#very zesty too

[lil-deach]

I’ve had this oc for quite awhile, so here is their debut! This is Fate(I still don’t have an official name for them),the god of…well, fate! The uses all pronouns, and are the creator of the Tarot cards! They are the eldest of the siblings, and left once he saw Shamura as fit to run as the eldest god, and thus left to a cave very far away from the lands of the old faith to spread their own cult, making the cave an academic wonderland which is pretty much a school to learn about prophesying, tarot reading, and other such practices (Clauneck was actually one of their first students!). They have returned upon hearing of a new god of death rising and laying their siblings to rest (they’re not too mad, as they knew it would happen, but is still alittle upset). They’re a cuttlefish who is most likely autistic lol

[youronlybean]

Just so you all know toribash is bringing back old school Zeroyalchaos right now

[zestyderg]

He hears them sometimes.

A cacophony of hollow, rattling wails bombard his ears and practically smother his brain with the sheer volume alone.

He can never make out what they're saying. They're always calling out to him, but they always drown each other out.

They are always angry. He knows why.

Sometimes he sees them too.

Hundreds of faces that at one horrific and recent point in his life he would have considered reflections. Anguished souls devoid of skin and flesh surround him, and Joe's only comfort is the knowledge that he did not end up like them.

[hiimtheproblem87times]

Cancel

i had to cancel half of the AUs,redo the Royal AU and change my Stories bc of the New Ep

[blackrayser-fr]

Caracalla #33548322 the spicy and explosive cook of the Adventurers Guild! 👨‍🍳💥🍳

[midnight-rice]

Petition to bring back the archaic word "fere" as a gender neutral* term for a companion/mate/spouse. It has roots from the Old English word "gefera" roughly meaning "one who goes with another" and is pronounced "feer" which sounds like "Dear" which is already a term of endearment and is homophonous with "fear" so you can sound like an oxymoronic gay vampire or smth ("Hello my Fere >:)")

*the word "fere" was gender-neutral in English but has evolved into male-gendered words like "fuhrer" and "frere" in German and French respectively

[kresnikcest]

Actually I lied my most self-indulgent fic is definitely the Berzesty role swap + seraph!Julius + vessel!Ludger AU. I need too many words to explain that one but it’s fun. I love role swaps.

[mistbow]

The Virtue of Void

The dragon mark on the Shepherd’s glove is modeled after Maotelus, and even the cloak is based upon the patterns of Maotelus. The Shepherd also uses Maotelus’ powers, the “Silver Flame”, to purify hellions. Yet, I think, even outside of his duty as the Shepherd, Sorey’s character represents the virtue in the element that Maotelus represents, Void.

In Zestiria, there are five elements: Earth (地), Water (水), Fire (火), Wind (風), and Void (無), modeled after the Godai (五大) in Japanese Buddhism: Earth (地), Water (水), Fire (火), Wind (風), and Void (空); as you can see that even the Five Lords are called Godaishin (五大神) in Japanese. However, if you notice in the kanji used for void, it’s actually different; sure, both “空” and “無” can be translated to “Void” in English, however, there’s a big yet nuanced difference here.

When 空 is used (like in the original Godai in Buddhism), Void means something like a vacant space. There’s nothing inside. Think about how a vase is useful because it has the clay part holding everything together, and the space inside it that you can put anything in it. In Buddhism, this character is used when describing śūnyatā or the element of ākāśa (both are very different concepts, mind you).

When 無 is used (like in Zestiria), Void means something like no-thing, like when you put the prefix un- or non- in English. It is the “without”. What it is not, however, is “no” in the “yes” and “no” dichotomy, which I will talk about later. It also, in some ways, refers to pure awareness, before the human gains experience and knowledge.

In Zen Buddhism, there’s a popular kouan in Mumonkan (無門關, lit. The Gateless Gate), in which the first kouan (趙州狗子) reads like this:

趙州和尚、因僧問、狗子還有佛性也無。州云、無。

A monk asked Zhaozhou Congshen, a Chinese Zen master, “Has a dog Buddha-nature or not?” Zhaozhou answered, “無.”

This has been interpreted to mean as follows: The kouan is not about whether a dog does or does not have a Buddha-nature because everything is Buddha-nature, and either a positive or negative answer is absurd because there is no particular thing called Buddha-nature. In it, the answer of “negative”, 無, is clarified as although all beings have potential Buddha-nature, beings who do not have the capacity to see it and develop it essentially do not have it. The purpose of this primary kouan to a student is to free the mind from analytic thinking and into intuitive knowing. A student who understands the nature of his question would understand the importance of awareness of potential to begin developing it.

VELVET: Let me ask you a question, Shepherd. Which do you choose: the “many” or the “individual”? SOREY: Well, I suppose I'd choose each of the “individual” so I'd end up with the “many.”

This is a very Sorey-like answer, of course, in which I mean to say that here he basically refuses to engage in the dichotomy presented by Velvet (Artorius, actually). Sorey indirectly says to unask this question; it is fundamentally flawed and that he won’t give in to the premise that a dualistic answer can be given in this case. It’s not either-or, because without the individual, there is not the many, and vice-versa.

To explain more on that, I’d like to go back to the Five Lords, but especially look at the crests for the two known leaders of the Lords: Maotelus and Innominat.

The Crest of Maotelus

A crest signifying Maotelus, the central figure of the Five Lords—a lord of the void, who embodies both light and darkness.

The Crest of Innominat

A crest that bears a distinct resemblance to that of Maotelus of the Five Lords. The dark parts are absent, leaving one with an impression of light and purity.

These crests are deliberately similar, yet the big difference is that Innominat’s is missing the “dark” parts: signifying only “light” and “purity.” The “void” that Maotelus represents, on the other hands, embraces both the “dark” and the “light”, and we have the entire game of Berseria to explain why that is.

Taking a closer look at Maotelus’ crest, it reminds me of another symbol that exists in the real world, because of the equal and interacting dark and light parts, almost cyclical.

Taijitu (太極圖), literally meaning the Symbol of the Supreme Ultimate, is often used to symbolize yin-yang (陰陽), opposing yet non-adversarial forces that complement each other, equally taking turns on waning, waxing, waning, and waxing again. The common saying in English is that “there are two sides to everything”, however this doesn’t fully explain the symbol: one half of the yin-yang cannot exist without the other. They are inseparable. If you have a hill that has a sun shining on one side, then you have one sunny side and one shady side. You cannot have an inside of a square without the outside, or the outside without the inside. That sort of thing.

