#ignore the size inconsistency on the heads

[burning-thistles-bt]

another friendship map! this one of the current (ch.134) apprentice group

SPOILERS! mostly just for one minor plotpoint, which is why i left it in... oh and i guess there’s a more major-ish plotpoint but its a canon plotpoint so eh

characters in some kind of order: Feathercloud, Brackenfur, Cinderpelt, Thornpaw, Brightpaw, Bramblekit, Cliffpaw, Lizardflight, Cloudpaw, Swiftpaw, Tawnykit, Snowkit, Elderpaw, Fernpaw, Tulippaw, Mistlekit, Perchpaw, Ashpaw, Lynxpaw, Dustpelt, Rowanpaw, Lavenderpaw, Reedpaw, Primrosepaw, Swampfur, Turtlepaw, Dawnpaw, Pikepaw, Woodpaw, Blossomtail, Robinpaw, Badgerfang

alright! just like last time, here’s the “main groups” expanded:

Feathercloud’s Friend Group

Cricketheart (sister, deceased), Graystripe (former best friend, former crush), Ravenwing (former mates, crush), Gremlin (distant/former friend), Scraps (distant/former friend), Brackenfur (best friend, crush), Storkpaw (distant friend), Barley (close friend), Airleap (friend), Runningbrook (friend)

Lizardflight’s Friend Group

Cloudpaw (brother), Cliffpaw (adopted sister), Cinderpelt (best friend, crush), Perchpaw (best RiverClan friend), Primrosepaw (friend, crush), Reedpaw (distant friend), Dawnpaw (distant friend), Woodpaw (distant friend), Robinpaw (considers him a friend), Pikepaw (NOT a friend)

Cliffpaw’s Friend Group

Cloudpaw (adopted brother), Lizardflight (adopted sister), Storm (adopted  brother), Night (adopted sister, not close), Oat (adopted brother, not close), Elderpaw (best friend), Fernpaw (friend)

Night’s Friend Group (not on tree)

Storm (brother, former best friend), Cloudpaw (brother, annoyance), Cliffpaw (adopted sister, more tolerable annoyance), Oat (brother), Scourge (mentor, close), Claw (mentor), Gremlin (close friend), Scraps (best friend, crush)

Lynxpaw’s Friend Group

Swiftpaw (brother), Longtail (half-brother), Cherryfur (half-sister, not close), Bramblekit (half-brother, not close), Tawnykit (half-sister, not close), Dustpelt (one-sided best friend, crush), Swampfur (close friend)

notes: Lynxpaw hangs out with Swiftpaw’s friends too, but would consider herself “not really their friend” (she’s a “fake friend” type basically. Swift, Dust, and Swamp are the only ones she cares about)

Swiftpaw’s Friend Group

Lynxpaw (sister), Longtail (half-brother, mentor), Cherryfur (half-sister), Bramblekit (half-brother),  Tawnykit (half-sister), Dustpelt (friend), Brightpaw (best friend),  Ashpaw (close friend), Tulipaw (friend), Thornpaw (distant friend), Fernpaw (distant friend), Swampfur (mate)

Dustpelt’s Friend Group

Ravenwing (brother, not close), Frostfur (sister, formerly close starting to drift), Brindleface (sister), Longtail (half-brother, best friend), Cherryfur (half-sister, not close), Lynxpaw (former best friend, still close friend), Swiftpaw (friend), Darkstripe (mentor, best friend), Ashpaw (apprentice), Fernpaw (friend, crush), Fireheart (growing respect)

Tawnykit’s (future) Friend Group

Bramblekit (brother), Swiftpaw (half-brother), Lynxpaw (half-sister, not close),  Mistlekit (best friend), Snowkit (close friend), Sorrelkit (friend), Sootkit (friend), Rainkit (friend), Elderpaw (distant friend), Fernpaw (distant friend), Lavenderpaw (close friend), Turtlepaw (close friend), Rowanpaw (friend, crush)

She will also possibly be friends with: Rumblepaw, Quietpaw, Cedarpaw, Nightpaw, Wildpaw, Snakekit, Smokekit, Aspenkit, Fangkit

Robinpaw’s Friend Group

Dawnpaw (sister), Woodpaw (brother), Primrosepaw (former close friend, now distant), Perchpaw (close friend, trying to make distant), Reedpaw (former friend, now one-sided rivalry/hatred), Pikepaw (best friend, but not overly close), Lizardflight (hates, crush), Featherkit (jealous), Stormkit (future friend)

notes: Dawnpaw and Woodpaw are a “trouble duo” that stick together at the hip, which often leaves Robinpaw feeling left out. Dawnpaw has a very “silly” personality (hopeless romantic in a tame way, enjoys life for what it is, jokester) and Woodpaw is more mellow/duller (not the brightest bulb but also enjoys life for what it is). Dawnpaw and Woodpaw are both still prone to prejudice (ex.: against Lizardflight), though, like Robinpaw

Badgerfang’s Friend Group

Blossomtail (best friend, mate), Swampfur (friend), Oakfur (distant friend), Applefur (former friend, deceased), Littlecloud (friend)

notes: Badgerfang is very out-going and so is his mate, Blossomtail. The two of them are friends with most every cat in the clan, especially those of the younger generation (ex.: their app-group like Wetfoot, current apprentices like Turtlepaw, or in other clans, like Ravenwing, who Badgerfang met once but thought was cool/nice, or Gorsepaw as well)

Swampfur’s Friend Group

Blossomtail (brother), Oakfur (brother), Applefur (sister, deceased), Badgerfang (friend, growing distant), Lynxpaw (close friend), Swiftpaw (mate)

notes: Swampfur has always had an interest in the cats outside of her clan and their lifestyles, and finds it easier/more interesting to be friends with cats not from her clan (including that of Tigerclaw’s followers). This has also caused her to grow less closer to her family/formerly close friends, due to the secrets she keeps.

Oakfur’s Friend Group (not on tree)

Blossomtail (brother), Swampfur (sister), Applefur (sister, close, deceased), Badgerfang (distant friend), Littlecloud (best friend), Wetfoot (friend), Brownclaw (friend)

notes: Oakfur had been very close with Applefur until she left the clan (then died). He has always been more distant from his family (ex.: Blossomtail, Swampfur, Dawncloud, Copperleaf - of which he is closest to Swampfur) and more willing to get to know Finchflight. He gets along better with the “bad crowd,” and often hangs with Tigerclaw’s followers

Other Friend Groups

WindClan’s Youngest Generation: Gorsepaw, Storkpaw, Quailpaw, Tawnykit II, Robinkit II, Rushkit 

(Storkpaw has friends outside the clans, also close to her mentor’s friend group)

ShadowClan’s Youngest Generation: Turtlepaw, Rubblepaw, Quietpaw, Rowanpaw, Lavenderpaw, Cedarpaw, Nightpaw (formerly Niko), Wildpaw (formerly Wild), Aspenkit, Fangkit, Smokekit, Snakekit

(Turtlepaw is friends with Badgerfang’s friend group; Rowanpaw is more of a loner while Lavenderpaw is welcoming to the newcomers/younger cats)

Bubbles’s Situation: She is growing closer to Tallpoppy over time, and would so far only consider her a friend/ally.

[jatlokgwo]

i keep joking about my sona/true form being like a rat but rats are actually a really good real life equivalent me sized

[krysmcscience]

It’s finally done, guys – five whole pages of Narilamb AU comic AND MORE be upon you! (If you have trouble reading any of the text, view the full-size! These pages are huge!)

Yeesh, this took forever. <:)

There’s probably a ton of inconsistencies and anatomy/perspective wonkeries, but this was mostly just comic practice, so Oh Hekkin Well, Lol <:D

(Yes, I am aware the Gateway’s door isn’t present in the Afterlife, and the actual way in is just a pentagram portal. Yes, I put the door in there anyway because Artistic License, i.e. it felt more impactful for there to be a prison door of sorts to walk through to freedom, rather than just a bland boring portal on the ground. 😠)

anyway, i hate backgrounds so much lmao

Alternate ending and a buttload of bonus art under the cut, followed by goofy AU rambles and headcanon stuff:

I’m calling it the Revival AU. It’s not all that creative a title, and someone else has probably used it already, but I am too lazy to really care, LOL

Alternate ending page, which you will Definitely need to view the full-size for, Whoopsie Daisy:

The alternate ending was actually the first ending I finished things off with, because I had a brief badbrain moment where I forgot the emotional beat I initially wanted the comic to end on, and I tend to write comedy, anyway. I later remembered and drew out the proper ending, but I preserved and finished this one, too, because it still makes me giggle.

They had to go back for the followers off-screen in the AU’s real ending. And by ‘they’ I mean just the Lamb, because they weren’t about to ask three newly freed cats to go back into what used to be their prison. The Lamb DID spend some time watching Narinder and the bois enjoying the outdoors first, though:

In other news, here’s the Lamb and me making fun of my anatomy-drawing ‘skills’:

Meanwhile, if you’re wondering why the Lamb is just a-okay with how things went down vis a vis Their Murder, this bonus comic should answer at least some of your questions:

Ah, yes, also this is how they get engaged outside of the alternate ending. Forgot to mention that bit. XD (I already refuse to believe that Narinder is capable of flirting normally, so why would his initial marriage proposal be any better???)

Oh, and before any of them get a chance to actually head back to the cult grounds, there is one potential problem:

And by ‘problem’ I mean something Narinder intends to ignore for At Minimum a thousand years. Cuz he’s a petty bitch like that. :D

what do you mean i drew the lamb too tall compared to the background? clearly they’re standing on top of baal and aym lmao, why else would you think those two aren’t in this one??? (aym and baal got way too excited about finally being outside, you see, and their silly modes are nothing to sneeze at)

And, speaking of heading back to the cult grounds, I’m sure y’all would love to know how the Lamb’s followers felt about the brand new change in management:

It all went better than expected. <:D Tiny ramble now, feel free to skip down to the next comic.

Before you ask, no, the Lamb does not have any actual powers anymore, other than the immortality Narinder definitely grants them. The Red Crown just thinks it’s funny to suggest otherwise, and Narinder does nothing to discourage this. Also, the Lamb and Narinder aren’t actually married here yet, but, uh. Pretty safe to say that particular ritual directly follows the events of this comic. XD

Given how quickly he mellows out in canon, Narinder probably chills out a lot in this AU once he’s in charge of the cult, too, if only because 1.) He’s finally free, and 2.) He’s equally smitten with and distracted by the Lamb. He’s definitely in charge at least 95% of the time, though, because the Lamb never actually wanted to be a cult leader and, now that their time as a vessel is done, they just want to be a normal(ish) sheep who’s wholly devoted to their hot new divine husband.

Some followers do still have some valid concerns about these two being together, though, which I’m sure at least a few of you might share…

Unfortunately for any such concerns, the Lamb is a bonafide masochist in this AU. :D

They’re also 100% a sub, obviously

Anyone at all: Your relationship is problematic and potentially toxic

The Lamb: fuck yeah it is, it’s so hot~ OuO

Here’s just the last panel, made transparent for whatever nefarious purposes y’all might have for it:

Additional exchange Narinder and the Lamb have at some point, probably after the Lamb does a fatal whoopsie while out on a mission trip or in response to things getting a little too sadistic in the bedroom, ahaha:

Look, there is a very important distinction between life and death, and if you don’t understand that, then you’re probably not worthy of being the God of Death, anyway. (At least, according to Narinder, and ONLY Narinder.)

Last but not least, have these shittens:

~Such creative naming conventions I have utilized, lololol~ :D Anyway, there's a few deets on them in the rambles down below.

