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diejager · 1 year ago

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BEGGING I WAS LEFT ON A CLIFFHANGER FOT THE MONSTER AU 141 😭😭😭😭😭

pretty pretty please 🙏🙏

Only Human pt.2

Pairing: Monster Task Force 141 + König & Horangi x reader

Cw: canon-typical violence, hate, xenophobia, mention of racism, blood and violence, injury, fighting, protective 141, trauma?, anxiety, tell me if I missed any. wc: 6.3k

Only Human Masterlist

You still wonder, to this day, why you were needed on the Task Force. It worked like a well-oiled machine when put to the task, nearly unstoppable in the face of enemies. Although you were prideful to call it your home, you felt lacking compared to them, all much stronger, fiercer, and nimbler than you in every aspect, separated by miles of distance. One thing, however, that you could wield with an iron fist was your human nature and people’s fear of newly implemented hybrids. The public expression from governments about welcoming them into their ranks and their society without staying hidden under the pretence of being sick or behind a veil of secrecy.

You, after seeing how many Joint Task Forces and other Teams treated the 141, decided to deal with the introductions, the medium, the pacifier, between every team. Humans tended to react differently to another human than to a hybrid, they were nicer, less brutal and honest (a kind that held little spite). Laswell seemed more agreeable to your idea when you first came up to her with it, having seen the hate sent to hybrids she worked with. She encouraged you to be the first to interact or stand beside Price when he greeted human soldiers. Price, unlike Laswell, was reluctant at first. His instinct of protection and possession of his hoard made him less open to such ideas, especially if it brought you some, if any, backlash from other humans (humans are cruel, they shun what they don’t understand, they fear it and push to control it, if not, they destroy it. The need to control every aspect of their life made humans ruthlessly unremorseful and unsympathetic to other causes.).

As a tight-knit TF, some decisions are taken in votes, by hearing what the others thought of the idea or plan and his one was harsh. Ghost was hard-pressed on keeping you between them, the little, fleshy human of their Task Force (the youngest) and to let them deal with xenophobic glares while keeping you protected. Alejandro was similarly worried, but he knew the outcome of letting you speak first or accompany Price. He was torn. The others, Soap, Gaz and Rudy, seemed onboard, with the kind of why the fuck not? kind of look on their faces. Soap especially, he’d be able to stick close to you without having to hover over you like a protective guard dog.

Seeing the votes in your favour, he let it pass, and no sooner had they needed to meet a second team - human soldiers - for the next deployment. You stood beside Price when he strutted down the walkway, shoulders broad and back straight, an image of a strong and fearless leader with his draconic tail flailing lowly. He, as intended, greeted them first, rank and name before he presented you, his little human helper with humans. They’d taken better to speaking to you, being spoken by one of their own rather than a hybrid. He saluted you more amicably and more sincerely:

“Pleasure meeting you, Hunter.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Captain.”

Although it wasn't without its setbacks, the operation went well, you had been able to come out mostly unscathed, leaving a few enemies on the brink of death for Ghost to savour. He was most thankful, a part of his body dissolving into the finest mist as they washed over the living bodies sprawled on the ground. You watched on, mesmerised by the uncanny way Ghost’s body absorbed the bodies of others, flooding the area with his shadow while you stayed unbothered, in the same condition as he first started. His darkness reached your neck, covering you in a soft cover of warmth as he ground the bodies to ash and dust. His skin was cold, but his powers were darkly hot, burning with the embers of hell, of a dead soul coming back for revenge and evilness.

Beyond the fact that your idea worked, you liked feeling useful to them, having a semblance of usefulness in a team of extremely competent beings. You felt with first greetings from then on, smiling and saluting to the leading figures of the groups you’d work alongside. It lessened the weight on Price to appease and pacify the new additions, he’d be able to fare better with the operators now that they had a different welcome, a different kind of greeting. It played into the minds of wary men that a human was the one to greet them, that one of theirs was leading the hybrids for them. You played the perfect example of a soldier for any xenophobic bastard.

Ghost, while still feared, received fewer glares than he usually would, occasional ones from daring or bold soldiers holding a lower rank than him, but he appreciated your attempts at making them more comfortable. He’s used to the negative reactions, had been since his childhood, but you seemed to make him feel like he deserved better, like he shouldn’t be glared, spat and scoffed at.

Soap, Rudy and Alejandro looked like human men in peak condition, if only for Soap and Alejandro’s glowing eyes and heightened strength and agility. Rudy was somewhat human, he looked and acted like one, down to the DNA, but with the title of cadejos vessel came powers. Perhaps not as strongly affecting as the rest of the hybrids, but he had subtle changes in his molecular making.

Gaz had stares coming left and right, daggers sent his way for having wings and talons he couldn’t will them to disappear, to recess under his skin and wear the appearance of a human man. He felt the heaviest blow by both not being able to cover his gifts and the colour of his skin. Although you wanted to proclaim that your new age came with more open-minded people, you knew that it simply couldn’t fix hundreds of years of standards in a few decades. People would still judge others by the tone and colour of your skin, they’d still hate the different and the strange; just like they hated hybrids. So you kept to his side most often after your introductions, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him close, letting him embrace you with a protective wing and a grateful smile.

You mostly worked hand in hand with human-filled teams and spear-headed human-led operations. So you were shocked, frozen to your core, when you saw a tiger haetae hybrid beside a tall, veiled operator walking down the cargo ramp. The hybrid, a tiger variant from the black-striped, orange tail that flickered slowly in a warning to any approaching beings. Dark glasses and a mask covered his face, his jacket and vest riding to the edge of his jaw, covering any skin from showing, though his lower back was left uncovered for the comfort of his swaying tail. He was neither short nor tall, he was tall enough to be slightly over the average height, but his teammate dwarfed him.

Perhaps his enormous height was an aspect of his monster half, or maybe he had the perfect genes to hold such a frame. He too, like his haetae operator, hid his face under a veil with maroon tears painted under his eyes. Like Ghost, he was covered head to toe in equipment and clothes, a jacket, a vest, gloves and black paint around his eyes. Whoever this was had both height and mass, burly arms and broad shoulders eclipsed by a slim waist and equally, disastrously thick thighs. On their left arm were flags, one from South Korea and the other from Austria.

They were the only ones to walk out, the only ones to approach you. Then your TF only had two new faces to work with rather than a whole team. You were tempted to say it would be easier, you waited until they stopped for Price - Price only - to greet them since they wouldn’t need a human to negate any aggressiveness between human and hybrid - or so you thought. They moved in synchrony, Price stepping forward to cover you with his body, his back facing you as he crossed his arms. Ghost and Alejandro had moved next to the captain, covering your sides. Alejandro had crossed his arm in a similarly menacing way, and Ghost stood still, body rigid but ready to strike at a moment’s notice; both were glaring ahead. Soap and Rudy took their places behind the colonel and the lieutenant, arms glued on their sides, weapons within reach with menacing stares towards the Korean and the Austrian. Gaz’s wings grazed you, soft feathers wrapping themselves around you and pulling you into his chest, acting as a protective cocoon for you.

“What-?”

They moved so quickly and efficiently that they seemed to suddenly appear in place, back straight and protective. Protective of you. Hybrids, from what you’d heard from couples and families, were possessive of their own, caring and extremely wary of other hybrids they hadn’t formed a bond with. Your TF was your pack, they were all tethered to each other through the familial bond they formed over the years. Then you came in, small and weak with your human self into a den of lions, thrown to be subjugated to their loving mercy and sinfully strong personalities.

The team of six hybrids encased you, barring the KorTac specialists from seeing you. Monsters and hybrids could sense one another - from what you heard - and they reacted instinctively. You saw their bodies tense as the two approached your team, muscles strained under the compacting anxiety and possessiveness. You could neither see over their shoulders nor feel what was happening, they stopped farther from you than you’d expected and you couldn’t see their feet.

The only sign you had was your captain’s gravelly voice welcoming them, his tail swaying like a cat’s tail, a slow, cautious motion. It - knowingly or unknowingly, seeing as Price acted on a mix of instincts and worry - wrapped around your ankle, clinging tightly to your boot-clad leg while a rumble rattled his chest. Steam rolled from his lips, billowing over the top of his hat in a show of power and warning. You hoped they wouldn’t take this negatively. They worked hard to curb the harmful rumours of 141 being beasts in human skin, acting like blood-thirsty and ravaging monsters that cared for nothing but themselves.

Although you couldn’t see them, the Austrian could, his towering height assured that he could see over almost any human, monster and hybrid alike. He was curious about the way they protected one of theirs as if you were weak. He cocked his head, green eyes gleaming red as he stared silently at the small mop of hair between them. What made you so important? What made you such a protected soldier? He couldn’t sense you like he could the others, their scent and magic masking yours in a violent torrent.

Unlike him, his friend couldn’t be bothered with the show of protection, he’d enrolled for the money and wouldn’t be deterred by much. He was a tiger haetae, honourable to a certain extent and proud. He might be shorter than the hybrids around him, but he was as vicious and talented as the next. He, however, was slightly curious, but he wasn’t paid enough to inquire or worry about the doings of 141’s pack.

It went as well as anyone would expect for the 141 with the added help of two military, hybrid operators from an elite PMC. As the combat medic of the TF, you followed them from behind and moved to the middle when you entered the building. You’d usually be at the back, being a medic, but you were a combat medic, having seen and participated in complete ops dealing with infiltrations and hostage rescue. You were an integral part of every mission. Now that they had a medic on hand, the wounds the men suffered could be treated in place rather than wait for the long ride home with the possibility of letting infection take root in the gash and watching it fester during hours in the carrier.

They had a habit of getting shot and slashed, a tad bit reckless in their ways but still effective. The stress of risking infection or the impossibility of reaching a medic after a mission was lessened, Price would still be able to live a few more centuries before his hair turned grey with nerves and his face wrinkled with frowns. You were a treasure beyond the fact that you were extremely helpful and insightful on your own. Your hands were steady and your demeanour calm and collected (albeit fidgety when put under too much pressure and fiery when someone looked at them differently.), you were a beauty, someone they needed to nurse and protect.

“I warned you about standing so close to the explosion!” They watched you berate Soap, cheeks puffed and lips pulled in an adorable pout. You went on a list of things he could’ve done better and safer than the decision he made, hands pulling the bandage around his arm, your bag set beside you.

