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chococolte · 2 years

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☼ — osculatus solem

my take on sagau/cult au zhongli, reactions to first meeting you/as a worshiper + reactions to being your lover

word count. 4.2k

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationship, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, religious + cult themes, sagau + cult au shit, g/n reader. i do not condone yanderes irl.

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. im sorry if tense is weird im kinda dumb lol

Zhongli has waited for you for six-thousand years.

It wasn’t until he was faced with you that he realized how cruel the wait was. Six-thousand years of patiently waiting had never felt like grueling punishment until he realized what he was deprived of. Like a man starved, he had grown used to the numbness of constant hunger— he found it almost comforting, as he had lived his entire life malnourished. He lived unaware of what it was like to have a full stomach.

Your presence is primeval. It emanates, and it overwhelms all else. When Zhongli looked into your eyes for the first time, he finally felt complete. He was finally where he was meant to be. Finally with who he was meant to be with.

The scripture had described you in detail, but there were only so many words, so many different ways to speak of you. None of them could compare to how you looked in person, standing in front of him.

Your eyes hold all the knowledge in the world. Constellations and stars shine within them, a myriad of stellar tapestries formed within the small reflective surface of your eyes. Past, present, and future dance inside, moving according to your design. You see all. You are all. Everything that is, and everything that will be, is you. Every burgeoning bud, blooming flower, roaring wave, and colossal beast; you are every death, there in every mournful cry and scornful glare; you are every mortal life and every god.

You are the sun that brings warmth to Teyvat, the moon that caresses its tides, and Zhongli wants nothing more than to worship you for it.

Zhongli was not always your devout worshiper. He was once, like all of his temperament, rebellious and spiteful. He refused to believe that all of his victories in battle had simply been part of your design. Just a single thread in your grand tapestry.

His triumphs were his, and his alone. He won by his own virtue, will, and vigor. He won by his own hand, spear, and stone. You did not aid him in his wars. You did not save anyone worth saving. Zhongli watched his allies die, slip through his fingers like grains of sand— and he would never thank you for what he endured. He promised himself that if ever faced with you and your faux benevolence, he would demand answers from you. You owed him that much. A recompense for all the hardship and injury he had sustained.

Zhongli, in his youthful hubris, did not care who heard his blasphemy, and whether they thought it distasteful or not. He was the god of war, and would allow no being to silence his voice. Zhongli bathed in his rage, wallowed in it; he would not allow himself to believe what others so easily indulged in. Ignorance led way to arrogance.

Guizhong had always been of the opinion that you were a kind, gentle god. She argued that your light could not be quantified, nor labeled; just because you did not act in ways he could see, did not mean you did not act at all. You breathed life into the abandoned, the lost— you embraced those without a home, without purpose. You forgave and you pardoned, and you rained down fury on those wicked and vile.

Zhongli had long grown used to her arguments. Every victory of theirs, despite the tight grip on his weapon and the ichor on his blade, was attributed to you— your grace, your blessings. By your grace you allowed them one more day, by your blessings you allowed them one more triumph. Zhongli thought her pitiful; you had done nothing to deserve her kindness. She worshiped you, and what had you given her in response to her devotion?

Guizhong died in his hands, and he had nothing to show for it. Helplessness ate it's way at him, through his flesh and bone. What was left was nothing more than a husk, a parody of a god. What was once anger at authority transformed into righteous anger at the one who made him. You allowed him his victories, to parade around with pride and vanity; you gave him your blessings, benediction and approval, and yet you let the one who meant the most to him die. The one who worshiped you above all else.

Why did he live over her? He did not appreciate you. He did not worship you. He made no offerings, nor did he pray. He did not believe in your salvation, neither did he ordain your will. But he was the one left behind with the sorrow and the guilt, and Guizhong was the one turned to dust. Why was he chosen?