The rest is all ramble, so before I get to that, I’ll just say – likes and especially reblogs are very much appreciated!!! :D If you happen to really really REALLY like my stuff, meanwhile, I do have a link in my bio to my ko-fi page, where I’m accepting commissions and donations if you’re especially generous… ÓuÒ

Now, BE FREE IF YOU AIN’T DOWN FOR READING MY GOOFY RAMBLES

First ramble is re: Baal’s question of ‘Did it really work?’, since I didn’t feel like expanding on it in the comic proper, and it’s arguably pretty vague? He doesn’t ask because he doubts Narinder or his capabilities, exactly, but because neither Baal nor Aym have ever actually seen their god at full power before (he’s still technically not at full power here, either). It’s not expressly stated how soon the brothers were brought to Narinder after his imprisonment, but whether it was early on or after a length of time for Shamura to (somewhat) recover from his attack, he must have already been weakened, since I have no doubts that there was a huge battle that accompanied the Bishops working together to trap him. So, between that fight with all four of his siblings, sharing his power with a variety of vessels over time, and being chained immobile for a thousand years, he must have been severely weakened by the time he lent the Red Crown out to the Lamb, which would have only weakened him further.

I like to think this is how the Lamb is able to defeat him if they refuse to be sacrificed, despite how it took all four Bishops working together to subdue and chain Narinder in the first place.

All that aside, the three cats have been trapped in the Afterlife for so long that Baal also wanted verbal reassurance that they are all, indeed, actually able to leave it now – something that I headcanon isn’t possible without a significant amount of power (i.e. the Red Crown’s cooperation with its bearer/vessel).

(On a semi-related note, I don’t headcanon Aym and Baal as twins. I like sweetheart big bro Baal and snarky little goth bro Aym too much to have them be that close in age.)

Ah, teeny thing: If you noticed I switched up the art style for Narinder on the second page, that was intentional. It's sort of a visual indicator that there has been a Big Change for him - that being, how much power he has after sacrificing the Lamb. As for why I changed up his arms in the grass rollin' pic, I don't really subscribe to the notion that his arms are spooky bones because they're horrifically injured (beyond chain-chafing scars, that is), but rather just because he's the Bishop of Death, so he can change how normal-to-spooky they look at will. At some point I might doodle out how I imagine his appearance to range between least to most eldritch... 🤔

Next ramble, regarding Narinder’s feelings towards the Lamb...he was initially too focused on being freed from his imprisonment to form any real attachment to them. They were a tool for his use, first and foremost, but he did notice their intense devotion towards him. It was impossible not to notice, because the Lamb was always very happy to see him, even if it was because they died during a crusade (yet again). He wasn’t originally planning to revive them once he was freed, either, because he saw no real point to it – after all, they were already dead when they first met him, just as any other mortal would be when meeting him in the Afterlife, so death has very little real consequence in his eyes. But, once the chains were off, and it really sank in that he stood to lose the most devoted follower he’s ever had, he decided…why put their soul to rest for good or leave them stuck in the Afterlife when he could just as easily revive them again? And why not reward them for their hard work, anyway? Not only would it cost him nothing by comparison, but the future devotion that could come of it would surely make up for his (bare minimum) effort in reviving them.

He wasn’t expecting to get a full dose of that devotion and a smiling face so soon after killing them, though~ :3c (because the Lamb is a bonafide freak, and not-so-secretly into the fucked up power dynamics going on here, lol)

I should mention here that I am firmly of the belief that any non-god/vessel who crosses through the Gateway and into the Afterlife just straight up dies. So, Aym and Baal? Also straight up dead, from the second Shamura brought them through. Their souls were just never put to rest so that Narinder could have some company – if only according to Shamura. Narinder kept the two around mostly out of bewilderment, because honestly, who are these kittens, and what is Shamura’s game here, anyway??? They never even explained anything, they just tossed these kittens into the Afterlife and LEFT!!! At any rate, Aym and Baal being dead is how I explain why their souls apparently become lost in the void if they’re killed, along with the added complications required to revive the two because of it.

So, with those deets in mind, and given a bit of time, if Narinder hadn’t chosen to revive the Lamb, and also hadn’t chosen to put their soul to rest, they still would have woken up at some point, despite being as straight up dead as Aym and Baal. Who, don’t worry, were also properly revived while Narinder was waiting for the Lamb to wake up. Because I am also firmly of the belief that, first, the dead cannot leave the Afterlife without the use of a ritual/relic (and can't stay in the living world for long regardless), and second, dead followers’ devotion isn’t anywhere near as potent as that of the living, given how much more the living stand to lose.

Final ramble, regarding the Lamb’s feelings towards Narinder, and why they’re so devoted to him…

Well, you don’t spend most of your life on the run with your steadily-dwindling herd, trying to evade the ongoing genocide of your species, without becoming a little fucked up in the head. Maybe a lot fucked up in the head. Life is suffering, so might as well have fun with it, right? Maybe start finding death and pain to be kind of hilarious, even a little bit hot, once everyone you know and love is dead and gone, leaving you all alone? And maybe after that, there’s something comforting in how, despite the cold, cruel uncertainties of life, at least you can always count on the inevitability of death, patiently waiting for you until your very last breath? Who knows. Either way, as soon as the Lamb was killed, and they learned that the literal God of Death was offering them a second chance at life and vengeance via effective immortality, they were 100% ride-or-die-devoted all at once. Turns out death is kinder than life – go figure. (Of course, it helps that Narinder is 100% their type.)

They weren’t put off by Narinder’s thinly-veiled sadism or manipulations, either – they’re not too different in those regards, albeit opting for vastly different methods. It’s a very ‘two sides of the same coin’ sort of deal. In order to stay alive once they were made the last of their kind, the Lamb had no qualms with using others to their advantage, and that did not change once they were revived and expected to run a cult. They didn’t care for the position of authority, though – being a sheep and all, they’re much more of a follower than a leader, and thus greatly appreciated Narinder’s need for control. With how they had to keep on their toes for so long, the Lamb was also pretty good at reading people by the time they died, so they could recognize that a lot of Narinder’s posturing was just that – posturing. Dude’s 95% bluster and only 5% bite. He could obviously be vicious when he wanted or needed to (the Bishops' injuries were clear proof of that), but underneath his outer layer of cruelty was a generous layer of tsundere, and underneath all THAT was a soft squishy middle sibling velcro cat in desperate need of attention and affection.

(Which, for the record, he Did Not feel comfortable getting from Aym and Baal – Narinder still has no idea why the fuck Shamura sent them to him, beyond acting as keepers at best or trying to sabotage his attempts to escape at worst. Which, he thought HE sabotaged in turn, by guiding the kittens into being his devoted disciples instead. He thought he was very clever for it. ‘I outsmarted Shamura!’ he thought, despite that there was never anything there to outsmart. ‘What do you mean, Shamura sent your kittens to me for company?’ he demands of Forneus later. It may or may not lead him to pull Shamura out of Purgatory just so he can shake them and scream about how they should have Fucking Explained that!!!)

But, getting back on track as to why the Lamb was so willing to be sacrificed, I cannot stress this enough – if you pay even a minimal amount of attention to what he’s saying, Narinder is REALLY NOT SUBTLE about his intentions. ‘Death is of little consequence.’ ‘Followers are for you to use to your advantage.’ ‘Sacrifice a follower to absorb more power.’ So, yeah, the Lamb knew exactly what would be expected of them once the other Bishops were dead. They knew Narinder would expect them to die for him one last time. But, after all, death is of little consequence (not to mention hot), so when the time came, they wanted to see him freed, even if it meant oblivion for them in the end.

He’d given them a second life, and the ability to avenge their kin, and they felt indebted to him for that – so, while they were still pretty glum about the possibility that they might not get to see him free of his chains, nothing beyond their devotion and debt to him mattered. They never wanted all the drama and expectations that came with the Red Crown’s power, anyway, so, better for Narinder to have it back so that he could deal with it. What he did with the Lamb afterward would be up to him, and seeing as he was their god, they’d accept his decision gladly.

Were they in love with him by that point? Oh, obsessively so, but only in the devotional sense – romance was nowhere on their mind nor radar. That is, until he unexpectedly revived them again, told them he still needed them, and then offered down his hand to help them up.

The Lamb fell HARD for him in that moment. :3c

And now, a tiny shitten ramble. Lu and Li are twins, because sheep tend to have those a lot, and are conceived not long after the Lamb and Narinder’s marriage ceremony. Lu is the minutes older one, but Li is much more mature. I have put no further thought into these two, other than that they are utter menaces, birthed by the Lamb, cling hard to both their parents but especially Narinder (who spoils them rotten), and they are both genderfluid, using whichever pronouns/names they feel like at any given time. They are also both intersex, same as the Lamb, who was initially infertile up until Something Something Vague Magic, which I have also put no further thought into ¯\_(シ)_/¯

oh, and before anyone tries to suggest i headcanon this AU’s lamb as trending more female due to them giving birth or whatever, no, no, a thousand times no, they might have a vag, but they've also got a dick, and even if it's not as big as they'd like, they still know how to use it

Finally, the very tentative name for the Lamb in this AU is Yazdi, which is really just another name for the Baluchi breed of sheep XD (Not that the Lamb is this specific breed, I just didn’t like any of the other sheep-related names I found, ahaha...)

THAT’S ALL FOR NOW (collapses into an exhausted pile of goopy limbs)

[dandylovesturtles]

Made myself emotional over the “Leo and Donnie chose to be twins” headcanon.

———

“By the way, it’s Leo and Donnie’s birthday next Thursday. You’re coming, right?”

Draxum looked up from his work organizing next week’s lunch schedule to look at Michelangelo, sitting on the counter and swinging his feet. Celebrating individual birthdays wasn’t a thing that the yokai did, but Draxum had been forced to accept that the boys could not be dissuaded from this human tradition. He’d been to two birthday parties now, for Michelangelo and Raphael respectively, eating cake and presenting them with some small trinket he purchased.

He’d known that he would have to go to more birthday parties at some point. But he wasn’t expecting two at once.

“Why on the same day? I can’t imagine the blue one wanting to share.” Actually, he couldn’t imagine Donatello wanting to share, either.

“Oh,” said Michelangelo with a laugh. “That’s ‘cause they’re twins!”

Draxum stared at him. “Twins? What kind of nonsense is that?”

Mikey tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“They’re entirely different species, for starters,” Draxum pointed out.

“I mean, we all are, but we’re still brothers.”

“Yes, by virtue of your shared DNA donor and the circumstances of your raising.” Draxum waved that off. “But “twins” refers to a situation where two children are born at once, especially as the result of a split of a fertilized egg. Which is absolutely impossible in the case of Leonardo and Donatello. Even if I were to be charitable and simply consider them “twins” for having the same hatch day, I can tell you they do not.”

“Uh, okay,” said Michelangelo, unimpressed. “But they’ve always been twins, so I don’t think it matters to them.”

“Why not? I would think it would matter to Donatello especially, since he claims to be scientifically minded.”

Michelangelo laughed. “Not everything is about science, Barry. Not even to Donnie.”

“Then his decisions about when to apply science and when not to are inconsistent and confusing.”

“Well, it’s their birthday, so they get to pick.”

“I am certain that is not how birthdays work.”

“It’s how it works for us!” Michelangelo slipped off the counter. “We’ll see you on Thursday, right? It’ll mean a lot to them if you come!”

Draxum was fairly sure Leonardo in particular would prefer he didn’t, but that didn’t matter. Now he had a mission: he had to correct this strange incongruence.