「オレはヘルダルフがどうして災禍の顕主になったのかを知りたいんだ」

迷うことなく答えたスレイにメーヴィンは重ねて尋ねた。

「知ってどうする？あいつを倒す弱点を見つけたいのか？」

「それは……考えたことなかったな」

「なに？」

意外な答えにメーヴィンは眉間に皺を寄せた。

「じゃあ、なんのためにヘルダルフの過去を知りたいんだ？」

「導師として……ううん、オレがオレとしてヘルダルフと向き合うためだよ」

導師の使命は禍の顕主を鎮めること。スレイが導師になった当初、ライラはそう説明した。そのためには、世界を識る必要があると。

そしてスレイは旅に出た。出会いと別れを繰り返し、喜びと悲しみを繰り返した。どんなことにも裏と表があり、それらは切り離せない関係にあることを識った。

「旅は、導師として必要だったのかもしれない。でも、オレは導師であるまえにオレなんだ。世界を旅して、この世界が災禍の顕主によって危機に瀕していることを改めて識った。それを止めたいと思うのは、導師だからじゃない。オレ自身なんだ」

災禍の顕主は世界を穢れで満たそうとする、いわば大きな”負の流れ”だ。それと向き合い、抗おうとするなら—”正の流れ”になろうとするなら、相手を深く知り、正しく裏と表の関係にならなくてはいけない、とスレイは感じていた。

「導師として災禍の顕主と戦うだけなら、過去なんて識らなくてもいいかもしれない。でも、オレは識りたいんだ。自分が向き合うためには、それが必要だって感じてる。導師じゃなく、オレの勝手な願いだけれど、迷いのない選択をしたいから……メーヴィン、力を貸してくれないかな？」

メーヴィンは沈黙した。顔から笑みは消え、鋭い眼光がスレイを見定めるように行き来する。///スレイも沈黙し、メ��ヴィンの答えを待った。

やがて語り部は深くため息をついた。

「……なるほどな。使命じゃなく、己の意志で戦うことにしたってわけか……。確かにたいしたタマだったようだ」

“I want to know why Heldalf became the Lord of Calamity.” 

Sorey answered without any hesitation, and Mayvin asked again.

“And what will you do once you know? Do you want to find a weakness to take him down?”

“I... had never thought about that.” 

“What?”

Mayvin’s brows wrinkled at the unexpected answer.

“Then, for what reason do you want to know about Heldalf’s past?”

“I want to face him as the Shepherd... no, as myself.”

It is the Shepherd’s duty to quell the Lord of Calamity. When Sorey first became the Shepherd, Lailah explained this to him. In order to do so, he needed to know the world, she also told him.

Then Sorey set out on his journey. He had repeated encounters and farewells, experienced repeated joy and sorrow. He learned that everything had two sides to it, and that these two sides were inseparable.

“This journey might have been necessary for me as the Shepherd. But I am me before I am the Shepherd. Traveling around the world, I understood once again that this world is threatened by the Lord of Calamity. And I want to stop that not because I am the Shepherd, but because I want to do it as myself.” 

The Lord of Calamity was a great “negative flow,” so to speak, that seeked to fill the world with malevolence. To face and resist this, to be the “positive flow,” Sorey felt he had to know the other party deeply and be on the right side of the relationship between the two.

“If all I want to do is to fight against the Lord of Calamity as the Shepherd, I may not need to know anything about his past. But I want to know; I feel that I need to in order to face him. It’s my own selfish wish, not as the Shepherd, but I want to make this choice without hesitation, so... Mayvin, will you lend me your strength?”

Mayvin was silent. His smile faded from his face, and his sharp eyes came and went as if he were assessing Sorey.

Sorey, too, was silent, waiting for Mayvin’s answer.

“...I see. So you decided to fight him not because of the Shepherd’s calling, but on your own will... you certainly have the gall to do it.”

Emphasis mine. Like coins, Sorey realizes that everything can’t have the tails (裏) without the heads (表). If Heldalf is the minus (負) of this world, so to speak, then in some ways he intuits that he needs to be the plus (正). That’s just how the world operates—it will yield to the balance, as he gets it.

(By the way, this whole duality of everything also applies to life and death in Daoism, and Zestiria, as a whole, touches upon both life and death in its narrative.)

死生，命也，其有夜旦之常

Death and life are ordained, just as we have the constant succession of night and day.

故善吾生者，乃所以善吾死也

That I found it good to live is the very reason why I find it good to die.

(For a person to value life but resist death would be a perversion of our very nature, as life and death are natural stages of being, if we value a person’s life, we should likewise value their death.)

反者道之動 弱者道之用 天下萬物生於有 有生於無

Returning is the movement of Dao. Yielding is the manner of Dao. The ten thousand creatures of the world are created from being; Being is created from non-being.

—Dao De Jing (道德經) verse 40

道生一 一生二 二生三 三生萬物 萬物負陰而抱陽 沖氣以為和

Dao creates one. One creates two. Two creates three. Three creates the ten thousand creatures. The ten thousand creatures carry Yin and embrace Yang, Pouring their Qi together, thus becoming harmonious.

—Dao De Jing (道德經) verse 42

In Daoist philosophy, the yin-yang becomes sensible from an initial, quiescent nothingness or non-being (無), and continues moving on until that quiescence is achieved again.

And I’d like to emphasize this: at the center of Daoist philosophy is that nothingness (無). Everything emerges from that 無, and will come back to that  無 as well; that’s how the world will settle itself naturally, and that’s how we live with Dao (道), or, put simply, the underlying principles of the universe (this is a very gross simplification, by the way).

One of the important concepts in Daoism is wu wei (無為).

道常無為 而無不為

Dao ever-constantly practices actionless action, Yet nothing is left undone.

—Dao De Jing (道德經) verse 37

The term basically gets translated as a lot of things (actionless action, non-action, etc.), but wu wei refers to an action that you do without needing to act on it; an action that is so natural to you that you don’t have to consciously think about how, what, why, when to do it. (Think of how when you learn how to drive, you are conscious about many things, yet when you’re already adept, it’s almost second nature to you.)

Without forcing it. Yes, perhaps that is the right word.

將欲取天下而為之 吾見其不得已

[夫]天下神器 不可為也 為者敗之 執者失之

故物 或行或隨 或(歔)或吹 或強或羸 或挫或隳

是以聖人 去甚 去奢 去泰

Would you take hold of the world and control it? I see you have no choice.

Now: the world is a divine vessel, You can not control it (indeed!). He who acts, ruins it; He who grasps, loses it.

So, among all things, Some lead and some follow, Some sigh and some pant, Some are strong and some are weak, Some overcome and some succumb.

Therefore the sage avoids extremity, excess, and extravagance.

—Dao De Jing (道德經) verse 29

There is an order to life, and we play our parts in it. That’s fine, and it grants us enough liberty to explore our capacities and take delight in them. But if we try to overstep our boundaries, extend beyond our capacities, we will fail miserably and painfully.

There is no satisfaction in pretense, if allowed to guide our lives. We need to be what we are, not what we would like to be.

ROSE: Sorey. If a heart set on justice starts generating malevolence, how do you think it should be stopped? ROSE: That’s what her angle is. She thinks her own personal justice and a universal sense of justice are one and the same.

I hope it’s obvious enough why Cardinal Forton is different from Sorey, despite both having strong enough desires/dreams of their own.

(There’s also duality at play here—Sorey gives life, Rose takes life.)

