#why he so [Hyperlink Blocked]

[lonelypep]

everyone always asks what the hyperlink blocked is, but no one ever asks why the hyperlink is being blocked…

[wariolandthepipdimension]

look at h im. he is thhhhhe small. he Is. the!! th [Peperon]. sily!!!! HE IS SO [Fucking Tiny]. i wanr to [Deals End On November 2nd Get Them While They Last]. he is eating the. HE EATY DA SUNFLOWA DEEDZ

[tiredmamaissy]

Ralak te Sepawn ieyk’itan: Special Episode V

Something is Brewing

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)

Warnings: explicit pregnancy smut, pregnancy fluff, pregnancy angst [for the plot], pregnancy [this chapter is entirely about pregnancy if you haven't caught my drift, just giving you guys a proper warning], age gap, mood swings, cravings, nausea, vomiting, reader is very clumsy, intimate/invasive medical treatment, rut cycle, sexual tension, pregnant sex, p in v, titty fucking, cum eating (m and f), oral sex (m and f), masturbation, exhibitionism (kinda, not really), lactation kink

Word Count: 17.5k (this takes the cake, i apologize)

Requested: Yes || No

Author’s Note: Hey guys! Thank you all for being so patient with me as usual. I had planned to post this chapter earlier, but with the help of @zestys-stuff, we made a last minute change to the chapter. This will definitely cause some changes in the next chapter, so I’m going to work on that right away. I won’t lie, I’m really nervous to publish this one. It's been a while and I’ve ventured into some new territory where I’ve introduced a couple of new themes and -drumroll- a new character. There are parts of this chapter that can possibly cause discomfort (technically, all of this could), so I urge you guys to proceed with caution and click off if you do feel uncomfortable in any way. Aside from that, it’s good to be back (again, lol) and I hope you enjoy!

Synopsis: A timeline of your pregnancy with Ralak’s child, shown through a series of flashbacks of your most prominent milestones—some of which foreshadow something bigger to come…

<- Previous -> Next

Pregnancy is tough. 

A beautiful blessing, but tough nonetheless. With its own set of hardships, uniquely tailored to your own being. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. A sore back, chest, ankles…the list is seemingly endless. The shift in moods, the fatigue. Adjusting to an entire new being growing inside you—one that sucks the nutrients straight from your bones and blood—has your body overcompensating.  

At first it was a dream. 

No life-changing symptoms. It was smooth sailing for the first few weeks. Life went on as usual. If anything, others were more reactive to your pregnancy than you were. Your skimwing became aggressive towards Ralak, snapping at him and whipping her tail, treating him as a threat rather than a companion. He was more than understanding, as it’s common for the protective instinct to kick in when the tsurak senses their rider is with child.  

More importantly, it was an urge that Ralak shared with the beast.

—

You watch as your tendrils intertwine with your skimwing, and how they come together with a rough tug. You let out a rugged breath and the beast beneath you starts to writhe. Ralak instinctively grasps at the harness to steady you and— 

Slash. 

Your trsuak whips her spiked tail at your mate, who blocks it with his strake.

“Shit.” You gasp, tugging at the leather strap and patting her neck to subdue her. “I thought I was in control. Are you alright?”

Ralak nods, his hair now soaked and plastered to his chest. He simply chuckles, respectfully and cautiously approaching the beast with an open hand. Despite this, your tsurak continues to thrash, repeatedly snapping her snout open and shut. Ralak clicks melodically a few times, and her pupils blow and constrict as she calms down. He strokes her snout with one hand, and lays his other on your thigh, gripping it lightly.

“She senses that you are with child.” 

“She does?”

“Yes. That is why she protects you. I understand the feeling.” His accent is thick on his tongue. 

——

Then the nausea came. It was… unbearable. Insufferable. It was almost frightful, actually. Not being able to stomach anything really brought down a sense of dread upon your shoulders. Most days, you found yourself worried about the budding life inside you more than yourself. 

Was he getting enough? Would he develop properly if you went another day without eating? 

Ralak was more worried about you, of course. Going to great lengths to find something you could stomach. Spoon feeding you as you laid down all day from the gut churning nausea. Washing the sick out of your hair when you missed the bucket at your bedside. Detangling and braiding it for you to keep it clean and out of your face. Releasing his pheromones—your only relief—just to put you to sleep at night. 

—

t.w. nausea, vomiting.

In the crisp night, a wave of nausea washes over you, waking you from your sleep. Typically, this is the only time you have a break from the nausea—your slumber. That, and the first ten minutes after throwing up.

You quickly hurl over, grabbing and heaving into your bedside bucket, something that's rightfully earned its spot at your side. Ralak jolts awake, sitting up behind you to gather your hair into his fist, rubbing your back as you retch. 

“Alrigght.” He hums lengthily. “Get it up.”

Finally, you stop. You gasp and pant for air, sitting up only to collapse back into him. “I h-hate this–haah.”

“I do, too.” He grits, reaching over you for the rag at your bedside, and wiping your mouth.

He hates seeing you so sick. He’s tried it all, and though he’s found a few foods that you can stomach, nothing seems stops the nausea. Well, that’s not entirely true.

Ralak relaxes his body, focusing on opening his scent glands to release his his pheromones. They slowly become stronger, calming you down and dulling the waves of nausea. He pulls you close to his warm body, reaching behind him for his kuru. 

“Tsaheylu.” He whispers yearningly, making the bond slowly. He sets a steady breathing pattern, slipping his hand over your tiny bump to caress it. The sickening feeling eases up enough for you to drift back to sleep, Ralak along with you.

——

Thankfully, Eywa lifted you of your säspxin [sickness] when you were about to come upon your third month of pregnancy. Cravings increased ten-fold almost instantly. On the occasion where you couldn’t keep it down—when the desperation was too much—you’d volunteer Ralak to eat it for you so that you could satisfy the craving vicariously through him.

—

“Eywa, that’s so good. One more bite.”

“Tanhí. Enough now.” He grumbles, feeling overly stuffed and almost queasy. 

You glance down at the purple hue of your connected kurus.

“Please...” Your eyes burn as they threaten to well with tears, and your bottom lip quivers, “…last one, promise.”

Ralak sighs, shoveling in another bite of boiled squid, chewing it slowly so you can savor the taste. You keep your eyes closed as he eats, tongue swirling in your mouth to swish your pooling saliva in your cheeks. And when he swallows, you swallow too, gulping down your spit. 

“Thank you.” You say shyly as you open your eyes, feeling bad for making him overeat now that you can really feel his fullness. 

It is my pleasure. Never feel bad. His accented voice tickles your brain. A smile spreads across your face, just as one does on his. 

——

And when you could keep it down, they were delightful when satiated. Keyword being satiated. It posed an issue when they were what Ralak called, ‘forest food’, or on a more rare occasion—‘sky people food’. Those were the insatiable ones. The ones he couldn’t just whip up for you. The times he'd come to you with his ears laid flat to his skull, admitting his defeat. Those were the moments where you felt something stronger than just disappointment. 

It left you gutted. 

—

You can’t stop the tears from flowing down your cheeks. They’re hot and leave a sticky film on your skin, clumping your eyelashes together. It’s stupid. They’re stupid. Stupid tears, from a stupid cause. All because you want your grandmother’s stupid soup. Another thing the blessing of pregnancy has bestowed on you—big, intense feelings. 

As you soak in your bath, Ralak cooks dinner and you just know that whatever is in the pot is something that will make your stomach churn. You bury your face in the palms of your hands, trying to keep your snotty sobs to a minimum. It’s ridiculous, sobbing over something like this. It’s shameful, even. How can you be so ungrateful when this man goes to such lengths to care for you?

“Tanhì!” You hear his rough voice echo from the pod. 

You quickly wipe your face clean, and scramble for your loincloth and top, slipping them back onto your body. Finally, you fix your hair and force a smile to your face. As you get up to the marui, you’re met with the sight of Ralak stirring the soup pot over the firepit. Then the smell hits you. Typically the first thing to set off your nausea to begin with. It smells like—

Grandmother’s soup.

You stare at your mate wide eyed, taking a deep breath to savour it in your lungs. Outside of Ralak’s scent, nothing has smelled this good in months. And you swear you can already taste it on your tongue, the savoury flavour with the sweet aftertaste. 

“I asked your mother. Hope that is okay.” Ralak speaks casually as he serves you a bowl.

As you let out a harsh breath, your eyes burn as the tears come back with a vengeance. You sniffle once, twice—thrice, whimpering quietly as they roll down your cheeks. Ralak looks up at you, concern and honestly a smidge of confusion fixed to his face. Putting the bowl down, he stands and comes over to you, enveloping you in his arms. 

“I do not like to see you cry.” He hums, kissing the crown of your head. “Is it the smell? I will make you something different.” 

“N-No, no. It’s… it smells great. I’m sorry. I—I” You sputter, burying your face into his chest. 

“Then what is it, tìyawn [love]? What do you need?” Ralak cups your face and gently tilts your head upwards so he can look you in the eyes. “Tell me and it is yours.” 

“Thank you.” You croak, feeling your bottom lip curl over and kiss your chin. Now his facial expression is just pure confusion. He tuts in a comforting manner, pulling you back in close to his chest as he waits for you to settle, rocking side to side. 

“Alright, my little one. Shh–shh.”

——

Soon after, that soup pot made quite an appearance. It became your favourite dish, your favourite craving. Ralak made it just like grandmother, for the most part. There were a few omaticayan herbs missing, but outside of that it tasted like…home. At that point, you felt like you had this pregnancy thing down pat and could return to a semi-normal life. 

Everything was relatively the same, except a few obvious things—your growing bump and lack of heats. That was also a blessing, not having to go through a torturous heat every month. Though, you couldn’t say that for Ralak. 

As you neared the end of your third month of pregnancy, his pheromones grew stronger, wafting by you at random times of the day. At first you thought he was just doing it for you. Or, perhaps it was your heightened sense of smell. 

But the day came when his scent was so potent, it was as if it had stained your lips. There wasn’t a moment where you couldn’t smell the scent of your mate under your nose. That was the night you realised it was out of his control. That it was his rut coming. That was the night you confronted him at the bonfire. 

The night he looked at you like you were something to eat. 

— 

Right…there.

You catch the flicker of his eyes just before he lowers his head, shifting to that deep shade of blue. He keeps stealing a glance or two. Maybe even three, or more. It’s hard to keep count when he’s looking at you like this.

is piercing eyes, sultry and alluring, tempting you to crawl through these roaring flames just to get to him quicker. His demeanour. His stance and posture. His domineering leer. Whatever he—or his body—is doing, is working. 

He sits on the boulder, elbow perched on one thick thigh and a hand propped on the other. His hair covers his chestpiece, curled ends barely brushing against his defined ribcage. His bioluminescent freckles dance under the moonlight, his turquoise skin almost golden from the cast of the fire. It’s all so intimidating. He’s exuding dominance, practically looming over you despite him being seated. But there’s something about his aura, something darker.

“I can feel it, you know.” You speak casually, uncrossing your legs.

Ralak’s eyes snap up, boring into yours. He cocks a brow, keeping his eyes locked on you as you stand and walk towards him.

“Your rut. It’s close, isn’t it?”

This would be your first, real rut with him. Without the influence of your own heat. Ralak huffs a sigh, his eyes falling to the small bump that’s in his direct line of sight. Ralak watches as it seemingly grows bigger the closer you get. 

“You are showing.” His hands gently rest on your lower abdomen. Holding his shoulders, you slowly straddle him. 

“Answer me.” You whisper as you cup his face, tilting it upwards to make him look at you. “I want to be with you… and before you say it—” Ralak grits his teeth as he turns his head away, out of your hands.

“No.” 

“Ralak. I am your mate.” You retaliate through tight lips. You knew this would pose an issue. 

“Y/n.” He growls, turning his head to look you in the eyes. “You know my rut. Must I remind you that you are with child? It is final.” 

“I do know, and that’s why I won’t let you go through that alone, ever again.” Though your voice is stern, he can hear the tenderness in it. That this comes from a place of concern and love.

“I will not be in control.” Ralak admits as he shakes his head firmly, flicking his gaze back down to your belly. 

“Look…I made a plan.” You basically confess that you’ve been conjuring up ideas on how to endure this together all day. Although his eyes and hands remain fixed on your tummy, Ralaks ears perk up. He’s listening. 

“How do you feel about…being tied up?” 

Now you’ve got his attention, eyes snapping up to meet yours. The idea of being tied up isn’t entirely foreign to him. It’s something that his people use as a punishment for those who do wrong. He’s not opposed to it. Having a rut so intense is probably something to be punished for, anyways. 

“Hands behind your back…bound to the marui stilt. I will be the one in control. I will take care of you.”

You take his hands from your stomach and tuck them behind his back, your face now millimeters from his. Ralak fights the urge to kiss you. To free his hands from his back to grab your hips and shove your further down onto his growing bulge.

“...feed you…water you…bathe you.” Your voice falters as you swallow your spit. “...fuck you.” 

“...that so?” He whispers against your lips, heart thudding wildly behind his ribcage. 

You look in his eyes, and see that they tremble with constraint. He can’t hide it, the look on his face gives it away. He’s really struggling to think straight. To keep his answer as a firm no. And it doesn’t help that he’s on the cusp of his rut. He yearns to accept. Every fibre of his being wants this–wants you. You see it in his eyes, as they flicker like the flame behind you.

He just needs a little push. 

“We’ll take it slow…gently.” You roll your hips into him and feel his cock straining against his tewng. You lean in close, lips brushing against his as you speak into his mouth. “And, if anything happens… we’ll stop. No knotting.” 

His ears twitch. He’s considering it. Really, actually considering this. But how could he? How could he expect this of you in your state? He squeezes his eyes shut, frustrated and conflicted. And aroused. So fucking aroused that when he feels your lips drag against his cheek, your tongue tasting the lobe of his ear…your breathy whisper, “Pänutìng [Promise].”, he lets out a heated, shaky breath of defeat. Of surrender. 

That seals the deal.

—

Not now. Not yet. Ralak thinks to himself, fighting his urges.

The urge to mate—to pin you down and drive himself inside you. He must remain in control. For you. For your unborn. He sits on the floor, slumped against the stilt of the marui, bowed shoulders and a heavy, hung head. His skin, flushed, and eyes swollen—glowing a vibrant mauve. His hair haphazardly sticks to his sweltering skin as his hands lethargically twiddle with the braided twine behind his back. 

Groggy, you strain to open your eyes and quickly scan your surroundings. Ralaks pheromones cloud the room, engulfing you with their overpowering scent. As you sit up, the bed creaks and Ralak lifts his head, allowing it to flump limply back into the stilt. Extra lidded eyes and tensed brows, he breathes through his mouth. He wills himself to speak, but he’s heavy and sluggish as if he were three bottles deep.

“Ralak.” Your voice is wary and full of concern. Your eyes continue to trail down his body, landing on the undeniable, taut bulge in his loincloth. His cock strains against the fabric, precum completely soaking it through. “How long have you been like this?” 

“Few hours.” He croaks out a dry throat. 

“And you didn’t wake me?” You hastily make your way behind him, slipping to your knees to take the twine from him. 

Fuck. There it is. Your scent...driving him over the edge. Wafting past his nose and making him woozy in the head. 

“Tie me.” He demands. For a moment, you’re frozen in place by his tone, unable to move your hands and fingers. “Quickly.” 

The edginess in his voice startles you, causing you to fumble with the twine. You take a breath and begin tying the knot as he taught you, weaving the twine with itself, tugging at the ends to close it.

“Tighter.” He snaps at you, making your ears lay flat. You pull the ends even tauter, witnessing the twine pinch the thin skin on his wrists. 

“Shit—sorry. Didthat hurt?” You go to loosen the knot, but he pulls at the restraints, making it even tighter.  

“Leave it.” He grumbles, tugging yet again, ensuring it’s unyielding.

Because the closer you get, the harder he finds it to resist. He needs to know that he can’t get out—that he can’t hurt you—before he loses it completely. And with that delicious scent seeping from your neck, he feels himself slipping under. 

“Are you sure? I can tie you after you drink some water and have a—” 

“No...haah—now.” He growls, dropping his head causing the rest of his hair to flow forward and cover his face. “…need you now.” 

Blood rushes to your cheeks, heating them up and flushing them over. You can even feel your heart pumping it harder–faster. It’s hot in here, but even hotter now that you feel yourself heating up too. It’s his rut, influencing you like some sort of drug. You can barely control your breathing, much less think straight. But you told him that you’d be the one in control, the one to care for him. 

“Mawey, ma’ muntxatan [Calm, my husband].” You whisper close to his ear, giving the knot a final tug. “What kind of mate would I be if I did not care for you first? Hm?”  

You shuffle to your feet, and walk away, newly widened hips swaying side to side with temptation. He’s taking in the show through the cracks of space between his clumped together strands of hair, unable to look away no matter how hard he tries. Knowing this, you bend over, lifting your tail to expose your clothed mound to him. You swear you can hear a hiss seep from his lips, and that brings a smile to yours. 

Teasing him is one of your favourite things to do. 

You scoop up some water into the cup, and bring it over to him. Using two fingers to his chin, you tilt his head back, revealing the famine in his inebriated eyes. They’re glossy with need and desperation, begging you to take his ache away. 

“Alright, alright.” You coo softly, sinking back to your knees. “I’m going to make it go away. Now, drink for me.” You bring the cup to his lips, tilting it carefully as he gulps it down thirstily. A few drops dribble down his chin and onto his already glistening chest, rolling down his unflexed stomach. 

Tossing the empty cup to the side, you bend forward and lick the beads of water up his stomach, to his throat, to his lips. His arms jerk reflexively, wanting to cup your face as your lips lock with his.

Throwing a leg over his lap, you straddle him, pressing against the bulge in his sticky tewng. You cup his face instead, deepening the kiss to have a taste of the potent desperation on his tongue.

When you pull away, your noses brush against one another and you feel woozy in the head. His rut is beginning to affect you now. Which isn’t all a bad thing if you want to be able to keep up with him for the next couple days.  

Your hand smoothes over his jawbone to the nape of his neck, where you gently grip the base of his kuru. His ears immediately lay flat to his head, reddening at just the tips. Running your hand along its length, you bring the end of his kuru in front of him. 

“Going to make the bond.” You warn him breathily, bringing forth your queue as well. 

At this point, Ralak is huffing for air and sweating profusely. It looks as if he’s nearing his peak already. This only reaffirms that you’re making the right decision by making tsaheylu—you need the direct influence of his tìsom [heat]. 