“Yes, I will be there.”

“Yay!” cheered Michelangelo. “Okay, see ya Dad!”

He squeezed Draxum around the waist on his way out. Draxum was finding he didn’t mind that as much as he used to.

———

Leonardo and Donatello’s party was just as loud and obnoxious as the other two. Blue and purple decorations covered every inch of the old subway station, strange music blared from unseen speakers, and a horrendous amount of junk food was spread out over a table. It was the same group of people present today as there ever was, the eclectic mix of humans and yokai that the boys considered family, but it felt like a crowd three times the size with the amount of noise being made.

Draxum stood off on his own for most of it, his slim birthday present already delivered to the table stacked with gifts. He’d been a little shocked when Donatello and then Leonardo came by to say hello, since he’d been prepared to be ignored by both of them. It was… nice, maybe, that they did that. Even if Leonardo just wanted to make jokes at his expense.

For most of the party, the two birthday boys seemed to be competing with each other for attention. In fact, the longer he took it all in, the whole affair seemed like a clash of ideas. The purple decorations were neat and tidy, geometric patterns and hard angles. The blue decorations were whimsical, uncoordinated, and haphazard, and there were places it seemed someone had deliberately covered up some of the purple with the blue. Leonardo wanted to play rock music and Donatello wanted to play techno. The cake was a mess because they’d both requested different themes for the decorations. There were arguments between the two of them every few minutes, and according to the human girl April this was “typical behavior.”

But why? They weren’t really twins. They didn’t have to share this day.

Hopefully Draxum’s plan would fix all this nonsense.

When it was time for gifts, Leonardo loudly declared that he was going first, sparking an argument. They squabbled for a bit before agreeing to play rock-paper-scissors, which was apparently what they did every year.

Leonardo won the game and celebrated obnoxiously while Donatello scowled at him. Then he gestured at the gift table - which Draxum, in his efforts to stay out of the main throng, was closest to.

“Hey, Barry! Grab me a gift! Make it a good one.”

Draxum sighed but reached over to take one of the blue packages, checking the tag to make sure it was for Leonardo. “This one is… to Leo from Donnie,” he read.

“Oh no, not that one. Our presents to each other are always last.”

“Because they always get sappy about it,” said April with a laugh.

“Do not!” yelled Leonardo at the same time Donatello hissed, “You take that back!”

“Uh, yeah you do, and you know I’m right.”

Draxum ignored the petty argument to look back at the gift table. If they weren’t going to be satisfied with his choice, he might as well give them his own gift.

He lifted it, in its sensible brown packaging, off the table and handed it over.

“Why not start with this? It’s to both of you from me.”

“Both of us at once?” asked Leonardo. “Oh man, you’re throwing off our whole system, Barry.”

“Yes, but he’s giving it to you,” Donatello pointed out, “which means my turn is still next.”

“Uh, no, if it’s for both of us then it counts for both of us, which means it comes back around to me!”

“Ooooh no, you do not get to loophole your way into opening two presents in a row-“

“Ahem!” Draxum loudly cleared his throat, getting their attention. “Would you please just open it?”

“Yikes,” said Leonardo. “Touchy.”

“Some people just don’t understand the sanctity of opening birthday gifts,” said Donatello with a sniff. But he leaned in to watch as Leonardo tore off the wrapping paper and opened the box.

They were both silent for a moment, staring at it. Then Leonardo said, “Uh, no offense, Barry, but what is this?”

“It’s a… scientific study on how twins are formed during the gestational period,” said Donatello, pulling the paper clipped thesis from the box. “Oh, there are more in here… Also about twins.”

“Uh…” Leonardo blinked at it, clearly bewildered. Well, he was always a bit slow. “Thanks…? I think?”

“Not that I don’t appreciate the scientific literature,” said Donatello, “but this isn’t really my area of study and Leo does better with training manuals and textbooks than research papers.” He looked up at Draxum. “Is there something about this we aren’t getting?”

“Yes there is,” said Draxum, sweeping his hand around at the entire party. “I am here to correct your mistaken assumption that you are twins.”

The room fell silent. Donatello set the paper back in the box, staring at him. Leonardo’s brow creased in anger.

“We are twins, though,” he said, setting the box aside like it was burning him.

“No, you are not. There is simply no way that the two of you could be twins. It is biologically impossible.”

“You think that I’m so stupid I don’t know that?” Donatello demanded, getting up from the chair he was sitting in. “Are you doubting my intelligence?”

“Yes, if you honestly think you are twins with him, then I am.”

“Uhhh, Draxum,” said Michelangelo quickly, stepping between him and the now furious Donatello, “this was a… funny joke, but you can stop now-“

“This is not a joke. I am simply explaining the facts.”

“Yeah, well,” now Leonardo was on his feet, too, “the facts are that me and Donnie are twins. Always have been, always will be.”

“You are not,” Draxum insisted. “And given what I have seen here today, I’d think you’d both be relieved, since you clearly don’t enjoy being twins!”

Both boys looked like they’d just been slapped in the face. The rest of the room had gone completely silent, like everyone was collectively holding their breath.

Donatello broke first, turning on his heel and marching out of the room, his hands balled into fists and his shoulders hunched up as high as they could go. “Dee!” called Leonardo, and then he was scurrying off after him. There was the sound of a heavy door slamming, then silence.

It didn’t last long.

“Draxum!” roared the rat, actually getting up from his chair to get in Draxum’s face. “You come in here and upset my boys on their own birthday!?”

“Seriously not cool, Drax,” said the human April. Cassandra shook her head in shared disappointment behind her.

Draxum pushed Lou Jitsu back, scowling at his accusers. “I was only explaining reality! This is really the rat’s fault for letting their delusion go on so long.”

“Delusion!?”

“Barry!”

“Rat!?”

“Ooookay,” said Raphael suddenly, stepping his way into the middle of the fray and starting to herd Draxum back toward the exit. “That’s enough of that for now.”

“I am simply trying to explain-“

“Trust me, hoss, you wanna step away from this one,” said Raphael, and his tone was angry but surprisingly measured. “Come on.”

They retreated to the sewer tunnels outside the subway station. The smell was much worse out here, and Draxum wrinkled his nose.

“Alright.” Raphael heaved a sigh, folding his arms. “So here’s the deal. Mikey likes you, and I guess I kinda do too, so I’m gonna try to help you before you completely torpedo your chances with the rest of the guys. Which, you kinda did already, but maybe we can turn it around.”

“I still don’t understand why they’re so upset,” said Draxum. “Surely it was obvious they aren’t twins.”

“Uh, yeah, they know they aren’t twins by bio-whatever,” agreed Raphael. “They ain’t stupid.”

“Hmm.” Draxum turned up his nose. “Donatello isn’t stupid, maybe.”

“Leo ain’t stupid, either, he just pretends like it.” Raphael pinched his brow. “Listen, that isn’t the point - the point is they already know they didn’t come from the same egg or hatch the same day or whatever. They’re just twins anyway.”

“But how? That doesn’t make sense!”

Raphael sighed again. “Alright, look. Dad didn’t know when we hatched, right? But we all wanted birthday parties like we saw on TV, so he let us pick.”

“Yes. And for some reason Leonardo and Donatello chose the same day.” Draxum could figure that much out on his own.

Raphael nodded. “I was the biggest and oldest, and Mikey was the littlest and youngest, and Leo and Donnie were just kinda sandwiched in the middle. I think at first they just wanted a thing. Somethin’ that set them apart from me and Mikey, ya know?”

“Not really,” said Draxum. Raphael glared at him, and he sighed. “But go on.”

“So they picked the same birthday and called themselves twins. I think Pops just so glad they were actually getting along that he agreed to it. And I think he thought once we got to the day, and they realized they were really gonna have to share it, they’d both demand their own day instead. I know I thought that was gonna happen.” He smiled at the memory. “But the day came, and… they fussed the whole time just like they do now. Arguing about what kind of cake they wanted and who got to open their present first. But they didn’t ask to split. They kept it the same day, and they kept calling each other twins and it just stuck, until we didn’t question it anymore.”

“…They are both stubborn,” Draxum pointed out, and Raphael laughed once.

“Yeah, guess they are. But that’s not what this is.” Raphael shrugged. “They chose each other back then. Maybe at first it was just to have a thing, but then it became real. And every single year they keep choosing each other. That’s why they’re twins.”

Choosing each other as twins… Draxum furrowed his brow. “It’s not normally a choice,” he pointed out finally.

“Yeah, well, our family doesn’t get a lot of choices, so just let ‘em have this one, okay?”

“…Fine,” Draxum finally relented. “As long as it’s noted that this is purely a social designation, and not a biological one.”

“Uh, sure, whatever.” Raphael rolled his eyes. “Glad we got that cleared up, though. Think you can come back to the party and behave?”

Draxum wrinkled his nose at that phrasing, but nodded. “Yes. I will not bring it up again.”

“Good!” Raphael’s smile abruptly transitioned into something much more dangerous. “Because if you make my little brothers upset on their birthday again, I’ll remind you what it was like when we were enemies.”

Then the smile was back. “Now let’s go in!”

He walked back to the subway station, leaving Draxum to follow on his own. Draxum couldn’t help but sigh wistfully.

Raphael would have made a great general for his army.

———

The boys had already returned by the time Draxum got back. They were opening more gifts, and he noted they were wearing hoodies now - though they had apparently decided to swap their signature colors. They were smiling and chattering, and any hint of their earlier upset was gone.

Until Draxum stepped into their line of sight, and both of them went rigid, wary of him.

Apparently just talking to the red one was not enough. Draxum would have to do more. What a pain.

But he didn’t want the boys to hate him. So he sighed and launched into it.

“I… am sorry. I shouldn’t have said you aren’t twins.”

The boys looked surprised at that; slowly, their posture loosened back up.

“And… to make up for my present, I will… take the two of you wherever you want to go in the Hidden City.” The next words were painful, and he ground them out. “My treat.”

Leonardo and Donatello shifted their gaze from him to each other. They were silent, but it didn’t seem like they needed to talk to have a conversation.

Then they finally looked back at Draxum, slow grins growing over both their faces.

Eerily matching, very evil grins.

“Oh,” said Leonardo, happily menacing. “I think we can think of something.”

“I concur,” said Donatello in the exact same tone.

Oh, thought Draxum. Maybe they really are twins.

[kazekagevi]

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

[amelianeek]

TRANSGENDER WOMEN IN SPORTS & BEYOND Amelia the Neek | Prose: Informative Article

The outpouring of hate directed at Olympic boxers, Imane Khelif and Lin Yu-ting, is completely unfounded. Firstly, being transgender is not a crime nor a moral deviation. Furthermore, neither of these remarkable athletes are transgender women. They were both born biologically and identify as cisgender women. This reproveable viral controversy stems from misinterpreted blood test results, not any slight on their part.

In Imane Khelif's case, she has differences of sexual development (DSDs), which involves genetic, hormonal, and reproductive variations. While Khelif has XY chromosomes, she otherwise develops and identifies as female. As for Lin Yu-ting, her high testosterone levels could easily be attributed to common factors like medications or intense physical training, not gender identity.

Once it was determined that the initial test results were inaccurate, the International Olympic Committee confirmed the athletes' eligibility. Yet "some" news outlets continue to push the false narrative, demonstrating the need to verify facts before spreading harmful "opinions". Athletes deserve respect, not uninformed attacks.