「イズチにいた頃は"穢れは危険なもの"って認識ですんだけど、こうやって人の世界に出てくると、そんな単純なものじゃないんだってわかったよ。人の社会と穢れは切っても切れない関係なんだ。そこで生きていくということは、誰でも穢れを生む可能性があるってこと」

スレイは街を見通した。フォートンの影響がなくなったとはいえ、穢れはまだ残っている。街の人々が知らないうちに生んでいるのだ。

「オレも穢れを生むかもしれない」

「君は穢れを生まないよ」

ミクリオは間髪入れずに答えた。スレイは顔をしかめる。

「.......どうして、言い切れるんだ？ どうしても叶えたい夢がある——その点では、オレとフォートン枢機卿の気持ちは一緒じゃないか。それで、あの人は穢れを生み出していた」

「あの人とスレイは違う。君はひとりじゃない」

ミクリオははっきりと言った。

「夢を叶えるには、揺るがない意志が必要だ。けれどその強さゆえに、視野が狭くなり、他者の痛みに心が麻痺していく。——でもそれは一人だからだ。一人で夢を叶えようとするから、周りが見えなくなる」

ミクリオはスレイの両肩を摑み、言い聞かせるように言った。

「君の夢は、僕の夢でもある。君が暴走しそうになったら、僕が殴ってでも目を覚まさせる。僕を信じられないか？」

スレイは迷わず首を振る���その勢いのよさに、ミクリオは少しだけ笑う。

「だから君は穢れに捕まることはない、絶対」

“When I was in Elysia, I was aware that malevolence was a dangerous thing, but now that I’m out in the world of humans, I come to realize that it’s not that simple. Human society and malevolence are inseparable, even if we try to separate them. Living in such a world means that everyone has the potential to be tainted.”

Sorey looked over the town. Although Forton’s influence is gone, malevolence still remains. The people of this town were giving birth to malevolence without them realizing it.

“I might give birth to malevolence too.”

“You won’t.”

Without a moment’s delay, Mikleo answered. Sorey frowned.

“…How can you be so sure about that? I have a dream that I really want to fulfill——and in that respect, aren’t my feelings the same as Cardinal Forton’s? She was giving birth to malevolence because of that.”

“You’re different from her. You’re not alone.”

Mikleo made it very clear.

“An unwavering will is needed to make dreams come true. But because of how strong it is, our vision narrows and our hearts become numb to the pain of others——but that’s only because we are alone. Because we try to fulfill our dreams alone, we lose sight of the world around us.”

Mikleo said, grabbing both of Sorey’s shoulders, as if to remind him.

“Your dream is also my dream. If you are about to go out of control, I’ll punch you to wake you up. Or you can’t trust me?”

(Emphasis, again, mine.)

The Daoist sage is the paradigm of proper responsiveness. He has perfect sensitivity and responsiveness both to things in the world and to other people; to his surroundings. He’s open to the dynamic of relationship self-other, to the relativity and mutual involvement of self and other. In contrast with an average human being, the sage, whose heart-mind (心) is free from any residue, displays an “unbiased receptivity to things.” His empty heart-mind “takes no distortive action” and so “what is can be as it is, with no disfigurement.” Thus, it is possible for the sage to “appreciate things as they really are” and also to perceive and embrace a person as they are. The uncluttered heart-mind makes the sage well-equipped for correctly evaluating the actions of others and responding appropriately.

(I would like to mention that Zestiria tackled a bit of this whole “you’re not alone” bit earlier with a Daoist parable: the snake, the frog, and the centipede.)

Yes, it is in the heart-mind (心) that is empty; that has nothing in it. Think of it like a mirror, or a glass, that gets obscured when it is tainted, and so you can’t see clearly what’s on or through it. In Zestiria, I think this is the virtue of purity really stands for.

穢れ――自らの思うまま生きることを阻む世界の皮肉に圧し潰された、人の心の悲鳴。 その悲鳴を感じ寄り添い、本当の形の心とともに再出発する背中を押すのがスレイの救いの力(感じる力・霊応力)。 浄化の炎を振るうだけでは救いとは言えず、逆に炎がなくとも人や天族を穢れから救う事はできる。

Malevolence――The screams of the human heart-mind that is crushed by the irony of the world that prevents them from living as they wish.

To feel those screams of the heart-mind and get close to it, and push them to start over with the heart-mind in its true form is Sorey’s powers of salvation (his power to feel and his resonance).

Wielding Flame of Purification alone is not enough to save; on the contrary, it is possible to save humans and seraphim from malevolence even without it.

In Daoism, at the core of the heart-mind (心) of every human being there is an authentic self. The authentic self is intimately connected with virtue (德), which is a gift people receive at birth. But the heart-mind is also the seat of all mental activities; it is the “location of consciousness.” With time and via the contact with the outside world (learning a language, learning social norms, going through traumatic experiences, etc.), the heart-mind becomes filled—like a container—with “knowing consciousness” (知). Not knowing how to use this knowing consciousness selectively—turn it on when necessary, but also turn it off at other times—a human being comes to depend on this consciousness and identify with it completely. When unstopped in its growth, this consciousness continues to produce multiple, derivative intellectual layers atop the true self. All actions that are motivated by these inauthentic layers oppress and harm one's spiritual core.

The thoughts, actions, and speech of a person are no longer the reflection of their true self.

EDNA: Don’t let her see you frowning like that. You don’t want Rose’s feelings to go to waste, do you? SOREY: I don’t. But I just... I feel so bummed.

Now, the question of emotions. Having an empty heart-mind which is free from emotions implies being emotionless. However, it is not really the case that a Daoist sage is emotionless; rather that he does not add anything (i.e., a word, a thought, an action) to make a given emotion amplify and, thus, exceed its natural boundaries. Being free of these excessive emotion means not allowing likes or dislikes to damage you internally, instead making it your constant practice to follow along with the way each thing is of itself, without trying to add anything to the process of life.

The sage consciously restrains himself from making any such additions that would lead to prolonging the life span of an emotion. As a result, emotions remain spontaneous, genuine, and harmless—they come and go freely, like changes in the weather or the seasons of the year, and they never transform into anything excessive or harmful. Thus, emotions are never artificially solidified into a fixed identity. The sage is free from emotions in the sense that they leave no residue in his heart-mind, they do not take up the space within, and thus they do not block the sage's unity with Dao. By cultivating the void (無) of the heart-mind, the sage ensures that he is never harmed by emotions.

SOREY: You mean to live is to obey the laws of nature? HELDALF: What else would it be? SOREY: You’re wrong! All that is, is not being dead.

Daoism is a philosophy that stresses living simply and honestly while in harmony with nature. Letting things follow their natural course. Wu wei (無為), no wasted action, is the principle.

However, one thing that many people get wrong when hearing about this concept is that it means total surrender. Yes, wu wei implies giving up on forcing things. But never giving up altogether.