Zhongli knew that asking questions was meaningless. You would not deign to answer. Maybe it was to be expected. Why would an Almighty God answer to a lower being demanding answers far beyond their comprehension? Why should you have to explain yourself, when you saw all? Zhongli was merely the god of Geo. You could take even that from him.

You were the God of All. The Primordial One. No being had authority over you; not even one of the Seven.

It was only in the light of Guizhong's death that Zhongli had finally begun to understand her perspective. He might’ve been alone, but that did not make you cruel. It did not mean you were unable to be kind, tender and loving. You loved as much as you breathed— the world was showered in your love for it, in the wind that caressed its people and the sea that fed them. Your love was in its bountiful harvests and its gentle rain.

You loved just as any other, but Zhongli had long refused to see it.

He started small. Gestures of devotion hidden underneath many layers of misty glass, only clear to those who looked hard enough. Zhongli had postured to those still with him that he no longer minded if they worshiped you in his presence. If he was feeling particularly daring, he would join in and mutter a small word or two of thanks. Perhaps he thought of it as a way to make up to Guizhong after so many years of his disapproval.

Though he may have found it unbearable at the beginning, he soon began to pray to you in times of need. He looked for you when he found himself in need of counsel, forgoing the people around him. He made offerings in your name when there was a drought or a shortage, praying for your guidance. Even if he did not initially believe that you would truly respond, the comfort it brought outweighed the logistics. If there was no one else he could turn to, he still had you— and you would never forsake him.

Zhongli started to find your answers in the strangest of places. An arrangement of flowers in some botanical garden of some odd scion, the conversation of two orphan boys that shed a new perspective; a tale that seemed almost catered to him told by a storyteller at a tea house. Perhaps he was imagining things— he surely would have thought so a millennium earlier. But were they truly coincidences, if they only happened after he had prayed and offered at his altar for you?

If it was the Zhongli of old, he would have said yes. But the Zhongli of new knew better now: it was you, speaking to him through indirect means. You answered his prayers and accepted his offerings. You forgave him for what he had done and the things he had said in the past.

Liyue was modeled after what Zhongli believed you favored the most. Its jagged cliffs, jeweled karsts, cuihua forests, and vibrant plant life; sculpted and molded to fit your tastes. He sometimes daydreams of showing you his life’s work— would you like it? Would you tell him he’s done a good job, that he had done enough to please you? If you found it distasteful, would you tell him why? Even if it meant tearing the land asunder and usurping the earth that tethers it to its place in the sea, Zhongli would change whatever it is you dislike immediately.

Even if the problem was himself. He would happily bow his head, whisper one last plead for forgiveness, and take his own life. If it was your will, there is nothing he wouldn't do.

When Zhongli meets the Traveler for the first time, he is frozen in place. His heart drops to his stomach as he sees the gleam of your existence in their eyes. It's you. You're here, in front of him— he wants to kneel and worship you the way he's always wanted, but…

Why is it them, and not him?

Zhongli knows he shouldn’t be jealous. It’s a blessing in the first place to meet you like this. It's a blessing to know that you're real. But he can’t stop himself from lying awake at night, thinking of what it would be like if he was the eyes through which you experienced this world.

It’s an ugly feeling. A twisted, nasty feeling. It leaves him feeling bitter in the morning and sick whenever he sees the Traveler walking through Liyue’s streets. He assists them on their quest, because you are there with them— watching him through their eyes. He hopes to leave a good impression, to assure you that there is no problem with him; perhaps, that is why you did not choose him? Because he was faulty in some form?

Hours upon hours of self-reflection spent in dark, locked rooms. Zhongli stays there, looking in mirrors, searching for reasons why. He looks at his mortal form and wonders: is this why? Did you want him to serve you as the Geo Archon for longer? Why not him?