The claim that transgender women have an inherent physical advantage over cisgender women is often oversimplified. The reality is more complex. While some transgender women may have certain physical attributes that provide a competitive edge, this is not universally true. Athletic ability varies greatly among both transgender and cisgender athletes and is influenced by a complex interplay of factors beyond just biological sex. Many cisgender women have outperformed not only trans competitors but cisgender men as well, demonstrating that genetics and reproductive anatomy are not reliable predictors of athletic prowess. Additionally, the effects of hormone therapy on trans women's muscle mass and physical capabilities can negate any purported advantages. Each athlete should be evaluated as an individual, rather than making blanket generalizations about trans women in sports.

Take Dana Linn Baily for example. She is a prime example of a ciswoman at her absolute physical peak. How many men have you met who can match her level of muscular development? Importantly, Baily has never once tested positive for steroids over the course of her entire career. While not all women may be able to achieve a physique like Baily's, the facts are clear - she can bench press 225 pounds and squat 300 pounds. In contrast, most cisgender men cannot bench more than 165 pounds, and trans women often have less muscle mass due to the effects of estrogen, which limits muscle growth. This suggests that Baily's physique is the result of her dedication, not any gender-based advantage.

Ignorance and trans bigotry aside, the logical fear behind all of this is the potential dangers of seriously mismatching competitors in terms of weight class. Typically, the larger and stronger person will defeat the smaller and weaker one. However, there have been real-life David and Goliath situations (photos above) in which the smaller opponent arose victorious due to greater skill and wits. These situations have also included instances where cisgender women have defeated not only trans women but cisgender men as well, proving that size alone does not determine the outcome… but it does help.

Despite what you may believe, being transgender is not a choice. While individuals can choose to alter their bodies to match their internal sense of gender, being transgender is a fundamental aspect of one's identity. Research has shown that the human brain is a sex-typed organ, with distinct neural structures and connectivity patterns that vary between males and females. However, these differences are inconsistent. Once adjusted for head size, the sex-based distinctions become even less pronounced.

Some sex-associated behavioral and cognitive differences do exist but are not absolute. These variations are influenced by a complex interplay of factors, including cultural influences, hormone levels, and sex chromosome combinations. It is crucial to recognize this nuance and avoid oversimplifying or reinforcing gender stereotypes when studying these differences. Not all individuals conform to the general trends observed between men and women. Ultimately, recognizing the natural variations in the human brain is an important step toward greater understanding and acceptance of transgender identities.

The claim by some less-educated Republicans that transgender people are a new phenomenon created by the political left is simply incorrect. While the term "transgender" was first used in 1965 and gained widespread use in the early 1990s, gender-variant individuals have been documented throughout history, dating back to ancient times. Records show the existence of Scythian (Greek) and Galli (Roman) priests who were biologically male but chose to live and identify as women, with some even opting for self-castration. Similarly, the Kathoey of Thailand and the recognized "third gender" individuals in various Native American tribes are examples of gender diversity that predate modern terminology. Evidence of gender variance can also be found in the ancient cultures of Scandinavia, Japan, Egypt, and beyond.

There are some truly amazing transgender people in this world, some of which I greatly admire, including a great number of public figures such as Laverne Cox, Elliot Fletcher, Nicole Maines, Leo Sheng, Alexandra Billings, Elliot Page, Indya Moore, Scott Turner Schofield, Sophie, and Brian Michael Smith.

The truth can be quite fascinating… if you're willing to learn.

[monstersdownthepath]

Milestone Monster: The Oliphaunt of Jandelay

CR 30

Chaotic Neutral Titanic Outsider

Mythic Realms, pg. 58-59 (pic taken from Adventure Path: Rise of the Runelords: Sins of the Saviors, pg. 63)

Only once in all of recorded history has the Oliphaunt of Jandelay trod on soil outside its home plane, called to Golarion by a powerful archmage--one of the Runelords, no less--and used as the mother of all siege animals against his enemies. In its footprints, lakes grew and cities disappeared. Where it passed, mountains moved aside and valleys formed below it, if only to keep its back from scraping the sky. A churning storm of incredible proportions heralded its arrival and marked its departure, the weather itself seeming to fight alongside the Oliphaunt as though the grand storm saw kindred in the apocalyptic beast.

It is a titan in all but name, a monstrosity of such immense size that it appears to be a mountain from a distance. The Spindletorn, over a thousand feet tall, was created by the Runelord who sought to command the Oliphaunt to give him just enough height to look the beast in the eye. This is because the destroyer is utterly immune to all mind-affecting effects unless it can draw line of sight to the creature using them, and most creatures are simply too far beneath its notice for it to even bother separating them from the background. Even then, the caster in question must know how to naturally speak fluent Celestial or the infinitely more bizarre Jandelayan (language-cheating magic such as Tongues does not work!) AND speak loudly enough to be heard over the rumble of its footsteps and the roaring storm that surrounds it, or the Oliphaunt may ignore any attempt to subvert its will.

The feat of calling it into the world has not been replicated since, as the method of stealing the Oliphaunt from its home was lost alongside the Runelord that first performed the deed, who was either executed for his calamitous crime or destroyed by the retribution of Jandelay when it recalled its creator, slave, and guardian. When Runelord Gimmel gained command over the great beast, he thought himself unstoppable, but what he did not know was the great Guardian of Jandelay makes new saves against every effect holding it in a new plane each day, even if the effect doesn’t normally offer a save. Once it succeeds, it is pulled back into Jandelay... and everything and everyone within five miles of the beast is utterly destroyed. Every creature within the sphere is targeted with Mass Hold Monster (DC 30 Will to avoid), and then the entire 5-mile bubble is wracked with a perpetual Earthquake and Storm of Vengeance that rages for 1d12 months, assuring nothing remains but the memories of those who managed to escape.

It caused a terrifying disaster when it was present, and a worse one when it left. The armies of the Runelords could not best the beast, what hope would something as inconsequential as a group of adventurers have to best such a beast?

Quite a bit of hope, actually. In fact, I advise DMs to play with the system a little in regards to how the Oliphaunt operates, especially since the art of it remains relatively inconsistent with its implied scale. The Spindlethorn is over a thousand feet tall, yet all art of the great beast portrays it as maybe a hundred or so feet, much smaller than any of the Kaiju, which it shares much with (including the fact it’s saddled with the Massive rule). The landscape of the land it moved through is supposed to have irrevocably altered, with its footprints forming new lakes, mountains pushed aside or trod over and reduced to rubble, and entire cities wiped out just by it walking through them. It’s of impossible size and world-shaking power, far beyond anything a normal party should be able to handle were it to turn its attention on them... which is why I recommend, among other things, that the Oliphaunt’s statblock represent a small part of the beast; a section of its back or head that the party has made it to in order to break some device or magic that’s been put into place by a third party. The majority of its attacks aren’t purposeful actions, but things like incidental footsteps, swings of its trunk, thrashes of its head, the lashings of the storm that surrounds it and the backlash of the Wards of Jandelay that coat its body seeking to defend it. That last one is especially fun to imagine, as the Wards already grant it numerous defensive abilities, so why not some offense as well?

I also enjoy the potential narrative change of what its 740 HP represents. Reducing that to 0? That’s doesn’t kill it, that drives it back. It’s still the victory condition, but rather than to slay the Oliphaunt, it’s to break whatever is holding it in the plane to send it back to Jandelay without triggering the retributive destruction of the Guardian of Jandelay (and if it’s already in Jandelay and the players are somehow there too, it should be completely unassailable). The preservation of the Oliphaunt’s mystique is what I aim for with this, especially since--as written--the Oliphaunt doesn’t come back if it’s slain, which is a little odd considering what it is and what it represents.

But what does it take for a party to drive back a living apocalypse? A lot of damn effort. It has DR 20/Epic and Regeneration 35 that’s suppressed only by Acid damage from a Mythic source, and that’s just the start! The Wards of Jandelay that protect the beast raise its AC all the way up to 50, and even its touch AC is an impressive 30 despite its size. It’s also shielded by 41 SR, immune to any mind-affecting effect that comes from a creature it cannot draw line of sight to, and any attempt to get in front of it without the use of physical flight or (as Runelord Gimmel tried) climbing up and meeting the beast’s eye is thwarted by the enormous aura that surrounds it: a 500ft bubble radiating off its body in every direction that forces any creature attempting to use any form of teleportation or dimension-hopping (including but not limited to Etherealness, Shadow Walk, and Plane Shift) into, out of, or within the bubble to succeed a DC 41 Will save or the attempt fails. The Oliphaunt even shuts off Gate automatically without allowing a save unless the creator of the effect is either Mythic or an Artifact, so if you want to maneuver around in the bubble with minimal resource use, it’s going to be via actual running/flying.

... I do not actually recommend flying. Not only is this a good way to draw the Oliphaunt’s incredibly dangerous attention, but it’s also surrounded by a Weather Sphere that’s 5 miles in diameter, and inside this sphere it has complete control of the environmental conditions. It doesn’t matter the season or the setting, the Oliphaunt can create blizzards in a summer desert with nothing more than a thought. It can change the weather inside the sphere once per round as a free action, though for obvious reason it tends to stick with destructive storms (which are difficult to fly in, even with magic). Hurricane-force winds, tornadoes, and deadly lightning spring up constantly around it, harmless to the mountainous beast but devastating for everything around it. Once per round as another free action, the Oliphaunt can call down a bolt of lightning to deal 5d10 damage to anything it can see so long as its weather sphere is set to stormy, which is just a little bit more damage on top of what it can already do.

Whatever section of the Oliphaunt the players are standing on takes up an 80ft square, and though the beast has an 80ft reach, it’s also Massive, so no AoOs against a typical party anyway. Getting onto its back or head to attack it should be the plan, as fighting it from below simply shouldn’t be a viable option. Anyone trying should take the Oliphaunt’s 4d10+25 trample damage every round! Each of its other natural attacks deal 4d10+17 damage each, except for its trunk, which deals 4d8+8 damage instead. Via its stats, it has 2 slams, 4 gore attacks with its massive tusks, and a bite attack, but as per my recommendations, re-characterizing these to be lashings of the storm, the rolling and thundering of the Oliphaunt’s body, and the Wards along its form attacking any creature on it are all possible. The Wards being the aggressor especially make sense in regards to the Ruinous Tusks ability, normally allowing its gore attacks to be treated as adamantine and also automatically afflict any creature they strike with Greater Dispel Magic! which, since it can make four such attacks a round, means it shreds through buffs and defensive magic with frustrating ease and swiftness. That’s basically what creatures need at this level to overcome the buffs that high-level people slather on themselves like sunscreen, but that doesn’t change the fact it’s terrifying from the player’s perspective to have their protection AND hitpoints shredded at the same time.

Perhaps one of the few limbs of the Oliphaunt that could reasonably join in on the battle are its massive ears swatting at troublesome players (is two slams), and of course its winding trunk. The trunk deals the least damage of all its attacks, easily characterized by it simply being too big to impact a creature directly, like a gnat slipping through the holes of a fly swatter, but it carries the threat of Grabbing and constricting victims for 4d8+25 damage each round the grapple isn’t broken. Any creature grappled by the trunk (or the beast’s bite attack/imprisoned by the mystic wards) can also be drawn inside the great beast’s mouth(/constricted by the magic) to take 4d10+17 further damage every round. Unlike many creatures with Swallow Whole, cutting one’s way out of the Oliphaunt presents a secondary danger in simply falling hundreds of feet to the ground.