When the tendrils intertwine, you come together with a sharp tug and gasp. Instantaneously, you sink into a hazy state, heating up from within. Your breath syncs with his, and suddenly you’re panting too. 

“Ralak.” You moan softly, grinding into him for a bit of friction.

You can’t stop your hips from snapping, and your loincloth is almost completely soaked. He throws his head back into the wooden stilt, looking at you through lidded eyes as he lets loose subtle groans. He looks more than hungry. He looks starved. 

With trembling hands, you search for the knot of his loincloth at the base of his tail. After a bit of scuffling, you untether it and shimmy his tewng down his hips and off of him. Up springs his aching cock, veiny and swollen. It’s so obviously neglected, glossy and sticky with his slick, so uncomfortably hard that it’s already pulsing as it stands firmly pressed against your clothed cunt. 

“Fuck. It’s… even bigger.” You’re taken aback, unsure of how exactly you managed to take this inside you last time he was in rut. Then you notice the red tinge of colour on his cockhead, especially where his ridges stand erect. “D-Does that hurt, karyu?” Bump in the way, you shift your hips back to reveal what exactly you’re talking about. “Need your numeyu to take away the pain?” 

The giant remains silent, but his cock jumps in response, oozing out another large bead of precum. Using your pointer finger, you trace the length of his cock, swollen balls to his pointed tip, collecting that fresh bead of slick on the pad of your digit. He watches intently as you pop your finger into your mouth and suckle, swallowing his semi-sweet essence. His brows knit tightly together. 

You know this is nothing short of torture to him. And though you have every intention to take the ache away… when would you get another opportunity like this? Where this giant is tied down and unable to resist the pleasure you bring him. Where you’re completely… in control. Fuck, you’ve never felt like this before. It's exhilarating. It’s a feeling of power. Of dominance.

A smirk pulls at your lips.   

You begin to pull yourself to your knees, brushing your swollen breasts against his lips. His tongue darts out, eager for a taste. Looking down, you cup one breast with your hand, and guide your stiff nipple into his mouth. His lips pucker over it, closing once they make contact for a vacuum seal.

Your breath hitches when you feel his tongue tickle the sensitive tip of your nipple. His teeth graze against them as he tries to do this handsfree, and you let out a low hiss. Soon his movements grow erratic, being bound to the marui stilt is starting to frustrate him. 

“Ah-ah. What do you need, karyu? Just tell me.” Your voice is feigned with innocence. He breathes heavy against your chest, keeping quiet as his focus is purely on getting his fill. “You won’t get anything from them.” You tsk, tugging away little by little, until eventually you pop off his mouth. 

You continue to rise to your feet, dragging his lips along your swelling tummy, until he’s eye level to the band of your tewng. You can feel his eyes pierce into you, his stare is anything but discreet. It’s intimidating. Your hand flies to the back of your loincloth, fiddling with the knot to untie it. 

“Is it this?”

The cloth drops to your ankles, exposing your flushed cunt to him. It’s pink and hot to the touch, undeniably aroused. Your scent grows stronger with each passing second, filling his lungs. It’s driving him insane—being able to see and smell, but not touch. His rut is only making him more irritable. He just needs to fuck into something and spill himself inside. 

His eyes glisten over an even brighter shade of purple, locking onto their meal. He wets his bottom lip with a quick swipe of his tongue as you take a step closer. You cup his jawbone, tilting it upwards to look down at him. The sight is… intoxicating. His lidded eyes, blown pupils that are threatening to roll to the back of his head. Tensed brow bones and damped, slightly parted lips—not a drop of composure left in his features. 

That new feeling rushes through you again, making you take two more steps forward. Your bare cunt brushes against the tip of his nose, officially branding it with your scent. He leans into you, closing his eyes and straining his neck to indulge himself. 

Your thumb smoothes over his jaw before your hand slips to the back of his head. You fist his hair and yank his head back, sending his eyes flying open. With your free hand, you spread your pussy lips, exposing your swollen clit. It’s sticky and in need of attention, throbbing occasionally as you tug your hood back. 

“Now, suck.” You demand breathily, slowly guiding him by the head to bring his lips to your clit.

You clench around nothing when you feel his heated, slippery lips pucker over the stiffened nub, sucking gently. Sharp eyes bore into yours before they roll back, leaving nothing but the whites exposed. Lids finally fluttering closed, he sucks a little harder, tips of his canines accidentally nipping your supple skin.  

“Ss—fuck.” You hiss, hips snapping back with force, popping off his mouth with a sharp sting. Frantic fingers rub away the tingling sensation as you grit your teeth. You shuffle your feet to ground yourself as you tighten your grip on his hair and hold his head still. 

“I know you’re in rut, but be good to your muntxate [wife].” You warn through your teeth before shoving his face back into your cunt.

This time he feasts with greed, groaning like a starved man. Eating, like a starved man. He’s slurping and sucking, lapping up your slick as it coats his tongue and lips, enjoying every second of your reign.

“Oh—oh shit. Fuck. Right there—” You moan breathlessly, free hand flying to his head to fist his hair, using it as leverage to keep him just where he is.

Before you know it your hips are moving on their own, humping at his face as you hold him tightly with both hands. With each thrust you shove him further back into the stilt, until the back of your hand is repeatedly hitting its surface. 

Until you’re hunched over him, looking him deep in the eyes as you grind into whatever part of him your clit is rubbing against. He expertly holds his breath as he allows you full control to fuck his face as if you were the one in heat.

Because with each roll of your hips he feels it too.

He feels the jolt of pleasure that shoots through you when his tongue hits your clit in that special spot. When the tips of his canines graze your swollen folds. The feeling is all consuming and he’s whining into your cunt from the over—and under—stimulation. His cock shifts to a shade of purple, jumping each time you thrust into his mouth. 

‘Sorry, Ralak. ‘m sorry.’ You think to him through tsaheylu, feeling the burn in your own lungs now. 

“Haa—ah, fuck. Thrust. Fuck. Thrust. F-Fuck! I’m gonna cum—in your—ngh!” Your voice quavers as you come suddenly undone in his mouth, holding him firm and still as you rock your body into him. 

His eyes slam shut and his brows knit tightly together as he grunts repeatedly into your cunt. He tugs harshly at his restraints and his heels dig into the woven floor. Yet still, you hold onto him even tighter until your pussy stops fluttering. 

With a loud, shaky gasp, you yank him away, letting go of his hair to grab the marui stilt to stop your trembling legs from giving out beneath you. Ralak wheezes loudly, shoulders heaving harshly as he frantically pants for air. His face is bright pink, flushed and glazed in a layer of sweat. He opens his eyes but they’re so heavy that you can barely see the colour in them. 

“Rutxe [please].” Ralak begs through a desperate groan, flicking his stare downwards. And when you look, you’re met with the sight of his still-throbbing cock, covered in his sticky, thick cum. Shiney beads still ooze out and dribble down his length and onto his swollen, firm balls. 

His first word was a plea of help. 

Your heart aches in your chest. How could you let yourself go so far with your little bit of power? To be so selfish. And here he was, in so much discomfort and yet you put your needs first. Leaving him so neglected to the point his body makes the release for him. Is this how he felt after he unleashed six pent up years on you in a couple days? 

Pent up years of suffering. 

“Shh. You’re okay, my love. You’re okay.” You whisper as you slowly squat down. “I got you. I’m going to make it…” you hold eye contact with him as you lower yourself onto his cock, aligning his tip with your sopping entrance, “…all better now.” 

You wince when his cock slowly penetrates you, mewling a little higher with every inch you manage to take. The stretch is almost unbearable. This is the first rut you’ve spent with him without being in heat. 

No foggy haze to dull the ache. 

No emptiness to be filled. 

And it doesn’t help that your womb is already so full. 

Your mewl quickly turns into a whimper when your bodies become flush to one another. Ralaks head slumps back into the marui stilt and he heaves a loud, lengthy moan of relief from being buried deep inside your warm cunt. You feel so good around him, making his cock heat up and twitch inside of you. 

Snaking your arms around his neck, you hold onto him as you frantically try to adjust to his size. It’s dawning on you exactly what you’ve gotten yourself into, and that you’ve seriously underestimated his rut. A sense of uncertainty begins to tighten your stomach but it quickly dissipates when you hear Ralak’s second plea. 

“Rutxe, ma’ tanhì..” Ralak mutters with a pained, gravelly voice. 

Without another word, you move your hips up and down, dragging his length along your gummy, slick walls. Your movements are sloppy and uncoordinated, you’re not used to doing most of the work much less all of it. With his hands tied behind his back, you can already feel the burn in your thighs and the throb in the tips of your toes. 

Regardless, you keep moving your hips. 

Bouncing up and down on his cock, pressing your forehead into his in a poor attempt to steady your position. That little sting slowly morphs into something of pleasure the more your hips meet his with a slap. And soon all you can hear is smack, after smack, after smack. The noises that split his lips tell you all you need to know. He’s feeling good and that’s all that matters. 

But exhaustion hits you quickly—unexpectedly. His cock is buried to the hilt inside you, and the more tired your legs get, the deeper it drills inside you, pressing harshly into your cervix. Your legs are trembling uncontrollably and you can barely catch your breath, leaving you no choice but to lazily rock back and forth on his cock. 

Ralak lets out a grunt and bucks his hips. 

“Haah!” You yelp.

Ralaks ears lay flat, lips pursed tightly into a thin line. He can’t hold back his frustration any longer. He’s growing impatient. If he didn’t get his real release soon he may really lose it. He’s grunting through his nose and tugging at his restraints, bruising his wrists. You feel him shift his hips up and shove his cock as far as he can inside you. 

“Ngh! I-It won’t go any deeper!” Your voice strains as you try to lift yourself up. But he just keeps pushing until his feet are grounded. And then his hips drop, pulling his cock half way out of you. 

Thrust.

Ralak slams his cock back inside you, drilling deeper than he was before. Your mouth falls open as all the air is forcefully expelled from your lungs. As you suck in a gasp of air he thrusts inside you again. And again. And again. Until he’s rutting into you in a feverish frenzy, chasing his climax as if it were prey. His thrusts turn relentless, leaving you breathless with each buck of his hips. 

“Fuck—fuck—fu—” Your voice bounces with his thrusts. 

You look down, met with eyes that are empty yet heavy with appetite. He’s in the thick of it and he’s no longer all there. He’s purely instinct now and the only thing holding him back from pinning you down and having his way with you is the twine wrapped around his wrists. 

You can’t lie and say that you aren’t enjoying the look on his face and the break from the burn in your thighs. Stars sprinkle your vision as you’re overwhelmed with the immense pleasure he’s slamming into you. He’s fucking you into submission and you’re mind is borderline blank. His groans are primal and guttural, and they grow louder with each hysteric thrust. 

“Want to knot.” He huffs suddenly—desperately. You can feel his thick knot poke and prod at your entrance, his thrusts now sloppy and erratic. 

“Fuck, I—” You know you shouldn’t, no matter how hazy his rut is making you feel. “W-We can’t. I’m still ea—rly.” But he’s too busy watching himself fuck you in a daze, drenched with sweat. “Ralak…” You grab his face, tilting his chin upwards so he looks you in the face. His gaze is hollow yet his features are tense. “…are y–ou hear–ing me, la–k?”

“Need to breed.” He growls as he fights against his restraints. He doesn’t ease up on his tussle with the twine, sweating and panting as he desperately tries to force his knot inside you. 

“Shit.” You mutter, coming to the quick realisation that he can’t stop himself. “Wait, wait, wait—” 

Your hands fall from his face to his stomach, pushing down in a panicky attempt to lift yourself off him. But his rut is making you sluggish and weak, so you make the quick decision to sever the bond with a rough yank. 

Snap. 

“Oh, fuck.” You curse under your breath. 

The twine breaks, and his arms fly forward, hands making impact with your hips, fingernails digging into the thin skin. His grip is unyielding as he holds you down firmly on his cock. You feel him throb inside you as he attempts to plug you full with his knot. 

“Lak! Ralak, h-hold on!” As much as you actually want to, you can barely take what’s inside you as it is.

“Submit.” He rasps, top lip curled tight to his teeth, baring his canines. 

“I—I’m pregnant.” You whisper quickly, voice hoarse and strained. 

Immediately, his movements cease and his eyes flick down to your tiny bump, then widen when he finally realises. In one swift, sudden move, he lifts you off him and uses your swollen pussy lips to hug his cock and finish himself off. He rocks you back and forth like a rag doll at the mercy of undying grip, growling and grunting. 

His head drops forward when he outright howls. You look down and witness his mushroomy head pulsating feverishly, spurting out his load in thick ropes, all over his stomach and chest. All whilst his engorged, throbbing knot pulses against your slit as he cums, earning some well deserved comfort and warmth.

Ralak sputters as he tries to catch his breath, hands still glued to your hips. The fog still clouds his mind but it’s less blinding now. He’s just about capable of acknowledging what just happened. To acknowledge that this was risky, and could’ve ended badly. That, if you hadn’t said something to him, he would have knotted you without mercy.

An uncomfortable silence passes between you, where you’re both breathing heavily and staring at one another. You both share the same thought—the same realisation. His rut is too aggressive for you to handle right now. 

“I must go.” Ralak looks away as he breaks the silence, wanting to take advantage of his release before the pressure builds yet again. He’s clear headed enough to leave without turning back and pouncing on you. 

“No, don’t… we can try again.” You say softly, hand cupping his jawbone, turning him to face you. You feel terrible that he may have to spend this rut alone, that you couldn’t fulfil your promise—your duty as his mate. 

“I almost knotted you, y/n.” His eyes gloss over with guilt, his hands finally peeling away your bruised hips. 

“But… you didn’t. You stopped yourself—” 

“And if I do not leave now… I will.” Ralak growls inches away from your face.

You’re a little taken aback by his bluntness, but you know it’s the truth. And it’s final. No matter what you say. No matter how it makes the flesh between your legs throb a little more. You nod, keeping yourself quiet. 

“I will see you in a couple days. I love you both.” Your lips meet briefly before he carries you to bed and readies himself to leave. You watch in silence, murmuring an “I love you, too” under your breath when he exits the marui.  

—

As time passed you grew more angsty, unable to keep in one spot or focus on a single task. All that ran on your mind was Ralak and how he was probably suffering all alone. All because you failed to do your duty as his mate. The guilt was almost sickening, having you dry heaving into your bedside bucket a few times for the rest of the day. 

Until later that night. 

You rub in the thick, oily concoction on your belly, getting ready for bed. The sound of the marui door flapping open startles you, making you jump in your skin and clutch your stomach. You’re not expecting Ralaks return so soon. 

A silhouette stands tall at the door, his bioluminescent star pattern unmistakable. 

“Ralak? Oh, Ralak. Eywa. You’re back. I should have made dinner. I thought you'd be gone for a while longer. You must be so hungry. You—” You speak urgently, eyes flicking down to his tewng, which is seemingly damp, “—was it too much? …are you alright? Let me help you, lak.”

“Tanhì.” Ralaks cuts you short, voice trembling slightly, yet full of relief. “It is done.” 

“…what?” The question is breathy. 

“My rut.” Ralak says as he makes his way towards you, scooping up a glob of your special concoction. He sits next to you, and begins massaging it into your back. “You have fixed me.” 

You come to the realization that he's talking about his rut finishing earlier than usual—like that of an average na'vi.

“You were never broken, my love.” You moan softly, closing your eyes to enjoy the massage.

Ralak then rests his chin on your shoulder, smoothing his hands down your back and around your abdomen—rubbing what's left on his hands onto your swelling belly. His touch prickles your skin, sending the tip of your tail swishing. 

“I live for you.” He mutters with a thick accent, nuzzling his face into your neck. “I will die for you.”

Your heart skips a beat when you hear his words, he must have really been suffering for the past six years. You feel your face heat up, and you try to fight the smile balling your cheeks. You opt to drop your head and hide your face instead, resting a hand on his thigh. 

“Well. We won’t have you doing that.” You giggle, rubbing his upper thigh as you turn your head to glance at him. “…the last part, that is.” 

But he just looks at you, face still as stone. He speaks sternly.

“I will.” He speaks sternly.

You swallow your spit, tempted to drop your head again as you take in the gravity of his two words. You nod, searching his eyes with yours as you close the space between you. You hover open mouthed against his lips. 

“Me too.”

——

Time waits for no one. 

At least that’s how it felt. You had ballooned overnight, round and a little heavier as you embarked on your sixth month of pregnancy. His kicks grew stronger and more uncomfortable. But it was Ralaks favourite thing to feel before bed.

You found yourself spending most of your days bouncing between your marui and your family’s marui—paying your family visits more often. They grew fond of the idea that there would be an addition to the family and it became a regular thing for you to seek refuge there when Ralak was roped in for his ‘duties’. Which seemed to increase in number the further along you progressed. 

Ralak had his daily duties—tending to the ilus, a few lessons, fishing... These were just the simpler tasks that you could say you knew for certain he did. But there were his ‘fkxaranga’ [stressful] duties’, as you liked to call them.

The ones where Tonowari would summon him with nothing else but a simple nudge or glance. The duties that were spontaneous. That stole precious hours of his time. Duties that left Ralak spent and on edge, reaching for his top shelf when he came home. Those were the ones you dreaded the most. 

The ones like last night. 

——

With a huff, Ralak chucks his gear onto the floor and roughly unclips his chest piece. His pointed tools are covered in some sort of thick, iridescent muck, shifting from green to orange as they rock side to side on the floor. It’s something you’ve been seeing recently with no idea as to what it is. 

Ralak grunts, bringing your attention to his lips, which are slightly downturned. The more you take in the sight before you the more it occurs to you how exhausted this man is. His eyes are hollow, ears droopy, tail dragging heavily behind him. His muscles are seized up despite the bow of his shoulders—he looks as if he could use a massage. 

“Manga [Hey, you].” You get up to meet him at the door, taking the chest piece out of his hands to hang up on the wooden stand. “Tonowari is working your tail off. Do I need to have a word with that man?” 

He only works up a grumble as you lead him over to the bed. “That bad? What is he making you do? Hunt akulas? Eywa.”  

Ralak sits down, face sinking into his hands before two fingers slip down to pinch the bridge of his nose. You climb up and settle behind him, huffing and puffing along the way. Your hands smooth over his back, thumbs pressing firmly into his muscles, kneading the flesh until you feel him loosen up. 