For instance, when you’re experiencing injustices, wu wei doesn’t suggest resignation. It’s quite the opposite. Wu wei suggests a persistent amount of pressure. This pressure isn’t a metaphorical jackhammer or wrecking ball. It’s a soft strike in the right spot. It’s like water quietly working through the toughest cliffs and rocks.

Be like water making its way through cracks. Do not be assertive, but adjust to the object, and you shall find a way around or through it. If nothing within you stays rigid, outward things will disclose themselves… Now, water can flow or it can crash. Be water, my friend.

Passivity is often looked down upon. In the case of Zestiria and Sorey, (especially in the early reviews where people started playing Zestiria in bad faith because of the infamy surrounding the game), people often criticize how Sorey is not the ideal male Tales protagonist; he is often called “radio-controlled” (ラジコン) in the sense that Rose (along with the others, especially Lailah) is seen as the one controlling and driving his character around, thus, Rose is, to the eyes of these people, the “real” protagonist of Zestiria because she is the more “assertive” one. And she is assertive, by the way, but I think people look at Sorey’s character the wrong way.

Yielding and passivity are virtues traditionally associated with the feminine in the Daoist point of view, and I know this might have caused some knee-jerk reaction in some people, but in Dao De Jing, even though the intended audience would've been men, students are encourage to embrace and nurture the feminine elements of their nature. These feminine virtues are seen as positive traits to have, not inferior to their more assertive masculine counterpart.

The “feminine” is the earth. The inborn nature of its body is stable. Women are patterned on it. If a man wishes to congeal his essence, he should mentally pattern himself on earth and be like a woman.

And it is, intended as part of his character.

山本　 そういう意味ではおとなしい主人公に見えるかもしれませんが、熱い思いはちゃん��持っていて、叫んだりノリや勢いだけで解決しようとはしないキャラクターにしたんです。代わりに、ミクリオをストレートに感情表現するキャラクターにして、2人で1人の主人公のような言動をとるように工夫しました。

YAMAMOTO: In that sense, [Sorey] may seem like a calm protagonist, but he has passionate feelings, yet does not try to solve problems by shouting or just going with his spirit or momentum. Instead, we made Mikleo a character who expresses his emotions in a straightforward manner, so that the two of them act and speak as if they are one protagonist.

馬場　彼が世界を動かそうとしたんじゃなくて、彼の行動の結果が世界を動かしていく、変えていく。

BABA: He didn’t try to move the world, but the results of his actions moved and changed the world.

Sorey is like a blank canvas, unstained, yet with a strong, pure core. With this heart-mind of his that is empty in the Daoist sense, he acts just as he does, just as he is, staying true to himself. He never forces his way through, he knows that he has to be in harmony with nature (as symbolized by the seraphim, who are described as the very world the humans live in itself), and he then learns that everything in the nature has two sides to it—this includes reconciling not just life but also death. To respect life, you have to respect death. To respect death, you have to respect life. But to yield also means to still be alive; being alive is not the same as not being dead, after all. He has learned to be in check with himself, and with his surroundings.

Sorey is really the perfect character that embodies the values that Maotelus’ Void represents. Empty of malevolence.

One thousand years apart, and he manages to inherit that will. Legends (伝承) are not just told (伝), but also needs at least someone willing to listen to them (承); it’s why they’re called that way.

“Legends” will someday become “hope.”

[ednaeflowers]

edna's love language is quality time. she's spent 1000+ years by herself on r.ayfalke waiting for e.izen to come home—she will never, ever admit to it, but she's definitely felt lonely before through those 1000+ years, so quality time would definitely help bring her closer to someone. she will still, of course, tease whoever she is with: because of how she's like, the more she teases you, the more fond of you she is. she isn't the type who talks about how she actually feels, especially if it's sentimental or personal, so it's very subtle in how much she enjoys someone's company. she opens up slowly, but once you gain her trust, she trusts you.

it reassures her to know that she still has people around her. it'll make her feel more comfortable knowing that there is still at least another person she can be around since she literally lost the only person she could truly rely on—so, it makes sense that she doesn't want to lose more people. she is very "loud" about how she teases people, but very "quiet" in how she shows what's actually on her mind. to know what she is feeling, it's all in her actions.

[tiredmamaissy]

Ralak te Sepawn ieyk’itan: Special Episode VI 

Labor of Love - Part III

Masterlist ; Rut/Heat/Knotting Info

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

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

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

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

Word Count: 7.3k

Requested: Yes || No

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

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

<- Previous

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your mate is in labour, tak.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seeing him so hurt always made your heart heavy. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tewti [whoa].” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you—” Pop. “—ugh” Gush. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe you can’t do this. 

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

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

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

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

He’s right there. So close. 

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

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

No wonder your progression has stalled. 

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

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

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

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

Then your belly stiffens. 

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

“Take h-him out! Make the cut!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But yet, you feel yourself giving in. 

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

Now. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then Ralak grits his teeth and lets go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Snap. 

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

The first eclipse is starting.

Is that how long this has gone on for?

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

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

It’s your family—and his.

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

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

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

“Rest.” Ralak whispers. “I have you.”

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

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

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

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

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

Ralak relaxes, smiling proudly. “He is.” 

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

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

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

"Toto, that is very kind—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[zestyderg]

Thinking about what happens when you lose in fossil fighters. Like you lose and white out then wind up back in either the hotel in the first game or a fighter's station in champions. So yeah it's basically like pokemon but I cannot get the image of your protag losing and suddenly collapsing to the ground like a gmod ragdoll, complete with a cartoony glass shattering sound effect, all the while your opponent just watches in utter bafflement.

[rayveneyed]

cw: smut / cisfem!reader / scent kink

something nobody ever considers about satoru gojo is that he’s very particular about scents.

it’s a weird side effect of the six eyes that is rarely ever spoken of, by him or any other; along with his fantastical sight, his ability to distinguish minute details kilometres away, to read the ever-twisting flow of cursed energy, yadda yadda yadda — the extrasensory perception he was granted the second two gametes fused into a zygote had skyrocketed every perceptible sensation above the level of the average human. leagues above the level of not-so-average humans, too, but that’s a story for another time.

beneath the slightly dusty smell of skin cells and flesh, each person is different. diet and exercise play a huge part, of course, but then there’s the more obvious things — perfume, toiletries, surroundings. nanami always smells like paper and sandalwood. nobara, sweet and fruity, with a sneaky undertone of something synthetic — something almost hospital-like. yuji smells like grass and citruses, like he’s just popped open a can of something fizzy and caffeinated on the lawns of jujutsu tech. but if he had to choose a favourite…

“could — could you, um—”

one really must forge their own little bits of happiness in this line of work. the constant death and despair really puts a damper on one's lust for life. for gojo — sweets, cute little figures, themed cafes and expensive cakes, things that pleasantly appeal to and delight each one of his six senses. you, in a similar way, enjoy the finer things in life — cashmere and vicuña wool, luxury furniture for your top-floor apartment, century-old wines with names you cannot pronounce — and, to gojo's delight, perfumes.