I find it more than a little amusing that the Oliphaunt has spell-likes, though giving up its potential full-attack to use them is silly. It can use Greater Shout at will, presumably because of its trumpeting, to deal 10d6 Sonic damage to everything in a 60ft cone and potentially stunning and deafening victims. It also can use Transmute Rock to Mud 3/day for reasons I can scarcely understand, since a single footstep has roughly the same effect as the spell upon terrain. Maybe if it needs to mire an army, rather than to destroy it? I don’t know. If the storms don’t stop an army from marching against it, I can’t imagine that a little mud will. It’s strange that it has spells with such minor effects, when compared to the destruction it can wreak simply by walking from Point A to Point B.

One of the strangest things about the Oliphaunt to me, though, is that it’s not actually a mindless beast. it has the Intelligence and Wisdom of a normal human, and even possesses enough ranks in a few Knowledge skills to give it superhuman insight into Arcana, Religion, and Planes. It has a curious amount of Diplomacy, enough to be able to sway any entity it deigns to speak to, though there’s never been a mention of it speaking to anyone. It speaks Celestial and Jandelayan, one uncommon and one unheard of, but that it can speak at all is surprising. Who has heard the Oliphaunt’s voice? What does it say, and to whom?

All of these skills aren’t being used to speak with the Watchers, who are always invisible to its senses (and who fear and worship it), their Inconspicuous ability bypassing its Ward Against Command entirely. So who exactly is it speaking to, if anyone? Who is it using its Knowledge to impress and understand? Who is it using Diplomacy to sway and Intimidate to cow, and who is it using Sense Motive to gain insight into, if not the Watchers or the Collected? It’s said the Collected fear it immensely, grow terrified when it approaches their lands, but this is understandable given its size and what it represents. If such a beast approached me, even with gentle intent, I would be a little spooked too. Maybe it’s Jandelay itself it communes with?

For all the lore it has which tells of the destruction it wreaks with its mere existence, for all the talk of it representing destruction and calamity, it did create Jandelay explicitly to preserve worlds that had been destroyed, at least in some fashion. It protects the realm and is protected by it in turn, and only when removed from its museum of lost worlds does it lash out so violently until its creation, its home, its child, calls it back and wracks the world that took it in the with terrible storms and neverending earthquakes. Elephants are gentle creatures by their nature, lashing out only when provoked, and who’s to say the same is not true for the Oliphaunt of Jandelay? The only example of its behavior ever seen on Golarion is when it was stolen from its land and controlled by a madman seeking conquest.

Perhaps it shares more than a little in common with its fellow CR 30 Colossal and unwillingly apocalyptic Leviathan.

You can read more about it here.

[nomsfaultau]

pretty please tell us the math how f!tubbo can kill The Blade, the only things I have in mind are quite horrid and gore lolol

Huge tw for stinging insects! and math

The how is rather simple and clean Fault magic theory: The Blood God's 'instant win' power activates in retaliation to an attack, and works on an individual level. And since Tubbos' swarms are multitudes, technically independent adversaries, there will not really be any reality bending that The Blood God can use to guarantee Tubbo looses. So Tubbo would actually have a fair fight on their hands unlike everyone else in the series. All they need to do is enough damage and keep their body very very far away, which is pretty easy since they can fly.

Background information: Notably, boars can die to very, very determined bee swarms! There's really horrible news articles if you're curious. Potentially based on size one might want to compare The Blade to a bear though, due to thick fur and dermis that notoriously makes bears very resistant to bee stings. However, at vulnerable places like the face bee stings can get through, and Tubbo is notably intelligent and would aim for vulnerable places. So I'm going to mostly ignore that for math's sake, but it is something to keep in mind.

Math: LD50 makes the math (theoretically) very easy, as venom/poison/toxin deaths mostly scale up by weight. The average (North American) adult human is 180 pounds, The Blade is ~6,700 pounds at his time of capture in the Foundation. Which. I've done a lot of math about his weight, and that's what's written in the Casefiles so I'm going with it.

The hard part: Very inconsistent numbers for how many bee stings it takes to kill a dude :/ I've found estimates ranging from 50-1000. Which is rudely inconsistent. Luckily this lovely site calculates the LD50 of a honey bee sting, and since it estimates a 178 pound adult dying at 3831 stings and I'd prefer to overestimate the amount it takes, I will be using their formula of _____kg X 2.8 / .059 = ______ stings to receive fatal dose of venom. Just plug in The Blade's weight (in kg not ib like I did on the first round of this post) and voila it could take as many as 144,227.003 bee stings. Or using the other estimates I found, could be between 1,861--37,222 bee stings. Mostly being injected right into The Blade's face. Joy! We're making the assumption that his head is being targeted wouldn't affect the LD50, but let's be frank, that's worrisomely close to his brain.

Now...these are honey bees. Notably they die when they sting mammals with soft skin, unlike most bees. So if we make the assumption that each bee dies with the sting, then we have a very easy shot from here- does Tubbo have enough bees to sting between 1,861 and 144,227.003 times?

Tubbos' number of bees depends greatly at the timeline point in Fault. In WHIT Croplands they're easily over a million, which gets cut down to 400,000 in the Foundation. At their lowest population (during the escape wherein The Blade crunches in their legs, conveniently the moment when they'd be most likely to want revenge) Tubbo is about at 200,000 bees which is barely enough to move their body. So yep! Tubbo could very easily murder The Blade, although at the higher estimate they might not have enough bees to get the body to safety. But they can also regrow their body with the 56,000~ bees left, since that's still a good sized hive in normal honey bee standards.

The ugly part: bee venom! Nasty nasty stuff. So I'm putting it under a line for body horror <3

Anaphylaxis is likely, as are things like cardiovascular collapse, respiratory failure. However...this venom is not injected all at once. It's adding up, and in the article I read about the half ton boar killed by a swarm took over two hours to actually die. This is going to be a very, very slow death.

Given The Blade's high pain tolerance and body mass, I figure he's still going to be swinging for a long time. Just, he can't fly, and thus can't really retaliate well against the bee source. His eyes, ears, and nose would go first, quickly losing the ability to navigate anything other than touch. The cacophonous buzzing gives way to ominous silence. Lots of swelling, venom slowly working its way through his tough hide into his body. Limbs beginning to loose function, becoming an immovable lump of pain. Potentially he falls into a coma, breathing increasingly shallow as his heart shudders beneath the venom. Slowly, slowly succumbing to the venom winding through his veins.

At his size, it could potentially take days for him to be killed.

luuuuuuuuuckily Tubbo is a pacifist so that'll never happen!

[likeastars]

Uuuuuggghhhh fuck it. Idk if I'll ever have the strength to work on this beast again, so you get a wip!!!!!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s a small cottage, sitting comfortably in a clearing of the forest, not drawn nor doodled in any corner of any map, a cutout from a postcard hastily scrapped in the middle of the grass. A quick glance at the roof reveals it has been repaired its fair number of times, while a touch on the door handle tells that the rust on the lock is newer than the one scratching the pommel. The walls are obviously old, their wood is inconsistent in both size and type, and they breathe out heavy, weighed down by the many coats of colour. The last one changes halfway through, as if it was suddenly done by somebody else.

It’s not a convenient house, and it has no way of being comfortable for humans. But someone cared.

And that’s Kaisa’s main reason for knocking.

It’s a quiet rasp more than a knock. She waits, and a bit of fear bubbles up that she wasn’t heard; she doesn’t feel like she has the strength to raise her hand anymore. She hopes the soft tap of her head against the wood of the door will be louder.

It is.

They start. Faint, gentle, light steps, they arrive at the entryway and then stop, hesitant and weirdly silent. She can only hear one pair of feet, one puff of breath, and there’s no hushed conversation on the way to the door, only this looming quiet. They are alone.

It would be stupid to open the door then, the witch thinks. Then she adds: please.

And the lock clicks.

There's a person on the door now, arms tightly wound around her body and diffident eyes. Tense.

Also... interrupted, apparently.

Her hair falls short on her shoulder, held back from reaching her eyes by a colorful head band, while some rebel tufts stage their coup against the oppressor. A well-loved apron loosely covers some battered jeans and a ratty plaid shirt, full of dry smears of paint and mud, cracking and peeling at every movement. Heavily wrinkled too, as if they've been under it for a while, but the woman stays surprisingly clean. Her hands hands give no hints of any work getting done. Hands that look like they’re on their way to become rough and worn out like the rest of the house, but now they’re just empty, picked on. Maybe they come from a painting session that didn’t go well. Maybe they haven’t been going well for a while.

Their eyes meet in a curious study and a cautious glance, when the other woman's gaze suddenly drops to the glint in her pocket. Where her wand is safely tucked in.

When she freezes up this time, the only thing Kaisa can see is the uneasiness seeping under her skin.

“can I help you?”

Crap.

Can they help her? Probably not.

She really just saw the house and knocked. That’s it. That’s literally all it was.

She didn’t need any help. This person clearly prefers it this way. She should turn around and walk back into the woods and- and...

A brush of wind runs cold against her fingertips. It has been cold for a while.

“may I come in?” the witch asks, torturing a stray thread from her coat. “it- it really wouldn’t be for long. I’ve been out in the forest for… for a bit, i guess. A long bit. And I-“

A long sigh interrupts her. “fine.”

They stare at each other a bit longer than normal. They both look surprised.

That would be even stupider than opening the door.

“are you sure?” the stranger only replies with a raised brow.

"Come on." she puffs out, it's a tired little thing. They turn around, and Kaisa follows.

---

Leading her guest in, Johanna doesn't let herself think. Her body drags her off to the kitchen to put on some tea, the motions of rummaging through the cabinets for the last box of chamomile automatic, but slow, and familiar. She prepares the leaves and lingers, just a bit, on the bright new kettle they'd bought while renovating the house, before searching for the crooked flowery one she'd brought from Tofoten. It brings up stuff that's easier to ignore, and it takes ages to scald the tea.

Johanna then leans on the counter, waiting, trying to listen to any weird noise that might come from the other room.

A witch.

She remembers when they came to the old house the day of the incident. With the full moon on their shoulders the lines of their capes were painted with silver light, and they looked transparent, untouchable. Like ghosts. They perched on her doorstep speaking in hushed tones to her aunt, and they haunted the village until every neighbour who wondered about the blinding light in the forest forgot about it the day after.

The kettle whistles, startling her.

This one isn't a ghost. Johanna carefully sits the tea on a trail and breaths in, slowly.

She looked really cold.

Getting back to the living room still takes her longer than she'd like to admit, but her guest doesn't seem to notice. She's attentive, and focused, trying to gobble up everything she can put her eyes on. She moves slowly around the room, as if she's afraid of making any kind of noise, a skittish cat sniffing an unfamiliar environment. Then the witch's gaze shifts to one of aunt Astrid little trinkets, and Johanna comes back to herself.

She knocks on the wood of her library maybe harder than she means to, getting the other woman's attention.

Their eyes meet. They should sit down.

The normalcy and the easiness of the tea in her hand is what finally gets Johanna to unclench her jaw.

The cup sits between her fingers as a comfort more than anything, and as she drops her usual little sugar in her drink, she actually lets herself glance at her guest. She looks lost in thought. She keeps abusing a strand of her coat (which a good host would have already taken off of her) that escaped the knot of a button, with her eyes far away from the cup she's been staring at. They curve downwards, those eyes, curling up every time her round nose gets scrunched at the bitterness of the tea. She goes for her third spoonful of sugar in such a careful way that it looks practiced, and Johanna's fingers itch for her sketchbook like they haven't for months.

"thank you." the witch mutters, nuzzling in the warmth of her cup, ripping one last sigh out of Johanna.

[inglenookinhabitants]

Thoughts? Comments? Edits? The Latest Rendition of Chapter 1, in need of feedback from all interested in whatever direction this may head. Stay tuned.