“How was I supposed ta know?” The werewolf grumbled, giving you his best version of his “puppy dog eyes'' while he slouched back, trying to sit as comfortably as possible on the hard seats of the aircraft carrier.

“You’re a demolition expert, you’re supposed to know, Soap.” You hissed, tightening the wrap and smoothing it over so that it would hold. Your hand dipped into your bag, pulling out a few alcohol wipes for his face. With a jerky motion of your hands, you broke the seal and started patting his bleeding cuts from shrapnel and grazes from bullets. He winces with every dab, fidgeting in his seat while you disinfected his wounds, wiping away the dirt and blood before deeming it clean enough to move to the next one. “You also have a habit of setting things on fire.”

Although you mumbled it so quietly, the others heard you clearly, laughter rumbling out of the others while they watched Soap being scolded by the youngest. You never feared reprimanding them for an idiotic act that would result in having you tending to them, it was something they appreciated, the familiarity and comfort you had with them. They weren’t monsters, hybrids or anything with you, they were your family.

Seeing you so at ease with them had König and Horangi curious, most would cower or segregate themselves from other hybrids. You especially, seeing as you were the only human with them, they thought it’d be normal to see you shrink onto yourself and ignore the world around you while you waited to return home. Yet here you were, berating a werewolf for cuts and bruises that would heal in the following days, his metabolism prevented infection and permanent scarring unless it was too deep or deadly. They’d simply add to his rugged handsomeness.

König wondered if you’d show him the same amount of compassion and ease when you tended to his wounds - if he ended up having any at all. Would your hands be soft like his mother’s when cradling his arm? Would you whisper soft nothings to him while you cleaned his gashes with antiseptics? Would you also scold him for being reckless? He doubted that. Granted, he was extremely reckless and lost himself to the adrenaline pumping through his system when he entered the field, but he always came out unscathed. As a percht hybrid, his extreme enhancements made him practically numb to pain and sensations, with the small exceptions of a few primarily driven emotions or natural reactions to certain stimuli.

Perhaps, if your efforts were thwarted by his immense height, you’d hold and tend to him as softly as you did with the others, running your fingers through his hair and cradling him against your chest. He thirsted for something mundane, something so human-like that he would be reminded that he wasn’t completely a monster. He missed the softness in people’s gazes or the carefree way they spoke to and with him. He missed being reminded that he - too - was a living being with their rights. You could be the start of a regular life - as regular as a mercenary could have.

Even Horangi, who had vehemently stated to König that he could care less about the small, weak human in the operation, gave you the merit of being strong-willed and confident enough to stand beside them. He, the ever prideful and strong hybrid he was, deemed you competent for a human. Your usefulness started with your quick reactions and impeccable skills in your field and stopped when you couldn’t save someone, which had yet to happen. He was intrigued by the workings of your TF, how they managed to score a single human and an amicable one at that, strong and fierce, yet gentle and compassionate. If he’d grown up with someone like you, would he have turned out the way he did?

He simply watched from his corner beside König, through tinted glasses his eyes followed your movement, memorising everything you did for your brothers. They felt like imposters in your small, seven-men group, seemingly standing awkwardly in their little corner. 141 had shown a bit of aggression towards them in warning words and deadly glares when they assumed you didn’t see them, hissing out threats to ensure your safety among them. Not only were they confused by the dynamic, but they weren’t told anything besides “Back off” and growls.

After patting Gaz’s knee, giving him an oscar winning smile with gleaming eyes that were received with enthusiasm, you packed your things in your bag and moved to the next patient. You skipped Price, Ghost and Rudy, crouching in front of Alejandro. Rummaging through your bag and handing him a clean wipe for his dust-covered face, the soot clinging to his cheeks. He expected you to sit by your locked rifle after checking them, but you continued walking. You were heading towards them.

He knew König left the ground unscathed, clean of anything but dirt and blood, which meant he was the one you were heading towards. Hand on your pouch and a steady step backed up by a determined expression, you stopped before him. He tilted his head, a silent question. You blinked dumbly, holding out your hand to him, your small fingers backing him to give you something.

“Can I see your hand?”

His hand? He hadn’t thought much of it as he rested it on yours, palm upwards and gloveless. He saw it then, the small cut that bled red, small enough to be neglectable, but long enough to still be bleeding. He hadn’t felt anything from it before or after boarding the aircraft, he must’ve still been riding the adrenaline rush from the fight. He wondered how you knew he hurt himself.

Your fingers curled around his palm, holding it firmly as you lightly dabbed the inflamed skin with a sterilised tissue, being careful of the flared sides of his torn flesh. Under the blood and dirt, his skin was pale and swollen, the area having demanded his body to react to the potential bacteria that would worm its way into his system. You threw the bloody tissue aside and got an antiseptic wipe, being careful to not irritate his wound. Your care was gentle and patient. To a being like him, a hybrid and KorTac op, gentle and patient were foreign words to him. None were gentle to hybrids and none were patient with mercenaries.

Even as you wrapped the gauze and bandage around his hand, you gave him all your attention, sweetly cradling his hand between yours and nursing his gash with utmost care. It felt alien, the soothingly soft care of a medic. Other medics would’ve stared at him with disgust or hate if he walked near the infirmary, or they were rough and uncaring towards his needs.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, the sudden realisation of his silence in the face of a benevolent angel and the rush of embarrassment that flushed his neck hotly. He stared dumbly at his hand when you left, placed on his thigh with the white bandage staring right at him. The warmth of your hand had sunk into his skin, the feather-light tenderness of your fingers painted in his memory and your smile and determined expression stuck to him.

Even as he let his mind wander and body thirst for another taste of your gentleness, he could feel the burning stares of the other men. König with his curious and envious gaze, wanting to feel the snippet you offered Horangi, wanting your hands and stare at his giant figure. The 141 with their protective and warning glare, resenting him for taking a few minutes of your attention from them. You’d moved on your own, making your decision to help him with his small wounds as you did with them, he hadn’t forced you or compelled you to treat him.

Perhaps there was more than money and experience that was worth in this joint operation.

When the success of their first mission reached the prying ears of the General, he’d given them a few more joint ops - paid by the United States pockets, of course. Horangi and König were given temporary rooms in the barracks, in the same corner as the other hybrids and you, but far enough to show that they were excluded from them. Fortunately, they wouldn’t share the room, tigers were protective of one’s territory, and a percht hybrid - as rare as it may be - was documented to be hyper-possessive of their things, especially so for someone like König.

Horangi didn’t ignore you anymore, wanting to start a conversation when he passed you or staring at you from the other side of the room until you waved at him, letting him know he could approach you. He worked relentlessly to close the gap he had made between you, wanting to attach himself to the one good thing he had. Yet he had to be cautious, any indication of him being a threat to you would make your team act out in unison, pushing him back and covering you like they did the second he descended the ramp.

Ghost would hover over you, his body moving the darkness around him to seem more menacing. Ghost always glared at him when you turned your back to the Brit, his brown eyes swirling with the promise of death and devastation. Ghost wasn’t a physical hybrid, as Horangi had learned, but he had no qualms about keeping a hand on your hip or over your shoulder, acting as an imposing being that showcased his claim on you so publicly. It filled the Korean with envy and anger, he wanted to touch you as easily as the wraith did, he wanted a claim on you like the Lieutenant did, and he wanted to hold you close.

If not Ghost, it’d be Rudy or Gaz crowding you. If you were in the rec room, Gaz would usually be there with you. His arm thrown over your shoulders, pulling you into his side while his wings curled around you two, dark brown feathers ruffled to look menacing but comfortable to your touch. With the way he sat, slouching and legs spread across the sofa, he took all the available seats on the cheap, brown couch. When Gaz caught sight of him, he’d purposefully moved to take up more space, showing just how much one of the nicest of the 141 ostracised him. Although when someone from his TF, he’d move aside, giving space to the man to join them.

If you were walking around the base, Rudy - or Rudolfo as Horangi was forced to call him - would be by your side. Rudy had an arm wrapped around yours, seemingly like a military couple out on a casual walk, or he had his hand on your back, acting as the protective lover. Rudolfo’s smile was always wide and adoring when Horangi saw him walk you, exchanging words and making you laugh. It stung Horangi in an inexplicable way as if someone was knowingly sentencing him to death without any proof of his accountability. Rudy, the second nicest guy, also made glaring passes his way, pulling you closer to his side, directing you away and staring coldly at Horangi.

It rubbed him wrong, all the silent glares and insults at him to push him farther from you, but he was Horangi the Tiger haetae. He made his calculations, he was as smart and as resourceful as he was patient. Give it a few more missions together and they would loosen enough to let him swoop you off your feet. You were his source of comfort, of love and gentleness, he had to protect it.

Unlike Horangi, König actively sought you out on the base, following the trail of your scent and the soft noises of your voice and heartbeat. He was like a dog on your trail, nose sniffing every bit of air for you and ears strained for any noise you’d make. His senses were stretched thin to find a moment with you. He was as animalistic as a hybrid could get, leaning towards his monster to help him with his ops and trials.

You piqued König’s curiosity, making him wander the halls like a lumbering monster in a dark veil and glaring, red eyes. He saw how you treated big and dangerous monsters like the dragon hybrid you had as a captain, a respectable man, as soft as you treated the rowdy and rough werewolf and gracefully dangerous nagual. König wanted to feel your softness on him, your small hand grasping the tight muscles of his shoulders and back, kneading the tension away with grounding massages and stretches. You were their doctor, you cared enough to join them in the field, so you’d naturally be willing to mass the pain out of his body, no?

He wanted moments alone, where he could speak his mind without fear of being interrupted or pushed away for his imposing stature and aura. He wanted to place a hand on your waist, to feel the plush roundness of your stomach and the firm contour of muscle on your thighs. He wanted his voice to carry easily in the void of silence, where his voice could be heard by you from a small whisper. He wanted your eyes to focus on him, solely, as if he was your world.

He found it rather irritatingly difficult to find such moments. When he followed your scent through the halls and down to the medic's office, he’d find Captain Price crowding the room with his powerful musk of Ashe and fire - of metal and iron. Although Price was much shorter and lesser ranked than König was, he held the power of age and wisdom, an unfathomable strength that lay solely in draconic beings. This eternal power that none could rival apart from Eldritch beings, most cower, whimper and hide from dragons. He wore his power and wisdom on his sleeves, a warning for everyone, him and his KorTac operators included. König might’ve been reckless, but he wasn’t a fool, fighting headfirst with dragon seamed chaos and devastation. So, as any hybrid did, he backed away, an old dragon was dangerous, but a crippled one made it even more perilous.