Though the question sounded rhetorical, he knew it wasn’t. He knows you’re awaiting a response, the silence is loud and clear. You always want to know more about his day, fine details and all. And he’s usually reluctant to speak of it, but insisting it’s nothing for you to worry your head over. But recently, your inquisitivity is… well founded. And he knows it.

“Not quite.” He mumbles wearily into his palm, ears laid flat to his skull–although it wasn’t uncommon for him to encounter an akula or two whilst fulfilling the olo’eyktan’s orders. 

You open your mouth to question him further, but you can tell that he’s more than tired. And it didn’t help that you were constantly needing his help, especially now that you’re growing heavier.

Going down the stairs is a struggle considering you can no longer see your own feet or keep your balance. You had been waking him up almost twice a night to help you down the marui stairs just to pee. He’d always be happy to help, though. He understands that this is what comes with the changes that are happening to your body that’s giving life to his child. 

“Rest. Please.” You say softly, tugging at him to lie down in bed with you. 

To your surprise, he actually lays down, assuming his typical position before dozing off for the night—on his back with a hand on your belly. You expected him to resist a little, insisting something or another.

He really, really must be tired. Your heart fills with something heavy. Something that makes you almost feel sick. Your brows pinch as you look beside you to see his tensed face relax into something of tranquility. 

And a smile pulls at your lips when his eyes fall shut. 

Dinner’s over the firepit—his favourite stew with extra mushrooms. The sound of it bubbling becomes louder as it thickens. With a quick, final stir, you take it off the fire and cover it to let it sit. You hope that this will help lift his mood when he wakes. You look over to him as he lays stockstill with softened features, breathing tidally. 

Holding onto a supporting beam of the marui, you bring yourself to your feet and waddle your way over to him. You extend a hand to wake him for dinner but you hesitate. He needs this. And that’s when you make the decision to allow him however long it takes to rest. Even if it means that you speak to Tonowari yourself. 

Night falls and the temperature falls with it. The glowing firepit keeps the stew and marui warm for the time being as you prepare for bed. You draw the curtains and glance over to your mate, who still remains in a deep sleep, tucked cozily under the blanket you covered him with. You drape the shawl he wove you over your shoulders, and make your way to the door. 

A silent yawn splits your lips just before you lift away the flap. Your eyelids are heavy and the drowsiness is weighing on you tenfold. You have one last step of your nightly routine before you can crawl into bed next to your husband. And that's emptying the bladder that your son uses as a footrest. Plus, if you didn’t do it now, it would just be an additional trip in the middle of the night. 

As you make your way to the door, the need to go becomes urgent. Perhaps it was all the water you thirstily chugged whilst eating, or maybe it's just the fact that you're already on your way there. Either way, you can’t seem to get there quick enough. Your movements turn hasty the second you get to the top step, hands clutching on the only thing available—your bulging belly. You’re looking down despite the fact that you can’t even see your feet.

Leaning forward slightly, you try to shift your stomach to the side to see your next step. You step down and feel your bare foot make contact with the slippery wood. Your toes press into its surface to ground you as you take your next step. You wobble when you get to the last step, and sigh in relief when you feel the cold, wet sand spill between your toes. 

After wasting no time and doing what you came to do, you quickly make your way back to the marui. The tips of your ears and tails are just going numb from how cold it is and the night dew is beginning to form. You get to the bottom step, fixing your shawl so that it’s out the way. You make your way up the first, second and third step, but when you get to the fourth your shawl falls forward. 

And so do you. 

A blood curdling shriek rips from your throat when you feel your feet give out beneath you. Your hands splay out to grab onto whatever’s around you to break your fall but before you know it you're tumbling back down the stairs at a frightening rate. You keep on your side as best you can, landing into the sand with a muffled thump. 

“Fuck. Shit—oh, great mother—” You mutter as you hyperventilate, clutching your stomach as you wait for your son to kick—to show you some sign of life. Your eyes well with tears as you rub your bump vigorously. Your heart is slamming violenting against your rib cage, so hard you can hear it over the ringing in your ears. “Please, please, please.” 

…but nothing. 

“Y/n?!” You hear Ralaks worried voice boom behind you, then his hurried footsteps down the stairs. 

Maybe it’s his fathers voice, but your unborn son gives you one of the biggest kicks yet. You sob out a laugh, rubbing your stomach as relief flows through your body. You take a few deep breaths through your mouth to calm down, feeling another reassuring kick. 

“Y/n. Y/n.” Ralak chants your name, eyes rapidly darting side to side to assess you as he kneels beside you. Concern’s etched deeply into his features as he lifts your arms and legs, searching for injuries. 

“I’m alright. I’m alright.” You repeat urgently, but he continues to look, even taking off your shawl. His eyes are wide and he seems to be in some level of shock, especially after coming straight out of a deep sleep. “Ralak. Really. I’m fine. We’re okay.” 

Ralaks features soften at your two final words. His stare falls to your swollen belly, hands taking the place of yours as he waits. After a few seconds of stillness, his eyes snap up to yours—refilling with worry. He begins to shake his head, and you reassure him with a hand to his face. 

“Talk to him.” You whisper with trembling lungs. Ralak looks back down to your stomach.

“Maitan [My son].” Your mate says in a low, steady voice, ensuring not to allow even a hint of fright slip through. Just then, he feels a little nudge against the palm of his hand. Ralaks gaze snaps up to you and his expression relaxes, hands rubbing your belly gently. “How did this happen, tanhì?”

“I…needed to pee.” You say shamefully, avoiding eye contact. “…and I tripped going up the steps.” You glance up at him to see what you perceive to be a face of disappointment. “I’m sorry. I know, I’m so stupid.” 

“No. Do not say that.” He interjects, tensing his jaw. “...you are heavy with child—why did you not wake me?” 

“You were so, so tired. You needed to rest, and I did not want to disturb you.” You turn to your side to get up, wincing when a sharp pain shoots down your back. 

“Careful.” He clears his throat, stopping you from trying to get up on your own. He watches your contorted face relax, but the heart wrenching guilt just gets worse. “You should have. Wake me for anything.” He says sternly, snaking his arms underneath you to lift you up. “Everything.”

“You really don’t have to—” Ralak continues, scooping you in his arms and holding you close to his chest. “I can walk. I’m all right, Ralak.”

You try to reassure him, shuffling in his arms to get down. But he only muffles out a sigh, glancing down at you with downturned brows and droopy ears. He then walks away from the marui stairs, to the direction of the water. 

“Where are we going?” You ask quickly when you realise that you’re walking away from home. Ralak clicks for his tsurak, taking his time as he mounts it with you tucked to his chest. “Ralak.” 

“To tsahìk.” He states, making the bond with his beast.

“Ronal?” You sound almost panicked as the idea of everyone knowing you fell up the stairs clouds your mind. It’s almost mortifying to think about. “We don’t need to do that, it’s really late too, and—”

Commanding his beast to go, you both take off at full speed. It doesn’t take long to arrive at the tsahìk’s healing pod. Many healers gather at the door when they hear the sound of Ralak’s low pitched call. And they rush out to meet him as he carries you towards them in a hurried manner. They usher you in, hushed murmurs growing louder and clearer as they bring you to Ronal. 

You didn’t even notice the burning pain in your lower back until you were about half way here. 

The Tsahìk stands upon your entrance, her crystal blue eyes widening when she sees Ralak with you in his arms. You wince as he lays you down where the healers instruct him to. She strides over to a woven basket filled with an array of herbs and needle-like wooden sticks, and quickly props it on her hip—just out of the way of her own bump. She settles herself beside you, feeling your stomach as she channels Eywa. 

Ronal throws a look to Ralak, whose hands are on his hips as he waits patiently for the verdict. 

“She fell.” He says, only for Ronal to cock an eyebrow. “Stairs.” He finishes. Then both her eyebrows raise, and she reaches for a jar of a ground up, purplish herb. She pours half of it into a wooden bowl, and activates it with a few drops of water from the spirit tree. 

“Baby is strong. Very strong.” The Tsahìk announces, and both you and Ralak heave a loud sigh of relief. “But—” Ronal props your legs up on the makeshift table, spreading them slightly. Embarrassment flushes your cheeks as you look over to Ralak. “You are still at risk.”

Ralak moves closer to you, taking your hand in his to keep you calm. You both watch as Ronal rolls the fabric tightly into a small cylindrical shape. You swallow your spit when you realise exactly where that’s going. 

“This ensures he stays. It will also help with the pain.” She states, glancing at Ralak to see the glare he’s trying to hold back. She shakes her head slightly and hands you the precautionary apparatus. “Insert. Rest…and remove at sunrise.” Ronal continues, drawing back the curtain to give you some privacy. 

“Sunrise?” You whisper to yourself as you watch her step out.

Your eyes dart up to Ralak who is clearly concerned, staring down at you with worry in his eyes. Embarrassment heats up your cheeks and your nerves fray. Why are you so shy all of a sudden? He’s your mate. Your husband. 

You sit up a bit more and try to see over your stomach to get the task done with shaky hands. You fumble and struggle with the flimsy cloth, blindly doing your best. But each time you lean forward the pain in your back burns hotter.

Ralak’s supporting you with a hand on your upper back, patiently waiting for you, noticing your trembling fingers and little grunts. He uses his free hand to cup yours, stilling your hurried movements.

“Mawey [calm]. Breathe.” He hums, gently taking it from you and helping you lay down. 

You look him in the eyes as he inserts it carefully, wincing when the concoction stings a bit. Ralak gives your hand a light squeeze, speaking as if he had access to your thoughts. You nod, trying to smile through the burning sensation, but he picks up on your discomfort. 

“What is it? Is it your back?" His voice quavers with worry.

“No… just burns a little.” You say quietly. You watch his jaw flutter and his shoulders droop as he huffs out a sigh. “Not to worry. It’s going away now.” 

As he’s about to speak, the curtain is drawn to the side and Ronal comes in and stands at the arched entrance, hand on her hip. Ralak averts his attention to her, his eyes glancing down at her unborn moving in her belly. Although you were both six months pregnant, you were noticeably bigger than her. 

“A word.” Her serious tone of voice brings him out of deep thought, and her nudging head tells him that it’s something urgent. 

Ralak looks at you, not wanting to leave you alone but you smile and reassure him with a light nod. He clenches his jaw but you give him a gentle push towards Ronal. He squeezes your hand before letting go and leans in to plant a firm kiss on your forehead. You watch as he leaves, laying back and taking in the ripples in the curtain as you strain to hear their hushed conversation. 

“Ronal. Oe irayo si ngaru. [Thank you]” Ralak begins, bowing before the shorter na’vi.

“I worry for your mate.” Ronal cuts to the chase, using her hand to guide him further away from the curtain. 

“For what reason?” He asks, keeping his head hung to hear what she has to say. They walk until they’re nearly at the entrance of the healing pod. 

“Your son is fast growing.” She speaks calmly but quickly.

Ralak is a little puzzled, although he doesn’t show it. Is that such a bad thing? He continues to look down at her with the same expression, listening intently to what the tsahìk speaks of.

“Her body will struggle. Birth will be hard. Very long and painful.” Now Ralak is having a hard time keeping his emotions concealed as they chisel themselves into his features. Yet he remains silent. “You must warn her about mun’i [the cut].”

“Pxasìk [no way/fuck that]” Ralak curses through a hiss in his native tongue as he stands at full height, figuratively and literally taken aback. How dare she call that upon his mate? Ronal returns a low hiss as Ralak moves away from her, staring down at her with a mixture of emotions. 

Concern. Surprise. Fear. 

Mun’i [the cut] is rare and risky. Only three have been performed since the birth of this clan, all done in desperation when hope was gone. The last one was performed by Ronal's mother herself. It is an extremely invasive procedure where the mother is cut and the infant is removed. It’s only done in dire situations, where the mother is incapable of giving birth to their young naturally, and risks dying in the process.

Ralak can’t help but feel a burning anger amongst the sea of emotions flooding him at once. How could she suggest such a thing to him? Something so dangerous and grave? All because you will give birth to ‘a different kind’. He’s more than confident that you’re capable of this, despite the murmurs circulating the clan. 

He has always been aware of Ronal's perception of you, and her opinion about the mating. It was no secret, though she never outwardly told Ralak as he is like a son to her. She often insisted that you two were not compatible in more ways than one, and always saw you as the forest girl who needed special training. But to know that Ronal doubts your capabilities to give life ignites a flame in his chest. 

One that he must quickly put out. 

“Ralak!” 

He hears you call out for him, prompting him to quell the flame and shoot Ronal a glare of displeasure. “She is stronger than you know.” Ralak speaks through his teeth before turning his heel to tend to you. 

Heart pounding, he makes his way through the curtain to be met with the joyous sight of you cradling your stomach with a smile plastered to your face. That only further calms the flicker of the flame in his chest, making a smile tug at his lips. He sees you glance up at him, pearly teeth glistening in the luminosity of the night. 

“Sorry if I startled you, it’s just—he’s kicking so hard. Come, come feel!” You blubber excitedly, reaching out for his hand to place it on your belly. He slowly takes a knee, staying still as stone to soak up each movement. “He is so strong, Ralak. Like you.” You whisper, looking down at your mate doting on your bump. 

Though he should be proud of your words, he can’t help but feel a little nervous by them. If this child is really like him, then what Ronal said may have some truth to it. Yet he smiles, smoothing his thumb over your protruding belly button. 

“He is strong like his sa’nu [mummy].” He says softly, perhaps in attempts to reassure himself and calm his own nerves. Your smile only grows and you place your hand on top of his. 

“What did Ronal say?” Ralaks eyes snap up to yours, wide and almost panicked, wiping the smile off your face instantly. “Oh, no. Is it bad? Is something wrong?” 

“No, no. She says…” He drops his head, watching his unborn move as he contemplates telling you. You need rest, and this would further stress your mind and body. Ralak urges himself to smile—to create a new mask—one of feigned happiness. “…you must rest. Wait until sunrise.” 

“Oh, okay.” You exhale a sigh of relief, “Good. I—I can do that.” 

—— 

After such an eventful night, sleep found you easily. Ralak carried you up the marui stairs, tucked you into bed and watched as your eyes fluttered shut. And even so, he remained at your side for some time, ensuring you were deep in sleep before embarking on his new task. 

It began with a ‘quick’ trip inland for the right kind of wood. The kind that holds up well against the elements and the saltiness of the water. The kind that doesn’t have a slip to it when it's been wet for more than a few hours. It took a few trips to get it all back to the beach but it was more of an irritable task than a difficult one.

Ralak tried to keep as quiet as possible, spending the rest of the night—until sunrise—cutting and carving the wood, binding them together with twine, sap and wooden pins. And by the time the first few rays of sunlight beamed in, he was engraving his finishing touches. 

—

Ralak chucks down the tool and it lands into the sand with a muffled thud. Using the back of his strake to wipe his forehead clean of sweat, he looks up at his work for a final time—railings for the marui stairs. Then the bright ray of sun shines before his eyes, standing between his two new creations. 

You.

You’re surprised to see him out this early, still in his gear from last night. The realisation dawns on you that he’s been up all night, doing this. You can actually feel your chest warm up as your heart pumps the blood through your veins at an insane rate. It rushes to your cheeks, making them hot and flushed. 

“Is this what you’ve been doing all night?” You ask the question under your breath, dragging a hand along the railing. It’s smooth under the pads of your fingers, and warm to the touch, as if they’ve just been filed down. You notice a small carving on the side of the railing—your son’s initial.

R. 

“Mm.” He grunts, not that he could have slept anyways. He glances at the initial that you’re staring at. “I should have done it long ago.” The shame in his voice is loud and clear. You look down at your feet, unsure of what to say, noticing that he’s redone the steps too. 

“Ralak—”

“You must still wake me. Understand?” He cuts you off, already knowing what you’re about to say. 

You take a step down, holding tightly onto the railing with one hand and the other tucked under your bump. He rushes up the stairs and supports you by the arm. You lean into him for a hug, nuzzling your face into his chest. “… thank you, my love.” 

“Kea tìkin [no need (for thanks)].” He presses his lips onto the crown of your head, words muffled by your hair. His hand slips down your arm and rests on your lower back. “Still feeling pain?” 

“No. I feel good. Like new.” You smile, watching his features soften and his lips pull into a subtle smile. “Your son, too. He kicked me all night.” 

“Is that so, young one?” He leans down to speak to your belly as you watch intently, “you must be gentle with your sa’nu [mummy].” 

As he looks back up to you, your eyes follow his every move. And suddenly it’s just the two of you, before the orange glow of the sunrise, sharing this intimate gaze with one another. 

“Ralak… I see you.” You say softly, witnessing his pupils blow until there’s nothing but thin rings of blue.

He swallows, you see the lump in his throat undulate, and the balls of his cheeks stain a light pink. He blinks a few times, leaning in until his lips brush against yours. He lingers there for a bit, jaw fluttering as he grits his teeth a few times. He can’t help but feel a pang in his chest. 

How could he keep this from you?

“Oel ngat kame, ma’ muntxate.” He husks the words before locking his lips with yours.

But as he pulls away, you see the glint in his eye. When he sees your lowered brows and inquisitive eyes, he attempts to fix his mask of indifference—no, happiness. But you see right through it—

The glint of guilt. 

“What is it?” You ask, reaching behind him for his kuru. It’s your way of saying, 'no secrets'. He’s quiet. Uncomfortably quiet. Unsure of how to say what he should say. You urge him with a light tug to his queue, creating a little more distance between you to look him dead in the eye. “Ralak.”

“Ronal doubts…you.” He says plainly, trying hard to rid himself of the thought of childbirth taking you away from him.

“I don’t understand. What—what does that mean?” You ask, confused and worried. 

“I should have told you about it when you asked.” Ralak says, shaking his head. “But…you were already under so much stress. In pain. Our son—” 

“Ralak. Tell me about what?” You whisper quietly—quickly. Ralak looks at you, allowing a few seconds of silence to pass before he speaks. 

“Mun’i [the cut].” Ralak’s voice cracks with pain as the dreaded thought floods his mind. 

Ralak goes on to explain mun'i, giving you a brief lesson on its history and typical…outcome. He explains why Ronal urged him to warn you about it. And exactly what he told her in return. That he is confident that you are more capable of doing this. 

It ends with a comforting embrace and the both of you coming to the conclusion that a conservation with Jake is needed. If the cut were to happen, the sky people’s medical advancements would be…useful. 