                  I lifted my arm to adjust the wire frames slipping down my nose, the subtly fogged lenses weighting them exponentially to the point of which gravity notoriously tugs them by invisible strings habitually, nudging them back into their supposed natural resting spot on my bridge; supposed, as if it was, would they not stay put? Moisture clung to the thin skin of my face, beading into a layer of sweat, no matter how much I sponged it away with my fingertips and palms, which were just as, if not, more, greased and sullied than my face. As soon as I’ve dropped my arm, a light itch begins to grow on the back of my ear, but I’ve an overwhelmingly wary sense that drawing unwanted attention, for reasoning I can’t decipher myself, is prohibited so I let it fester into an unbearable intolerance rather than make any other sizeable sequential movements that could cause a ruckus. I stared out the window instead, sheets of rain pouring down onto the steamy pavement, pounding the asphalt like a rhythmic drum. The humidity, now tangible, hung like an obstruction of thickly woven tapestries under the midnight moon, and the hope of a breath of a cool breeze was nothing more than an absurd idea, concocted by wishful dreamers. No wind that even attempted to cut through the smog of the thick, wet atmosphere could withstand morphing into a furnace blast of heat and perpetual icky dampness. With overwhelming irritancy, I struggled to sit still. As if an unsettled energy flowed through my veins, keeping my nerves jittery and on guard, I shifted my weight, as unassumingly as possible, from side to side, attempting to ignore the ever-growing incessant itch, my bones refusing to settle into the plush, yet tattered sofa; I felt like I was being watched. 

 Gargantuan windows, with cloudy glass panes held together by darkened steel framing, aged from neglect, that could have potentially allowed washes of golden sunlight that’s been consigned to oblivion to dance along the hundreds of leather-bound spines that rested in haphazardly unorganized defiance to proper alphabetical arrangement upon thick, dark, wooden shelving, sprawling throughout the quaintly sized space, were the only deviations from the uniformly similar dark, wooden walls of the building. My fate was seemingly to be suffocated by the very air I breathe; the smell of ageing paper, warm and wet leather, and moist, practically rotting, wood mingled together in a waltz, each one threatening to usurp the other in potency and offense, as they hopped through the damp stagnancy of the room and invaded my nostrils. I attempted to rub off the grime that’s accumulated on the surface of my palms, a thin layer of dirt and guck, attracted by the dank film of sweat that’s been slowly congealing into a jelly congealment on my skin; to no avail, my efforts were futile.

I don’t remember when I entered this purportedly abandoned library, or when I sat in the corner of the west wing in silence, atop a dilapidated, brown leather loveseat. Tears in the seat cushions suggested a dully serrated blade had been drug through the fabric, haphazardly and violently from the lack of precision and awkwardly inconsistent depth in the incisions below me. It was as if my consciousness began from the point in which my glasses started to slip down the trickling waterslide that is my face, I have no memory of entering this space, nor why I am perched atop such scraggly upholstery.

 Enough time has lapsed between the last time I moved more than a considerable inch, rendering it permissible for me to take care of that itch, or so I thought, as the moment I reached the limb upwards, a crack from the east side of the building echoed through the narrow halls. A sickening impression, dripping with the notion that it was intentionally created, not an accidental occurrence, that shot fear straight through to my bones. It’s officially time to go, I reckoned, finally bowing to the indomitable sense that I am not welcome in this nook. I’m up and on my feet before I can even finish scratching that itch.

 I know nothing of what made the sound, or why it’s jarred my subconscious to the point in which I feel like fleeing; with my footsteps intentionally light and in a sophomoric fashion, I caper around weakened boards underneath me in a facetious attempt to not make a single sound. I have no possessions to collect, my hands free to grasp the outward-sticking edge of a roughly splintered banister, appearing to be part of what might have once been the staircase to the basement, except for the lack of an abundance of actual steps, after a particularly overzealous leap across a hacked-up gape in the flooring beside a mishappen doorway, bordered in similarly darkened, rotting wood. Rather than smooth, polished mahogany as they once could have been, around two and a half of the steps are left at the very top, now worn and warped, with rust ladened steel nails jutting upwards from them. The basement quickly removes itself as an option before it can even be reviewed for consideration, I don’t want to know why it has been torn up starting from the bottom, rather than the top, nor would I survive the leap down; perspective or not, the dank flooring, emanating neglect and even misuse, seemed miles away from the floor that my knees were beginning to buckle atop of due to the call of the void aching from the drop below. Another deafening crack resounded through the invariable silence, followed by a disgustingly wet squelch, and I have no choice but to exit onto the street.

My skin was soaked through within minutes of being underneath such a torrential downpour, the sickly sticky sweat amassed on top of my flesh swept off ceremoniously by cool, fat droplets of rain; the blackened clouds above remained static in the air, overly plump and surging uncontrollably onto the earth. A heavy slam followed behind me as the hefty Roman doors, splintering through from the top and down to the midway point of their structure, sprinkled with the remnants of stripped dark maroon paint, slammed the entrance to the library shut. A sliver of that midnight moon peeked through in the form of a dull, fading light behind the thick cover of the shadows, casting a dim illumination that proved just enough for my eyes to discern a path through the unnamed and unkempt stone buildings that lined the dark pavement like labyrinth walls, creating winding passageways of uncertain choices. I did not stand still, nor meander tranquilly underneath the night sky, rather I scrambled forward. The air was far more potent with viscous humidity out here than it ever was indoors, which in itself is a dubious claim, rendering it difficult to move swiftly just from the sheer viscosity of the air entering my lungs, my legs weighted, as if attempting to lug through the ocean’s waves. I couldn’t have been more than a hundred metres away from the library I came from, the first and last place I could remember occupying entirely, when a nauseating thud caused me to turn my head back.

Grotesquely thin, with pasty white skin pulled taught over its sharply elongated bones, a crouched form leaned laboriously against the windowpane of the library, the very one I was gazing out of earlier in a feeble attempt to elicit a reason as to why I was here. Its massively curved spine heaved up and down stiffly, as if it took a great effort to execute each breath, its elliptical skull cradled between its gaunt knees, crumpled inwards in an excruciating effort to fit its gangly, interwoven limbs, knotted together amongst themselves resembling the widened body of an albino Amazonian anaconda, and expansive plowed field of torso into the dusty nook in which I had just sat. What it is so fascinatingly fixated on, I haven’t a clue as of now.

Whatever it called itself that’s cradling itself on the floor of the library, I was fixated on, as if I’d entered a trance, attempting to coerce me to find a winsome attraction to the malformed organism in front of me. I was being beckoned to follow the intrigue that has blossomed out of such a sublime manifestation of all things wretched, as titillatingly offensive slurping noises continued to emanate from the building at an outstanding volume; this thing was consuming something. After quite some time of being deluged by the storm, a puddle of crystal-clear rainfall was beginning to pool around my bare feet and ankles, yet my concentration remained fixated upon this fanatical display of desperate famine. It had somehow robbed me of my movement, not even a twitch could exude from my muscles as I held my stance; though, unbeknownst to me, it was almost finished with its task at hand.

Achingly, the creature reared its awkwardly oblong skull from between its gnarled knees. A spattering of some glistening red substance coated its gaunt ribs, dripping from its sunken chin, and coating the area around a cavernous opening on its supposed face, lined with a singular row of barbed teeth. The fingers adorning this creature were long and willowy, double the length of its little palms in comparison, and they were clutching what could have once been a bone of sorts, fissured along its oblong shape and leaking the same red substance that the creature was drenched in. It raised its snack to those horrific jaws, elongated a blackened snake of a tongue, and began to messily slobber upon the bone, just as fixated as I was on it. This was not a meal I reckon I would want to be a part of under usual circumstances.

 The wire frames of my lenses had slipped too far down my face. Before I could reach to save them, they ceremoniously leapt from the tip of my nose and clattered to the pavement in a spectacular clamor. I no longer had a choice in whether I wanted to continue watching or not, for the show was over. The creature’s head whipped in my direction at such speed, the crimson slobber from its gaping maw splattered against the windowpane in a dramatic fling.

            The creature, as if on thinly sheathed stilts, monumentally rose up to a standing position that dwarfed everything surrounding it. I tilted my neck back farther and farther to follow its ascent with a worrisome expression masking the macabre pleasure I derived from the sheer tantalization of an epic multi-directional tragedy that had every opportunity to unfold before me. As its shoulders pass the highest border of the massive, murky windowpanes whilst an abhorrent crumple of the rotting, steeped ceiling beams protruded a ghastly smooth, akin to porcelain finished, head, its grubby jaws masticating splinters of the rickety library’s structure, caught in its svelte teeth. Two lanky sets of fingers, with tiny half-palms, creased heavily with leathery desiccated corium, grasped the edges of the building, sagging them down as it pushed its abominable skeleton upwards into the stagnant black of the clouded atmospheric ceiling above. Compared to the crippled once-been library, with its single above-street story, omitting its cavernous cellar stretching vastly beneath the surface, the creature surpassed its height with adequate significance. With a thunderous stomp, it freed itself, one gargantuan stilt, ending with a gargantuan foot, was set outside of the structure. A second thunderous stomp, and I was caste fully in the shadow of what many religious sectors would consider to be the harbinger of the apocalypse.

[splinterson]

a comic that was way funnier in my head i started back in may .. 1987 tmnt new season gag that Donatello inexplicably has future tech he really shouldn't have

bonus under cut

ignore the inconsistent Roomba size... I only just noticed it and i don't think I'm going to fix it

[otakween]

Digimon Tamers - Episode 8

Hmm this episode was just okay. There were some really nice animation moments, but it kinda felt like there was a lot of drawn out fluff. I still enjoyed myself, but I spaced out a couple times so I guess it didn't have me super gripped.

Notes:

Impmon was a fun little asshole in this episode. It's funny how he doesn't ever really get the reactions he wants. Renamon just kinda ignored him and Guilmon is too innocent to realize he's being trolled. Love a goofy villain who's bad at being evil. (I'm sure he'll get something darker to do eventually tho)

Terriermon has such an interesting personality. You would think such a cute little guy would be nice and affectionate but instead he's very blunt and says whatever's on his mind without much care for other's feelings. The way he inappropriately reacts to things yet seems to have a sort of wisdom...neurodivergent digi? (he does kinda look like autism creature lol)

The fact that Guilmon has a hobby of burying and digging up his food makes me think of enrichment for a caged zoo animal...at least he can technically leave

This episode did a really good job of making big digimon actually big! Adventure struggled with that at times (Greymon's size in the movie vs. the anime for example). I feel like showing off the hugeness of digimon and making them feel intimidating is all about the angles/perspectives they're "shot" at. Devidramon and Growmon felt properly intimidating in this.

Asanuma-sensei's JP voice is very monotone. She kinda sounds dead inside. She also barely reacted to a giant goth dragon flying inches from her head lol. I'd be screaming and peeing my pants and she was just like "what was that...?"

It's hard for me to not read "Grow" as grow...I get that it's from "growl," but that romanization is confusing out of context...

Takato being sucky at strategizing with his cards felt relatable to me lol. I'm bad at strategy games...

Seeing Guilmon digivolve for the first time was exciting and I look forward to seeing more Growmon in the next episode. I'm not super bothered that his design didn't change much. It's just annoying that digivolution is so inconsistent and sometimes they look completely different and other times its more gradual. Also, wait...when he was born Takato's digivice had to scan the drawing of Guilmon but this time it just kinda happened. Hope we get an explanation for all this eventually...