When König tried to find you in the rec room, you were held in the tight embrace of a possessive wolf. Soap had you straddling his lap, facing him as he nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck. He purred and kissed your skin, making you squirm and giggle, but then Soap’s eyes gazed upwards and grew cold and unruly at König’s appearance. A proud - dare he say, cruel - smirk curled the corners of his lips. That was when he realised what the sergeant was doing. Soap, in the open, was scenting you, rubbing his musk over your neck, where - if you were another sifting hybrid like him and Alejandro - would’ve been your scent gland. It was a blatant show of possession. He nipped at your throat, drinking in your yelp and hiss, your back arching and moving to push him from biting too much. It filled him with rage.

If you weren’t with either dragon or werewolf, you were with Alejandro, the Hispanic scenting you as much as Soap did, but he did it with more finesse and subtlety. He would draw your hair back, the gland on his wrist grazing your neck and ears, imprinting you with him. Alejandro would hold your hand, fingers neatly intertwined with yours, his face laying on your shoulder as he spooned you in his lap. He purred and whispered sweet promises that had you nodding and smiling like a child on Christmas. He oosed of pheromones, filling the area with his scent and in turn, covering you completely in him. König watched with envy as Alejandro read to you, cradled between his thighs and falling asleep, his, Soap and everyone else’s musk laying a possession over you.

König’s a determined person when he put his mind to it, willing his beaten and bloodied self back to camp, or his sleep-deprived and insomniac-ridden mind to concentrate on the enemy. He was a battering ram, he pushed forward forcefully, however hard he had to, all to reach the end goal. This time, it wouldn’t be the head of his target, or the capture of an asset, this time, it would be you.

They both wondered, with how close your TF was, what was the dynamic. Was it a pack that shared the same lover? Was it a pack that had formed such a close connection to a human that you were deemed an integral part of the pack? Or were you the child they watched over and protected?

The next few missions 141 and the two from KorTac went on were as successful as the first, the cooperation of two ruthless mercenaries and a hybrid, specialist group made these tasks easy, near child’s play for them. Along with the aspect of having a medic on hand, it let them run wild, play along the edge and act more recklessly than they normally would. Having Horangi and König for so long, made them become a standard in the base, seeing them walk among the shorter and weaker humans. That also meant they had seen their fair share of xenophobic soldiers with balls bigger than a dragon’s and an ego the size of an Eldritch creature.

Every hybrid and monster was used to their hateful glares and sneering venom-dripping words. Ignoring them had become easier after the first year of enrolment. Horangi and König were, however, not used to someone defending them with their most honest heart of gold with earth-shattering words.

The first time they’d seen you defend your team was right after a mission, haunches, lumbering bodies descending the carrier’s ramp with their bags slung over their shoulders and addled with fatigue after a week of deployment. Young, power-hungry sergeants who’d let their ranks get to their heads had slid before them, head held high and shoulders held wide. Every single one of them knew that the moment the sergeant’s mouth opened, nothing good would come out of it. Perhaps degrading insults or back-handed sneers.

When the first sentence slipped from the man’s tongue, you pushed your way between them, barrelling into the man who’d insulted them. A deep frown was etched into your lips, brows creased so darkly into you that it cast a dark shroud of anger over your face. If König hadn’t known that you were a human, he would’ve thought that you were a being of darkness.

“You dim-witted bastards-!” Was the first word you let out, your usually soft-spoken self with gentle hands spewed acid at them, threatening to burn their skin.

Dim-witted, indeed. Old, conservative assholes who thought they were better than the rest with their pro-human propaganda and xenophobic acts against hybrids. Horangi had expected you to continue your scolding, wringing the sergeant dry with your words, not your hands. You used your hands, fingers curled inward, thumb over the curves of your bones and decked the man. It shocked them both, you were smaller, shorter, human and seemed weaker than the men, yet here you were, sending him toppling on the floor, his friend gaping and pouncing on you. Only to be met with your foot to his crotch.

“You bet your ass you won’t get any medical attention after this,” you hissed.

Although your words sounded improbable since you weren’t the only medic on base, you had built a connection through the system, every medic knew you and heeded your words. If one didn’t want a man healed, you and the rest wouldn’t help him. If you wanted a man to suffer, the rest would watch on with you. Medics were themselves, a tight-knit couple that helped one another. So your words were more than a threat, it was a promise.

“Until I see your sorry asses on your deathbed or grovelling, none of us will lift a finger for you. Bleed and beg all you want, but you aren’t getting help.”

You acted with an iron hand, sending the rest to the ground, moaning and groaning, cradling whatever part of their body you’d hit. They wondered why Ghost hadn’t moved, and neither did Gaz or Rudy, the most protective ones. When König glanced down at Ghost, he saw pride in his eyes, dark curled on sadistic pleasure swirling in his brown eyes. When Horangi gazed at Gaz and Rudy, he saw simple amusement, their mouths threatening to curl in a smirk.

All of them had known you’d act this way, erratic and violent rather than calmly scold them and stomp over their ego. You were strong-headed and blunt to them, making them bow to you, like lesser men to a lady, a queen, a goddess.

Horangi had experienced his own protection from you. After the men had loosened enough to trust him and König, he could walk beside you and hold a simple banter, albeit awkward at the start. You were much more violent this time, reaching for the downed man while hissing and screeching after you sent him to the floor with well-aimed kicks. You were like a gremlin, small and lively. He understood your anger, they’d called him racist things, calling out his Asian roots and hybrid characteristics.

Horangi had to hold you from going off on him following your promise of neglecting his medical needs. It worked, though. The first group had searched to plead, to apologise and beg for medical attention. You’d sent them away with a small note lifting the ban for medical help. You were as ruthless with people as they were to enemies.

Any other encounters with hot-headed men and women that glanced at them weirdly were met with a varying amount of anger and disgust from you. Horangi understood why 141 held you so carefully, so tightly in their hold. Why they worshipped you like a priest would do with his goddess. It was a sense of camaraderie that had evolved into love, affection dripping from their pores.

König received a bit more attention for his size, the threatening nature of his ouster coupled with his brute figure, made him a subject of fear and rejection. That hadn’t stopped you from wanting to approach him, had it? Going as far as calling him cute when he stuttered while broaching the subject of him liking certain things. For a burly man with the height of a giant, he was nice to sit next to, his quiet but anxious stature when he wasn’t deployed made it easy to talk to. He might sometimes let his instincts drive him, but they were all well-meaning, wanting nothing but goodness for you.

His turn came in quick succession, he was shunned and ridiculed left and right. It never helped that he would shy from others, preferring his little corner that made the room look stranger and claustrophobic (not that he let them walk all over him, he growled and glared, standing tall with the promise of lashing out or eating them. Even when humans feared König, they still attempted to rile his anger.). But with you, he wasn’t by his lonesome, he had someone to rattle on about the things he liked to do, or the things he wanted to do. His shoulders were relaxed and mind calm, free to speak his mind about the goriest and the sweetest dreams he had, his speech unperturbed by his anxiety.

Unlike the others, König stood before you as an impenetrable wall of muscle and fat when you raised your hand at an insignificant pig. Why would he let someone so disgusting touch you (even though it was to hit and kick the man, he would do it for you instead)? He guarded you as if they were insulting you rather than him - though it was the reverse - and glared down at anyone with dreadfully scary eyes. Like the devil that had risen, he sent them running with their tails tucked between their legs. Although he was the one that had gotten rid of them, he was always so proud of you, holding you close to him and gushing about your brave and inspiring actions.

He saw how the men in 141 looked at you, he wanted to be a part of it, to be able to freely nuzzle your face and hold you like Soap would, to cradle you in his arms and carry you around the base. König wanted a piece of your heart, to be able to show the world he held it in his hands, caring for it between his big, calloused fingers and soft affection. He might be dangerous, he might be deadly, he might be reckless, but if you let him, you would be his world like you were to the others (Horangi would agree, they spoke about it on their own.).

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zenosanalytic · 1 year ago

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Yes, that is, in fact, what Popper was saying with this argument(from The Wiki, quoting The Open Society and its Enemies):

—In this formulation, I do not imply, for instance, that we should always suppress the utterance of intolerant philosophies; as long as we can counter them by rational argument and keep them in check by public opinion, suppression would certainly be most unwise. But we should claim the right to suppress them if necessary even by force; for it may easily turn out that they are not prepared to meet us on the level of rational argument, but begin by denouncing all argument; they may forbid their followers to listen to rational argument, because it is deceptive, and teach them to answer arguments by the use of their fists or pistols. We should therefore claim, in the name of tolerance, the right not to tolerate the intolerant. We should claim that any movement preaching intolerance places itself outside the law and we should consider incitement to intolerance and persecution as criminal, in the same way as we should consider incitement to murder, or to kidnapping, or to the revival of the slave trade, as criminal.

Like: Yes, you are correct, but you're not countering the person who came up with "The Paradox of Tolerance"(tho he didn't call it that, and he was actl stating it to REFUTE arguments Plato made about why democracy is bad and despotism is good): you are literally restating their argument through osmosis. Which, I mean, I guess good job everybody? We've successfully transmitted this philosophical idea through tumblr telephone ^w^

The paradox of tolerance is only a paradox if you think of tolerance as some sacred and unconditional moral duty. Some ultimate and absolute law with no exceptions, and if you ever slip into the sin of intolerance, you must repent yourself and beg for forgiveness. Yeah no fuck that. Tolerance is a social contract. You're in the game as an equal player for as long as you play by the same rules as everyone else, and if you don't, your ass is fucking out. You're not entitled to the same respect you won't give others.

"Oh so you all tolerate each other just because you tolerate each other, but if I want to destroy you, then all of a sudden you want to destroy me?" Literally yes. That's the gist of it. What's not clicking. This equation is so simple it barely counts as math.

#homunculus argument #The Paradox of Tolerance #Karl Popper #Political Science #History #Liberalism #Democracy #The Open Society and its Enemies(Book)#reblog replies #informative reblogs

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dailyadventureprompts · 10 months ago

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Monsters Reimagined: Yeenoghu, Demon Lord of Insatiable Hunger

It's been some years since I did my overhaul on the lore of the gnolls and how they embody the weird de/humanization that goes on with various monsters over d&d's history. Ever since I've had more than a few folks write in asking about how I would handle the default Gnoll God Yeenoghu, who exists in a similar state of "Kill everything that ever existed" to Orcus and a good portion of the game's other late game threats, thematically flat and not really useful for building stories around.