Was he not enough? Was Liyue not enough? You are never wrong, never incorrect— the problem lies with him. But no matter how long he looks, he can't find the reason. He's better in every way. Better in his devotion for you, better in his worship— he would kneel until his knees turned raw and skin gave way to bone, he would pray and sing your praises until his throat bled. He built Liyue with earth and stone, and cracked the land until it was worthy enough of a formation, molding it with his hands to please you. He had changed himself until he was deserving of your forgiveness, until he was worthy enough to worship you.

The voice in the back of his head tells him it was because he once hated you. Once, when he was a fool and a heathen, he spat on your good name, derided it with disgust. Zhongli thought you forgave him for the sins of his past. He thought you still loved him despite it. He thought he had purified himself long ago, but perhaps he still had some rot left to root out. What part of him wasn’t perfect? What part of him wasn’t enough for you?

Zhongli knows he’s only being ungrateful. You’ve done enough for him. Who is he to demand more?

REVERENTIA ; first meeting/as a worshiper

Zhongli did not know what to do with himself when his eyes laid on your figure for the first time.

You were beautiful. Resplendent and illustrious. When you spoke, crying out so timorously, he shuddered involuntarily. He clasped a hand over his mouth in an attempt to steady his breathing, but your voice was infectious. His heart felt heavy in his chest as you looked at him with wide eyes.

Nothing could compare to your stare, to the life that swirled within your eyes.

Zhongli knelt, then, his head hitting the floor. His shoulders trembled with tension as he kept them taut and straight, keeping his posture as poised as possible.

His first words to you: "Welcome home."

Whether your reaction was volatile or not, Zhongli is at your beck and call. He waits on you hand and foot, staying by your side and keeping close. He acts as your shadow, following your orders, even simple commands, as if the result of his failure will be death. Zhongli is aware that your current form is weaker, mortal in nature; but when you ascend once more, he wants to be known as the one who never doubted you, never thought of you as lesser because of your current circumstances.

Zhongli, despite his worship of propriety, is still prone to decadence. His hands as he helps you dress linger for far longer than they should, brushing against the soft skin of your shoulders. The tips of his gloves burn from where they've touched you, and you notice him wearing them less and less often, now.

In Zhongli's eyes, you are never wrong. You stand at the pinnacle of righteousness, justice and light; anything you say is gospel. He commits all of your opinions, even of the littlest, pettiest things, to memory. His personal thoughts on the matter are meaningless, now— if you dislike it, then it's bad. Simple as that. If you find something enjoyable, then it's good. If your concept of morality is twisted and murky, then he will morph his own to match it; there is no internal struggle, no hesitation in his thoughts and behavior. Your will is all that matters.

When in your presence, Zhongli is perfect. He is courteous, gentle, and benign. He never does anything without your explicit permission. He brews you tea, and tells you anything you wish to know. He worships you with so much vigor it's hard to deny him.

Outside of it, he is barely hanging on by a thread.

Zhongli doesn't know how he lived without you before. He feels vaguely sick even thinking of going back to when you were not present. Just a moment without you is hellish. Every step away from you is like walking on scorching coal. It is an agonizing pain, one slow and tortuous.

He has never felt such pain before. The mere thought of leaving you by your lonesome sends him into a frenzy powered only by his desire to stay by you. He is willing to tear anyone apart should they stand in between him and his god. He can't leave, not when he isn't worthy of your forgiveness yet, not when you're so fragile in your current form.

Every night he rests only barely. Every morning he rises with relief, knowing that once more he is allowed to bask in your company.

Perhaps he's still driven by his insecurity, by the idea of you thinking him unworthy of you.

Zhongli speaks of your grace and elegance, of the light you inspire; he tells you how long he's worshiped you, how long he's loved you.

He tells you of his devotion, of the offerings he's left at your gilded altars, jewels and the finest riches. Zhongli brings them directly to you, now, with an uncharacteristic bashfulness.

He tells you of the wars he's fought in your name, of the blasphemers he's slaughtered— though, conveniently leaving out that he used to be one. Zhongli hopes you're proud of the things he's done in your name, that you will finally embrace him, utterly and wholly.