Speaking of unexplained mysteries, Culumon randomly shows up right as Guilmon is digivolving and his head lights up. The timing was suspicious, but I have no idea what the connection is yet.

I don't really get why Renamon and Terriermon couldn't have helped Guilmon with his fight. Renamon was like "that's Guilmon's prey..." which sure, makes sense with Ruki and Renamon's style of battling for power, but what was holding Jian and Terriermon back exactly?

[magickandmachines]

Part 3

(Disclaimer this story is rather experimental.. so if the writing style seems inconsistent it’s because I’m testing things out)

His words sank deep into her mind as she smiled softly and relaxed into his hold.

“Alright Visure, you win. I’ll be more careful, and I’ll try to take the protection with more grace. Does that sound better?”

Visure looked down at her in his arms, her small size reminding him of how he bonded to her when she was a child, and yet the years with her telling him she’s fully grown.

“Good. I could try to explain things better next time… though I’d rather there not be one.”

His reply was curt but the care he took in loosening his hold spoke volumes about his protective nature.

The two spent their day running around and doing chores, gathering herbs and ingredients outside the village walls to bring back to town. Dropping off wild honeycomb and berries at her neighbor’s home, taking some herbs to the nearby healer before finally returning to her grandfather’s house. The moment Cita opened the door her mother wrapped her arms tightly around her daughter.

“Cita there you are, are you alright, no scrapes, no cuts, nothing broken? Did you remember to eat today, you didn’t talk to any strangers did you?”

“Ma’ma I’m fine, you do this every time I forage. I’m not a child you know.”

“Your my child, I don't care if you’re two or twenty two I’m still going to worry.” Her mother spoke simply as she released Cita from her hug and rested her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. She turned her gaze slightly as she looked at Visure as he followed inside the house, her eyes narrowing at the robot for a moment before looking back at Cita.

“Just, promise me you’ll be more careful.”

“Ma’ma, how much ‘more careful’ can I be? I haven’t gotten hurt, talked to anyone I don’t know, and I’ve had Visure with me at all times. The only thing that could keep me safer, is if I didn't leave the house at all.”

“Now there’s a sensible thought.”

Cita rolled her eyes at her mother before dropping her foraging apron on the table and heading toward the back of the house. She understood her mother’s worry but was growing tired of the constant lack of understanding, but because of the overbearing nature of her mother, Cita grew too used to keeping her thoughts to herself. She climbed the ladder in the house’s back and made her way to the flatten roof top to sit and look out toward the distant walls.

“Visure, doesn't it bother you how she looks at you… I wish she would try to get to know you and understand that with you I deserve some freedoms.”

Visure looked down for a moment before sitting behind his human and holding her gently.

“She has her reasons, and I cannot blame her knowing what I do, about the past.”

“That was a syphon and a Cloaker that took apa away… that doesn't mean she can judge you like one of them. Drainers aren't the same, You aren’t the same… you’re usually the one stopping fights, not attacking people.”

“Hush the stress, its not a worry for you to hold. Her choice in despising me can’t do anything. We are bonded, and nothing short of deleting me entirely can get in the way of that.”

His words soothed her mind, she even felt some jealousy toward his ability to ignore hate aimed at him. Cita smiled and took a calming breath before leaning back into her companion’s support and turning her gaze to the open sky.

“Someday… we’re gonna get out of this village, and see what the world has to show us.”

Her voice held a hollow wish to it, a dream she says but feels already failed. Cita knew well that any travel outside these walls would be faced with war, violence and pain… but she also believed there was more out in the vastness of the world than just two hateful kingdoms and a village in the middle.

[muu-kun]

Physical Health Masterpost (1/?): Kallmann Syndrome

Disclaimer: Should there be any questions or concerns regarding the information and research detailed below, please do not be afraid to reach out to me. I would genuinely be very apologetic should any of this turn out to be any level of hurtful, or incorrect.

i. What is Kallmann Syndrome?

To put it simply, it is a condition characterized by a puberty that is either delayed or absent entirely, as well as a sense or smell that is also impaired or nonexistent.

More specifically than that, it is a genetic form of hypogonadotropic hypogonadism (which by definition is a condition of itself in which an individual's reproductive organs produce little to no sex hormones due to problems within either pituitary gland, or the hypothalamus). In the case of Muu, and of Kallmann Syndrome as a whole, the hindrance pertains to his hypothalamus and not any other part of his brain.

Due to the atypical nature of development pertaining to secondary sex characteristics, or really lack thereof in some cases, this syndrome is in fact an intersex condition. Not all those with it may consider themselves such; however, in Muu's case, he would rather get over the barrier holding him back from labeling himself as such immediately upon being diagnosed with it than wrestle with it indefinitely. Especially when it comes to placing doubt into others with the same diagnosis as himself by putting questions into their heads that their identity shouldn't truly count per the hesitancy of one ignorant young adult.

ii. What are some symptoms of Kallmann Syndrome?

Disclaimer: Now, I'm not going to list them all. Instead, I will be providing information for those that specifically relate to Muu personally. Especially due to the fact so many are irrelevant to his variation of the condition as is, so listing such would offer no beneficial insight at this time.

Small penile size. More notable when flaccid; however, even still, erect leaves much to be desired. At peak arousal, he measures at 3.75 inches. His length when otherwise impartial is 1.87 inches.

Hyposmia. An impaired / limited / weakened sense of smell. Also not anything to stir up any concerns as Muu didn't really think much of it even in adulthood as being anything more than just another quirk of his. Evidently, he was also wrong.

Delayed puberty / development associated. Just look at him across the years. I really can't provide anymore information than visual aids with this one. He's just a little guy.

iii. Causes of Kallmann Syndrome:

It is a genetic condition caused by mutations within numerous genes. The number in which of those associated with the condition continue to grow. What varies within those genes is the inheritance pattern associated. For some, both parents need to be carriers. For others, only one. In Muu's case, it is his ANOS1 gene that was impacted due to inheritance on his mother's side. Only AFAB children of his would have a chance of acquiring it from him, yet thankfully in those cases they were would merely be carriers.

iv. More in depth guide to the ANOS1 gene:

This gene is also associated with conditions such as autism, intellectual disabilities, and epilepsy. Muu is impacted by all three.

No, this does not inherently mean that everyone with Kallmann Syndrome with a mutation of the same gene will also have all of these conditions. It simply is to say that for Muu, he ended up being predisposed to a whammy of experiences due to enough inconsistencies within his genome at the same spot. It also to be said that conditions referring to hypogonadotropic hypogonadism have a heightened chance of overlapping into neurodivergence with those most researched being Autism, ADHD, and Intellectual Disabilities.

It is also worth noting that in most cases, Kallmann Syndrome marked by a mutation of the ANOS1 gene is passed down by the mother via the x chromosome; however, in Muu's case, his was purely an otherwise random misstep during prenatal development. There is no one on either side with the condition, including his brother. He also is not going to pass it onto his own children unless he procreate with a spouse with Kallmann Syndrome herself. This is of course incredibly unlikely due to fertility issues, which too will be spoken about in greater detail at a later time.

v. Treatments available for Kallmann Syndrome:

Luckily for Muu, fertility and development are easily within his grasp. All that is required of him is to begin raising his levels of testosterone medicinally and to someday introduce additional medicine responsible for assisting in raising his sperm count.

If he did end up going that route, he'd do so by taking his testosterone via shots. Other forms seem less invasive and more manageable; however, the concern of essentially passing on testosterone to other people by contact with a patch or gel, possibly hindering them in the process, brings him too much worry to even properly consider them as worthwhile options.

For now, though, he has no intentions for taking such medication at this time. He quite enjoys his physical youthfulness and the androgyne that goes along with it. To NOT go the route of hormones very well can stir up body dysmorphia and even dysphoria in that of the individual with this particular syndrome. Muu, on the other hand, worries that putting himself through such intervention would significantly upset him. Thus setting him back in the progress in healing he's made thus far.

MAYBE down the line he will revisit it, but for now he's quite content in his body no matter the deficiencies. Enough of him appears pubescent in the ways he would want anyways that he doesn't feel any obligation to go through any unnecessary changes regardless of it would benefit him socially.

[aqqleshiqqing-archive]

Selfshiptember, Day 16; Plushies

ship; tomjesse

prompt; plushies, but it's featuring a familiar toy <3

↬ tom gets sick... now he's under her care, would she want to risk speaking her love language of physical touch while he's sick?

"It's my fault, please don't spend too much time trying to nurse me—"

Tom tries to excuse himself, but was cut short by a harsh sneeze. He's gotten a cold from trying to run back home in the cold, thunderstorms. What was he doing? Who knows, but it seems like he really regretted doing that.

"Yeah ... that's not a good tell..." Jesse plopped her fisted hands on her waist, her body and head tilting to a side as she ponders about her dear's current predicament. "I'm not going to ask what did you do outside, but,"

She looks at the darkened window, that had a few shots of fast raindrops flying past the view. It's a big one today.

"...before it gets worse, you'll be staying in bed and I'll make something hot for you in the meantime, okay?" He couldn't help but feel a little, uneasy. She sounded a little strict ... as if the strictness stemmed from the uneasiness she had when he was being a little bit dismissive of the weather report. He'd argue that weather patterns are inconsistent, but now's not the time — he can tell she's both disappointed and worried.

"Okay..." he awkwardly fumbles with his fingers, even pinching a bit of skin to express his internal discomfort.

That's why he tries to beg that he'll manage himself, but nothing gets past her when it's Tom who's gotten himself in really stupid scenarios before, and he's not even the clumsy type! He doesn't like seeing her like this, it almost scares him sometimes. But that's her usual self, not much people would know that though. Jesse is an incredibly patient person, it's rare to see her act differently. Sad to say that he's flipped a switch today.

So here he is, stuck to the twin sized bed they share, except that it's all his for the night, and his guilt continues to rise higher than he expected. He's covered in blankets, a different set of clothing, and his little To.mee Bear friend laid next to him for companionship as he forcibly lazes around to recover. The sound of the thunderstorms echoed his mind as nothing really was in his thoughts, except for Jesse — he's worried what she'll say next.

The door knob twists, in comes Jesse with a bowl of warm soup, and a mug with what's pressumably hot tea. His eyes turns to her, she's dressed in a more comfy set of clothing, a t-shirt that's tucked in with her cute short shorts. It's more of her sleeping wear since it's evening time. Her hair was a bit messy, but it's all laid on her shoulders beautifully, just a few brown strings popping out.

"Hi, Tom."

"Agh, you made soup as well?" he winced. "You didn't have to go that far."

"No, the worst part is that we both get sick. So I'm doing my best to help you recover, okay?" She places the soup and tea next to him, and proceeded to stir the tea with the spoon that sat with the mug.

Her voice was soft, but man, did her words stab his heart in fear, bit by bit.

He sat there quiet, so did she. The clink and clank of the teaspoon against the mug filled the silence momentarily.

"Jesse,"

"Mmhmm?"

"Are you mad at me?"

The clinking stopped, she turned to him who had a face of worry, he's been agonizing over her emotions since he got here, and it's better he'd try to apologize or else he'd suck it up and seem ignorant about it.

Her eyebrows furrowed a bit, as she took time to respond to his questions.

"No, I'm not... I was just, nervous."

"For what?"

She clears her throat.

"Actually... I just don't like it when you're not in the living room with me," she replied, awkwardly darting her gaze somewhere else. "It would feel like I'm back to my old house, where it was only me, myself, and I."