For a while I've avoided doing this post because I thought it might skew a little too close to my personal philosophy, and risk going from simply being influenced by my views to an outright soapbox. I personally hold that despite being part of our nature hunger is the source of the majority of human cruelty, and if society and cooperation are the tools we developed to best fight against the threat of famine, it is fear of that famine that allows the powerful to control society and secure their positions of privilege.

I've also dealt with disordered eating in a prior period of my life, alternating between neglecting my body's needs and punishing myself for needing in the first place. I'm well acquainted with hunger and the hollowing effect it can have, though I'd never claim to know it so well as someone who went hungry by anything other than choice and self hatred.

Learning to love food again saved saved my life. The joy of eating, of feeling whole and nourished, yes, but there was also the joy of making: of experimenting, improving, providing, being connected to a great tradition of cultivation which has guided our entire species.

If I was going to talk about an evil god of hunger, I was going to have to touch on all of that, and now that it's out in the open I can continue with a more thematic and narrative discussion on the beast of butchery below the cut.

What's wrong: Going by the default lore, there's not much that really separates Yeenoghu from any other chaotic evil mega-boss. He wants to kill everything in vicious ways, and encourages his followers to do the same. He's there so that the evil clerics can have someone to pray to because the objectively good gods are on the party's side and wouldn't help a bunch of cannibalistic slavers.

This is boring, we've done this song and dance before, and the only reason that there are so many demon lords/evil gods/archdevils like this is because the bioessentialism baked into the older editions of the game's lore was also a theological essentialism, and that every group had to have their own gods which perfectly embodied their ethos and there was no crossover whatsoever, themes be damned.

Normally I'd do a whole section about "what can be salvaged" from an old concept, but we're scraping the bottom of the barrel right from the inset. Likewise my trick of combining multiple bits of underwritten d&d mythology to make a sturdier concept isn't going to work as most of d&d's other gods of hunger or famine are similar levels of paper thin.

How do we fix it: I want Yeenoghu to be the opposite of the path I found myself on, a hunger so great and so painful that it percludes happiness, cooperation, or even rational thought. Hunger not as a sumptuous hedonistic gluttony but a hollowing emptiness that compels violence and desperation. More than just psychopathic slaughter and gore, it is becalmed sailors drinking seawater to quench their thirst, the urban poor mixing sawdust and plaster into their food because their wages are not enough to afford grain.

This is where we get the idea of Yeenoghu as an enemy of society, not because violence is antithical to society ( I think we've learned by now how structured violence can really be) but because society fundamentally breaks down when it can't take care of the people who provide its foundations. Contrast the Beast of Butchery with one of my other favourite villainous famine spirits: Caracalla the grim trader, who embodies scarcity as a form of profit and control in to Yeenoghu's scarcity as suffering.

Into this we can also add the idea of the hungry dead, ghouls yes but also vampires, anything cursed with an eternal existence and appetites it no longer has the ability to sate. A large number of cultures across the world share the idea that the dead cannot rest while they are starving, which is why we leave offerings of food by their graves or pour out a glass to the ones we lost along the way.

On that topic, there's also a scrap of lore involving Doresain god of ghouls, who has been depicted as an on and off servant of Yeenoghu. Since I'm already remaking the mythology, I'd have Doresain act as a sort of saint or herald for the demon lord, the wicked but still partially reasonable entity who can villain monolog before the feral and all consuming demon god shows up.

Summing it all up: Yeenoghu isn't a demon you wittingly worship, it's a demon that claims you, marks you as its mouthpiece and through you seeks to consume more of the world. It gives you just enough strength to keep on living, keep on suffering, keep on filling that hole in your belly and feed it in turn.

The greatest of these mouthpieces is Doresain, an elf of ancient times who's unearthly hungers elevated him to demigod status. Known as the knawbone king, he dwells within a dread domain of the shadowfell, and is sought out only for his ability to intercede with the maw-fiend's rampages.

Signs: Unnaturally persistent hunger pangs, excessive drool and gurgling stomach noises, the growth of extra teeth in the mouth, stomachs splitting open into mouths.

Symbols: An animal with three jaws, a three tailed flail or spiked whip. A crown of knawed bones (Doresain)

Titles: Beast of butchery, the maw fiend, the knawing god

Artist

#monsters reimagined #fiend #yeenoghu #undead #deity

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wifelinkmtg · 19 days ago

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This was intended to be an essay about chivalry—its history, its uses, its various incarnations—medieval violence, the Romantic reinterpretation, the ideal of chivalry in the American South and its attendant lynch mobs. I would have talked about the chivalric triad: Knight, Innocent, Enemy—the way the Innocent serves as a fulcrum for the Knight to enact violence against the Enemy—the iterations of this triad in any number of places in our society, from the so-called sheepdog mentality trained into our police to the legion of revenge-fantasy Taken clones. I would have talked about the way Kierkegaard in Fear and Trembling incorporates chivalry with the sacrifice of Isaac, the theology of self-justified suffering that comes from that. I would have talked at some length about various portrayals of lesbian chivalry in media—Revolutionary Girl Utena, the Locked Tomb books, Signalis—how they use it, what they say about it, and whether at the end there is anything worth salvaging from this intrinsically violent way of relating to the world, to others, to oneself, to God.

I think a version of that essay might still be worth writing someday, but right now, there's something I need to talk about much more urgently. Right now, there's something I suspect you might desperately need to hear. Today I'm going to talk about Godzilla.

GODZILLA SAVED MY LIFE: A Polemic

Godzilla Minus One (2024) takes place in Japan in the immediate aftermath of the Second World War. Its protagonist, Koichi, is a failed kamikaze pilot who in the opening scenes is repeatedly excoriated for his cowardice and dereliction of duty. When he returns home to a bombed and desolate Tokyo, his bereaved neighbor tells him, if people like you had done their duty, this would not have happened. The film spends the rest of its runtime doggedly refuting this idea. It says, out loud, that the relentless calculus of sacrifice that turns men into things to be spent has no place in this world, that it is needless and cruel. It is not subtle about this point. It is not trying to be.

I saw this movie in its black and white version in theaters in February, on the last day of its run. Its version of Godzilla inspires in me both terror and near-religious awe. It looms over the film, an echo both of the devastation of the war and of Koichi's guilt and shame, its presence inviting—demanding—the final consummation of the mission he abandoned.

I wept in that theater. I gripped my friend's hand and I sobbed. This is unlike me (unless I'm watching Gunbuster), and it took four days for me to work out why this Godzilla movie had affected me so profoundly.

arkansas kamikaze

and she looked, and behold! a beast rose from the sea, and against the beast he breathed glory in a Zero dive. his beatified smile shone from the wreck of the Little Rock Planned Parenthood clinic. and a great wind blew out of heaven, and she woke

and made breakfast, and watched her son wholly absorbed in Bonhoeffer, found her lipstick worn down to the nub for practice stigmata, and saw for a moment the dove descending, the tongue of fire over his head.

The thing about being raised in a right-wing fundamentalist family is that you are from birth being prepared to be a weapon, or a martyr, and there is really no difference between those two things. If my mother had had her way, I would have gone to a tiny far-right college and studied law for the sole and explicit purpose of getting Roe v. Wade overturned. She would, I believe, have settled for me bombing an abortion clinic. Certainly it would have been easier for her to reconcile with that than with what I became instead.

The other thing about being raised in a right-wing fundamentalist family is, some things stick. And it's very hard to notice, as your beliefs and values and identity undergo radical changes, that there is still a whisper in you that believes in the power of the glorious death, of the ultimate virtue of strapping explosives to your chest and walking into the halls of the Enemy. And when you feel helpless, when you watch systems and institutions that ought to prevent atrocities instead encourage them, that whisper grows louder and louder and louder.

Watching Koichi fly his last mission, watching him an instant before impact eject, and live—watching everyone live through the final confrontation because they had all rejected the calculus of sacrifice—allowed me to see also for the very first time this parasitic idea that had grown coiled inside me since infancy, allowed me to see where it had come from, its whole monstrous lineage, and then it allowed me to take hold of it and pull it out.

Twenty days later, Aaron Bushnell set himself on fire outside the Israeli embassy in Washington, DC, in protest of the still-ongoing genocide of the Palestinian people. He was, like me, raised in a right-wing fundamentalist environment. He was, like one of my siblings, a member of the US Armed Forces radicalized by his experiences and his own conscience. People called him a hero and martyr—on this very site, in responses to the excellent Crimethinc piece circulating at the time, I saw people saying they felt like they should follow suit (even though the article in question explicitly and repeatedly warned against it!) As if the loss of a person of conscience and conviction could be anything other than a tragedy, as if anyone in power choosing to support the genocide could regard the death of one of their own soldiers as anything other than what soldiers are for, as if the moral response to a genocide could ever be to add another corpse to the mountain—and still I saw people lionizing him, praising his courage and his sacrifice, all but telling people to follow in his footsteps.

No. Aaron Bushnell was a suicide. He lived his whole life within organizations that taught him that he could purchase more with his death than he could ever accomplish with his life, and while we may praise his conscience, we can only mourn his loss and the grievous error that led him to it.

This is the thing about learning to see this parasite: you begin to see it everywhere. Our history for millennia is awash with human sacrifice: Abraham and Isaac, Jephthah and his nameless daughter, Agamemnon and Iphigenia, the crucifixion of Jesus—and later, litanies, row upon row of dead saints, stories of glorious last stands. The courageous martyred dead: blood and corpses, only and always, to Moloch.

In light of the recent US election, perhaps many of my American readers are feeling shock or horror or despair. I understand, and without blame, with love and gentleness, I tell you that this is because you have not correctly understood the scope of the problem. You imagine a discontinuity between the liberal version of American capitalism and imperialism and the fascist version of the same. No such discontinuity exists. Things will no doubt be different for us here in the US than they would otherwise be, and probably worse, but there is no distinction to be made between the genocide of yesterday and the genocide of tomorrow. The enemy is the same. The work is the same.