In the dark of the night, when doubt and searing loneliness so clearly bite at his mind, Zhongli walks to your room. He never dares to walk inside, always conscious of your privacy— but he kneels outside your doors with muted footsteps, only the soft echo of ruffling fabric to accompany him.

He mumbles into the gelid floor unintelligible prayers. He listens for your breathing, for assurance you're still within reach. His unrest is barely abated each time.

When he is particularly nervous, he stands by your doors until morning light, shoulders trembling with unease until you rise from your slumber.

Zhongli is fearful. His muscles are tense as he whispers pleadings that you stay, that you at least say goodbye, should you leave again. He fears one day he will awake and you will be gone.

He fears that he will be left alone again, once more without the tenderness of your guidance. Back to when he had thrown you away, when he only knew of bloodshed and the weight on his shoulders.

You freed him from his self-imposed shackles, whether knowingly or not.

Only when he's assured you're safe will he allow himself peace and serenity.

Only then, will he finally rest in the only paradise he wishes for: being by your side for eternity.

VENUSTUS ; as your lover

Zhongli has always loved you. By virtue of your holiness and sacred being, he has always loved you as his god. As his guiding hand and light, sculpting him into the Archon you want him to be; into a believer worthy of worshiping you.

Faced with your luminous presence, finally able to see what he has only imagined before, Zhongli's love for you only grows. It unfurls like a blossoming glaze lily, petals perfect and serene.

He would never dare presume that his feelings are returned. As his God, you are above him in every way— you are above him in every breath, every step you take. In every slight movement of your fingers, you establish the bridge between you. The line he should never cross.

You are above him. He is beneath you.

Whether it is intentional or not, Zhongli knows his place. He is grateful to be where he is, blessed enough to stand beside you in any capacity. To know that you exist would've been enough, but to care for you personally— to be the one with whom you spend the most of your treasured time with; that is an honor worth dying for.

Zhongli has played with the idea of being your consort before. Of being yours, utterly and entirely. He never lets the thought stay for long. Shame begins to eat at him all too quickly, twisting his stomach into knots of guilt and remorse. He's embarrassed more than anything; of having the gall to dare to imagine himself ever being so important to you.

The thought would've never crossed his mind before, the mere idea laughable. You were untouchable. Above even The Seven, above Celestia. You had not shown interest in any individual for a millennium, and it would be no different now.

But Zhongli knows you now. He's felt the brush of your touch, the zephyr of your breath when he leans in too close. He's felt the warmth running through your veins, the warmth that leaves him flustered, even when you've only touched him for a moment.

The thoughts come more often, now. More vivid. More apparent. You cradle him in your arms, whispering soft words of loyalty and love. You hold his hands in your own, intertwining your fingers, and tell him how you have come to love him. He is special. He alone is yours; no one else.

It terrifies him.

Zhongli is nothing more than your worshiper. He is your servant. He may have been a god, but now he is just your tool. He is content with that much. He should be content with that much. But his heart wants more from you, more than you've deigned to give him.

It wants your love. Your attention. His heart yearns to be special to you; to be the sole holder of your affection.

It's a selfish desire. A nasty one. One that he wishes he could remove, exorcise out of him like a spirit. But every attempt to carve it out of him only leaves him bleeding, and it hurts more to pretend like it doesn't exist. It burns him from the inside out, a fiery jealousy that roars whenever he sees you with another.

It should be me, his heart trembles. It should be me, his heart weeps.

Zhongli is terribly flustered when you begin to show signs of reciprocation. Small things like careful touches, honeyed tones, and words of favor. You compliment him more often, go out of your way to do things that please him; brushing and running your fingers through his hair, listening to him spin tales of old. He is aware that you must know everything already, but you look at him with such big eyes of wonder and interest he can’t help but go on.

He’s barely able to speak when you admit to him your feelings. His heart beats fast in his ears like war drums, his heartstrings tightening as if nocked by an arrow.