oh, you have one for every day of the year, he's sure. white florals bursting with zesty citrus, bergamot and black tea when the weather cools. there's fluffy vanillas and sugar-sweet marshmallows, tempered with the smooth depth of sandalwood. osmanthus seeping with syrupy apricots and and peaches. cloves and nutmeg and cypress for the days when the clouds split open and tokyo turns grey.

with your back pressed against the couch and gojo flush against you, hips slotted between your pillowy thighs, he's able to dig his nose right into the curve of where your jaw meets your neck, exactly where you spritz your perfume every morning. today, it's one of those delicious, good-enough-to-eat type of smells; white chocolate and macadamia nut and — fuck, he almost moans against you. sugar and spice and everything nice — you smell like everything he's ever wanted to gorge himself on. he's reminded of the cheap, strawberry body spray you used to use back in high school — how the scent would catch on his nose when you walked past, how it lingered on his jacket when you brushed against him. he shivers.

he lifts his lips from your skin — lifts his nose from the cradle of your neck to give you a distracted, slightly disgruntled, "huh? what?"

it's only without the smell of you clouding his nose that he suddenly realises that you're squirming against him — the heat of your clothed pussy pressing against his hardened cock, layers of cotton and denim and linen between you both leaving you with only the slightest, most irksome hint of pleasure. even with his blindfold fastened over his eyes, it's all so much.

"just — i need something," you say, exasperated. your forehead's dewy with sweat, glasses slipping down the bridge of your pretty nose. "you've been at this for ages."

"ah, my bad." but he doesn't stop. how can he tear himself from your warmth, the heat of you radiating from your skin, your arms wound around his neck and fingers in his hair? how can he leave even a single inch of space between you, when your chest is heaving with excitement and the musky sweetness of your arousal is reaching his nose? he satisfies both your needs for stimulation with slow, curling rolls of his hips, dull pleasure tingling up his spine and leaving him shuddering. "i thought you were more patient."

"you — you're the one that dragged me in here," you say, even as your breathing gets heavier, even as your head falls back with a whine, baring the column of your neck to his greedy, seeking nose. "i told you i have plans, so unless you—!"

"alright, alright," he concedes, though all of your arguments about the time have been half-hearted at best. "don't you worry, i'll take good care of you — real good care."

"you sound like such a sleaze when you say stuff like that."

"mhm." for a moment, he lifts his head — and he doesn't have to look at his reflection mirrored in your eyes to know that his pupils are blown wide, his cheeks flushed pink. you're not much better off — for all your whining and posturing, your proverbial claws aren't much more dangerous than those of a scrappy little kitten. beneath it all, your breathing is laboured, your blood vessels dilated. you smell sweeter, like your body is a ripening fruit or blooming flower, opening for him. your blood rushing to the surface of your skin, heating up the fragrance oils still dotted along your flesh, turns it all heady and head-dizzying.

you want him — you can deny it all you want, but he can see it clear as day. the reminder sends what little blood remains in his head straight to his cock.

"you smell sweet," satoru says, blank and dumb. "when you're horny."

for a moment, you pause. embarrassment — and arousal, though you probably won't admit it — has you locking up. a hint of bitterness turns your fragrance — like burning chocolate — before you huff suddenly, smacking at him until he begins to back up. "oh, my god — you're so shameless, satoru—"

"no, i'm serious! h—hey, stop!" he argues, wriggling until he's back in your good graces again. he dips his head to your skin again, teasing you with little nips along your neck. you'll see the bruises it leaves tomorrow and demand he make it up to you with sweets that he'll just have to eat with you, earrings that glimmer in garnet. for now, though, he’ll get a little serious.

"you get a little sweeter when you cum too, y'know," satoru coos. he tugs at his blindfold, blinking as unfettered light filters into his retina. it's sensory overload, overstimulating and overwhelming, but it's exactly what he wants: to see you, feel you, taste you, smell you — be engulfed by you in every way he can. as if drawn there, his hand sneaks between the tight fit of your bodies, slipping under the hiked-up hem of your skirt and petting at your underwear — soaked, as he’d expected, coating the tips of his fingers. "like syrup. i wanna smell you like that.”

his tongue peeks out over your pulse point, touch reaching up and up and up to that fantastic little ball of nerves he adores. you let out a moan so loud that even he’s taken aback. giddiness bubbles in the pit of his stomach — giddiness, horniness, it’s all the same to him — and he shoves his nose so hard into your skin he swears it’ll bruise. ah, there it is. he’s barely even touched you, too. it’ll be even better when he does.

“g—god, you’re horrible,” you say, arching into him, like you can’t bear to be apart for even a second.

“me?” satoru laughs. you’re distracting from the task at hand, though he usually doesn’t mind. he can’t help but respond, giving you your own attitude back a thousandfold. it’s just now, when it’s been so long since he’s gotten his fill of you, he’s just… a little impatient... “oi, don’t get all embarrassed — you always get so mean.”

“then stop saying things like that, and i won’t have to be — a—ah!”

satoru suckles at the cold-hardened flesh he’s just taken in his mouth — your mouth falling open in wonder and your chest heaving as he takes your nipple between two dull rows of teeth, humming. between his fingers and his mouth, you’ll soon be rendered almost completely silent, shuddering and twitching in what he knows will be a strong, satisfying orgasm — sweet with sweat, salt and musk gathering between your legs. looking up at him with glassy eyes and calling his name. his mouth waters.

he better get a move on, though: you have plans, after all.

[listofwhyyouloveher]

This is kind of silly but can I request headcanons for the gang getting their ass smacked by their friend or soon to be s/o please 😋 like let’s say their walking and reader is just staring and then is like ‘yolo’ and just smacks it

Summary: (PLATONICLY) smacking the gang's ass.

Warnings: none (i think?)

Author's Note: this is so very me with my friends

PONYBOY CURTIS

Pony is such a little baby about getting teased by his friends. He's whining "stooopp, stoppp" with the biggest pout, the gang makes fun of him soooo hard for this.

I don't see it happening unless you're soo drunk that consequences don't matter to you anymore so you just walk by him and smack his ass SO HARD that he screams.

He gets so shocked, asking if anyone saw that, if anyone would back him up on that but all the gang does is tease him saying like "saw you what? scream like a girl?"

This for sure starts a war, whenever you're at the Curtis's house just doing whatever Pony will try to smack your ass and you literally have to block yourself from him.

The gang is so tired of you acting like little kids but they laugh whenever you get Pony because he's such a sore loser about it.

JOHNNY CADE

Honestly, don't see anyone teasing him a lot. They probably think he's a little sensitive about it and forget that he's a greaser too. He likes you because you're not walking on eggshells around him.

Like Pony though, he SCREAMS when you slap his ass. No one's ever done that to him before and he's jaw dropped. He literally runs circles around Darry trying to chase you.

He will literally never forget and always turn to face you whenever you're around him. It's started a friendly rivalry like Pony but Johnny is significantly better.

He often sneaks up on you and catches you off guard but you return it by sneaking up on him. The gang has bets on who's gonna win once you guys get tired of your game.