Above all else, this is to warn you: when you do this work, when you look for a place you can put your shoulder to the wheel, there will be people who want to spend their lives—or yours—like coin to purchase some great change immediately. Perhaps they mean well, and helplessness and desperation drives them to act without regard for the consequences. Perhaps they do not mean well. Do not follow these people. Perhaps they merely expect you to go to prison, and have no plan for how to support you after that. This is barely different. It is far better for you to languish in useless liberal nonprofits which will accomplish nothing of value than to attempt radical direct action with people with correct politics and no forethought, and end up dead or imprisoned—but these are not the only two options. Aaron Bushnell cannot ever again do anything for anyone. You can.

This is as much as I know for certain. I love you. Don't die.

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End Notes

It would not be unreasonable to ask me, in light of what I've said here about martyrdom, what I think of it in other cultural contexts, especially since a similar word is often used to refer to e.g. Palestinian people murdered by Israeli soldiers. The answer is nothing at all. Such people get to use whatever words they want to salvage whatever meaning and comfort they can.

Godzilla Minus One, as effective a movie as it is, was not solely responsible for the scales falling from my eyes. It was an important part of the process, but I doubt it would have sufficed on its own were I not in community with people I trust and talk to about such things. "Godzilla and also my trusted friends saved my life" is, alas, a worse title.

There will be a part two to this. Part one seemed more urgent.

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astrodescent · 11 months ago

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URANUS AND HOW YOU EVOKE CHANGE

uranus, the planet of innovation and disruption, invokes change through sudden breakthroughs, unconventional thinking, and radical shifts that challenge existing norms, inspiring progress and revolution in various spheres of life. its influence prompts unexpected awakenings, urging societies and individuals alike to embrace originality, break free from conventions, and embrace forward-thinking approaches to create groundbreaking transformations.

aries / 1H: sparks ideas of self image and identity, promotes individuality and independence in personal matters, sudden and bold changes on how one presents themselves to the world

taurus / 2H: disrupts traditional values and financial systems, innovation in material and personal resources, challenges stability and security regarding one’s own worth and values

gemini / 3H: intellectual breakthroughs and communication within immediate surroundings, need for adaptable thinking in everyday interactions, changes in local community dynamics, education, and siblings

cancer / 4H: disrupts traditional family structures and the concept of home and roots, seeks progressive approaches to domestic life and emotional security, changes in the family environment and inner emotional foundations

leo / 5H: innovations in creativity, entertainment, and self-expression on a personal level, encourages unconventional approaches to hobbies, romance, and children, challenges traditional notions of ego and individuality in personal pursuits

virgo / 6H: stimulates advancements in health, work routines, and service to others, encourages unconventional methods in daily habits and workplace dynamics, provokes changes in technology related to personal wellness and efficiency

libra / 7H: disrupts traditional relationships and partnerships in a one-on-one context, emphasizes the need for fairness and justice in personal interactions, changes in personal unions, contracts, and open enemies

scorpio / 8H: transformative changes in shared resources, intimacy, and psychological depths, innovations in joint finances, sexuality, and occult matters, challenges traditional views on the use of power in personal transformation

sagittarius / 9H: stimulates unconventional ideas in higher education, travel, and personal beliefs, emphasizes the need for freedom and exploration of personal philosophies, changes in personal journeys, spirituality, and worldviews

capricorn / 10H: disrupts traditional structures in career, public reputation, and authority figures, encourages innovations in long-term goals and aspirations, challenges traditional values regarding personal ambitions and societal roles

aquarius / 11H: reinforces its own energy as uranus rules aquarius, encourages radical social changes and humanitarian efforts within personal networks, sparks innovations in personal connections, technology, and communal involvement

pisces / 12H: stimulates imaginative and spiritual breakthroughs in personal realms, encourages unconventional ways of compassion and empathy on an individual level, changes in personal introspection, artistic expressions, and dreams

#astrology #houses #sidereal astrology #aquarius #aries #astro observations #astrology 101 #tropical astrology #astro notes #scorpio #uranus #uranus signs #uranus through the houses #uranus houses #natal #transit

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kazekagevi · 4 months ago

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Bonds Beyond Words: If Eywa Wills It

PART ONE -- PART TWO -- PART THREE

Pairing: Aged-Up!Neteyam x Fem!Human!Reader

Word Count: 5k

Tags: dark themes, but this chapter is actually very fluffy and silly, Lo'ak and Kiri and Spider becoming reader's besties, many attempts at comedy, eventual NSFW, aged-up! Neteyam (and Lo'ak, Spider, and Kiri), reader has PTSD, Neteyam dislikes humans (except for you), eventual jealous/possessive Neteyam, future Olo'eyktan! Neteyam, enemies-to-lovers, interspecies slow burn, angst, fluff, probably OOC, POV’s all over the place, forgive the inconsistencies.

Summary: You're not allowed to join the community until Jake Sully decides you're ready. Spider, Lo'ak, and Kiri teach you Na'vi.

A/N and Disclaimer: I tried my best to use some Navi language translators and the LearnNavi website to write this chapter, but there are bound to be language errors. I also know time works differently there. Sorry for all the inconsistencies!

This story contains explicit content and is only appropriate for audiences 18+. MDNI. Please do not repost my work.

The science shack isn’t so bad.

Your initiation begins after your first sleep that night. The next morning, Max and Norm put their research projects on hold to give you an actual, legitimate tour of the facility. The place is full of bells and whistles. Tiny buttons, translucent screens, and telecommunications. Technology is abundant; but your knowledge of how to use it is not.

“Here is the airlock control panel,” Max explains. He hovers his palm over a sensor—when it flashes sage green, the user interface appears. “Once you’re ready to interact with the community, we’ll scan your handprints and give you full clearance,” he futhers.

You’re helplessly eager. “Do you know when that will be?” you inquire.

Max presses the controller in the center of the panel. The glass door to the inner chamber slides open. You peek your head inside the airlock space—there are respirator masks for both humans and Na’vi, as well as a broom in the corner.

“I put that there,” Max says, referring to the broom. He’s stealthily ignoring your previous question. “Told Spider he needs to sweep after himself. He refuses to use the doormat outside. I think the only person who’s touched that broom has been me.”

You look at the ground. The floor of the airlock space isn’t as bad as you’d expect it to be. Admittedly, it’s filthy. There are mud stains of both human and Na’vi footprints on the vinyl floor. The size difference is jarring.

You have an idea. You smirk to yourself. “What if I cleaned this mess for him?” you offer. “I’ll sweep, then mop. I need to start pulling my weight, too.”

Max sighs. “What? So you can put on one of those masks and sneak out before the Olo'eyktan says you’re ready?”

Your expression sours. “You didn’t have to say it like that,” you reply. “I wasn’t going to sneak out,” you admit aloud. “I was going to accidentally open the front door or something with a mask conveniently in place. It’s not as deceitful that way.”

Max sighs again. “Well, I have no say in when you’re ready,” he confesses. “That decision is only Jake’s to make.”

You have no choice but to yield. Max taps the censor again. The airlock door falls shut into place.

---

It takes an entire day to simply show you how everything works. It takes two more for you to demonstrate you were paying attention and know how to use everything. The only intuitive mechanisms are the knobs to the showers and the dials on the washer and dryer.

Like in any society, the science shack has its own set of rules, regulations, and norms—quite literally, since Norm transfers between his human body and Avatar frequently. The showers are closed once every twenty-five days for necessary maintenance. Humans aren’t to leave when the Na’vi are sleeping or on significant Omatikaya holidays. Don’t talk to Max before he’s had his first coffee. Spider is supposed to sweep after himself in the airlock room. You can’t use Mia’s handleless mug, but you’re allowed to wash it if you’re extra careful.

By the end of the week, your head hurts.

You know the only way to become proficient in something, like speaking a new language or utilizing advanced technology, is to thrust yourself into it. Take the plunge—don’t fear it. Embrace the nosedive. Freefall.

So, after dinner on your seventh day, you get as close to doing that as possible. You sit on a small perch by a tiny window, nestled in a corner of the science shack. You’re hungry; for one, Norm’s cooking tastes much worse when you’re not famished, so you couldn’t force yourself to go back for seconds, let alone finish everything on your plate.

But also, you’re hungry for something else. Now that you’re safe from the RDA, you can actually consider doing what you came to Pandora to do all along. You can practically taste it.

You know Jake Sully is right. Life in the science shack is complicated enough, and you need adequate time to acclimate. But you’re starting to feel like you’re trapped.

The window allows you to see a slice of life at High Camp. You come here around the same time after a meal, just like clockwork. You haven’t seen Jake Sully since your conversation, but you’ve seen many others.

Just right now, you see a group of young women shuffle past, laughing and gossiping about who knows what. You see two kids, presumably siblings, one chasing after the other, before they’re stopped by one of the village’s elders. You see injured warriors limp towards the tsahìk’s tent. You see a woman in her homestead, weaving a basket. You feel nothing but sonder; the profound sensibility that these people are all living complex lives of their own, and you’re simply witnessing these complexities unfold right before your eyes.

You begin to recognize a few faces, like that of the shaman healer, otherwise known as the tsahìk. You also take note of which warriors visit her tent most frequently.

You routinely see a Na’vi female with short, straight jet-black hair. She tends to pass by the science shack every evening of every day, stare at the door, frown, then leave. On two occasions, your eyes met before she wandered off.

You’ve learned a few more common phrases, which Norm, Max, Spider and Mia teach you at meal times. Kaltxì is a standard greeting. Rutxe means please, and irayo means thank you. Ngafkeyk pefya? means ‘how are you?’

You also learned that the lines you recited to the Na’vi in the forest, Neteyam, were of a standard dialect. They weren’t incorrect, just slightly different from that of the Omatikaya’s. And, allegedly, your pronunciation was off.

In your extensive travels on Earth, you learned quickest when you immersed yourself in a new, unfamiliar environment. It was the rush—the thrill, the trepidation—that drove you to adapt. It was as just as you told Jake Sully: so I will.

Immersion is the only way. Norm knows this too; as an exceptional xenolinguist, he learned more from interacting with the Na’vi for a few weeks than he did from reading any book. He really understands. He wishes he had more time to help with your studies, but he must return to his work. His newest botany project is time sensitive.

As you sit by the window, you use an electronic tablet programmed with a basic flashcard feature to get yourself acquainted with the Na’vi language. It’s not particularly helpful, since spoken practice is more beneficial than anything written. You’ve been skimming some of Jake’s old journals, too. But at the time of their conception, he wrote only in English, and misspelled many Na’vi words and phrases.

The flashcards do nothing besides test your aptitude for memorization. It doesn’t help that your attention span is elsewhere, like you left it on a far, distant planet.