It's an uncharacteristic moment of timidity for the wise ex-archon. He's stammering over his words, barely able to keep up his façade of calm. Is that something you truly wish to do? With him?

You assure him— I want this, you say— and Zhongli allows himself to believe you. He follows you when you lead him by the hand into the palace of your heart. He cradles it softly in his hands, gentle and delicate. Zhongli swears to never hurt you, to never let another harm you in any way; but he still fears, still doubts you.

It should be expected for you to have multiple consorts. Multiple lovers, all equally vying for your attention. Zhongli should be happy that you have any interest in him at all— but the thought of being second to another in your heart makes him sick.

Venti, the verdant bard, does nothing but drink. He wastes away his woes in bottles of wine and bourbon; surely, you will not choose him over Zhongli? Ei lorded over her people and took their freedom away. Her reasons do not matter. All for an eternity unreachable by mortals and gods, she attempted to trespass upon your domain. Surely, you will not choose her over him?

The thoughts are foolish. Nearly sacrilegious in nature. He has no control over you; no place to demand that you only love him. But Zhongli has spent thousands of years worshiping you— is it wrong of him to believe himself better than the rest? Venti does not worship you in the way he does, with such fervor or zeal. Ei may pray or rest her eyes beneath your statue, but she has not spoken good of your name like he has, hasn’t hunted blasphemers like he has.

She’d rather her servants deal with them, whenever they so rarely come. Zhongli deals with them personally, knuckles clenched around his blade.

In every way that matters, he is better. As such, he shouldn’t fear, shouldn’t worry of when you will inevitably grow bored— he should enjoy the moments he has with you, the brief time when he is all that you have. When he is still all that you want.

Fear still grips his throat with its tiny, intangible hands. Even if he severs its wrists, it continues to thrive; to suffocate him with its pervasive thoughts.

He must prove himself, it echoes. Or else he'll be deserted. Discarded when another proves themselves his better.

Zhongli won't let himself be thrown away. Whatever he must do to please you, he will do.

Until his mortal form wears down to nothing but dust and bone, until his only coherent thought is how wonderful it is to worship you— until you have no need for anyone else.

Whatever your command is, he will follow. As long as he alone stands in your heart, as long as he alone can kiss the dirt off your feet, he will be content.

He only hopes that he can love you as you deserve.

Zhongli’s zealous behavior worsens to an obscene degree. He never falters in his fervent, almost fervorous veneration— it becomes excessive, almost actorly. Though his obsequiousness appears inflated, it is entirely genuine; he fawns a tad more obviously, smiling with dazed eyes when you kiss his cheeks or lips.

This has always been how he feels. He's only unrestrained, now. And even still, he hides the deeper parts of his worship, the servile and fanatic in him that wants to drool at your lap. It's hard to stop himself every time you sit on your throne to immediately drop to his knees.

Zhongli is happy to give and never receive. He is pleased with being yours, though it never clicks in his mind that the same is applicable to you.

You are not his, but he is yours. If you call yourself his, Zhongli melts. His face blossoms red and it permeates his cheeks for hours afterward. His hands slightly shake and he has trouble standing still in the immediate aftermath. All he wants to do is kneel, and say I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you—

If you'd like it, Zhongli would let you do whatever you want with him. Tear him apart with your bare hands, and shred him of any sense; it matters not as long as it's you.

You are everything, your love is everything. Even the softest of your kisses and touches have him breathless and numb, and anything else only serves to make him fall deeper into you.

Only with you is he easy to fluster. Anyone else, and he'd have punished them long ago, if not tore out their eyes for having seen him in such a state.

But it's you. You could crush his heart in your hands, leave him heartbroken and bitter, and Zhongli still would not find it in himself to hate you.

You are the lifeblood that runs underneath Teyvat’s cracked earth, the soft undercurrent that ties it together— and, if only you'd let him, Zhongli would worship you for it.