SODAPOP CURTIS

Sodapop and Steve are literally sooo zesty with eachother. It's just their friendship and stuff but smacking ass is not new to them. Soda just doesn't expect it to be from you.

He turns around jaw dropped like you just stole his lunch money. Dramatically scoffs and just stares at you. When you turn to walk away he's for sure trying to get you back.

He doesn't expect you to be on guard though so he almost trips when you run away before he could get you. He's such a sore loser like his brother so he's always trying to one up you.

While Soda has the strength, you have the agility so it's literally such an entertaining battle to watch. Two Bit laughs at you two sooo hard he thinks its so funny.

STEVE RANDLE

Steve is actually a menace to society. He literally attacks Sodapop and Two-Bit, sometimes even Darry and Dallas. He'll run by and smack Soda's ass soo hard and runs so fast no one can catch him.

Until you did by catching him off-guard. He does the slow turn with his mouth open to dramatically signify his shock. He stares at you for a few seconds to try and catch you off guard and get you back.

He's a force to be reckoned with because he gets you back every single time. You're both crying-laughing by the time your worn out, lying on the couch trying to catch your breath because you'd been running around the house with Steve.

He's a formidable opponent but his weakness is that he forgets that you can and will smack his ass so he'll just be walking around and you'll slap him and lock yourself in a room.

TWO BIT MATHEWS

As much as he hates to admit it, Two-Bit sucks at hand-eye coordination. So he's not very good at the little game Soda and Steve started where they'll just come by, smack his ass and run so he can't catch them.

Of course he has his fair share of wins but he's more of a victim, but he takes it lightly because it's funny to him. He's soo shocked that you got involved though.

He was leaning over the kitchen counter talking to Soda when you walked by, turned to Soda and put a finger to your lips to let him know to not say anything.

You literally comically winded up and smacked his ass so hard Two Bit nearly screamed cause he was so scared. You were holding in your laugh and just ran to the other side of the counter for help from Sodapop.

DARRY CURTIS

Darry is such a sweetheart bro, he's literally such a cutie and he gets bullied for it. Soda and Steve literally violently attack him by smacking his ass and running (they call it drive bys).

He doesn't do much but yell at them, telling them that they better wish that he didn't hit them back. Of course when you do it, its different.

For instance you don't hit as hard and you did it so politely too that Two Bit was on the ground laughing. Darry just kind of stood there, an eyebrow raised.

He gave you a light noogie before sending you on your way only for it to happen AGAIN and he just turns around and crosses his arms and tells you that he won't ever trust you again.

DALLAS WINSTON

Dallas is a VICTIM of Soda, Steve and Two. That's the only thing he's unhappy to admit. He's not thinking about how to get them back, he's thinking about girls and parties and all of a sudden HE'S GETTING ATTACKED!!!

He's never going to take it lightly, always smacking them over the head for it. One day he just finished chewing out Steve for doing it when he gets hit AGAIN and its YOU.

He's all like, "c'mon, man, another one?" and his new york accent is soo heavy because he's getting frustrated that hes losing. He tells you that if you do that to him he's gonna do that to you.

Now, if you're ever in the street and Dallas comes up behind you he'll smack your ass and you'll smack his as he walks by. This rivalry is much darker than with Pony or Johnny, Dally is always on guard now and so are you. Two jokes that they should put you two in a ring.

[g-xix]

Chaos Crew MASTERLIST

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥

ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ: ᴀʀᴛʜᴜʀᴛᴠ, ɢᴇᴏʀɢᴇ ᴄʟᴀʀᴋᴇʏ, ᴀʀᴛʜᴜʀ ʜɪʟʟ, ᴄʜʀɪꜱᴍᴅ, ᴀʟᴇx ᴇʟᴍꜱʟɪᴇ, ᴄᴀᴍ ᴋɪʀᴋʜᴀᴍ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴛᴀʟɪᴀɴʙᴀᴄʜ!

☁️= fluff, 🔞= smut, 💢 = angst

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!! Send litr anything in thru the inbox n i'll write it (or not)... No promises it'll be done any time soon tho :DD

Arthur ATV Frederick

☁️"Pub golf forfeit" - Chippo catches wind of your little YouTube crush on ArthurTV and decides to put you in a team with him to try and set you up- but when Harry, Chris and the rest of the boys do their best to embarrass you in front of your crush, how will the night really end as you fight the cameras, pints and awful pub gold forfeit cards... | ChrisMD half-sister!OC x ATV

💢☁️"Caught" - Months of sneaking around behind your brother's back with his best friend gets exposed as you and Arthur get a bit too careless and get yourselves CAUGHT...

📸Zesty University ATV

🔞"Submissive" - pwp (porn w/out plot), desperate, whiny, sub!Arthur x dom!reader

☁️Head Scritches" - Short 800 word blurb of Arthur just kinda realising that he likes the feeling of your hands between his hair a lot.

🔞"Locked In" - Xtra long 7.3k word smutshot set in S3 locked in house. Y/n is set the strenuous task of ignoring Arthur all day by Sugarlips - yet when Arthur realises this, he does everything in his power to break her... Will you successfully pass your challenge or succumb to Arthur's antics?

🔞"Eating Out HC's" - headcanons of what the Chaos crew would be like giving head

☁️"Return from Sri Lanka" -inspired by Chip's Sri Lanka vids w ATV, a hyper-fluff oneshot of what it's like for gf!reader, seeing Arthur after a whole week of being apart

"Harry Potter x Chaos Crew HC's" - what these goofies would be like in a Harry Potter/Hogwarts Alternate Universe ✨

🔞"SuperMilker3000" - don't be scared by the title. Silly lil 800 word drabble on using a toy w Arthur... taken from my ArthurTV NSFW alphabet that's currently in the works!

📸ATV getting zesty w G Clarkey in a Camden Bar

🔞"Same Time." - when stranded in a little village after a platform roulette with George Clarkey n ArthurTV leads to all three of you sharing a hotel room with one bed and loosened inhibitions... xtra long 6.1k wordcount and very smutty.

🔞"ArthurTV NSFW Alphabet"

📸ATV n G Clarkey Nasty Girl TikTok

🔞"Boxer" - In which Arthur has a certain predilection for the coach's daughter who is subsequently the first aid woman that drives him feral, especially after a boxing match whereby he's got a lot of pent up testosterone to take out...

Chris Chrismd Dixon

🔞"ChrisMD NSFW alphabet"

🔞"Threesome" - W2s x reader x ChrisMD in a post-pub drunken mess of horny brains and hard cocks

🔞"Eating Out HC's" - headcanons of what the Chaos crew would be like giving head

🔞"Piercings" - in which gf!reader gets nipple piercings as a surprise for Chris, which leaves Chris battling his inner demons and resisting all urges to pull or touch those sensitive buds to see you scream whilst he pounds you | part of [KINKTOBER]

"Harry Potter x Chaos Crew HC's" - what these goofies would be like in a Harry Potter/Hogwarts Alternate Universe ✨

☁️💢"Gone, Gone/iloveyou" - Sharing the sadness that comes with your best friend, first love, absolute world, leaving you <3 (tw: mildly cringe if u dont deep it)

☁️🔞"Señor Frogs HCs" - Inspired by Señor Frogs driving team getting their first podium: headcanons of what it'd be like returning to each of the drivers as gf!reader after each of their stints.