Everytime someone passes by the window in your peripheral vision, you have no choice but to look up and see who’s there. It’s usually another Na’vi face you’ve never seen before. You don’t realize it initially, but the more you turn your head, you’re helplessly aware that you’re looking for someone. It never is, but you’re hopeful it might be Neteyam—you still owe him for saving your life. You have an inkling however, that he’s probably avoiding this place for one reason or another. That very reason might just be yourself.

It’s obvious that this method of study is inefficient. You power off the tablet and continue people-watching with your knees tucked against your chest.

Any moment now, you know you’ll see that girl with shoulder-length hair. You want to know why she frowns, but you don’t know how to ask ‘what’s upsetting you?’ in Na’vi.

Now that you think about it, though, you’re unsure if that’s a wise idea. Even when you are allowed into the community, you know that you will have to keep a distance. Know your place. Although the humans and Na’vi residing here coexist in apparent harmony, you don’t want your presence to disrupt the peace.

There’s a quiet knock on the other side of the airlock door across the main room—it’s so faint you almost miss it.

When you sit up, you hear footsteps thudding against the vinyl flooring. You see Spider look around then over his shoulder as he approaches the door.

He begrudgingly places his hand over the scanner. He presses a button and the front of the airlock opens.

He quietly shouts something in Na’vi—skxawng. You’re not sure what this word means yet.

From your window perch, you can’t see what’s going on, but Kiri and Lo’ak enter the space through the main door. They each grab a respirator.

Spider continues to say things you don’t understand. From his tone of voice, he seems slightly agitated.

“You can’t be here,” Spider says to both of them in Na’vi. “Not until the new girl gets introduced to the community.”

Lo’ak takes a deep breath—the respirator in his hand looks so small. He’s almost as tall as his father now. As the years pass, Lo’ak just gets bigger and bigger. It makes him feel like Spider is shrinking.

“C’mon man,” Lo’ak says. “Let us in. We’ll only take a minute,” he adds, wearing a devious smirk on his face. “I uh, forgot something when I was here last?” he tries.

“Yeah, right,” Spider replies.

“Lo’ak, you’re not helping my case,” Kiri says, glaring at her older brother.

Lo’ak’s jaw drops. He scoffs at her. “You told me to come with you!”

“Yes, and it turns out you’re not helping!” Kiri hisses.

Spider groans. “Can you two just leave? I don’t want to get any flak for this.”

Kiri grits her teeth. She places both of her hands on the glass separating them. “Please, Spider. I haven’t seen Mom in forever,” she says. Her eyes water. “It hasn’t been this long since the time we lived in Awa'atlu… I miss her.”

The crease between Spider’s brows disappears. From what you can see, he looks apologetic. “Oeru txoa livu,” he says to Kiri. “But I’m not supposed to let anyone in besides your dad.”

Lo’ak’s expression falters. He looks at his feet. His ears fall flat. “You know, I haven’t seen Tsireya since we left Awa'atlu,” he says just loud enough for Spider and Kiri to hear.

Spider rubs his nose bridge. Kiri sighs and flicks his temple with her fingers. Once Lo’ak starts talking about Tsireya, he can’t stop.

While this interaction continues to transpire, you stand from your perch and tiptoe over. Your footsteps are padded by thick, cotton socks. You advance slowly, like you’re approaching a crime scene covered with caution tape.

“Lo’ak, go home and go to bed,” Kiri says, poking his chest. She then spins back around. “Spider, let me in, please.”

“I’m sorry, Kiri,” Spider replies. “You know I would if I could.”

Kiri places her hands on her hips. “You can, very easily, actually. Just press the button,” Kiri says. She points to the spot where she knows it is on the other side of the door. “It’s right there.”

Spider sighs. The crease in his brow returns when he realizes Lo’ak is suddenly smiling. “Why are you doing that?”

Lo’ak waves to you from the other side of the airlock. “Hi!” He greets you in English. “What’s your name?”

Spider jolts when he realizes you’re standing there right behind him.

Kiri gasps. Her eyes go wide—they practically sparkle when she’s excited. “I told you, I saw her!” she says to Lo’ak in Na’vi.

You smile at the male and female Na’vi before you. They seem so friendly, and the male Na’vi’s English sounds great. “Hello there,” you reply. You formally introduce yourself.

Spider presses a palm to his temple. He knows he’s going to get in trouble.

“It’s nice to meet you!” the female Na’vi says, also in English. “I’m called Kiri. And this is my older brother, Lo’ak.”

That’s his cue—Lo’ak waves again, flashing his vibrant smile.

Spider scoffs.

“My good brother here, Spider,” says Lo’ak, “this skxawng,” he adds, more quietly, “was about to let us inside.”

“I was not,” Spider protests.

“C’mon,” you say. Spider rolls his eyes—you’ve just met Lo’ak but he’s already infected you with whatever ailment he has that makes him the way that he is. At the same time, however, Spider knows it’s one of the best things about him.

“Why can’t we let them in?” you ask. This is the most exciting thing that’s happened to you in five days.

“Exactly,” says Lo’ak. “Let us in,” he chants quietly.

“The door isn’t broken, is it?” you further, keeping a serious demeanor. “I’ll just check to make sure it works,” you tell Spider.

“Wait–”

The airlock’s inner chamber door opens, allowing Lo’ak and Kiri entry.

“Would you look at that,” you profess. “I know how the door works.”

Lo’ak chuckles as he strolls inside like he owns the place. Kiri rushes past the three of you, making a beeline for the large container in the middle of the main room. She presses her palms against the glass and whispers to the Avatar stuck inside. Your brows furrow in confusion.

“You were right,” Lo’ak mutters to Spider in English. “She is short, even for a human.”

Your jaw goes slack. A surprised chuckle falls from your lips. “If you call Spider skxawng, then what are you?” you can’t help but retort.

He grins. “If there was a clan of a hundred skxawng’s,” Lo’ak says, “they would have no choice but to make me their leader.”

You laugh again—harder than you were expecting to. This Na’vi might be an ass, but at least he’s got a sense of humor.

Spider groans again. “If you two knuckleheads stay, you have to keep it down,” he says.

Lo’ak puts his hands up, defensively.

“Can I ask what she’s doing over there?” you say aloud.

Kiri now has her face pressed against the glass. It fogs from her breath.

Spider and Lo’ak look at each other. Lo’ak rubs the back of his neck before speaking: “it’s a long story, but that’s the Avatar of Kiri’s biological mother. Kiri is my adoptive sister.” Lo’ak then hums to himself. “Maybe it’s not such a long story, after all.”

That’s why she looked so sad. She simply missed her Mom.

You blink once. “Oh, alright.” You nod, looking at Spider. “All of that information about Mia’s coffee mug was really important, but this,” you say, gesturing to the tube in the center of the room. “Not so much.”

Spider shrugs. “It’s important,” he says. “But, this is just commonplace for all of us.”

“She’s been doing this since we were kids,” Lo’ak reaffirms.

“Maybe we’re blind to it,” Spider offers. “It’s always there, so we can’t even see it if it’s right in front of us.”

Lo’ak simpers. “Well said.”

“Thank you,” says Spider. He grins.

They nod together and rub their chins like idiots. You assume this must be a regular thing for them.

“Skxawngs,” you say.

Of course, they both look your way, as though you’ve called them by their birth name.

“Did I use that properly?” you ask in English.

They nod. You sigh woefully.

Lo’ak practically snatches such low-hanging fruit: “What’s got you all blue?”

You can’t help but glare at him. “They say you don’t know a language unless you know how to properly insult someone,” you say. “But I don’t actually know any useful Na’vi, and I haven’t had a conversation with anyone. Half of the words I know are just insults!”

“Simmer down,” says Spider. “You learned plenty today,” he says.

“And, last I heard, you did have a conversation with someone,” Lo’ak mutters.

Spider crosses his arms over his bare chest and looks you in the eye. “We’ll do our best to teach you.”

“Then teach me,” you reply, glaring daggers his way.

Spider’s eyes narrow. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. A couple of hours ago, you were enthusiastic. Now, you’re starting to get on his nerves.

Spider then looks over at Kiri, and makes an almost silent whistling noise. In response, Kiri’s ears twitch and she peeks over her shoulder.

“What the hell did you just say to her?” you demand.

“Oh, that?” Spider chuckles dryly. “I didn’t say anything, yet.”

“What is it?” Kiri calls back to him.

When Spider responds, he speaks entirely in Na’vi. When Kiri replies to him, she does the same. Spider then turns to you, speaks only in Na’vi again, then laughs. He says something else. Laughter erupts. Kiri and Lo’ak follow suit.

You have no choice to presume they’re talking shit about you in their native language.

In reality, they’re saying things that make no sense just to get you riled up. The first thing Spider told Kiri was “let’s pretend like we’re making fun of her. Keep going along with it until I say stop.”

Needless to say, they play their roles with great conviction, like actors on a stage. They fool you.

“You guys are dickheads! That’s enough.”

They finally stop when you fold your arms over your chest and start pouting; but they don’t stop laughing until Norm yells from down the hall to, in his words, ‘tone that shit down.’ When they’re caught, Spider purses his lips, and Kiri and Lo’ak takes deep breaths from their respirator masks in unison.

“You’re incredibly impatient,” Spider admits, lowering his voice. Lo’ak nods in agreement. You’re all sitting around the tube that holds Grace’s Avatar. Kiri traces small shapes on its surface with her lithe fingertips.

“And you three,” you say, pointing at each of them, “are a bunch of jesters.”

“No, you’re a jester,” says Lo’ak. He doesn’t even know what that word means, not in English anyway.

“That’s exactly what a jester would say.” You groan in frustration. “I am impatient, but you don’t have to say it so directly,” you reply. Your expression is downcast and dejected.

You want to learn the language. You want to be able to talk to people. You want to carry out conversations, and learn, and laugh, and cry. You want to become a phoenix, rising from the ashes of an otherwise hopeless situation. You’re here, you’re alive, yet you don’t feel that way. Not at all.

You don’t want to feel like an outsider. You don’t want to live life from a bird’s eye view, on your little perch by the tiny window. You don’t want to feel like a canary in a cage. You don’t want to feel like a fish in a large, technologically-advanced bowl. Or like a beetle in a glass jar with holes poked in the top. You don’t want to be alone. You don’t want to be locked away in the science shack, just like how you were in the RDA’s basement.