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neteyamslovrr · 1 year

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I See You

summary: after a fight with his father about not keeping an eye on lo’ak after the situation outside the reef, Y/N finds him alone on the sand and decides to comfort him.

0.7k words

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Neteyam walked off in a hurry after his father told him to go. He wasn’t a babysitter so why was he treated like one? Must he keep an eye on Lo’ak 24/7 or can he go and enjoy being himself for just a moment. His pent up anger and frustration bubbled in his chest, making his breathing fast and his eyes prickle with tears. His feet hit the sand with fury as he stormed down the shoreline, his braid beads clicking together in an irregular pattern.

Finding an isolated piece of beach, he let his body flop onto the sand looking up at the evening sky. His breath trembled as he ran his hands over his face and let his eyes close as the small sand grains etched into his skin every time he inhaled.

You spotted him laying down on the sand. His limbs sprawled out against the ground as his braids laid around his head like sunbeams. You walked towards him noticing his fast breathing and trembling chin. Crouching beside him your hands slightly brushed against Neteyams thigh making him jolt in surprise. “Y/N do not frighten me like that.” Neteyam said with a sigh looking down at your hand so close to him.

“I apologise for my brother’s behaviour Neteyam, he was childish.” You knew Ao’nung was a bit of a nuisance, but you never thought he’d think of doing something so dangerous. Neteyam looked up at you with a pitiful smile as he put his hand on your thigh.

“It’s my fault I should’ve been there to stop Lo’ak. It’s my responsibility to look over my siblings. I am the eldest.” Neteyam’s voice was sorrow, he usually had a happy smile across it face but today it had vanished.

“No Neteyam, it is not your fault.” You looked into his eyes lovingly as you put your hand over the one on your thigh. “You are not his parent, you are his brother Neteyam.” Neteyam was shocked to hear this. Never in his life was he told against his responsibilities, yet it still felt like the burden was on his shoulders. What if Lo’ak was hurt or killed, he’d have never forgiven himself.

“I still should’ve been there Y/N, it is my duty. What if he was injured? I’d be to blame!” His voice was slightly raised but it was just the frustration being pent up in his chest banging on his ribs. “I just want to be able to relax Y/N, I feel as if I can’t. I’m watching them constantly.” He hung his head as he laid on your shoulder his forehead slightly sticky from the heat of the island sun. “I just want to be seen, I can’t keep being the one to see.” Neteyam mumbled quietly as his hand slightly squeezed your thigh.

You moved your hand off his and directed it to his cheek. Tilting his face upwards to look into his glossy eyes. He’d tried so hard to keep his tears at bay, but they were spilling down his cheeks. “Neteyam, I see you.” You said nervously looking at his widening eyes.

“Y/N... I see you.” He said looking back at you lovingly. You wiped the tears off his face with you thumb delicately. You smiled back at him moving towards his so your foreheads touched. His hand moved from your thigh to caress your cheek as he closed his eyes.

“Neteyam I can’t promise to take these responsibilities away, but I promise to help you with every single one of them. You are not alone as long as I breathe.” Your words make Neteyam’s chin tremble as he let out a soft sob. “Do not cry, I am here.” You continue to wipe his tears as he cried softly. You engulfed him into a warm embrace rocking him side to side as his arms wrapped around you tightly. He let his sobs die down while you embraced him. His breathing becoming regular and the banging in his chest was relieved as you slowly traced patterns on his back.

Looking up to you his eyes puffy, his hand rested on your cheek. “Thank you, Y/N, Thank you.”