——

Since then, Ralak adapted a very strict agenda when it came to the preparation of the birth. In some ways, it reminded you of the beginning of your relationship with him as teacher and student. Karyu and Numeyu. A revision of previous lessons, such as breathing lessons. 

—

“Deeper breaths, tanhì. Slow.” Ralak instructs you with his hand on your round belly. 

“It’s hard…” your voice is strained, “when his feet are in my lungs.” 

Ralak chuckles, nodding in understanding. “Right. Do your best.” 

You attempt to follow his demonstration a fifth time, inhaling deeply through your nose, holding it, and then slowly letting it out through your mouth. “Light headed now.”

“You did well.” Ralak praises you, snaking an arm around you as he lowers you onto your back. “You all right?” 

“Just fine.” You mutter, grateful for the new position. 

Ralak looks at you for a while, taking in a sight that may be similar to the one of you giving birth—giving life. The reality that you will soon be a family quickly dawns on him. The reality that… Ronal's words still weigh heavy on his heart.

“And when you bear down…” Ralak pulls your leg back, your knee now grazing against your cheek as they flush with embarrassment. “…shallow, fast breaths. Do not hold it.” 

He then demonstrates, emphasising the sound of the breathing technique to ensure you’re doing it properly.

'…hee—hee—hoo…'

You mimic his sounds, looking down to see nothing but your protruding bump. It may be strange to some that Ralak is teaching you a lesson on something such as childbirth. But with his mother-figure being the tsahìk, there were just certain things he grew to have knowledge of. 

“Ronal says there are times where it is best to allow your body to take over. Focus on breathing him out. Let your body do the work for you…” You nod slowly as you practice deep breathing in this new position, “…she will show you some positions in your lesson tomorrow.” 

"What?" Your ears perk up. For some reason one on one interactions with Ronal always make you nervous. 

“The other expecting women of the clan will be there.” 

Your ears relax, and you feel a little more at ease knowing you won’t be alone, even if it’s a sea of gossiping women. At least they were more discreet about it. 

——

As you neared the final months of your pregnancy, Ralak was called out more frequently. The aches and pains that came along with being so big were just as frequent, it seemed. They’d hit you at the strangest times, during your sleep or whilst on your tsurak.

But when the pain spread to your abdomen is when Ralak urged you to take things easy. But they didn’t stop him from going anywhere. No matter how badly he wanted to stay home and tend to you. It was more complicated than that. Something that you were blissfully unaware of. Something he wanted to keep that way until it was the right time to tell you. 

—

“Must you go?” You ask hopefully, tugging at his bicep. “You just got back.” 

“Tono will have my head, tahnì.” He states, buckling his chest gear yet another time for today. 

“It’s not fair. Not even the warriors back at home tree were called out so much. Especially if their mate was this far along.” You huff, letting go off his bicep to clutch your protruding belly. He cups a hand over yours, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

“Ah. I know, I know. I want to stay, I do—” He’s cut off by your sudden gasp, and your face screwing with discomfort. “Are you alright?” His voice turns fills with concern, head tilting even more so that he can look you in the face. It felt as if your back set ablaze and your stomach hardened into rock. It eases up within a few seconds and you take a quick breath before answering. 

“Yeah, I think so.” You feel around your bump, taking note of how it’s softened and back to normal. “…that’s the second one today.” 

“Hm. It is. See Ronal while I am gone.” Ralak insists, tucking a couple loose braids behind your ear. You nod in response, gritting your teeth from the reminder that he’s leaving again. “I will speak with Tonowari today.” 

He’s quick to kiss you, lingering longer than he should. You savor his tender touch, breathing him in until you’ve gotten your fill to last you until he’s back. He pulls away, a grimace fixed to his face as it’s almost painful to do. He rubs your belly a final time, clicking for his beast. Reluctantly, he leaves, and so do you.

—

‘Practice Contractions.’

Ronal’s diagnosis of your pains. 

You’re not entirely unfamiliar with the concept. Mom calls them something different, but it all means the same thing at the end of the day. The body’s way of preparing to give birth. The constriction of your stomach, accompanied by intense pain, at random times with no rhythm. 

It’s normal, and expected. Ronal was particularly pleased to see your body do this early in your pregnancy. It typically occurs a couple weeks prior to birth, and both of you weren’t due for another month. 

They’re nothing to worry about, but she advises to rest if they get too intense. You waddle home with your tail dragging behind you, unhappy to see no sign of your mates return. 

—

“You are late.” Tonowari speaks monotonously, back turned to Ralak as he keeps his eyes on his task—forging a new tool. Ralak has to swallow his frustration and maintain his confidence. 

“It will happen soon.” He responds in a similar tone, his eyes following as the olo’eyktan stands. “I must be with her.”

“I understand. I do. But—” Tonowari finishes up the last touches, giving the tool its final inspection. “This is your duty, son.”

“She, is my duty.” Ralak snaps, his frustration slipping through. 

Feeling challenged, Tonowari turns to face him, now eye level with Ralak as he slowly nears his subordinate—chest to chest. But with a pregnant mate of his own, and the fact that Ralak is like his own son, Tonowari huffs a sigh and gives this a pass.  

“This is for her, too. For the people of the clan. You know what we are about to face. You will do this.” The olo’eyktan states sternly. “When the horn sounds… you come. And that…” he shoves the tool into Ralak’s chest, “…is an order.” 

Holding the tool against his own chest, Ralak looks away from Tonowari, grinding his back teeth hard enough to file them flat. He breathes heavily, attempting to recenter himself and stamp out the flame flickering in his chest. Tonowari gives him space, going ahead and mounting his skimwing, readying himself to embark on their journey. Whilst Ralak is left behind to let out a sluggish, shaky breath, closing his eyes when it dawns on him...

…what he must do, where he must go and who he must see. 

All before coming home this evening. 

—

“Zu’té.”

Ralak calls his name outside of the secluded, dim marui pod. It’s familiar, yet so unknown. It’s an eerie feeling to be standing here. It’s as if no one’s home. Not a single flame burning, nor the residual heat of a smothered fire pit. But Ralak can sense his presence. It’s thick. Aggressive. Just as it’s always been. It’s only intensified since the incident. 

The silence is deafening now. A message loud enough to have Ralak reconsidering his actions—rethinking his feelings. No part of him really desired to ask anything of this man, much less this. But in the case Tonowari really doesn’t budge with his decision, it is something he must do. No matter how many years have passed. Ralak has moved on…come to terms with what’s happened, and is in a much better place in his life now. Because of you.

You.

He’s doing this for you. Or is he? The fact he’s fathered a child has a major influence on his decision to be standing here to begin with… perhaps it’s something within him driven by nature—by instinct. The further you’ve progressed, the more he’s thought about rekindling this relationship. But he always brushed off these passing thoughts, until they were no longer just thoughts that passed. They became thoughts that lingered and kept him awake some nights. 

Showing their faces the most when Tonowari reminds him of the imminent danger the clan may face.

They reminded him of the good times when they were children. Teasing the ilus when no one was looking, sneaking off to the reef where the adults went to hunt just to see what it was like. But it also reminded him of the more unfortunate moments they shared. Those that will forever leave a scar on their souls, branded by pain and suffering. Since then, Ralak took an oath to never allow his own family to suffer the way he did. 

If this is what he must do, he’ll do it.

“I am in need of a favour.” Ralak finally admits, witnessing a tall, thick silhouette emerge from the marui. 

At this angle, its darkness looms over Ralak ominously. Green glowing eyes peer down at Ralak as the figure's hands cross defensively over his chest. He steps out of the darkness, revealing his inked face and intricately up-kept hair. He looks as if he’s been disturbed or rudely interrupted, evident in the way his eyes pierce fearlessly into Ralak. But Ralak simply returns the leer. 

“Zu’té.” Ralak speaks his name again, a little more sternly this time.

“Brother. To what do I owe this visit?” His tone is sarcastic with undertones of hostility. 

Ralak sighs, turning his head away from his older brother, fixating his gaze elsewhere. His jawbone flutters as he struggles to figure out what words to string together next. This isn’t easy for him—being here with his tail tucked between his legs. 

“It is no way easy for me to ask you of this…I know we have not spoken for some time.”

“Really? You think so? I would say it has been a little more than ‘some time’, no?” Zu’té’s irritation is shining through now.

“Agreed.” Ralak speaks sharply, dropping his head, gaze piercing into his own feet. He swallows and sighs once more, finally lifting his head to look his brother in the face. "I need your help, brother."

“Hm.” Zu’té scoffs, meeting his stare flagrantly. “Let me get this right. You come here, wake me out my sleep, speak to me like this for the first time in over forty-eight seasons…and demand my help?”  

“You are the only one I trust with this.” Ralak grinds out the words, they are hard to admit. 

This quietens Zu’té, causing his features to soften and his fixed stare to falter. To hear this after twelve years, straight from his brother’s mouth has him a little taken aback. There’s only one thing that it could mean—that could bring the golden child before him, begging for a favour. 

War. 

“What does our ‘mighty’ olo’eyktan have you up to now, baby brother?” Zu’té’s tone is especially sardonic when speaking of their father-figure. 

“Plenty.” Ralak chuckles quietly, shaking his head in amusement. His curved lips fade into a thin line, returning his grim expression when he’s reminded yet again of his exact reason for being here. “Look…” Ralak exhales, “...it is nowhere likeable for me to show my face like this. Trust me, I have thought of every possible solution. But…" he shakes his head, hesitant to share what he must say next. "My mate...she is pregnant."

Zu’té’ sighs when he realizes the gravity of the situation, eyes narrowing as they look behind Ralak to scan his surroundings. He’s far from all of the neighbouring marui pods, being the last pod along the mangroves. But if someone were nearby, they could eavesdrop with ease.

Zu’té lightly nudges his head, giving Ralak the silent signal to enter his marui. Ralak moves slowly, a little surprised by his change in...heart. Annoyed with Ralak's sluggish movement, Zu’té rolls his eyes.

“What? You expect an invitation?" Zu’té asks the rhetorical question loud and clear, watching in awe as his not-so-little brother stands almost eye to eye with him. "...you've grown."

"Surprised?" Ralak mutters, ears spasming from his brother's comment—shuffling past him.

"Don't get smart with me, little brother." Zu’té snaps with his ears pinned to his skull, automatically slipping back into disciplining his younger brother like he once used to. Ralak fights the smirk pulling at his lips, making his way further into the neat, well-decorated marui.

——

Ralak came home that night, as he does most nights nowadays with a heavy tail and tensed muscles. That night he broke the news that he had no luck with Tonowari. That he remained tied to his duties as a warrior, teacher, hunter and evidently more…that you had no knowledge of. 

But he made it clear that none of them came before you—his most important duty of all. He promised not only to your father, but also to you, to put you first, no matter what. That he will do whatever he needs to ensure your safety is never compromised. Even if it means putting his pride aside, and asking for help, as he did that night. 

The desire to prepare for your son's arrival grew with each passing day, making you nest like an expecting ikran. You smoked enough meat to last for the next couple months, and gathered as many herbs and fruits that you could manage.

Weaving has been one of your more frequent tasks, making a couple slings and a few more blankets. Ralak was quick to build the cot when he got into a nesting frenzy, too.

But regardless of what your next task was, it was always a little bit harder…a little bit more tiring. Until you were so round and heavy that most of them became unachievable. Your size started to affect you in more ways than just physical. It started to affect you mentally, too. Playing tricks on your mind, making you think negatively about yourself.

And Ralak picked up on that very quickly. 

——

As you wait for his return, you give the marui another deep clean. You take small breaks often, sitting down whenever you become short of breath.

Whilst you sweep the patio, you see your mate trudge up the stairs, ears pinned back and exhaustion wrinkled into his forehead. Ralak sees you and wastes no time to take the broom from you and pull you into his chest. 

He holds you in silence. Comfortable silence. Savouring how you feel against his body. The thud of your heartbeat, the warmth of your skin. You’re his safe place. His home. As he is yours. His embrace is what you look forward to the most after a long day apart. 

Perhaps this is what you both need. A moment of peace and quiet, where your focus is purely on the person in front of you. A break from the mayhem that life can entail, from the pull and push of the rough tides. Serenity. All to be interrupted by Ralak pulling away, holding you by the arms to create some distance between you two. 

Furrowed brows and beaded eyes stare back at you when you look at him. He’s staring at you, but not at you. His eyes pierce into your chest, and then peel away to flick down at his stomach. A smile creeps on his face, and a huff of air through his nostrils as he chuckles softly. His gaze finally meets yours, and he lets go of your arms.

“Your milk is in.” He almost whispers, his fingertips grazing against your stomach. 

“What?” You breathe, caught off guard to say the least. Your head snaps down, eyes searching every inch of your shawl to find two large, growing wet spots on it. “O-Oh.” You stutter, looking back up at him, catching sight of the glistening liquid on his stomach. “Oh.” 

Your cheeks grow hot when blood rushes to them from embarrassment. Just another thing pregnancy has bestowed upon you. “Sorry, Lak.” You turn to reach for the nearby cloth that hangs by the window. 

“What for?” He asks innocently—a little confused. 

He watches as you wipe him down in an almost frantic manner. He stills your movements by grasping your wrists, causing you to drop the cloth. He brings your hands to his lips.

“Mawey [Calm]. Nothing to be ashamed of.” He speaks into the palm of your hands. You hear his words, but you still can’t bring yourself to look at him. “Hey.” 

He lets go, and cups your cheek, urging you to look at him. When you finally do, he’s smiling down at you, allowing his hand to slip down to the bow of your shoulder—his fingers hooking underneath the hem of your shawl. “Let me clean you up, hm?” 

“Oh—okay.” You stutter shyly, feeling his fingers slip under the woven fabric to slip it off your shoulders. “W-Wait.”

And when the material hits the floor, a shiver shakes your spine. Your breasts are exposed to the cool air, sticky nipples hardened into peaks for him to see. They’ve darkened in colour, and are even a little more puffy too.

Honestly, you weren’t the biggest fan of them anymore. You wore thicker tops or shawls to conceal them, just as you did your stomach with your new…stripes. But Ralak loves them, always stealing a glance at every given chance. 

But to know that they’re full with milk makes him feel…on edge. 

His eyes bore into them, unapologetically taking in every detail. His smile falls into a slight smirk, which then droops into a thin line. His jaw flutters as he grits his teeth, biting back his urges. 

“Don’t stare.” You whisper shyly, covering your chest with one arm and your belly with the other. He looks at you, and reaches for your arms, peeling them away from your body. 

“Beautiful.” He states as a fact, intertwining his fingers with yours. “So beautiful, carrying my child.” 

“‘m really not.” You mumble, looking away in shame. You feel his hand move to your face, two fingers tugging at your jaw to have you look up at him. When you finally give in to his nudges, you see the look on his face. It was as if you had deeply and personally offended him.

“You are.” He insists softly. 

You simply shake your head, arms instinctively wrapping around your chest and belly once more. “I don’t feel it. I don’t even know how you can look at me and say that.” 

Ralak almost feels angered by your words. It hurts him to hear you speak of yourself in such a way, especially when it’s far from the truth. If anything, he’s even more attracted to you. Knowing that this is what your body is going through to bring his child into the world has made him even more appreciative of you. 

“Never say such things.” He husks firmly, removing your hands from your body and keeping them in his grasp. “Do not hide.” 

“You have barely touched me.” You retaliate, voice cracking with hurt. 

“Not for that reason.” He’s quick to cut you short, making sure you know that the last thing stopping him from pouncing on you every chance he gets is the way you look. Absolutely not. 

“If that’s what you need to tell yourself, then—”

Frustrated, Ralak shoves your hand onto his loincloth, pressing it firmly against the bulge that strains against the material. “You feel that?” 

You do, you feel every inch of it, hard and warm against your palm. Your face heats up even more, cheeks staining a bright red. Your breath turns raggedy as you struggle to find the words to say. 

“Hm?” He grunts as he presses himself even harder against the palm of your hand. 

“Y-Yes.” You stutter. Ralak turns you around, pressing himself into you from behind. His heated lips are flush against your ear, hot breath prickling your skin. 

“This is what you do to me.” Ralak husks into the shell of your ear, grinding his bulge into the swell of your ass. “Day after day.” He groans almost painfully, filled with all sorts of emotions. He holds you firm against his body, grazing his bottom teeth against the lobe of your ear. “All it takes is a single glance.” His words have your clit pulsing under your tewng and your thighs rubbing against one another. “The sight of you…of your swollen breasts… your swollen womb…” he hisses, on edge and high strung as he caresses your belly, “…it makes me lose myself.” 

“Fuck.” You breathe, reaching behind you to tug his loincloth down in a frantic manner. You feel his lips nibble and nip at the skin behind your ear, making their way down the back of your neck. You can’t help but moan from the feeling, your already stiff nipples tingling from his gentle touches. 

You feel his hands wander over your stomach and under your tewng, his fingers fondling your folds as he gently parts them. He grunts against your neck, inhaling your scent deep in his lungs as his hips stutter into you. Your stickiness coats his fingers as they slip and slide over your hardened nub. 

You tug even harder at his loincloth, struggling to get the annoying thing off him. You let out a frustrated grunt, and he lets loose an amused chuckle, peppering soft kisses down to the bow of your shoulder.

“What is it? Need me to take you right here?” He husks low, voice muffled by his continuous kisses. “…where someone may see?” 

Right, you’re on the patio. 

Out in the open, under the light of the moon. Ralaks marui pod is far from the village on a cul de sac. The only thing further than here is sand, open water and a couple smaller islands off in the distance. However, there' is's always the slim chance of a na’vi or two going for a late night swim or on a romantic adventure far from the village.

But you simply didn’t care. 

If anything it only riles you up more—the riskiness of it all, the thought of being caught. The need to be sneaky and quiet, when all you want to do is moan his name until your voice goes dim. It seems that Ralak feels similarly as you feel him throb against you, excited to take you where you stand. 

“I don’t mind.” You huff shakily, finally tugging the cloth down enough for his cock to spring out. “Do you?” 

You feel him smile against your shoulder when you grip it in your hand, smooth teeth bumping into your skin as his free hand cups your full breast. 

“Not at all, my tanhì.” He breathes, gently kneading the soft flesh, feeling the trickle of your milk flow over the back of his hand. 

“Good.” Your lungs tremble beneath his touch, hand desperately stroking his length. Yet he remains gentle with his touches, pinning your clit between his two fingers as he rubs you slowly. “Then hurry…I need you inside.” 

