to death. And that is something she'd be inclined to do. She has a penachant towards pet names, and is overly touchey/doesnt seem to care much at all about boundaries. Why would she?

'The Captivating Princess holds your chin in her sharp nailed hand. She stares, intently, at your face. ' - Say It With Flowers

'A happy voice rouses you. Delicate fingers are stroking your hair. "I knew you'd be perfect. So curious. So bold. So resolute. Thank you, for exceeding my estimation."' -The Gift

The Princess is also quick to change moods, becoming angry if she doesnt get her way, or becoming extremely bored rather quickly. If she's not interested in something, she's inclined to leave right away or ignore it, or find some other matter to entertain herself. She also doesn't get along with her family, having an intense rivlavry with one of her brothers (The Brooding Captain), and will often aim to sabotage and manipulate her siblings and other family members. Not to even get into what rumors surrond her suitors, most notably around their deaths...

The things and way she is in skies is all the more.... extreme.

Aims and Motivation

While its hard to say why she does a lot of other things, The Princess does seem to actually have an interest in the arts. When she ran for mayor in 1896, her slogan was “Make London Magnificent For Me.”, and her platform was pushing more for the public arts. Indeed, throughout her appearances in the games, art does seem to truly be an area she's interested in.

Beyond everything else though, The Princess is completely, and utterly bored. She cares little for the lives of those around her, and seems to take great pleasure in the suffering of others, and seemingly this is all related to The Princess' aim for entertainment.

'"Honestly? I'm entirely bored. I am either fawned on or feared, or – worst of all – pawed at by the infatuated. Everyone believes they know me, because of my family."' -1896 Election text

and.... well. If i'm to put my own word in here, I think in her own way, The Princess is lonely.

'And..." She hesitates for a moment. Her last words are hurried. "This is not a gift that should be borne alone."' - Reunion

The earlier line from the election speaks of being pawed at - that her boredom comes from either being fawned or feared, implying no one is truly looking at her. Two of her storylines tentivly involve trying to make another character be What She Is, that she not be alone in this.

She has done many cruel and vicious things, that is of note, but one can't help but think of the inherent tragedy of her character. Never once having a chance to be anything other then she is, being raised in a household that found it suitable to give drugs to children to get them to stop crying. Of never really having anyone like or love you, to everyone fawning at you immediatly with no true level of connection.

In short: The Princess is a horrible cruel woman, and there is an inherent tragey in the fact that she exists the way she does at all.