Cam Kirkham

<tbc!>

Arthur Hill

🔞"Eating Out HC's" - headcanons of what the Chaos crew would be like giving head

"Harry Potter x Chaos Crew HC's" - what these goofies would be like in a Harry Potter/Hogwarts Alternate Universe ✨

George Clarkey

🔞"Rodeo Ride" - Something about George riding that bull machine at the pub just looks so sinful, and the alcohol gives you an extra buzz of confidence when you're talking to him afterwards, leading to a good night with George...

☁️"Nights out" - Just a plain, fluffy cuddles n kisses style oneshot reflecting on what it'd be like when George came home after a night out- a huggy, touchy drunk bf ༼ つ ◕_◕ ༽つ

☁️"Christmas Imagines" - A note-form story of getting Christmas decorations out and celebrating alongside boyfriend!George... V fluffy and wholesome :)

☁️ "Snow!" - Friends to lovers, featuring ATV, ChrisMD, WillNE, Mia, Immallexx, Alice, Cam n Chloe all celebrating in the apartment when the snow starts covering the London streets which they race down to play in. Super fluffy G Clarkey x y/n festive Winter vibes

🔞"Eating Out HC's" - headcanons of what the Chaos crew would be like giving head

"Harry Potter x Chaos Crew HC's" - what these goofies would be like in a Harry Potter/Hogwarts Alternate Universe ✨

📸ATV getting zesty w G Clarkey in a Camden Bar

🔞"Same Time." - when stranded in a little village after a platform roulette with George Clarkey n ArthurTV leads to all three of you sharing a hotel room with one bed and loosened inhibitions... xtra long 6.1k wordcount and very smutty.

🔞"Hate Sex" - basically porn w/out plot, in which you hate George Clarkey yet somehow end up with him between your legs, fucking you like he's your worst enemy.

📸ATV n G Clarkey Nasty Girl TikTok

☁️"George Clarkey Crying HC's"

Isaac ItalianBach Smith

<tbc!>

ALL!! - silly little drabbles

"Chaos Crew as lawyers" "Chaos Crew on a Roadtrip" "Chaos Crew Cooking" "Chaos Crew as good mornings" "Do they kiss the homies goodnight?"

Cutesy lil platform roulette moments (1),(2),(3)

POLL: Which of the Chaos Crew do the masses wanna see more written for?

looking for someone you can't find?

Head back to the main masterlist to check out the other masterlists to see if the person you're looking for is there! Don't be scared to send a message via DMs or thru the inbox if you need any help xx

p.s. Customise which Oneshots YOU want to be tagged in by submitting your preferences on THIS GOOGLE FORM!

[redflagshipwriter]

Nest Swap 3 (baby Tim wakes up in Red Robin's life)

This was without a doubt the best day that Tim Drake had ever had. It was probably the best day any Drake ever had, actually. He was never going back to elementary school. He would use a laser on anyone who tried to take him there. There was probably one here, actually. He set off looking for one.

He found a notebook and a clicky pen with six different colors that he used to take a note about everything he found, to get his thoughts in order. After he had inventoried all the coolest stuff in the secret hideout, he went back upstairs. He was yawning too much to do a lot tonight and anyway, he had to be up in the morning to help Miss Fox. He had important responsibilities to uphold, just like Mom.

Going to bed presented a little bit of a challenge. He dug through the drawers to borrow pajamas, nose wrinkled up at how terrible these clothes were. Most of them were boring. They were way too big, of course. It troubled him.

He dug under the sink and found some super concerning things. He looked in a plastic box in the bathroom closet and eventually found a package of spare toothbrushes. Tim felt a little gross about borrowing toothpaste from a stranger's tube, but he didn't see a way around it. He brushed his teeth, washed his face with something he found in the main bathroom, and took a fast shower.

Tim stood in the main bedroom for a while, pursing his lips. It was where he found all his cool stuff, but it was probably personal space. “I think it would be presumptuous to sleep here,” he decided. He gathered up the electronics and their cords and hauled it all into the next bedroom.

He crawled into bed and tucked himself in. He was out in a matter of minutes, even though the hallway light was still on.

He woke up when he woke up, because he totally forgot that he didn't have an alarm set here. Oops. Tim had a sinking feeling in his stomach as he crawled across the bed to check the time.

It was 9:34 already!?! He was late for Miss Fox! Tim scrambled to open up the email- and breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank gosh,” he said. He put the phone in his pants pocket and shuffled to the kitchen.

The weight of the phone pulled the pants down to his knees.

“Ugh!” Tim shouted, because he could. He took the phone out and hiked the pants back up with one hand. He kept complaining, because it was fun. “Terrible pants,” he scolded them. “Falling down, in this economy?” His voice went up way too high when he quoted his dad's favorite complaint while reading the news. Tim cheerfully waved his hands around and channeled his Mom next. “As per my last email!” He ended it with a foot stomp.

Wow, that one was fun. He felt powerful. He decided he was going to use that one today. Tim put the phone and tablet on the table and made sure the volume was up. Then he tried to find breakfast. He knew alllll about breakfast, and so did the guy who lived here.

Usually Ms. Mac made it if his parents were gone, or Dad made it if they were home. But Tim knew the formula. For breakfast, you pick a piece of fruit, a carb, and two drinks. If you're fancy, you have a hot serving of protein.

And Tim? Tim was fancy.

He picked a banana out of the fruit bowl and cut it up with a big chopping knife he found sitting in a wooden block, like kitchen Excalibur. He forgot to take the peel off first, so that was annoying.

For drinks, he found a carton of milk that actually smelled pretty bad. “Boo,” Tim said sadly. He poured it down the sink and then got out a can of Zesti. It was grape, so it was probably the best substitute for fruit juice available.

You also need a hot drink for breakfast, so he made a whole pot of coffee and bounced on his heels while it dripped, feeling very adult. He looked at the coffee packaging for a while, lost in thought with his tongue sticking out slightly between his lips. It had a great picture of an atrocious cat thing on it, and said it was AUTHENTIC FANALOKA COFFEE. He liked the cat. It looked like it was designed by an evil scientist who had never seen a cat.

Tim didn't know what Fanaloka meant in this context, though he surmised it was the cat’s name. He moved on with his day.

It was harder to find a carb. There was cereal, but that was yucky without the milk. He found two bagels, but there wasn't any cream cheese! What was wrong with this guy?

He eventually gave up and toasted a bagel. Morosely, he got out butter. Maybe that would be good enough.

The piece de la resistance was bacon. He found a package of it in the freezer. It was all frozen. It was way too hard for him to take off two strips.