Ralak quickly moves his kisses back up your neck, and you feel the tip of his tongue tickle the lobe of your ear before he suckles on it lightly. Tingles ripple up your spine, sending your head into a shiver as you lean into his mouth. His fingers dip into your soaking core just as he rolls your tender nipple between his other two digits. 

It’s all too much. All-consuming. Making you gasp for air in lungs that won’t seem to fill. Fog clouds your head. How did you get here? How did this happen? Fuck, it doesn’t matter. Not when you feel like this.

You’re already so sensitive as it is, so tender and delicate, like silk under his fingers. He pushes his two fingers even deeper inside your aching pussy, curling them and earning a whimper from your lips and quiver of your tail.

“Not too loud, oeyä sevin muntxate [my pretty/beautiful wife]”. Ralak whispers the hushed praise, knowing it’s what you need to hear. 

You’re so much warmer around his fingers than usual, so much softer. Wetter. With each curl of his digits comes out a squelch as he works you open for his cock that he’s been dying to plunge inside you. 

You wrap your leg around his, perching your heel on the side of thigh as you lean all your weight back into him. He steadies his knees, supporting you with ease. Your head slumps back into his shoulder, opening up your neck to his hot breaths, an arm reaching behind you to fist his hair. 

His brows are tense and his breath is heavy. He’s overcome with arousal and he can’t keep his composure as your scent grows stronger now your throat is directly under his nose. Truthfully it’s been too long, he knows that. He knows he’s been too protective, too cautious. Depriving you and him of the touch that’s necessary between a mated pair. 

His fingers slip out of you, now expertly unravelling the loose knot just barely keeping your tewng on you. As it drops to the floor his fingers are back where they were, rubbing sloppy circles into your clit before spreading your pussylips apart. His hips stutter as he attempts to align the crown of his cock with your slit and finally buck forward when he senses your little, exposed hole. 

His cock sinks inside you at an achingly slow pace—inch by inch. You let loose a lengthy moan when you feel him fill you completely, no longer caring if anyone hears you. 

“Hnng—I missed you.” The gruff words slip out as he bottoms out inside your cunt. He has longed to feel your gummy walls squeeze oh-so tightly around his cock. “You alright?” He checks on you in a daze, voice thick with want—with the desire to pummel your little pussy until your voice is hoarse. But the last thing he wants is to hurt his heavily pregnant mate. 

“Mhm, ple-ase.” You purr with need, closing your eyes and relaxing completely into him. Trusting someone this much feels too good. Ralak moves slowly, pumping his cock in and out of you in a languid haze, tickling your sensitive clit with just the tips of his fingers. 

“Tanhì—haah—you are squeezing me so tight.” Ralak moans as his strokes grow with intent. His hips roll deep, shoving and forcing his cock inside your sensitive cunt until his swollen balls kiss your clit. 

He’s unapologetically coaxing out the orgasm you’ve been denied for so long with only a few lazy thrusts. And he knows it. He can feel it from the way you clench around him. From the way your thighs tremble a little more after each deep stroke…from the sweet, filthy noises that shamelessly drip from your lips. 

“Oh my—Ralak! I-I’m gonna—” You sputter the words between choked sounds, eyes welling with tears from the burn between your legs. 

“I know, I know.” He huffs, dragging his hot tongue along the length of your throat. The truth is, he’s close too. But he can’t allow himself to finish inside you. He can’t risk letting himself go and pounding recklessly into your poor, tender pussy. He’s already had a long day. “Let it out, tìyawn [love].”

Its almost cathartic. 

Weeks of pent up frustration released in a few minutes, leaving you near convulsing in his grip. You can’t stop the flutter of your pussy walls if you try, it’s out of your control, much like the surge of white fire going right through you. Your legs fight to stay open and you hold onto your mate to keep you standing. Gurgled noises spill from your lips as your body shudders under him. His hips still, keeping his cock buried to the hilt inside your quivering cunt as he holds you tight, supporting you until you finish riding out your high. 

“Good girl. Good girl.” He praises you in a hushed, shaky voice, extremely wound up from feeling you flourish so beautifully under his touch. It's a miracle that he didn't empty himself inside you right then and there. 

“But you—but you haven’t—” You sputter, collapsing into him as your legs give out. 

“I know. It is alright..” He hums, carefully leading you inside the marui to lay you on the bed. 

“Thought you were c-cleaning me u-up. Not mak-king m-more of a mess.” Your breath is relentlessly hitching as you watch him hastily remove his tewng that’s been digging into his thighs. A reminder of exactly how quickly things happened. 

“You are right.” Ralak tsks, cocking a brow as he stares down at you with a predatory leer. “I did say that, didn’t I?” 

Ralak situates himself between your legs, crouching over you, ensuring there’s plenty of space between him and your stomach. His cock presses between your sticky folds as his lips press against your clammy neck. He tastes the faint saltiness of the thin film of sweat on your skin as he drags his lips down your chest—between your breasts. 

“Lak…” You whisper, back bowing against the bed. 

You’re way too sensitive right now, like an exposed nerve. His eyes snap up and lock with yours, responding to you moaning his name. His tongue darts out, sampling a taste of the spilled milk on your breast. Then his eyes slam shut, tensed brows and scrunched nose telling you that he’s unsure of the flavour in his mouth. 

Eyes widening, you’re taken aback by his actions, feelings of shyness and embarrassment creeping back in. Fisting his hair, you pull gently at his head to pry him off your chest, only for him to resist your tugs. 

“You shouldn’t have done—why’d you do—” You struggle to find the right words at this moment, flustered and nervous that he’d do that. 

But what leaves you even more speechless is when he opens his eyes to reveal dots for pupils, a look you only see when he’s high strung. And then he eagerly takes your nipple into his mouth, latching on and ensuring the suction is airtight. The tip of his tongue flicks at your hardened nipple a few times before he gently suckles at your breast.

A tingling sensation radiates your chest and you feel it in the pit of your stomach. Your breath catches in your throat, a little surprised by his lewd behaviour. And soon, all you can hear are the repeated, muffled gulps of your warm milk flowing down his throat.

“W-What are yo-ou d-doing, my love?” You mewl, squirming underneath him from the strange feeling. He unlatches harshly with an audible pop, leaving your pointed nipple misshapened and exposed. 

“Cleaning you.” He huffs quickly as he catches his breath, diving back in to lap up the milk leaking from your other neglected breast. Your head throws back in what is undeniably pleasure now, legs tightening around his waist. You look down in a daze, watching him feast greedily, feeling his hips begin to stammer against you. 

“Fuck—I didn’t know this i-is what you meant.” You’re finally calming down from your orgasm now, already feeling your body gearing up to have another. His desperation is pungent. Evident in the way his cock grinds between your soft, slippery folds, scenting your cunt with it. 

He pulls off you with yet another pop, his tongue swiping his bottom lip so not to let the bead of milk dripping off of it go to waste. He’s huffing and puffing against you, trailing his wet kisses down your curved stomach as he tucks your legs back. You feel his hot breath against your thighs and your legs tremble in anticipation. 

“Kalin, kalin [sweet, sweet].” He mumbles, kissing your pulsing clit. “Oeyä kalin [My sweet].” 

“Oh shit.” You let loose the breathy curse when you feel his lips pucker around your over sensitive nub, and squeal when he begins to suck on it too. Your hands fly to his head, grasping at his hair to shove his face further into your cunt. He devours you with exhilaration, lapping at your leaking slit to savour your sweetness. 

His cock is aching now. He’s so hard it’s painful. He can’t stop throbbing and his cock strains so hard it’s swollen. He wants to shove himself back inside you— your warmth—and hump at you until his marked you with his essence. 

He can’t help but touch himself as he pleasures you. Stroking his cock with every lick of your pussy. Thrusting into his hand when he feels you throb against his tongue. He’s groaning and grunting into your cunt, urgently chasing his own release as he sucks on you for his own pleasure. 

Too busy to realise that you’ve been begging him to slow down a bit. That you’re too sensitive. That you feel like you may explode if he continues. 

“Ralak! I just came! F-Fuck—” You yank his head away, hurriedly rubbing at your sore pussy.

Ralak pants for air, pulling back into a standing position to reveal that he’s been fucking his hand this entire time. It’s glossy with his precum as it dribbles down his strake. He’s frantically stroking himself, staring brazenly down at your pussy—taking in how it’s flushed and swollen, glistening with his spit and your slick. It’s a delicious sight, tempting him to go in for another taste. 

He’s close and you can tell, his hips are stuttering erratically and he’s groaning like a dying man. You sit up slowly, bringing yourself to your knees as you shuffle your way closer to him. Your chest is level to his cock and you cup your full breasts with both hands, pushing them together only inches away from him. 

He seems a little confused, unsure of what your next move may be. Fuck, you aren’t even sure of what your next move is. But you’re going with your instinct, pinching your nipples until they begin to leak milk. His brows jump, the sight of that sends his hips stammering into his hand. With each huff and thrust sends his cock a little closer to you, until his swollen cockhead is poking at your breasts. 

You shuffle a little closer, moaning softly from watching him get off like this. Then you feel his sticky cock slip in between your breasts, and his hand falls to your shoulders. 

Now he’s fucking your tits in a frenzy, his leaking tip prodding at your lips. You stick your tongue out for a taste, allowing his cockhead to slip and slide against it. He’s groaning and moaning, eyes fixed in the sight beneath him. The pressure from his fat cock between your breasts only makes you leak even more, and that’s when he loses it completely.

“Oh, fuck.” He growls, thrusting hard enough to shove his cockhead into your mouth. You feel him throb violently against your tongue, his thick, hot load coating your cheeks until they're full to the brim. He pulls out as soon as he realises what he’s down, immediately reaching for your bedside bucket to spit in. 

But you shake your head, glossy eyes staring up at him as you swallow his cum with a singular, loud gulp. His eyes bulge, his hands flying to cup your cheeks as he quickly searches your eyes. You simply smile, using a thumb to swipe the single bead of cum on your chin and pop it into your mouth. 

Features softening, he returns the smile, chest heaving wildly as it swells with pride. 

——

[lokisis]

Alright here's my rambling for @buwheal

Soo for the most part I don't see his dialog as very aggressive. Even when he reprimands you (rightfully so. You did just attempt to kill him) he tells you you should've done all that earlier to get something special instead. Even after attacking him for... seemingly no reason, he gives you advice on how to do a different route of the game.

He doesn't run off laughing like he does in pacifist but that's most likely because. Again. You tried to kill him. Honestly, you'd think with how the fandom interprets him he would've tried to fight with you again haha

He also gives lots of choices and opportunities to just Not do his quest. Like you can choose to not give him the disk

And all he says is that's not cool :bwomp: You can also choose not to go to his shop, not to buy keygen, not to take the disk back to the basement, nor put it in the machine. Hell, he doesn't even get mad if you don't buy from him. (DON’T FORGET TO [Like and Subscribe] FOR MORE [Hyperlink Blocked]! (Not to be confused with his in battle version with [like and suscribe])) You can also leave without giving him the disk inside the shop (YOU'RE LEAVING!? WHAT ABOUT MY DISK!?!?) and he won't stop you.

Speaking of. While he does tell you to "buy" keygen, you can actually get it for 0D$. And he definitely sets the price, since none of his other items go that low.

He doesn't get visibly upset besides the time he punches the dumpster. Which, as I said somewhere else, is a surprising show of restraint considering most other monsters fight you on sight no matter what. He only battles Kris to see their soul, and he notices something wrong right away (which is why he starts making deals with you). And he only engages you as neo bc he 1. Got corrupted by the basement shit and 2. Bc he didn't see another way to free both of them.

Plus he genuinely considers Kris a friend. And wants to be. Better. After the pacifist route. (And again with the choices!! He cares a lot about choices!!)

Anyway I don't ever have my thoughts organized enough for stuff like this so I hope this suffices for now. I have more ramblings elsewhere I'm sure. Here's some silly dialog from him I enjoy

Silly man pretending to be mad about something small ^ (considering he still teams up with them afterwards. He doesn't actually care that much, he just like to joke)

[the-puppet-bracket]

Spamton propaganda:

"You know someone had to do it.

This guy's whole thing is not wanting to be a puppet anymore, but uh-oh-spaghetti-o! Dude now has physical puppet strings!"

"Making a [SPECIL] deal by placing his [#1 SALE SYSTEM] into a [CLASSIC!] body, Spamton believed he could be more than [HYPERLINK BLOCKED]. But the strings told him otherwise. He lunged at Kris in [LIMITED TIME OFFER], trying with all his [50% OFF!] to be more than a puppet."

"Spam email bot who was exposed to something that drove him mad and he spent the whole rest of his existence trying to cut his strings, only to die (maybe?) when he finally manages it."

"He is the most tortured dumpster man alive. Also, not literally a puppet, but metaphorically!!! There's some mysterious outside force controlling him and limiting what he can say and god, he desperately wants to break free, trying to kill the protagonist (his only friend in years) for the chance of ""being let loose from his strings"". In his secret boss battle, he thinks he'll be free after getting a new body but he isn't, as his new powerful body has literal strings attached. You fight him, because he thinks your soul (long story) will gain him access to freedom. During the pacifist route of the battle, you cut his strings until there's one more left, he's ecstatic, being able to break free from the narrative of the confines of the game. He decides to break his own last string, and he falls to the ground into pieces. It turns out he relied on the strings after so long, and couldn't recover without them. Afterwards, he's deshevaled, hung up by vines in the dark basement that resemble his old strings and he says ""It seems after all I couldn't be anything more than a simple puppet."" This ties back to how Kris, the protagonist of the game is feeling the effects of being controlled by the player and really shows the core focus of the game and it's characters. And that's why I entered him into this poll!

Also he is genuinely so fucking hilarious bro just play Deltarune already what the fuck are you doing the chapters that are out rn are free dawg (play Undertale first though, it's like ten bucks or something you'll be fine)"

"Spamton best blorbo. Very good blorbo. Exquisite blorbo even. He's sad and adhd and insane and weird and I love him and you should too. Pipis"

"he spamt"

"[[NUMBER ONE RATED SALESMAN 1997]]"

"he's living in a goddamn garbage can. let the big shot win. it'll be funny. does he deserve it? that is up to viewer discretion. but he is our beloved tumblr sillyman and as such we need to pay him respect in some manner. <3

(iirc spamton is a puppet? probably. oh well if he doesn't count ignore this i'm not read up on

my deltarune)"

"frankly i'd be surprised if he's not one of the most submitted. anyway his whole Deal is about being a puppet and having other things control him and so he seeks to regain that control through either manipulating the player into murdering half the city or to take the red soul and use it to become a god. yet in his super powerful NEO form he still has strings attached to him (that he won't even notice if he succeeded in the player manipulation thing) and in either case he ultimately becomes an item you use just for stats. guy really isn't a fan of puppetteers"

"you propably knew this was coming lol

Tumblr's favorite awful little puppet desperately fighting to get rid of his strings

the pinocchio references are strong in this one

HA HA HA ... THIS POWER IS

FREEDOM.

I WON'T HAVE TO BE JUST A PUPPET ANY MORE!!!!

...

OR... so... I... thought.

WHAT ARE THESE STRINGS!? WHY AM I NOT [BIG] ENOUGH!? It's still DARK... SO DARK!"

"Tries to become a real boy, ends up as another puppet look guy. He's shady, he's a scammer, he's got cringefail swag and I love him"

"He's just a little fucked-up little guy"

[glitch-the-artist]

a average pocket conversation

Raily: … HEY JEV.

Jevil: HOO HOO! YES?

Raily: YA GOT A SMOKE I COULD USE PARTNER??

Jevil: OH NO, NO!! I DONT HAVE A CIGAR!! HAHA!!

Raily: ARE YOU F#%KING KIDDING ME??? HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO GOD DAME ENJOY MYSELF WHEN I CANT-

Spamton: CAN YOU [[please wait..]]. IM TRYING TO TAKE MY [[long awaited!]] NAP.

Jevil: OH SPAMTON SPAMTON! I SEE YOU FINALLY WOKEN AFTER SO LONG LONG!!

Spamton: OH FOR F%#K SAKES!! WHY DID [[some out there? Somebody help me please!! HELP ME PLE]] BRING THIS [[clown around town!]] INTO MY [[best friend till the end!]]S POCKET!?!?

Spamton: AND EVEN THE [[he pulls the strings]] TO!?!? OH FOR F#%K SAKES!!!

Raily: … WHAT THE HELL DID I DO TO YOU, YOU LITTLE SH#T???

Spamton: YOU TOOK MY [[one behind the phone]] AWAY FROM ME, YOU TOOK [[mike..]] OFF THE PHONE!! THANKS TO YOUR [[total jackass stunts!]] IM NOW LIVING IN A [[garbage can.]]!!

Raily: WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU- … OOOOOOHHHHH, SO THATS WHY THAT SMARTPHONE GUY WAS ON THE PHONE.

Jevil: HEY HEY! DID YOU CUT THE LINE LINE RAILY??

Raily: YES I DID, IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE FOR A PRANK.

Jevil: UHE HE HE!! HILARIOUS HILARIOUS!!!

Spamton: SHUT UP YOU [[clown around town]] AND YOU [[off-brand]] WOODY!!!

Raily: OKAY THAT CROSSES THE LINE.

Jevil: OOO ARE WE GONNA FIGHT FIGHT!! HAHA YES MAY THE CHAOS BEGIN BEGIN!!

Spamton: IM GOING TO [[hyperlink block]] YOU AND YOUR [[dead flower]] TILL YOUR [[die.]]

Raily: OH YA BRING IT ON OLD LASSY!!

Spamton: F#%K YOU.

Everyone: (goofy ahh screaming)

[tabdabble]

I empathize with the existential terror puppet Spamton G. Spampton a normal amount and for only comical reasons.

Why is his suit so big? It’s full of secretsTrash. 

[Image ID: A 3-panel comic featuring Spamton G. Spamton from the video game Delatrune. All text is glitched and written with numbers, but here I will write them legibly.