Your eyes water. How could it be? Have you simply gone from one prison to another?

“You may be impatient, but I think you’ll fit in with us just fine,” Lo’ak interjects. He smiles genuinely. After a few moments, so do Spider and Kiri.

You wipe your eyes. Your face feels hot.

Kiri calls you by your first name, grasping hold of your attention. “Don’t worry. We’ll teach you to speak Na’vi, and you’ll be just like the rest of us,” she says affectionately.

“I don’t know about that,” Lo’ak mutters.

There’s a pregnant pause. You, Spider, and Kiri expect him to say that you’ll never be a true Na’vi, or something of the sort. You weren’t raised as such, like the three of them.

“She won’t grow another foot overnight,” Lo’ak says finally. He looks right at you with a shit-eating grin. “You’ll never be as tall as we are.”

“Well said,” Spider remarks.

---

Kiri and Lo’ak can’t stay for much longer—they have to sneak back to their tent before Jake Sully finds out what they’ve been up to.

“They won’t get in trouble if he finds out, right?”

You and Spider are the last two awake. You’re sitting at the kitchen table.

Spider waves his hand around nonchalantly. “They never do,” he says. There’s a brief pause. “Okay, sometimes Lo’ak does,” Spider adds. “But never Kiri or Tuk. You’ll meet her eventually. She’s the youngest sibling.”

“Alright, so there’s the three of them. Lo’ak, Kiri, and Tuk. And Neytiri is their mother, right?”

“Four of them,” Spider corrects you. “Neteyam is the oldest. One year older than Lo’ak.”

You blink. “Neteyam is the Olo'eyktan’s eldest son? The one who found me?”

“That’s what I said, didn’t I?” Spider retorts.

You glare at him. “Yes, that’s what you said, only a whole week late!” You whisper-shout at him. “Just like with Kiri’s biological mother.”

Spider throws his hands up. “I guess I thought someone already told you,” he says defensively. “You talked to Jake, right?”

“Right,” you reply. “But he didn’t mention anything about Neteyam being his son. Didn’t mention anything about his children actually.”

“With all that you went through with those fuckers, he may have thought it could be taken as insensitive,” Spider suggests.

You hum. Maybe, just maybe, Spider’s right.

“Kiri works in the tsahìk’s tent during the day. Lo’ak puts in the least amount of effort necessary to be considered one of the warriors,” Spider says. “He’s usually around, but oftentimes not. Either way, we will find time to help you learn Na’vi.”

“Is Neteyam one of the warriors?” you ask.

Spider nods. “These days, he’s become one of the best.”

Your thoughts drift back to when Neteyam found you. You were practically ambushed—he was so controlled, so swift with his movements. Spider’s words don’t surprise you.

“So, he’s busy all the time?”

Spider addresses you by name. “What are you getting at?”

“I still need to thank him,” you confide. “He can’t avoid me forever.”

Spider sighs. “He can try,” he mutters.

“So, he is avoiding me?” you ask. Your cheeks are turning red again.

“He’s…” Spider begins. He looks distraught. “He wasn’t always like this,” Spider says. “Neteyam and I are cool, but he never sets foot inside this place if he doesn’t have to. Ever since the Sully family returned from living with the Metkayina, the Reef People, he doesn’t get along with Norm and the others like Kiri and Lo’ak… He merely tolerates the scientists here.”

“You’re saying he hates humans,” you say bluntly.

“Hate is a strong word,” Spider replies. “But he has many reasons to dislike them…” Spider swallows. “To dislike our kind.”

The words fall from your lips: “you’re right.”

You begin to question whether or not you should follow through with thanking him for saving you. The interaction with Kiri and Lo’ak went so well—perhaps it gave you an ounce of hope, things might go smoothly with Neteyam too. He’s been on your mind constantly, replaying in your thoughts like a broken record. You’re certain there are other Na’vi who share similar sentiments. You have to be careful.

“Don’t think about it too hard,” says Spider. He stands from the table. “I’m going to sleep,” he says plainly. His footsteps fade as he walks to the barracks.

Spider’s sympathies do very little to ease your mind.

---

Spider kept his word. Kar is teach. Karyu is teacher, and Karyunay is apprentice teacher. Ayfo kar nga—they teach you.

In the days—and eventually, weeks—to come, you fall into a new routine.

You study Na’vi during the day-time hours. The science shack isn’t so bad. Sometimes, if he’s available, Norm works with you on your phonetics and grammar. But typically, it’s just you, your electronic tablet, and your perch by the windowsill.

When you learned other Earth languages in the past, it was easier to learn other languages in proximity to their language group with which you were familiar. Romance languages, such as Spanish, French, and Italian, bore many similarities. The same went for Germanic languages, and even some Sino-Tibetan languages.

Na’vi, however, is completely different from any language you’ve spoken, or even attempted to learn. But your dedication is unwavering.

Lo’ak and Kiri return to the science shack two days after your first encounter with them.

“Okay, Spider was right. At first, he was angry,” Kiri says. She takes a deep breath through her respirator. “But then, I suppose he thought about it more and decided it was a good idea after all.”

Jake Sully has given Lo’ak and Kiri his word of approval to help with your studies at nightfall, as long as they don’t slack off their usual duties.

“He thinks it’s a good ‘method of assimilation’ or some shit like that,” adds Lo’ak.

You nod. “He’s right,” you say.

“Yeah, whatever,” Lo’ak admits nonchalantly. “Sometimes.”

You all sit on the floor around Grace’s tube again.

“Well,” you clear your throat. “Today, I studied grammatical structure and simple, common vocabulary. Maybe we could start with-”

“Nga za‘u ftu peseng?” Spider asks. He’s asking ‘where do you come from?’

You blink. It takes a moment for the cogs in your brain to rotate. But in due time, you register his question.

“I come from Earth,” you reply in English.

“If you really want to learn,” Spider says, “you should reply in Na’vi.”

You should. The only issue is, you’re not sure how. But you have no choice but to give it a try.

You fail the first time. The second time, you almost get it right—close enough to where Kiri pries her eyes away from her mother to give you a look of encouragement and a thumbs up.

“You’re almost there,” says Lo’ak. He straightens his posture, no longer slouching against the glass tube. “But if you don’t want to sound like a baby learning their first words, you need to change up the word order. For myself, I would reply with ‘za‘u oe ftu Eywa’eveng.’ Which means in English, ‘I come from Pandora.’ Your reply, obviously, is going to be a little different.”

Lo’ak pauses, takes a breath from his respirator, then mimics your higher-pitched voice, speaking as you would reply in Na’vi.

His impression of you is already spot on. “I don’t sound like that!” you protest.

They all laugh, and you can’t help but join them.

For the rest of the evening, the three of them ask you simple questions in Na’vi. All you have to do is reply, also in Na’vi. The longer you go, the easier it gets. You build upon the scaffolding of your day-time studies, as well as every question and response before the next.

---

This continues for many nights.

During the days when you’re sitting by the window and Lo’ak and Kiri pop into frame, you instinctively smile and wave to them. They always reciprocate.

They don’t say it outwardly, but the two of them look forward to these evenings with you. They get to spend more time with Spider. And, although they’re both fluent in English, the practice benefits them, too. Plus, they’ve taken a liking to you as well.

“Who the hell are you waving at, skxawng?” Neteyam asks Lo’ak one day. They’re about to head off on their ikrans to train. Lo’ak needs to learn a new hand-to-hand technique. Neteyam is conveniently out of your line of sight.

“I’m waving to the new girl!” Lo’ak exclaims. He continues waving. He’s practically beaming.

Neteyam huffs.

“Her pronunciation is getting much better,” Lo’ak says. His arm falls to his side again. “But it honestly wasn’t bad to begin with,” he adds. “Do you think you were, perhaps, exaggerating?”

“No,” Neteyam answers curtly. He looks agitated—his ears twitch and his tail swishes wildly. “She’s a distraction." You're proving Neteyam's point. Lo'ak won't stop waving. Neteyam groans. "Hurry up, Lo'ak. We have things to do,” he says. When they were younger, Neteyam would’ve slapped Lo’ak’s bicep or grabbed him by the ends of his hair, but he’s a man now. He can’t show his impatience or impulsivity.

Lo'ak disappears from your vantage point.

---

It’s already been a month. Your diligent practice is starting to pay off.

You can hold very basic conversations in Na’vi. You’re learning more about the language and culture every day.

They don't want to feed your ego, but your teachers have discovered you're a fast, proficient learner.

“Syep means 'to trap.' It’s a verb,” Lo’ak explains to you in English. He’s lying on the floor with his legs propped up on a chair from the dining table. Suddenly, he swings his feet from the chair, and stands to his feet.

You don't want to feed any of their egos either, but they're all smarter than they think. Especially Lo'ak.

“Spider, peseng lu syeprel?” Lo’ak asks.

You’re unsure what a syeprel is, but you know he’s asking where it’s located.

“I think it’s in the supply closet, over there,” Spider replies in Na’vi.

“What’s a syeprel?” you ask, also in Na’vi.

“Take a guess!” Lo’ak calls from down the hall.

You hum. You switch back to English: “Well, it must be a particular type of trap? Like a mouse trap or something?”

Kiri hums too. “It does technically trap something,” she says after a few moments. “But you’re thinking too literally,” she adds with a smirk.

You scratch your head. You’re dumbfounded.

“A-ha!’ Lo’ak says triumphantly. “I’ve found it.”

“Found what?” you call.

“Ask nicely,” says Kiri. “In Na’vi.”

You try again. “Rutxe,” you say, slightly embarrassed. You do as you’re told, and ask in Na’vi.

Lo’ak returns. He’s holding an ancient piece of technology—an extremely old hand-held digital camera with a slightly scratched lens. “Say cheese!”

He snaps a photo of you, Spider, and Kiri lounging around on the floor. None of you were prepared.

Kiri sighs and glowers at him. “Lo’ak!”

Lo’ak chuckles. “Alright, alright. We’ll take another one.”

The four of you stand around Lo’ak, the camera operator. “Kiri, crouch down a little bit,” he says, directing your places. “Spider, lean closer to Kiri.” You hear Spider sigh.

Lo’ak then glances at you over his shoulder. “Stand on your toes, tawtute. Or else you won’t be in frame,” he chides you with a sly smile.

You do just that and smile for the syeprel. “You’re an ass, Lo’ak,” you say through your teeth.