His first thought was to cut it up with Excalibur and then fry up just a little. But the fry pan was super duper heavy. So he just microwaved the whole thing for 5 minutes.

It smelled great!

The bagel in the toaster was actually really cold then. He heated it one more time and then frowned at it when it came out too brown. “You get what you get and you don't throw a fit,” he grimly quoted Ms. Mac, and climbed up the tall stool to sit at the counter. He buttered the bagel. Like, he buttered it a lot. Maybe that would help.

It was still kinda hard to eat. He peeled open the bacon and fished some out with his fork. It was all wiggly. Tim tried it. “That's good,” he said, pleased. He had another strip of bacon. Oh! The coffee!

He hopped down from the stool and ran over to find a mug. He filled it with coffee and tasted his creation. Hm. He had another sip.

“It tastes bad,” Tim said contemplatively.

Did that mean he used too many beans or too few beans?

The only way to find out was experimentation. He dumped out all the coffee, threw away the wet beans, and made it again with like, twice as many beans. He went and ate his banana and about half of the bagel while the coffee percolated itself. Then he tried the coffee again. He took a slow sip. His nose wrinkled. “Maybe this coffee is just disgusting?”

Mom always gave it to him with sugar and milk, like how she had it. Obviously the loser who lived here had let his milk expire (Mom would never) so Tim gave it up as a bad job.

His first email arrived with a ding during breakfast. Tim opened it with a slightly greasy finger and read it while he gnawed at the bagel.

Hmm. Miss Fox was concerned about something going on in R&D and she wanted him to replicate an experiment by the notes the scientist was using. She didn't want to bias him by telling him her suspicion, so that was all the information she was giving him.

Tim used one hand to laboriously type back an okey-dokey message, in business language.

When he finished eating he dumped everything in the sink. That was probably good enough. He grabbed the phone and the tablet. Then he went to bother the fish, so that he could use the laboratory downstairs.

The phone buzzed while he was going down the stairs. He felt it against his chest where it was stuck between his body and the tablet. Hmm. It buzzed again. “Just a minute,” Tim said crossly. It kept going off! Wow, that was so annoying.

As soon as he got downstairs he put down the tablet and scowled at the phone. He was getting like a billion messages from someone named Dick. “I am WORKING!,” Tim said to himself as he typed up and sent the same message.

Dick sent like 42 crying faces. Tim groaned and scrolled up to see the last couple of messages, just in case they were important.

Uh.

“These messages don't look important,” Tim said, raising his eyebrows at babble about how Dick missed him and he hadn't checked in last night and “the family” was afraid that he had fallen in a hole or been eaten by a lion. Apparently someone called Dami had drawn up what they thought that might look like, in case they needed to show the police. Dick had included it as an attachment.

Tim clicked on it, curious even though he knew he really shouldn't open attachments from weird people. These were definitely weird people.

It was a really good picture. He told Dick as much and then blocked the number. He needed to get stuff done today.

[mistbow]

[漢字+Romaji+Translation] BONNIE PINK - We Belong

Tales of Asteria: the Crystal Land and Guiding Light (3rd arc, with Sorey as the main protagonist) OP theme song. Song link.

BONNIE PINK - We Belong

漢字

あぁ強情っぱりの君のこと　わかった気でいた あぁ知らなかったのは僕自身の闇 この地上に散らばった奇跡を 共に探してくれるなら 立ち上がろう 晴れも曇りも分けあって We belong We belong　戸惑いも We belong We belong　過ちも　僕らのゴールへのstepping stone さよならは君との誓い I'll see you again あぁ向こう見ずな僕のこと守ってくれたね あぁ思い出のしずく　猛烈に眩しい 当たり前の日常が希望と失望に切り裂かれても ずっとconnected to you　君がここにいる気がして We belong We belong　がむしゃらで We belong We belong　つぎはぎの僕らの素性を超えた友情は永遠 We belong We belong　戸惑いも We belong We belong　過ちも　僕らの夜明けへのstepping stone さよならは未知との出会い I'll see you someday この願い　深層のノスタルジー バトンタッチ　君は君こそは 立ち塞がる結晶溶かして それぞれの場所に帰って行こう We belong We belong　がむしゃらで We belong We belong　つぎはぎの僕らの素性を超えた友情は永遠 We belong We belong　喜びも We belong We belong　悲しみも　僕らの夜明けへのstepping stone さよならは未知との出会い I'll see you someday さよならは君との誓い I'll see you again

Romaji

aa goujouppari no kimi no koto wakatta ki de ita aa shiranakatta no wa boku jishin no yami kono chijou ni chirabatta kiseki wo tomo ni sagashite kureru nara tachiagarou hare mo kumori mo wakeatte We belong We belong tomadoi mo We belong We belong ayamachi mo bokura e no stepping stone sayonara wa kimi to no chikai I'll see you again aa mukou mizu na boku no koto mamotte kureta ne aa omoide no shizuku mouretsu ni mabushii atarimae no nichijou ga kibou to zetsubou ni kirisakarete mo zutto connected to you kimi ga koko ni iru ki ga shite We belong We belong gamushara de We belong We belong tsugihagi no bokura no sujou wo koeta yuujou wa eien We belong We belong tomadoi mo We belong We belong ayamachi mo bokura no yoake e no stepping stone sayonara wa michi to no deai I'll see you someday kono negai shinsou no nostalgy baton touch kimi wa kimi koso wa tachifusagaru kesshou tokashite sorezore no basho ni kaette ikou We belong We belong gamushara de We belong We belong tsugihagi no bokura no sujou wo koeta yuujou wa eien We belong We belong yorokobi mo We belong We belong kanashimi mo bokura no yoake e no stepping stone sayonara wa michi to no deai I'll see you someday sayonara wa kimi to no chikai I'll see you again

English Translation

Ah, I thought I knew you, you stubborn jerk, Ah, yet what I didn’t know was my own darkness If you will come together with me To search for miracles scattered on this land Let’s rise up Sharing the sunshine and the cloudy alike We belong We belong, our confusion, We belong We belong, as well as our mistakes are a stepping stone to our goal This farewell is my vow to you That I'll see you again Ah, you did protect the reckless me Ah, the drops of memories; they are so fiercely blinding Even if the ordinary days that we take for granted are torn to pieces by hope and despair, I’m always connected to you; I feel like you’re here We belong We belong, our sloppily patched-together identities We belong We belong, our friendship transcends those, and it is eternal We belong We belong, our confusion, We belong We belong, as well as our mistakes are a stepping stone to our dawn This farewell is an encounter with the unknown That I'll see you someday This wish is a deep nostalgia Passing the baton, you are the one Let’s dissolve the crystals that stand in the way And then go home to each of our respective places

We belong We belong, our sloppily patched-together identities We belong We belong, our friendship transcends those, and it is eternal We belong We belong, our joy, We belong We belong, as well as our sorrow are a stepping stone to our dawn This farewell is an encounter with the unknown That I'll see you someday This farewell is my vow to you That I'll see you again