Panel 1: Spamton is sitting in his cobbled-together store at his ‘desk’ (an upended cardboard box). There is a computer mouse nibbling at one of the box flaps, and a sheet of heart stickers half-used, three of which have been stuck to various places on the box. The box features text from Spamton’s store menu screen in-game, such as a list of items and prices, a description of one item, and the words “Deals so good I’ll [$!$$] myself! 116 K“. In the center of the box front is written “SPAMSHOP, Welcome! Open 25/7″ in crooked writing. Finally, there is the option to “Run Away” to leave the shop menu. Behind Spamton is a wall of bricks painted loosely to resemble a blue sky with clouds and a bright yellow sun. At the right, the wall falls away to reveal a black rotary phone sitting in a pillar of light on a stool. Upon the desk rests a large, blue egg. Spamton is sitting with his shoulders back and his hands held before him with fingers outstretched and interlaced. His suit is obviously with padded shoulders and several holes and patches. He sports a small red bowtie and his hair is in a luxurious swoosh to feathery ends. Spamton resembles a ventriloquist dummy with red cheek circles, very long teeth, and a much longer, pointier nose. He is wearing glasses with oblong frames of a bright yellow and pale red, and his pupils are large and pointing in opposite directions. His smile is huge, and his teeth are slightly parted. It is not clear if he’s paying attention to anything in particular. Around the panel are black boxes with white pixelated texts including “Kromer” in front of Spamton’s face, “Hot Singles in your area!” on the left, “Hyperlink blocked” above his head, “Where are my ****ing [Custom and Replacement Keys open 24/7!]” at the bottom right, and finally a small text box stating “Pipis.”, with an arrow pointing to the large egg.

Panel 2: Spamton fills the frame, and is hunched over with his fingers interlocked more tightly, with his index fingers together pointing upwards, resting against the front of his teeth. We can see at this distance that his wrists, hands, and fingers are jointed like a doll or mannequin. He is shadowed starkly, throwing his face into a darker shade. His glasses are perfectly circular, and lit from the inside as their lenses are filled with a glitching .gif texture. His smile is not as cheerful looking as panel 1. Around him are many instances of black pixelated texts, which are glitched and written in numbers but will be written more plainly here:

I work so [Rare, Hard-to-find treasures, only at-] but I’m still in the [Garbage? We’ll haul it away for you!] What else could I be [Doing only the best work!] If everyone doesn't buy my [Carefully crafted and completely unique] [Pipis], they must be [Trash! Trash everywhere!] I’m so [Tired of ads? Block now for only 9.99 an hour!] I [Prey vs. Predator special, only on Animal Planet] so hard. Can anyone [At Ken Garth we hear you!] me? Do I [Deserve only the best!] this? Do intentions change [Anything and everything on sale this weekend!] Am I a [Michael Jackson’s new hit single Bad] person? [Is God real? Call [hyperlink blocked] for answers!] Does [God] hate me? I am in so much [It Burns! Ow! Stop! Help Me! It Burns!] The phone is now very close to Spamton over his left shoulder, and much more detailed. Across it are several blocks of texts that are “Don’t look at the phone” without spaces and over and over and over, eventually trailing off into “H”’s and the number 5 repeated many times. Finally, at the base of the panel in much larger text, is “Can anyone [-we hear you!] me?

Panel 3: Panel 3 resembles panel one, but Spamton’s face is now glitching, apparently duplicated over the first drawing, and his pupils are much smaller as he stares somewhere in the distance. Despite his smile, he seems quite alarmed. The text on the box “Run Away” has been duplicated to cover “Welcome!” as well as the list of items. The only black-with-white-text box left is in front of Spamton’s stretched-open mouth: an “A” in brackets, stretched so that it no longer fits in the black text box.

End of ID.]

Non-gif second image under cut:

[theflippedpages]

The Chiseled Catastrophe - 1

Episode 1 - Trapped Together

-----------

(This is a continuation of my previous post of a new fanfiction! I will make a post with all the hyperlinks once it's all posted!)

Grian's eyes fluttered open, and he felt a dull throbbing in his head. As he slowly sat up, he realized he was on a bed, but this wasn't just any bed. It looked like a blocky Minecraft-themed bed, complete with pixelated patterns. He looked down at himself, and found himself wearing a red sweater and black jeans. What a coincidence… This is my Minecraft outfit…

He was surrounded by walls adorned with cubic designs, and the entire room had a surreal, blocky feel to it. He wondered for a moment if he had gone crazy. This is what I deserve when I play Minecraft for a living. With cautious steps, he rose from the bed and stumbled into the hallway. There, he found nine other doors, and could only assume that they led to a similarly themed room. 

Grian's head swam with confusion as he ventured into the large mansion-like structure. Everywhere he looked, he saw a fusion of reality and Minecraft. The furniture was made from blocky materials, like wooden chairs and stone tables. Paintings on the walls depicted creeper explosions and landscapes straight from the game. Redstone lamps emitted a soft, pixelated glow. 

He made his way to the dining room, where a long table was set with block-shaped dishes and utensils. It was as if the mansion was straight out of a Minecraft world. As he continued to explore the mansion, he discovered a grand library filled with oversized Minecraft-themed books and enchanting tables. The backyard, though closed from view, resembled what seemed to be a lush forest biome, complete with artificial trees and a pixelated waterfall. What is going on?! Is this a dream? Who brought me here? Am I alone? The room-sized question mark in his mind continued to grow. It was then he noticed the long, dark screen taped to his arm. He pulled against it, hoping for the snap of tape or the crackle of Velcro, but it seemed adamant against his skin. He tilted his head to the side of the screen and recognized the medical tape hidden in it. Under the tape, however, was a needle that fed into his veins. What the hell is going on?! Why is this on me? He tapped the screen, and it lit up in red, and big white letters were typed over it.

"Welcome, Grian."

It's using my username. That's… expected, I suppose. This mansion does seem to revolve around Minecraft. 

Grian tapped it again. 

"No games have started yet."

No games? His mind floated back to the letter. ‘Please be prepared for a night filled with enigmatic challenges, engaging experiences, and the thrill of the unknown.’  And the realization hit him hard, startling him from the dazed after-effect of the chloroform. The people from the letter must’ve brought me here. They kidnapped me. Grian’s breathing picked up. I was kidnapped. 

He quickly searched the mansion again, this time with a goal to find an exit. He picked up a blocky fork from the dining table as a ‘weapon’ just in case his captors came back. Eventually, across from the stairs that went to the second floor, was a large foyer that held a set of grand doors as its middle point. Expectantly, he tugged against the large handles, only to find it did not budge. It felt like he was pulling and pushing against a wall. 

“It won’t work so simply, Grian.” 

The brunette instantly turned back, holding the fork forward like a sword.

Joey climbed down the same stairs, fiddling with the same screen on his own arm. Grian could catch the dark purple on his screen, and also the obvious fact that he didn’t look concerned. He wore a red and white striped shirt that Grian recognized as his Empires outfit, with brown suspenders that attached to his similarly-colored ripped shorts. 

“There’s no escape. There never is.” 

“Are you a part of this?” He growled. “Did you have a hand in… this?!”

“I’m a player, just like you, Grian. Always am.” Joey sighed. “This just isn’t my first rodeo.” 

Grian stepped back as the other reached the bottom of the stairs. “Explain yourself.” 

“I will. I’d rather everyone else wake up too, so I won’t have to repeat myself.” 

“Everyone else?” His eyes widened. “Who else is here?” 

“You haven’t seen? There aren’t just ten bedrooms here for decoration.” 

I’m not alone! Grian was quick to push past him, stumbling up the stairs in a panic. Who else did they get? He skipped the first door –which was his– and pushed into the second door. He gasped abruptly, spotting a familiar suited man curled up. "Oli!" 

He ran to Mumbo's side, confusion clouding him once more. This letter must be the same one he got. As did Tango and Ren… He nudged him, and with a muffled groan, the redstoneer sat up. Grian was instant to hug him. "Oh thank heavens, you're awake!"

"Charles?" Mumbo's voice was groggy as he wiped at his eyes. "...Grian? What's going on?" 

"We've been kidnapped. We've been taken hostage." That woke the older, his eyes widening.

"I'm sorry?"

"It seems like that letter –you know, the one you got about Minecraft– knocked us out or something…" Grian spoke quickly and with heavy breaths. "And now we're here. 10 of us."  

"Charles, you can't be serious." Mumbo looked around, then down at himself. He spotted his own screen. It lit up yellow. "Why is everything so blocky? And...Why am I in a suit?"

"The exact reason why I'm in a red sweater with parrot wings engraved on the back." 

"Someone must be insane for Minecraft if they went as far as to decorate their entire home in this fashion and kidnap two famous YouTubers." 

"Not just two, Mumbo." He reminded him. "Ten."

"There's 10 of us? Wait, that means Ren and Tango too?" 

"Come on, let's go see who else this maniac kidnapped…" He helped his friend up. "Also, stay away from Joey. I don't trust him."

"I'm staying away from anyone I don't know." 

“Fair.” Both men waddled over to the door beside Grian’s. The shorter brunette peeked his head in first. “Hello?” 

“Grian?” He heard an accented voice and instantly connected it to a face. 

“Joel!” Grian pulled Mumbo in, walking into the room. “Oh my gosh, you’re here too?”

“I thought I got drunk or something.” The man on the bed slurred. He wore a toga that stretched to his calves, a green stripe running down the fabric's edge. He wore tall sandals to match the god-esque appearance. His screen was a dark green. “It feels like I’m lucid dreaming.” 

“Unfortunately,” Mumbo cut in, “this isn’t a dream. We’ve been… kidnapped.” 

Joel seemed to freeze up. “...Kidnapped? You mean…”

“You most likely got a letter about a Minecraft party,” Grian explained, now a bit more relaxed upon seeing familiar faces, “it made us sleepy, and somehow, we’re trapped in a Minecraft-themed mansion.” 

“Gosh…” He looked around, his panicked mood heightening upon the realization that a person was missing. “Wait, where’s Lizzie?!”

“Oh, we haven’t seen her… yet.” 

Joel, though still healing from the dizzy spell, stumbled off the bed, wandering into the hall with worry in his eyes. “Lizzie?!” 

“Wait, Joel–!” Grian ran after him, Mumbo right on his trail. "Don't be so loud-"

“Joel!”

Relief washed over the face as he heard the voice of his wife.

“Joel, I’m here!” The door beside his creaked open, revealing Lizzie in what seemed to be a blue schoolgirl outfit. She wore a white undershirt and a blue blazer over it, with matching blue pants and white cut shoes. And her face changed from one of worry to one of pure bliss. "Joel!" 

They were quick to embrace, Joel pecking her forehead. "Thank the world you're safe," he sighed, pressing their heads together for a moment. Her pink screen lit up.

"I don't remember what happened…" Her attention turned to the men by the door. "...Grian? Mumbo?" 

They both gave a short wave. "Odd circumstances, isn't it?" Grian walked in, also spotting the same Minecraft-like blocky furniture and paintings in her room too.

"It feels wrong to joke about this, but…" Mumbo shrugged. "it's the only way to cope that doesn't involve panic and crying."

"We're locked in, Lizzie." Joel growled. "Some insane man got a hold of all of our addresses, and decided to lock us in this weird Minecraft mansion." 

She hugged him tight. "We can't get out?" 

"I was hoping that we could gather more people before we searched for an exit, you know?" Grian answered. "There's 10 of us here. I believe there is peace in numbers, so I thought I would get everyone up before we searched the building for a way out."

"Good thinking," Joel nodded, taking his wife by the hand, "let's wake the 6 others." 

“... Actually, it’s 5.” Grian hummed. “Us four, and… Joey.” 

Lizzie looked at him and tilted her head. “Joey? Like, Joey Graceffa?” 

“Yeah. He was actually the first person I found. He’s the one that told me that there were even 10 of us here to begin with.” 

“Then who are the last 5?” 

“Tango and Ren are two I recall who got the same letter as me.” Mumbo spoke up. “I’m sure the rest are a mix of other Hermits and Empires members.”

“Who is this person anyway? What do they want with us?” Lizzie was still very disheveled, but Grian couldn’t blame her. When he had woken, he had been in a panicked rage too. But now… he was just trying to be patient. Surely, if this person had taken the time to kidnap 10 YouTubers from all over the world, it wasn’t just for murder… right? 

“We don't know dear. But I agree with Grian, we have to talk to the others,” Joel muttered, still holding onto Lizzie.

After just a blink of silence, a piercing scream resounded from the hallway.

"Stop! Stop it!"

The four instantly ran to the doorway. 

Scott was in the middle of the hallway, holding a pixelated lamp with its wire yanked out and raising it over a man in a cowboy outfit. It looked like he was ready to bash that man's head in. 

“Stop! Don't hurt me!" The scream was repeated again, the accent paired with the voice ringing familiar into the ears of the others. 

"Scott, that's Jimmy!" Joel ran to break it up before it got worse, heading toward the cowboy who was trying to shield himself with his wide-brimmed hat. Jimmy looked out, stumbling forward and away from the way of the lamp. 

That's when the others were able to see him properly. He wore a white long-sleeve button-down –its arms folded up to his elbow– and dark blue jeans that matched the bandana wrapped around his neck and the stripe along his hat. Attached to the shirt was a shiny gold pin that paired well with his gold belt buckle. A light green screen lit up with his username. 

"Jimmy-?" The man dropped the stance, holding the lamp to his chest. Scott was wearing his explorer outfit: the multi-colored jacket with a white undershirt, black jeans, and knee-high boots. He also had a hat with a color scheme similar to his jacket and a white feather sticking out from its side. The light blue screen on his arm also lit up with his username. "Jimmy!" He exclaimed, surprise flashing on his face. "Oh, I didn't realize it was you, I'm so sorry-" 

"It's okay," Jimmy huffed, pressing his hair down before nesting his hat over it, "I can understand why you'd want to attack a random shadow peeking into your room." 

"...well, there's two down." Grian counted in his head. Me, Joey, Mumbo, Joel, Lizzie, Scott and Timmy… 7. "We just need three more." 

"I saw Ren," Jimmy motioned to the closed door beside him, "but he was sleeping. So I thought I'd investigate the room in front of me… and…" He chuckled hoarsely, "seems like he was already awake. And quite paranoid." 

"I'm very concerned that you aren't, Jim." Scott frowned. "You wake up with no memory in a room that's completely blocky and weird… and… you don't find that frightening?!"

"I…" Jimmy let that thought linger. "I thought–… Well… yeah, I suppose you're right."

"Listen, we just need to get two more of us, and we can create an escape plan," Grian tried to explain.

"How many of us are there?!" Scott scanned the familiar faces, setting the lamp on the carpeted ground. 

"10!" Joel recited. "Us… 5, and you two make 7, and… Ren and Tango make it 9."

"5? There's only–"

"Joey." Mumbo explained. "Joey is downstairs."

"Do we have to explain this to everyone?" Lizzie groaned. "We don't have to wait for everyone, do we?" 

"Maybe we can explain one last time to the group as a whole, since I do understand your irritation, Lizzie." Grian hummed. "Let's just regroup downstairs… could one of you…" he motioned to the crowd. "Get Ren, Tango, and the other mystery guest?"  

"I can do it," Mumbo spoke up. "I can get them." 

With a nod, Grian guided the rest to the stairs. They climbed down and noticed Joey, in his pirate-themed clothing, pacing by the large doors. His arms were folded behind his hack, and he seemed to be in a dazed mind. 

"Joey! And look– an exit!" Lizzie was quick to hop down the remaining stairs, racing for the large double doors.

Joey put a hand out in front of her. "Don't bother, it's bolted shut."

"I've already tried that way, Lizzie," Grian muttered, standing at the bottom of the stairs. "It's not going to be an easy way out. This person definitely thought this through. They wouldn't just open the door for their captives, would they?"

"That person drugged our letters. Surely, they're smarter than that." Scott said with a scoff, crossing his arms. 

The group began to disperse organically. Grian and Jimmy stayed back by the stairs, waiting for Mumbo, while Joel joined Lizzie in trying the door. Joey was the only one who dared to explore past the main foyer, peeking into the large dining room. He didn't make it to the main hall before his attention was caught by 8 feet creaking down the stairwell. 

“This is crazy,” Tango spoke out, walking in front of the group. He wore a crimson jumpsuit with a gray vest over it and gray boots that matched, reminiscent of his casual Minecraft skin.

“And absolutely terrifying,” Martyn continued, adjusting his brown suspenders on his dark brown full-sleeve. Similar to Jimmy, he wore a green bandana around his neck and a golden badge and belt buckle. His jeans were a faded chocolate, and he had little gold buttons along the side of his high boots. 

 Ren followed them, the suited man behind them all. “I still feel so dizzy, Mumbo.” He seemed to be wearing the least cosplay-looking outfit, wearing a bright red shirt that matched his sneakers, and black suspenders that connected to his blue jeans. 

Jimmy had been startled to hear such familiar voices. It was interesting seeing their faces for the first time –except Martyn, of course– when their voices were all too familiar. “Tango!” He exclaimed, recognizing the dark red jumpsuit. 

Tango only stopped for a second to read the room before his attention turned to the Sheriff sitting a couple of stairs down. “Jimmy!” He was quick to run down the rest, and they embraced in a tight, yet short hug. “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe you’re here!”

The hat slid down his hair as he laughed. “Neither can I!”

Grian watched for a moment, gently motioning the happy Ranchers to get out of the way as the others climbed down. “Ren! Martyn! Now, we finally have 10 of us!”

“10?!” Martyn exclaimed. 

“Shall we move to the main hall?” Joey interrupted, pointing to an archway that led further into the east side of the home. “There’s a place for all of us to sit down and talk.” 

Lizzie looked at him with a sour gaze. “Sit down and talk?! Joey, we should be escaping, not having tea!”

“We should get some stuff straight, Lizzie.” Her husband tried to ease her panic. “There’s 10 of us here. We need to have a plan before we all wander around for an exit. This person here is smarter than we thought. It will not take one of us to make it out of here.” 

Lizzie opened her mouth to oppose his thoughts but shut it once she realized the complexity of the situation. “Yeah, you’re right. If they went through the hassle of furnishing an entire mansion with Minecraft-themed things and went through with kidnapping 10 Minecraft SMP YouTubers, they must be really keen on keeping us here.” 

Joey guides them to the main hall. The walls are adorned with massive Minecraft decals, reminiscent of ancient hieroglyphs. In one corner, a blocky bookshelf towers ominously, showcasing pixelated tombs and artifacts. The furniture, angular and blocky, appears to defy the logic of the ordinary world.

Jimmy stared with wide eyes. “This is…”

Embedded into the walls were large screens, flickering with scenes from Minecraft realms that were all too familiar for them. The ambient lighting, imitating the soft radiance of torches, cast dancing shadows that played tricks on their eyes.

“Beautiful.” Ren breathed. 