“Smile, everyone!” he sings in Na’vi. Lo’ak spins the camera around to take a photo of everyone while operating it at the same time. He smiles and snaps another photo. The flash is momentarily blinding.

You break free from your pose. “So, a camera is called syeprel?”

“Yes, it is.” replies Lo’ak in Na’vi. “It traps a moment in time, doesn’t it? Rel means like an image, or a picture,” he adds in English.

It’s clicking. Your jaw goes slack. Spider can’t help but chuckle at your expression.

“Language learning is so cool,” you gawk.

“You sound just like Norm,” says Kiri.

“Whatever,” you say in Na’vi. You switch back to English again. “There are lots of animal names in English like that. Anteaters eat ants. Junebugs come out in the month of June to find mates. Grasshoppers hop around in the grass. Centipedes are named after their one hundred legs.”

“Now you really sound like Norm,” Kiri teases you. “Don’t start talking about plants too, or I’ll have to go home.”

“What about bed bugs?” asks Spider. “I've only heard of them from the others. Never seen them here. I’m assuming they would be found in your bed?”

You nod.

Kiri hums, thinking. “What about butterflies then?” she asks. “I know that butter comes from milk and milk comes from Earth cows, but could they make butter too?”

You scrunch your nose at the mere thought of butterfly butter. “I don’t think so.”

Lo’ak can hardly contain his laughter. “What about cockroaches?”

Kiri smacks his chest. Lo’ak half-groans, half-cackles. Kiri scolds him in Na'vi, but it's not long before she starts laughing too.

You and Spider follow suit. From down the hall, Norm calls for you four to keep it down again.

But you can’t stop. In fact, Norm’s complaints make it worse. Joyous laughter fills the room. You’re having the time of your life. For the second time since your escape, you think this must be heaven. You’re briefly reminded of your imprisonment—you remember the few times you laughed with your cellmates. You remember those slivers of euphoria.

You also remember that you’re safe now. The science shack isn’t so bad. Not with Spider, and Kiri, and Lo’ak, and even Norm, and Max, and Mia, and all the others.

You laugh until your ribs hurt. You laugh until tears well in your eyes.

---

A/N: This chapter was so fun to write! I hope you guys had as much fun reading it as I did writing it. Again, please forgive any language inconsistencies.

Don't worry my darlings! Neteyam is going to be all over the next chapter. Believe in the slow burn!

And thanks again for all the kind comments, reblogs, and notes. You guys are awesome!

Taglist: @m1tsu-ki @promnightbinbaby

#avatar the way of water #avatar 2009 #neteyam x human reader #neteyam x reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x you #self insert #self insert fanfiction #x reader #neteyam sully x reader #atwow

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neptxn3 · 2 months ago

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Synastry I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemy ⋆｡˚꩜ . ݁ ˖ִ

Ok the title is an exaggeration, more like synastry I would prefer not to have, like always:

Disclaimer, these are observations I have made through personal experience and thorough research, observations also vary depending on other synastry and natal placements involved! All of these aspects can be worked through, none of these aspects make or break a relationship ❤️

Doesn’t resonate ≠ untrue

˚꩜ . ݁ ˖ִ | Navigation post

Lilith in the 7th house / conjunct descendant

♅ When women have their Lilith present in the seventh house in synastry, often times the house person can make the Lilith person feel shame just by loving who they are. The reason is because lilith in the charts of women is the area where society has convinced them is unnatural and wrong, something they should be ashamed of. So when the seventh house person who sees Lilith an an ideal desire and partner wants to love Lilith in the way they think is right, the Lilith person can pull away. Marriage is not seen as an appropriate act to follow a shameful relationship. Seventh house also represents open enemies, over time the Lilith person can resent the seventh house person. It’s typical for Lilith to pull away in these relationships in order to avoid any commitment.

♅ When a man’s Lilith is present in the seventh house in synastry, you’ll often notice they do not want to marry the seventh house counter part. Lilith in a man’s chart is the woman society has told him he should not pursue which only makes him want to chase her even more. It’s undeniable that the relationship is passionate, but it is also a sign that he does not intend to take the relationship seriously. Again, the seventh house is also the house of open enemies, the male Lilith can be very public with his intentions of not committing to the house person.

Celebrity Examples: Orlando bloom (Lilith) + Katy Perry // Andrew Garfield + Emma stone (Lilith) // FKA twigs + Robert Pattinson (Lilith)

Pisces and Libra mars

♅ I say this because Mars already has a hard time expressing its aggression or purpose in these signs, so when you take something that’s already confused and hand it to someone that will misconstrue your intentions to an even bigger extreme it becomes so draining.

♅ It’s like staying silent after an argument because you don’t know how to communicate your emotions, then the other partner sees this and thinks that your inability to work through these issues means you hate them. You just really have to hope the Mercury synastry is well aspected in this relationship😭

Sun square moon

♅ Moon typically views the sun to be someone who only indulges in their own pleasures and doesn’t seem to care about what others feelings. Often times the moon can feel as though the sun doesn’t understand or support them in endeavors that bring their inner child joy.

♅ The sun thinks the moon is irrational in its decisions and is too deep in thought to understand the suns true emotions. The sun is usually the most aware in this synastry that the moon is misconstruing it’s intentions, but is incapable of understanding how what they are saying is hurtful.

“ I want to start selling my paintings”.

“ well you’re not selling at that price, you know how much people like to lowball”.

“ maybe they’ll appreciate my art and buy full price?”.

“ moon, I wouldn’t buy a painting like that for more than 10 bucks, let’s be realistic here”.

♅ Moon person can be a push over the the relationship. To overcome this hurdle sun must be open to change, and moon must be willing to set boundaries and expectations. If not, there’s always going to be a nagging feeling in the pit of each others stomach where they know there’s an emptiness in your interactions.

Mercury square saturn

♅ Saturn person has a tendency to feel like the dominant partner in the relationship intellectually wise. They can feel like they have the wisdom and upper hand to teach the Mercury person about maturity and knowledge. However because it is in the tense aspect of the square, Saturn person has a habit of not understanding how Mercury has a way about going through things.

♅ Mercury is not only our communication but also our day to day mundane things. Saturn person can find a flaw in how Mercury spends their morning, their work habits, their food intake, how they do their hair etc. This can be frustrating to the Mercury person because they believe Saturn tends to nitpick everything the Mercury person does. The worst part of this synastry is Saturn can regard themselves too mighty and disregard the Mercury persons concerns which is where withdrawals can occur (Mercury tiptoeing around the issues and avoiding constant conflict with Saturn)

Pluto square Mars

♅ This synastry aspect can unfortunately have a great possibility of physical abuse. Pluto in one’s chart goes through intense transformations and changes that can be abrupt at times. An example could be, the Pluto person could go on a weight journey after overcoming a health problem that caused them to gain weight. The Pluto partner could expect of the Mars partner to join them in their new health routine, but the square between these two planets makes it evident they do not view this new change in the same way. Pluto can be angered with the mars partners lack of encouragement which in turn activates Mars’ aggression. Being the God of war, Mars will not back down when challenged which creates a back and forth conflict.

“ Can you get off your ass and take out the trash like you said you would.”

“Can you get off my ass and do it yourself, I’m the one who pays the bills around here.”

“I’m not taking disrespect from someone like you, I’ll leave you if that’s what it takes for you to see how badly you treat me.”

“Then leave.”

Moon square Uranus

♅ Unless the moon partner has natal moon/Uranus aspects, this aspect can be categorized as constant anxiety for the moon partner. There’s a lack of emotional stability and satisfaction which can be detrimental to the moon partner. It can feel like there’s finally a point in the relationship where you are both on the same page in life, but the Uranus counter part moves on to the next thing that causes turmoil in the relationship

♅ The reason this can be detrimental to the moon person is simply because the moon likes being in calm waters. The exaltion in Taurus indicates the moon likes to feel comfortable in the same spot for long periods of time, but when it’s aspected negatively by the Uranus individual it challenges the moon to constantly change its environment.

♅ Moon person can find themselves leaving the comfort of their home (not literally) in order to chase Uranus. Uranus finds themselves poking the hornets nest (Moon) to see how much independence from the relationship they can get away with.

Quincux signs

♅ When two signs are quincux (Virgo/Aries, Gemini/Scorpio, Aquarius/Cancer etc.) it’s difficult to understand what the other person is feeling. In sexual synastry (mars) , you both can have trouble understanding what pleases one another. With Venus signs, its a hard time understanding your love language.

♅ if one partners Sagittarius sun is quincux the other partners Cancer moon, it can feel to the moon person that the sun doesn’t even bother understanding the moons emotions, and it’s simply because the sun never even thought about what the moon person feels. Not because they’re selfish, but because they’ve never met someone who goes about their feelings like the moon.

♅ Aquarius mars quincux Virgo Venus. Mars partner can expect the Venus partner to allow them their own freedom and manage their own schedule while venus partner could be adamant about curating mars a monthly schedule to stick by which in turn can turn the mars partner off.

Quick Notes

♅ When one’s natal Saturn is negatively aspected and enters a persons 9th house in synastry, the Saturn person can seem to restrict the 9th house persons beliefs and knowledge. For example, turning the 9th house person religious/having them join a cult/demanding obediance of a woman (dispite previously potentially being more liberal.

♅ Negatively aspected natal saturn entering the money houses in synastry (2,8,11) can mean the saturn person takes away the house persons possessions/money. In the second house, they can refuse to buy you things because “you haven’t given them a reason to”/taking expensive things they’ve bought you back. 8th house, taking money your parents give you (allowances,inheritance) potentially disability checks if you receive those. 11th house, taking money from work you’ve done because of the connections they’ve given you that allowed your income to flourish.

♅ Negative Moon/Pluto can be stressful to have. Moon can open up to Pluto, and dispute being someone who isn’t shy of intense topics, if this relationships dissolves (due to other incompatible aspects) it can almost feel like “I just told you my deepest secrets, you can’t just walk away like I didn’t tell you the things that could ruin my life”.

♅ 12th house Neptune overlay. Ok this one’s a stretch but, if it gets to these deep rock bottom moments and you’re stuck in a room with someone who’s Neptune is badly aspected and it’s in your 12th house. Introduction to drugs/narcotics. Not the cool kind, I mean the one that has you sniffing the floor for snow ❄️

♅ Virgo mars man

♅ Malefics simultaneously in the 4th house and 9th house. Could lead to isolation from family and could potentially have you move away from any support systems.

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