Oh, how he suddenly felt so relieved. Still, it's his fault. Because unless he recovers quickly, she's going to be by herself again while he would be forced to sleep a whole day's worth for who knows how long.

"Aww, love." he spoke, sympathetically. "I'll make it up to you for the hours I spent here on bed. Maybe we watch a movie, your call." he tries to lighten the mood.

"But then again... sorry. I probably should've listened to that weatherman guy earlier today."

Jesse smiled, appreciating his simple yet genuine response. She tries leans closer to him for a little kiss on his cheek.

Suddenly, she was halted by his hand on her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks.

"Wait, don't. You might catch the cold — sorry."

Right, he's still sick. This is just getting even more disappointing for her, she can't be as physically affectionate as she usually is with him.

Retracting back to her original position, she sighs and pouts a little. Trying to not mind this, she goes back to preparing his little snack and bobs the teabag on the mug a little bit, to let the flavor spread out.

It's happening again, she already accepted his apology but he still feels terrible about this. He definitely wanted that kiss but it's for the better that she didn't.

Scanning for some ideas, he looks at his little fuzzy, familiar friend. Boom, idea!

"Okay. Tom, your tea is rea-" her head turned to his direction, but was met with a soft texture on her face. It's Tom.ee Bear, his soft nose booped her nose. She chuckles at this little bit. "What, am I feeding him today?"

"A kiss from me to you, through this little guy." He's adorable when he smiles. He thought this was clever for his part. Tom continues to make the plushie boop her face, and she starts to giggle at his goofy self.

"Stop, that's so cute..." she smiles, her cheeks are rosy in joy.

He hands her his little toy best friend, and she hands him his hot tea in exchange.

"Say, pretend To.mee Bear is me today. Do whatever you want with him." he teases, not really sure if he's taking this idea seriously or not, but its worth the shot. Sipping on the warm tea, he feels his throat cleanse from his clogged passageway. Refreshing.

Jesse notes his suggestion, and stares at the cute bear that somewhat resembles her boyfriend. The hair definitely gives it away, it's so him.

Holding the toy close to herself, she plants several kisses on it, and rubs her cheeks against the soft fur. She's projecting really hard, huh... cute.

"Get better, because I'll definitely be like this to you again," she giggles to herself, the familiar scent that the plush exudes makes her really feel that it's just Tom, but soft and miniature. Tom looked at her wonderfully drowning his dear toy in cuteness aggression... part of him suddenly wishes that was actually him.

"Wow, that—" he stuttered, he feels his cheeks warm by seconds. "I can totally feel your lips on my cheeks right now." It came off as a bit sarcastic, but it was because he was a little jealous of that little furry friend.

He continues to watch her cuddle the hell out of that toy, looks like she's not that mad in the first place either. She still loves him no matter what, everything feels so much more lighthearted now.

But, he's struggling to finish his tea. Oh how he wants to be in that position right now. How dumb he was to walk out in the rain like that! He's finally had it.

Placing the mug at the side of the desk, and ensuring it doesn't tumble over, he calls out to her.

"Uhh, Jesse?"

She was too busy being adorable with the toy, she looked at him in response with a giggly voice. "Heheh, yeah? I'm really liking this so far."

"Well. Uh, yeah that but—"

He's not gonna word his way out of this one. He throws his arms on her shoulders and hugs her despite his sick self.

"Forget that Tom.ee Bear idea. Can I have a kiss, please?"

~~~~~~

*A text conversation below, from Edd to Tom

E: hey, did you make it back home? it got suuuuper cold and suddenly, hard rain!

T: yea, i got sick tho. messed up big time

E: oh no. im guessing jesse is taking care of you?

E: shes a great caretaker, really! it's good you have her around

T: uhh about that.

E: what

T: we're both sick.

E: tom......

T: im literally making this day worse for everyone i know sorry sorry sorry ughhh

T: the kiss was worth it though.

↬ GUYSSSS MY HEART WAS DOIN FLIPS HALF WAY THROUGH AAGHHGHAHH!! fun fact this was inspired by an old comic dub I LOVED THAT'S LIKE... 6 years old now. (it's my.stic mess.enger SHH SHHHHHS HHHH)

I'll probably try to write more around the end because I refuse to do this in November 😭😭 this isn't proofeaded properly so excuse any errors eheh

[dreamsandroots]

Between Bodies: Breasts and Eggs, Mieko Kawakami, 2020

There is an illustrative passage at the end of the 2nd chapter of Mieko Kawakami’s 2020 novel Breasts and Eggs in which the narrator, Natsuko, accompanies her elder sister Makiko—an ageing hostess and single mother, briefly visiting from Osaka—to a bathhouse near the former's home in Tokyo. As they settle into the tub in the women's section of the bath house, Natsuko listens to the laments of her sister who, while ignoring the faux pas of wearing her towel into the bath, begins obsessing over her breasts, which, she explains, have been malformed since the birth of her now teenage daughter, Midoriko, and, beyond her recent investigations into breast implant surgery, something which she had discussed with Makiko on numerous occasions, has recently gone so far as to use very painful (and temporary) chemical treatments to restore her nipples, even if only briefly, to a lighter—and in her mind more desirable—colour. 

It appeared that the preoccupation, or shame, or insatiable curiosity that drove Makiko to fixate on her breasts was about more than size alone. Color [sic] was a major factor. I tried to imagine Makiko getting out of the bath, whatever time that was for her, and heading over to the fridge to grab the two small bottles of medicine, which she proceeded to apply to her own nipples, making them burn and itch like hell. . . . What had possessed Makiko to do this, at this stage in her life?

As Natsuko attempts to placate her sister's inquisitions (her inner monologue here betraying to the reader an already characteristic anxiety regarding an appropriate response: should she try to console her by saying nothing was wrong, even if only half-heartedly?; Should she tell the ‘truth’ that she does, in fact, find her sister's nipples to be unusually ‘dark’?) there suddenly appears a same-sex couple (two women, though one decidedly more masculine in appearance) who join the other women in the bath. As Natsuko's attention is deflected from her sister's fixation (the narration describes her as "staring so hard she was scowling" at the other women in the bath, "as if devouring them") the reader is swept along a stream of thought which brings into focus, through a semi-contained sub-narrative, a range of issues which permeate throughout the novel in its entirety.

The issue of the same-sex couple begins as a simple crisis of categorization: "[w]hat business did a straight couple have barging into the women's side of the bathhouse? It wasn't right." However the passage soon shifts between modes of narration with only subtle, and inconsistent hints, as to the nature of the ongoing changes in register.

As Natsuko ponders:

. . . how was I supposed to address the tomboy without insulting her, and get my point across, and find out what I wanted to know? 

Concentrating my awareness on my frontal lobe, I rubbed my thoughts together with ferocious speed, like a person rubbing sticks together to make fire, and waited for smoke to trickle from the wood.

she soon recognises that she had once known the 'tomboy' (Yamagu) and they had been, for a time, close friends in elementary school. Natsuko remembers a period of their childhood in which they would often sneak into the kitchens of a cake shop run by Yamagu's mother. She recalls in particular an instance in which she licked cake mix off her friend's finger, after Yamagu had grinned at her broadly, as if to share some inner secret.

The reader is left wondering here how to place this innocent description in terms of Natsuko's anxious reaction to the present situation: her friend’s indefinite sexuality, a kind of femininity which she says “always felt way stronger than what I picked up from the average woman” seems to imbue her with something extra-sexual, a kind of force which emanates from her inherent liminality, and which affords her a refusal of categorisation, whether actively or passively.

When she imparts that "[t]he thoughts kept coming, but I couldn't look away", we are led to believe that something beyond her control is at play within her thought process. Is there not a sense in which the character seems to be confronted by the redesignation of an old childhood friend into something that confuses her understanding of the world, and that challenges her sense of order? Something “separate from her gaze, something inside of her” that has catalysed this traumatic reaction to her presence?

Following the ambiguity of this imaginative thrust, Natsuko decides on a line of enquiry and engages Yamagu, asking: "Since when were you a man? I had no idea". The passage continues:

but she didn't answer, just flexed her muscles. Then the bulging flesh sheared off, coming free like a hunk of dough, which morphed before my eyes into a bunch of tiny people. They ran over the water, skating across the tiles, whooping their way up and down the naked bodies of the bathers, like kids monkeying through a playground. Meanwhile, the real Yamagu had wrapped the hem of her shirt around the horizontal bar and was doing feet first somersaults ad infinitum.

When her fantasy proceeds to the point of homunculi that scream to her that “"THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS WOMEN"” the reader is firmly at this point in the register of the fantasy space which until then had only been teased. This of course places further ambiguity on the preceding narration—did she really confront the ‘tomboy’?; was she really her childhood friend?; was the same-sex couple purely a figment of her imagination?

In this passage we can observe the use of dream space as a kind of speculative imaginatory realm in which the ongoing tensions of the novel, developed partially over the first two chapters, are thrust into a kind of playfully morphogenic field where boundaries are crossed and ultimately left less rigid for their crossing. This incursion of memory and speculative imagination into the present situation exacerbates the tension already developed (though perhaps not yet explicitly stated) in the discussion of Natsuko’s feelings of inadequacy relating to any clearly defined sense of femininity at play in her social reality, and particularly in relation to her ageing and impoverished sister, and the lengths she seems to be taking to conform to the desired standard.

The playfulness of this passage acts as a hermeneutic code for the thematic content of the novel, whereby themes of femininity, gender (and, more generally, bodily) dysmorphia and identity are made clear in terms of their content while retaining the status of riddle in terms of the novel's ultimate position to (and resolution of) these themes. In a sense, the dream space here acts as a demonstration of the types of thematic content the reader can expect to encounter while leaving space for ambiguity in terms of the symbolic resonance the novel goes on to develop.

The mastery of this passage lies in the ambiguity of its framing: there is no point at which the narration imparts explicit coding that indicates a shift from the narrator’s typically sporadic inner dialogue into space which is, to a degree, more abstract than the rest of the text. Upon completing the novel in its entirety, one could easily go back to this section and read over the contents to arrive at differing inflections as to what it may mean in relation to the novel's explorations of womanhood. This application of imaginative myth, as a space for exploration within the larger text, is reminiscent of Scott Freer’s observation regarding Franz Kafka's 'parable of the leopards' by which he argues that Kafka "aestheticizes the mythomorphic discourse: the leopards as violators enter into the self-generating recycling of myth narratives.” This passage provides textual space for reinterpretation of thematic concepts whereby "the vehicle of the body does not always directly correspond to the tenor of the self", a metaphoric sleight-of-hand which in turn allows the passage its own reformation, thus demonstrating “myth’s reconstructive process."

We can see how, much like the figure of The Sphinx in the myth of Oedipus, the character of the tomboy in this passage, whether ultimately read as real or imaginary, presents a mystery which is unable to be penetrated by intelligence alone. In fact, it begs for the reader of this novel to approach it through indirect, organic, evolving channels of meaning, granting her “the very incarnation of sacred enigma.”

Bibliography:

Burnett, Leon. “10. Sorrow and surprise: a reading of Théophile Gautier’s sphinx complex,” In Myth, Literature, and the Unconscious, edited by Leon Burnett, et al., Taylor & Francis Group, 2013. ProQuest Ebook Central, http://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/uwsau/detail.action?docID=1350199.

Freer, Scott. "3. Kafka's Sick Ovidian Animals," In Modernist Mythopoeia: The Twilight of the Gods, UK: Palgrave Macmillan 2015.

Kawakami, Mieko. Breasts and Eggs, translated by Sam Bett and David Boyd, UK: Picador, Pan Macmillan, 2020.