On opposite ends, two large rugs that mimicked the interface of a crafting table dominated the space. On the edges of those rugs were well-positioned couches with endless pillows that were shaped like actual objects from Minecraft. The 4 sofas and couches were just enough for the ten of them. Grian, Mumbo, and Ren shared a couch and Martyn, Scott, and Joey took another. Joel and Lizzie shared a loveseat, and Jimmy and Tango did as well. 

Martyn eyed the screens in suspicion. “Beautifully odd.” 

Many pillows were scattered around the entire hall, some nestled in the bookshelves, some resting on the floor and some just stacked on hanging shelves. Pixelated paintings seemed to be ripped from the game itself, and chandeliers crafted to resemble redstone lamps cast a dim, spectral glow. 

“What’s with the armbands?” Ren asked, prying weakly at the screen that lit up a dim dark blue. “Why is it talking to me?” 

“Don’t pull on it too hard,” Grian warned, “there’s a tube that feeds into our veins. It could do something worse.”

Ren’s hand stopped in place. 

“A tube?! God, how insane is our captor?!” Scott yelled, flicking his wrist to possibly catch a glimpse of the supposed tubing behind his screen. 

“This is… truly terrifying,” Tango muttered, pressing his finger against his orange display. 

Grian nodded. “Which is why I’m suggesting we take it slow. We need to keep in groups, and we need to search diligently. We don’t know if our captor is here, or when they'll return.” 

Joey looked away. “They’re always here.” 

“Excuse me?” Martyn’s head jerked to his right to the pirate. “How’d you know that?” 

“This isn’t my first time playing this game.” And the pirate didn’t say anything more. 

Grian got up nervously, hoping to take the awkward air out. “Meanwhile… Let’s begin to split up. I suggest four groups,” he scanned the sofas, “and it seems like we’re already in groups. Are you all comfortable with your  partners?” The trios and duos exchanged looks before nodding and or shrugging, some looking more excited than others. “Good,” Grian nodded. “We can call this group,” he pointed to himself, Mumbo, and Ren, “group 1.” He pointed to the sofa with Jimmy and Tango. “Group 2.” His hand moved to the other loveseat with Lizzie and Joel. “Group 3. And lastly,” he pointed to the group on the other couch: Joey, Scott, and Martyn, “Group 4.” 

“Group 1 will search this living room. Group 2 will search the 10 bedrooms. Group 3 will search–” he paused to remember the layout of the huge mansion, “–the dining room. Group 4 will search the library.” 

Martyn huffed, getting quite annoyed at this adventure-esque feeling Grian was trying to bring. “How is this any safer than trying to bash in the front door with all our weights combined?” 

“We don't know anything in our current state, Martyn.” Grian tried to explain. “But we do know the mansion we're in now. Of course, your idea isn't off the list. But as of now, we need to get an idea of what's in the mansion instead of what's out.” 

“Freedom is ‘what's out’.” Martyn mocked. 

Mumbo sat up in defense of his friend. “Fine, we can keep the exit as the main entrance. But if we do manage to free ourselves, what then?”

“We get help from somewhere. Anywhere but here.” 

“Do you… know what's outside?” The suited man asked patiently. “What if the person has been waiting for us to use this exit? How will we protect ourselves?”

“Close the door on them, I guess.”

“...then?”

Martyn looked at him with a confused expression as if wondering why he was asking about such a specific scenario. “We’d probably hide or something.”

“And wouldn't knowing the overall layout of the mansion do us more good than bad?”

Martyn didn’t look away from Mumbo, imagining many scenarios of his and the group’s escape. Most of them could only happen if they had weapons. He wondered if he could take advantage of this grouping to snatch himself a couple of self-preserving objects. But for that… he’d have to agree to their plan. “Yeah, I understand. It’s better to be safe with other options than leaving head-on.” 

Mumbo smiled, proud of his ability to convince others. “Glad we could come to the same page.” 

Grian nodded to his friend as a small ‘thank you’ before taking the reins on the conversation again. “You’ll each have a partner. Or two. The duos have smaller areas, while the trios have larger rooms. The instant you feel unsafe, we regroup in this room.” 

“Like Grian said, we don't know how much time we have.” Joel stood up, and Lizzie followed. “We better make the most of it, though.” 

With a bit of resistance, the large mass split into 4 groups. Jimmy excitedly talked to Tango as they ascended the stairs, Joel whispered confident assurances to Lizzie as they wandered into the opposing room in the foyer, and Scott tried to start small talk with his upset group member as Joey just led the way wordlessly.  

“So,” Mumbo rubbed the back of his neck, “where should we begin searching?”

[askaceattorney]

Dear Lemmy-kooopa-rocks,

Chief Mod Edgeworth: Computers have been able to connect to the human brain and do so all the time in hospitals to read brain waves. What are you talking about?

I... guess you don't know? Alright, I guess since I am the daughter of a certified nurse... So, when you are in ICU, you are placed in a hospital bed where they connect you to wires to read your heart rate, your fluids, your breathing and your brain waves. This is how they're able to know if your brain is functioning properly or not. Even now, there are at-home sleep masks for those with sleeping disorders that record your brain waves while you sleep.

So yes, it does make sense for widget to know what Athena is thinking without concluding that she's a robot. Also, in case you try to use the, "widget is around her neck, not anywhere near her brain." Widget is connected to her earrings, which are located right next to her Temporal Lobe, which is the part of the brain where your emotions, visual processing, memories, hearing, speech and behavior is processed.

Dear Charicla,

Chief Mod Edgeworth: I don't know. I guess Dark Age. That'd be a cool name.

Co-Mod: Hmm...

Ace Attorney: Face of Justice?

...Sorry, not at my most creative right now.

(Referenced Letter)

Chief Mod Edgeworth:

You remember Olga Orly? Originally, Kristoph was going to pin the blame on her before Phoenix mentioned another possible person that was revealed to be Kristoph. Just as the bloody Ace was used to make Kristoph the guilty person, it could also be used to make Olga the guilty person for similar reasons.

Dear Anonymous,

Chief Mod Edgeworth: I'm guessing you're meaning to respond to this?

I'd hardly call something that I literally just explained in my answer to Dawsongfg's letter in two sentences: "mental gymnastics." It's a headcanon and there is nothing wrong with having a headcanon.

What I find to require mental gymnastics is how you came to the conclusion that THIS expression titled "serious" in the gif was a sad expression...

when Trucy has these two, one titled "worried" and the other "sad."

Just my opinion, but I'd hardly call an expression meant to be serious "sad." Trucy is no Edgeworth.

(Referenced Letter)

Dear Dawsongfg,

Chief Mod Edgeworth: Alright then, if Dick means Detective and Gumshoe means detective, then this is Detective

and this is Detective.

Therefore, Robin has gum on his shoe. What?

Dear Anonymous,

Chief Mod Edgeworth: When I say "show the link" I mean the full url not hyperlinks. Hyperlinks don't always work.

Dear Dawsongfg,

Chief Mod Edgeworth: From what I researched, he was the script supervisor for the anime, but that was it. He was not in control or responsible for what became of the anime. That also doesn't make the anime good. JK Rowling directed Fantastic Beasts and that bombed.

Even so, it is expected that an anime adaptation of anything will involve the original creator in some form because of Japan's laws protecting creators. America doesn't have this, which is why many anime/manga adaptations often bomb harder if made here.

Dear Dawsongfg,

Chief Mod Edgeworth: We'd consider it, but even now, you haven't proven to be able to write letters closely in character. We have hundreds of others who write letters as other AA characters that are more in character than yours has been.

Co-Mod: Yeah, I'm gonna have to take a pass on this one.

(Referenced Letter)

Dear Dawsongfg,

Chief Mod Edgeworth: I know you don't do that anymore.

Though, that post was not made because of your shenanigans. You did spam a bunch of letters like crazy, but I had been intending on updating the letter rule for a while and I wasn't Head Mod at the time. At the time, there was no clear limitation on how many letters we were allowed to post and I decided to give a limitation. It was to the point some of the letters I wrote were getting deleted, because there was no clear limit.

Dear Kunaiman,

Chief Mod Edgeworth:

Actually, Tumblr has found a way for me to block letters sent anonymously and now no one is allowed to send letters without an account. So, the troll sending the Hotti letters is gone.

Now, that Tumblr has given us a way to block any anonymous letters, do not and I mean DO NOT break the rules or send discomforting letters. WE HAVE MINORS AS MODS HERE!! If you're going to write any Hotti letter, make sure it's tame enough for a minor to answer. Thank you.

-The Mods

[clartidk123]

Worst Deltarune OC ever.

THEY DIDNT LOOK SO BAD IN MY HEAD. Ok lore time.

Chapter 5 secret boss. They are Kris's cage. And their perception of us. A demon.

I also got inspiration from snas undertale. Because he is the judge. Why dont have the demon judge the human for their GOOD actions?

Ok im having ideas live right now.

Also i put a [Hyperlink Blocked] reference.

[inbarfink]

Okay, so I’m generally of the opinion that [[Hyperlink Blocked]] doesn’t neccasserly censors the exact same Thematically Important word\link every time and that it could be like... sometimes important and plot-relevant and sometimes just a blocked virus for a joke. But I do understand why people think they can try and figure out what is the Hyperlink being Blocked, I mean it is real ominous. 

The thing is that the one of most common speculations I keep hearing is that [[Hyperlink Blocked]] is “Freedom”  (to the point I see folks word it like it is a certain fact that this word is the Hyperlink being Blocked) and that... like, doesn’t even make much sense?

Cause... like, Spamton can totally say “Freedom”, and even ‘link’ to it, without it being [[Hyperlink Blocked]]??

I mean, if we were to believe that [[Hyperlink Blocked]] is a sign of whoever is pulling the strings literally stopping Spamton from talking about the concept of Freedom, than they’re doing a pretty shit job at that cause the dude keeps slipping that word in regardless of it. 

Plus, okay, even without [[Hyperlink Blocked]], Spamton’s speech patterns are pretty erratic so maybe it’s hard to say, like, “well, if we slot in that word instead of [[Hyperlink Blocked]] then the sentence wouldn’t make sense” but still, “I WAS ONLY EVER IN IT FOR THE [Freedom]. TO MAKE YOUR OWN [Deals] TO CALL YOUR OWN [Shots] AND SOMETIMES IN THE MORNING, A LITTLE [Freedom]” is a pretty odd and repetitive thing to say. Espacially if this is indeed a puzzle that we’re supposed to be able to solve. 

I think the other Hyperlink-Blocked-Theory-That’s-So-Popular-That-People-Keep-Stating-It-Like-It’s-Fact is a bit more plausible, that the word being blocked is ‘Love’ or ‘LOVE’. 

For once ‘Love’ isn’t actually something we’ve seen Spamton ever say without [[Hyperlink Blocked]]. The closest we’ve got to is “beloved”:

Plus it generally slots in pretty naturally into wherever [[Hyperlink Blocked]] appears:

“VACATIONING IN [Burning acid] WHILE YOU SOAK IN THE [Love]”

“I WAS ONLY EVER IN IT FOR THE [Freedom]. TO MAKE YOUR OWN [Deals] TO CALL YOUR OWN [Shots] AND SOMETIMES IN THE MORNING, A LITTLE [Love] SOUNDS GOOD. DOESN;T IT?KID?“

“YOU WANT [LOVE]], DON'T YOU.” also gets some bonus points for seemingly being kind of a callback to Flowey’s introduction back in Undertale

Which feels pretty appropriate, what with Spamton being one of the most obvious Undertale Callbacks in Deltarune so far (desiring the Protagonist’s SOUL so he could get free, which is also the motivation of almost everyone in Undertale to some degree, being deeply linked with the hidden evil route which feels much more in line with the themes of Undertale than Deltarune’s). 

And of course, Spamton’s famous rant in the end of the Weird Route:

Where slotting in ‘LOVE’ in the place of [Hyperlink Blocked] makes the line “Making [LOVE]”, which is a play on ‘making love’, which synergizes with the central dark joke of Spamton's ranting like he’s cheated-on lover at the Player. 

And of course, playing on the idea that Deltarune is about the conflict between The Choice to Do Evil and Being Forced to Do Good, making Spamton being potentially obsessed with LOVE (the main indicator of ‘bad choices’ back in Undertale) a very fitting concept. The Weird Route is basically about acting violently and cruel-ly in order to gain some amount of freedom and control over the narrative. 

Plus, with the fact that the concept of LOVE has gone pretty much unacknowledged through Deltarune so far (the Levels the characters keep gaining seems to be a seperate concept, since they go up based only on story progression and we can see Kris still has LV1 and 0 EXP back in the Light World), that makes the idea that it has been [[Hyperlink Blocked]] a lot more creepy.

Also also, it’s funny to think that maybe [[Hyperlink Blocked]] isn’t actually the result of some hidden puppetmaster stopping Spamton from saying too mcuh but it’s just that this is a Librarby right next to a school and it automatically blocks shady spam-links that talk about ‘Love’. 

But on the OTHER HAND, it’s not like Love and/or LOVE perfectly slot into every single [[Hyperlink Blocked]]. 

(this one can maybe be excused since Spamton’s dialouge is seriously glitching here. Maybe you can say that [[Hyperlink Blocked]] can be ‘loved’ rather than ‘Love’ but we do know Spamton can say ‘beloved’ so...)

But this one bugs me more...

I mean, I guess the Disk is transferring Spamton’s LOVE cause LOVE is measuring a specific aspect of a person’s psyche and we are transferring Spamton’s whole mind in this Disk so that technically includes the LOVE. But, well, on the other hand, yes, we are transferring Spamton’s whole damn BRAIN in this thing and it’ll be weird to only mention his Level of Violence when it doesn’t really seem like it would be the most important part???

A word like “will”, “mind”, “being”, “consciousness”, “essence”, “program”, “SOUL”, “Dark”, “Light” or even “Determination” would be a much better description for what is being transferred into the NEO body. Buuut all of these words work a lot less in all the OTHER times [[Hyperlink Blocked]] is used in Spamton’s dialouge, so that can’t be it either.  (And Spamton can say “SOUL”, “Dark” and “Light”, so that’s another disqualifying factor)

I guess that line is really the thing that’s tripping me about the idea that [[Hyperlink Blocked]] is one consistent Thing all the time. Because that thing needs to be in some way an ecompessment of Spamton’s whole existence, but also something Kris(/the Player/also Lightners in general it seems) would need to get in order to become a [[Big Shot]] (that is to say, free) and... seeing how Darkners in general and Spamton in spesific have so little freedom and control over their lives, it’s hard for me to imagine what that could be. 

If there is one spesific thing [[Hyperlink Blocked]] stands for, my guess is that it’s an aspect of the setting’s metaphysics that we just don’t know about yet. 

If instead, [[Hyperlink Blocked]] can stand for multiple things that are censored, that I would say that most mentions of [[Hyperlink Blocked]] are probably either ‘Love’ or “LOVE” but certainly not all of them!

[fantrollology]

I want Leathy many sweeps ago please

Leathy's legs were propped up on the coffee table. His pinky nail worked away on a kernel stuck in the gum of his right fang while he watched Proohe furiously tear apart a well meaning bakers tarte tatin. The baker would be next. The TV was cranked high enough to drown out the dripping that served as the caverns incessant background noise, and then a bit more so he could ignore his cloister-neighbors requests for him to turn it down.

His palmhusk let out a ding. He absently reached to check who it was, expecting another former classmate pestering him for something or other. No, I can't come to that show, I'm back in the caverns. No, I can't help you study, I graduated last perigee, remember?

Instead, what he saw made him sit straight up. They got back to him already? His other hand blindly palmed around for the remote and paused the TV while the other unlocked the device and tapped into the Empire-sanctioned notifications app.

"GEE, THANKS!" his neighbor screamed.

He waited to make sure she was done chastising him, and then pressed into the alert.

Leathy Contin,

Your application for the Empire MD program has been rejected.

He stared at it. That one line meant that in the eyes of the Empire, he would never be a doctor.

A quick scan of the rest offered nothing more than hyperlinks to other opportunities to serve the Empire.

He tightened. He sucked in his breath and wrung the phone in his hand. He should've waited. He could've retaken that class. That test. Maybe he should've paid that Fleet nut to edit his application. Why did he think he'd get in?

"FUCK!" He shot the husk across the block where it cracked on the cavern wall next to Prunes' frozen, devilish smile. He stood and crossed his arms over his forehead and stayed there. He choked back a sob and pulled in a sharp, shaking breath through his teeth.

That was it.

[triforce-of-mischief]

Hello there!

Name: Fable ~ Age: 20 ~ Pronouns: she/they ~ Gender: demigirl

Main fandoms: Linked Universe, Bonus Links, Legend of Zelda, The Dragon Prince, Splatoon 3, Puss in Boots: The Last Wish, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem

My favorite LU Link is Legend! You have been warned.

I am a proud member of the Hurricane Family! I am one of the older siblings.

LU x reader requests are now open! Check out the hyperlinked post for details!

My AO3 (Due to the threat of ai theft, all of my works are currently visible to registered users only. Sorry for the inconvenience!)

My stim blog

My writing blog

My Pronouns Page

My DNI

I will tell you why I chose this specific flag for my profile pic if you ask nicely.

I have a whole collection of reblogged ask games that never expire. ;)

PSA for the blank blogs

Tumblr 101 (new and blank blogs read this!)

Important message for minors

About Linkshipping ~ About Linkshipping 2.0

Personal tags: fable writes, fable’s asks, fable gets personal, fable’s family, fable plays [game acronym], fable draws

I don’t tag for triggers but I will not reblog anything with my own triggers or extreme reblog bait. Minor reblog bait will be tagged accordingly. I will try to tag for unreality, please let me know if I missed something. There will also be no donation boosts other than commissions/etsy/ko-fi links.

This is a safe and sympathetic space for trypanophobes. There will be no visual triggers but text posts discussing trypanophobia are tagged accordingly if you need to avoid those as well. My ask box is also open if you want to have a civil and productive discussion.

Friend tag: chatting with [name]!

Tags you may want to block/avoid: nsfw, long post, reblog bait

Chronic lol'er, if lol makes you uncomfortable then please let me know and I will be sure to use a key smash or other appropriate replacement when I talk to you.

Tone tags are very helpful for me! If you don't know what they stand for, just ask! Here's a helpful list of the most common ones!

If you have any questions about Breath of the Wild, Skyward Sword, or Wind Waker, I would be happy to answer them! Please feel free to request screenshots, recordings, or descriptions of places/people from BotW.

I also have a list of my favorite ZeldaTubers if you're looking for quality playthroughs or theory/analysis videos!

I am very tolerant of all ships except those that are unacceptable in canon. For example: LU Fable is not confirmed to be Legend's sister so even though I like the sibling headcanon, I am also fine with the ship. And for Ravio, he is not confirmed to be a literal copy of Link so I am respectful whether you ship them or not (I think Raviolink is cute but you're encouraged to block the respective tags according to personal preference). But if you ship Urbosa/Zelda or Bozai/Link, kindly keep that out of my circle. Everything on my blog that is clearly ship-related is appropriately tagged for your viewing/blocking pleasure.

My ask box is open and anon is on! Just don't be a butt. You won't get the privilege of interaction.

💜

[theastriangamer]

HEY EVERY !! IT'S ME!!! EV3RY BUDDY 'S FAVORITE [[Number 1 Rated Salesman1997]] SPAMT SPAMTON G. SPAMTON!! WOAH!! IF IT ISN"T A… LIGHT nER! HEY-HE Y HEY!!! LOOKS LIKE YOU'RE [[All Alone On A Late Night?]] ALL YOUR FRIENDS, [[Abandoned you for the slime]] YOU ARE? SALES, GONE DOWN THE [[Drain]] [[Drain]]?? LIVING IN A GODDAMN GARBAGE CAN??? WELL HAVE I GOT A [[Specil Deal]] FOR LONELY [[Hearts]] LIKE YOU!! IF YOU'VE [[Lost Control Of Your Life]] THEN YOU JUST GOTTA GRAB IT BY THE [[Silly Strings]] WHY BE THE [Little Sponge]] WHO HATES ITS [[$4.99]] LIFE WHEN YOU CAN BE A [[BIG SHOT!!!]] [[BIG SHOT!!!!]] [[BIG SHOT!!!!!]] THAT'S RIGHT!! NOW'S YOUR CHANCE TO BE A [[BIG SHOT]]!! AND I HAVE JUST. THE THING. YOU NEED. THAT'S [[Hyperlink Blocked]] YOU WANT IT. YOU WANT [[Hyperlink Blocked]] DON'T YOU. WELL HAVE I GOT A DEAL FOR YOU!! ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS SHOW ME. YOUR [[HeartShapedObject]]. YOU'RE LIGHT neR< AREN'T YOU? YOUVE GOT THE [[LIGHT.]] WHY DON'T YOU [[Show it off?]]

*accidentally just has the copypasta*

Connection terminated. I'm sorry to interrupt you, Elizabeth, if you still even remember that name, But I'm afraid you've been misinformed. You are not here to receive a gift, nor have you been called here by the individual you assume, although, you have indeed been called. You have all been called here, into a labyrinth of sounds and smells, misdirection and misfortune. A labyrinth with no exit, a maze with no prize. You don't even realize that you are trapped. Your lust for blood has driven you in endless circles, chasing the cries of children in some unseen chamber, always seeming so near, yet somehow out of reach, but you will never find them. None of you will. This is where your story ends. And to you, my brave volunteer, who somehow found this job listing not intended for you, although there was a way out planned for you, I have a feeling that's not what you want. I have a feeling that you are right where you want to be. I am remaining as well. I am nearby. This place will not be remembered, and the memory of everything that started this can finally begin to fade away. As the agony of every tragedy should. And to you monsters trapped in the corridors, be still and give up your spirits. They don't belong to you. For most of you, I believe there is peace and perhaps more waiting for you after the smoke clears. Although, for one of you, the darkest pit of Hell has opened to swallow you whole, so don't keep the devil waiting, old friend. My daughter, if you can hear me, I knew you would return as well. It's in your nature to protect the innocent. I'm sorry that on that day, the day you were shut out and left to die, no one was there to lift you up into their arms the way you lifted others into yours, and then, what became of you. I should have known you wouldn't be content to disappear, not my daughter. I couldn't save you then, so let me save you now. It's time to rest - for you, and for those you have carried in your arms. This ends for all of us. End communication.

Fuck you

[la-pheacienne]

I posted 979 times in 2022

That's 979 more posts than 2021!

212 posts created (22%)

767 posts reblogged (78%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@lipsticksontheglass

@ladyalianora

@alethiaii

@theblackqveen

@ladygreene13

I tagged 821 of my posts in 2022

Only 16% of my posts had no tags

#hotd - 390 posts

#house of the dragon - 205 posts

#anonymous - 128 posts

#rhaenyra targaryen - 103 posts

#daemon targaryen - 93 posts

#daemyra - 79 posts

#bcs - 48 posts

#alicent hightower - 46 posts

#hotd clownery - 33 posts

#bbc merlin - 27 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#i discovered how to do hyperlinks like 3 days ago and i'm obsessed from now on i will put one in every single one of my posts because i can

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

The 💖💖"where is duty where is sacrifice"💖💖 line being tossed around as the ultimate motto/inspiration of green stans is genuinely the most pathetic thing that happened to this fandom and an undeniable proof of most people's Americans's functional illiteracy.

You are literally preaching for institutionalising internalised misogyny, and sounding like that disgusting woman from the Handmaid's tale I don't even remember her name cause I don't watch the show that held the female protagonist so that her own husband can rape her.

Of course you're gonna tell me oh you're a hypocrite shipping incestous couples and promoting feudal ideology, everything is permitted in the context of the story, right. Everything is permitted. The difference is that it's according to the context of the story that Alicent and her clan are the antagonists, something that many people have forgotten and I don't entirely blame you for that because the shitshow is very confusing. Still, according to the context of the story Alicent is a spiteful, vengeful and treasonous conservative freak, who slut-shames, slanders and undermines the heir which directly led to her horrible death, and all of this because she's a woman. So yeah, according to the context of the story, using her ridiculous line as words to live by is really problematic and that's code for fucking disgusting.

I even saw a person saying that they don't blame Alicent for wanting to usurp Rhaenyra because Rhaenyra made it so easy for them. And why is that ? Because she had sex and kids with another man, because of that she made it easy for them so she deserves being eaten by a dragon on the orders of her brother. Because she had sex. This is the level of clownery we're at.

Green stans literally don't realise that the Hightowers' aim was power all along, that their main quality is greed and they used whatever they could to slander and undermine the rightful heir weaponising her gender against her. It was never about her supposed immoral lifestyle, it was always about her fucking vagina and Hightowers' greed and misogyny and that's literally supposed to be the reason why they are the bad guys but people are literally using the very reason they are the bad guys as a means to defend them? Like??????

Honestly I can't block fast enough.

130 notes - Posted December 5, 2022

#4

Ok but the parallel between Cersei absolutely terrorising the shit out of Littlefinger in the "Power is Power" scene and Alicent being sexually abused by Larys in order to get him to do what she wants is just.marvellous.

They are both Queen regents. That literally means they are like one of the 5 most powerful people in all seven kingdoms, not to say the most powerful people in all seven kingdoms after the king himself. They both happen to have a faithful servant/counselor that also happens to be a psychotic murderous piece of shit, no disagreement on that. Both these counselors try to exert power over the Queens but the Queens' reactions are totally not the same. Littlefinger tries to scare Cersei by saying that he knows everything that happens, implying that he can take her down at any moment. Larys terrorises Alicent by executing murder that she didn't order, but in her name, thus blackmailing her. Cersei kindly reminds Littlefinger that he can be the most powerful and unhinged Lord in all Seven Kingdoms but she is still the Queen, on top of that she is fucking insane and she will cut his throat on the spot if he defies her again. Alicent on the other hand has Larys masturbate to her feet so that hopefully he will do as she wishes. Alicent, the Queen regent. That could literally order his execution on the spot. He is a simple disabled Lord and she is the Queen and she needs to give him sexual favours so that he obeys her? What she could have done is negotiate, and blackmail back, in a power move that is worthy of real Queen regents in history who had political wit and ruthlessness and ambition. A power move that is worthy or book!Alicent herself. Imagine the dialogue and the character development that scene could have given us. But nope, wasn't meant to be. What we got instead is a disabled person being creepy and abusive and Alicent being a victim yet again.

And you are still wondering why this isn't an engaging character? You are still wondering why the general audience doesn't give a fuck about her?

140 notes - Posted November 9, 2022

#3

My two cents on episode 7 because I just watched it.

It was an amazing episode. I will even argue that it was the best episode so far. So many things happening, nothing felt rushed. The funeral after party was GOLD. So many dynamics being explored between all the characters, so many feelings expressed just by angry stares, longing glances and half spoken innuendos. Like a pot slowly boiling and ready to explode. The fight between the children was perfect, the fight between Alicent Rhaenyra and Viserys later on was easily the best scene in HotD until now. I am team Black until the very end and I love Rhaenyra with all my heart but I FELT Alicent in this episode and THIS is great writing. I absolutely loved that Alicent regretted her actions afterwards, I also loved how she expected her father to be pissed and judgemental, and he was judgemental but at the same time appreciative, like? That's some great, multilayered dialogue there, people. The way Daemyra schemed and plotted their wedding and Laenor's escape was GoT season 1 material. Epic plot-twist.

Let's talk about Daemyra. I went over many posts here about the couple, and I admit that I am genuinely confused. I will address some of the complaints I saw: Matt and Emma don't have chemistry. Emma wasn't into it. Daemon wasn't into it, he was blank and passive and indifferent. The sex scene was short and we didn't see oral sex and different positions, orgasms, eye contact, whatever. The dialogue before was also lukewarm because Daemon didn't confess his undying love for his niece on one knee. We still don't know Daemon's motives because he doesn't speak. He didn't show enthousiasm after the mariage proposal. Etc etc etc.

Part of the reason for this reaction IS the incredibly high expectations. Another part is the ridiculous nature of a lot of these expectations. With all due respect for Daemyra's shippers out there (because I am one of them) I think you are confusing this show with Pride and Prejudice. This is not a romance show. This is not a show about the epic love story between Daemon and Rhaenyra. This is also not a romcom. It's a Game of Thrones show. The love story is a part of it, not even the main thing. Yes the dialogue wasn't exactly lovey dovey, yes Daemon didn't start crying when Rhaenyra proposed, he didn't swear eternal love and devotion like Romeo. No, he didn't go down on Rhaenyra in a feminist power move.

I'm sorry, but who fucking cares.

I've said what their dynamic in this episode definitely wasn't, let's see what it actually was. Let's talk specifics.

What I saw with my own eyes, was two broken depressed people coming together again under the least ideal circonstances (hmm the funeral of Daemon's wife hello). I saw a very bitter and hurt Rhaenyra that still longed for Daemon. I saw a depressed Daemon that felt everything is lost to him until Rhaenyra confessed her feelings. I saw a very strong female character pursuing what she wants. I saw tenderness, love, devotion. I don't need romantic words for it, I saw it. It was fucking there. Daemon finally let slip the real reason why he chickened out in the brothel and in the mariage ceremony: wasn't for the throne, wasn't for his own ambitions, but for HER. "I spared you, you were only a child = you didn't understand what you were doing and how much it would cost you, your reputation, your claim to the throne, everything, so I let you be because I cared so much for you". "You have a place in my court if this is what you need" "I need NOTHING", said Daemon the ambitious bastard who only wanted Rhaenyra for the throne. Yeah. That's why he was so hesitant in Rhaenyra's affections, that would CLEARLY benefit him, that's why he was so considerate, and cautious, and afraid and hopeful and tender. Yep, the throne. That was the WHOLE fucking point of Rhaenyra pursuing HIM instead of him pursuing her. To show that he wants HER and not the throne, he wants what's best for her and he wants to make sure that's what SHE wants. He's not trying to seduce her because it would come across as yet another plan to get the throne. His feelings are already clear, Rhaenyra knows it, we know it, we saw how depressed he was and we saw the longing in his glances and the tenderness in his words, we didn't need big rom-com déclarations. So, Daemon's motives aren't clear people? Really? WTF.

The dialogue before the sex scene was impeccable. The most romantic scene in the whole GoT universe. Let's talk about the actual sex scene. Yes it was short. Yes I don't care. Again, this is not a romance movie. The sex scene was extremely cute, appropriate for the CIRCOMSTANCES (FUNERAL HELLO) and the characters position in this particular chapter of the story, Rhaenyra is not a cheerful teen anymore and she gives the deadly victorious possessive look in the end that I personally loved. Yes it was short, but again, it's not an epic romance movie, it's Game of thrones and there are other, more important things to show than oral sex, sorry. Go watch porn.

The only complaint that is valid is the lighting. That was shitty.

162 notes - Posted October 8, 2022

#2

Lol Daemon at his worst is still an absolute mood

279 notes - Posted October 25, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

The "Daemon groomed Rhaenyra" claims are really getting on my nerves. No he didn't.

No he didn't.

The first time they kissed they were adults by MODERN standards and the first time they interacted with a romantic undertone she was of age by medieval standards. The rest of the time he wasn't even in court.

The only reason you losers can't stop bitching about Daemon gRoOmINg Rhaenyra is because Rhaenyra actually wanted to fuck Daemon since forever. If it was a bunch of candidates for her hand in marriage at 13 years old, which was the fucking NORM in the middle ages, you wouldn't give two shits, but because Rhaenyra actually liked Daemon and they actually had a connection, suddenly he's somehow gRoOmINg her and we are romanticising pedophilia-

Shut the fuck up. Seriously just shut up, enough.

300 notes - Posted October 30, 2022

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[dokidoka]

Spamton Feeling Control Analysis

Posting this on here because I dont know where else to put it so... here :D

My friends are PERFECTLY OKAY with doing this for me, just a heads up. My gf and friend had no prior knowledge of Deltarune before this, so this is raw first time feelings.

~My gf's answer~

When I asked her to tell me how the song Dialtone made her feel, she told me it gave her a "familiar yet creepy vibe like one of those disturbing yet familiar pictures". If you're wondering what kind of images she meant, search up Dreamcore and you'll understand. Something like this:

I got curious and sent a full video of all of Spamton's shop dialogue, and asked her to watch it while listening to the music and how it made her feel. She said: "I feel disturbed and confused and concerned".

When I asked her about what lines freaked her out, she sent me the lines saying:

... BUT IT SOUNDED LIKE THEY WERE TALKING TO YOU.

... can anyone hear me? Help...

... ... Mike...

TAKE THIS DEAL AND YOU WILL [[Die]]!! IT'S THAT GOOD!

VACATIONING IN [Burning acid] WHILE YOU SOAK IN THE [Hyperlink Blocked].

(5 out of the 14 sent)

She also said that the glitching before/during speaking was kinda creepy too. She also said, "Don't answer my theories but it's almost like their's 2 people controlling him. And like, one's trying to help us and the other one isn't...?"

So then she watched the Spamton Neo boss (just the fight) and told me, "It made me feel slightly disturbed but also kinda sad". These are the disturbing things she gave me:

I WON'T HAVE TO BE JUST A PUPPET ANY MORE!!!

WHAT ARE THESE STRINGS!? WHY AM I NOT [BIG] ENOUGH!? It's still DARK... SO DARK!

H E A V E N

I JUST NEED THAT LITTLE, [[SOUL]]

WOW!! I'M SO [Proud] OF YOU, I COULD [Killed] YOU!

[Heaven], are you WATCHING?

IT'S CALLING, KRIS... MY [Heart]... MY [Hands]...

*Spamton begs to the audience. *Spamton prays to the audience

[Die Now] AND I'LL THROW IN [50] [Bullets] FOR FREE!

ARE YOU GETTING ALL THIS [Mike]!? I'M FINNALY

HERE I GO!!! WATCH ME FLY, [MAMA]!!!

For the Dealmaker's collection dialogue, the saddest parts in her mind were:

It seems after all I couldn't be anything more than a simple puppet.

With a power like that... maybe you three can break your own strings.

She said that she relates to Ralsei because she would also want to make her friends feel alright after how creepy and traumatizing that was.

So, all in all, Spamton made her feel... unsettled and sad.

~My best friend's answer~

I asked him to listen to Dialtone, and he told me, "It kept me on edge, and it felt like something bad was about to happen".

He said that nothing really 'scared or disturbed him' but some things did catch his eye. These were what he sent me:

BUT IT SOUNDED LIKE THEY WERE TALKING TO YOU.

MANSION... BASEMENT! FIND IT!

... ... Mike...

[[Amazed by thi5 amazing transformation? You too can]] HAVE A [[Communion]] WITH [[Unintelligible Laughter]

That was all he gave me because he was busy, so I didnt get much of anywhere with him unfortunately.

So, Spamton made my friend feel on edge, unsettled.

~My answer~

Dialtone made me feel some sort of bitter comfort, like I know too much and even though I'm at a horrible time, place, etc., everything will be okay in the end. But the phone ringing ruined it and made it feel more like some sort of suspense, like in a horror movie. If I could make it a picture, it would be this:

I watched the shop and continued on my way in this theory, and these are some lines that stuck with me:

I USED TO BE NOTHING BUT THE E_MAIL GUY, BUT NOW I'M THE [[It burns! Ow! Stop! Help me! It burns!]] GUY!

No! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to--

... can anyone hear me? Help...

... But it sounded like they were talking to you.

His boss fight is all in all disturbing, but lines like:

HERE I GO!!! WATCH ME FLY [MAMA]!!!

Smells like rotten glass.

There is no audience.

I WON'T HAVE TO BE JUST A PUPPET ANYMORE!

His ending dialogue seems the normal depressing sadness that you would expect from one of Toby's games. The end conversation feels off, like someone isn't saying something that needs to be said. It could be Ralsei, or Kris, but something feels like it needs to be noticed but isn't. I relate to Susie, like are they just not going to talk about that? It was extremely weird to not be noticed.

So Spamton made me feel uncomfortable, but also relaxed in some weird way.

How does he do this? I don't know. Maybe he radiates the energy of "I can help you and I understand you" while also being effectively horrifying at the same time.

I don't know completely though. Spamton might have been meant to add a little bit of horror and feeling to a mostly memeable chapter, which is okay, but he's SO DARN COMPLICATED.

My brother has informed me that the future chapters will most likely mild horror, which is weird but not weird considering Deltarune isn't really a "horror" game. Maybe Toby is easing us into it. But it won't come to my mind when I hear "horror game".

Maybe Spamton isn't meant to be horror, but he's meant to teach you something about taking control of your life? It's difficult to tell considering Chapter 2 is mostly memes lol.

Thanks for wasting your time reading this, I appreciate it.