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authors note: tysm for sm love on my last fic, i'm forever grateful <3. i might take requests soon but i'm still figuring out tumblr :)

#neteyam #neteyam oneshot #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x reader #avatar2oneshot #avatar #avatar2 #avatar the way of water #neteyam fluff #neteyam angst #neteyamcomfort #neteyam imagine #neteyam headcanons #neteyam sully #jake sully #lo'ak #avatar imagine #avatar oneshot

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judaicsheyd · 11 months

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An Introduction to Kashrut & Kosher Eating

i. "Kashrut" and "Kosher"? ii. Kashrut Specifics iii. Modified Ways to Keep Kosher iv. Resources

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You may already be confused about what these words even mean, and that's totally okay, we're all here to learn. The following are some important terms to keep in mind:

Halakha : Jewish Law as outlined within the Talmud. It governs everything from punishment for crimes to sex to defining "what" Judaism is. It is more of a way of life than a set of laws. Kashrut : A subsection of Halakha, specifically referring to regulations surrounding food and everything to do with it. Kosher : An adjective used to refer to food or food-related products (like forks and spoons) that are deemed okay for Jews to eat/use by Kashrut. "Keeping Kosher" refers to eating according to Kashrut. Kashering : To cause something to become kosher. Treif : Everything that is non-Kosher. Pareve : Food that is "neutral", neither meat nor dairy. This includes fruits, vegetables, grains, eggs, and sometimes fish.

Kashrut tells us what animals are safe to eat, how these animals should be slaughtered, what food can and can't be mixed, alongside instructions on how to use the tools made for preparing/eating food. There's a lot more to Kashrut (which I'll go into soon), but those are the basic ideas. Kashrut includes many guidelines that we see as common sense (such as not eating diseased meat) to everyday cleanliness (checking that fruits and veggies are free of bugs) to things that some people would think are "weird" (like not eating shrimp). Of course, much of Kashrut is highly cultural in nature, and was largely shaped by Jewish cultural ideas of cleanliness and commonly eaten foods. Some animals may be a normal part of the cultural in many countries/cultures, but they are not Kosher, as Israelites never included such things in its food. This is why many Jews who are also parts of cultures to whom treif foods are significant experience a lot of inner conflictions about keeping Kosher. Instances like the one mentioned before, alongside a countless amount of others, are why there are different levels of keeping Kosher, which I will expand on soon.

Many people ask me why I eat Kosher in the first place. Reactions range anywhere from "Oh wow, I could never give up bacon!" to "Ugh, why follow such archaic laws?" when people find out. But really, why do we? Is it because it would cause severe health issues if we ate shellfish or a ham and cheese sandwich? No, obviously not. While some of the prohibitions in Kashrut may have health benefits, such as avoiding certain diseases or infections, the primary reason for observing these laws is not based on health concerns. In fact, Halakha dictates that we should not eat Kosher if it would threaten our health or lives in any way. We live by the laws, we don't die by them. Interestingly enough (right back at ya, "archaic laws" person), it's because they are archaic. It is not because anyone who eats pork is disgusting or wrong or bad in any way. It's our culture, our tradition, it's been passed down for absolutely forever. It's a marker and a reminder of who and what we are, a way to celebrate Jewishness. It's also a ritual, a daily form of active mediation and prayer to bring us closer to (and remind us of) HaShem. Eating Kosher is not just about what we eat, but also about how we eat. It's a daily ritual that involves mindfulness, intentionality, and gratitude. It's a way to incorporate our culture and religion into our every day, never forgetting who we are. By following these ancient guidelines, we affirm our connection to a long and rich history, to a community that has survived and thrived through centuries of persecution and adversity.

We embrace a way of life that is not driven by the latest trends or fads, but rather by timeless values and principles that have stood the test of time. When we follow the laws of Kashrut, we are reminded of our connection to HaShem, the sanctity of our traditions, and the importance of our community.

Alright, now it's time to get into the exact specifics of what Kashrut outlines for us. It is usually Orthodox Jews who follow every single one of the rules, Conservative Jews follow most(ish) of these rules, and Reform Jews tend to not keep kosher. Of course, this doesn't speak for all denominations or even every Jew in each of the denominations I mentioned, but those are the most common "levels" of keeping kosher among Jews. Keeping kosher is hard, and not everyone has the time, resources, etc. to follow Kashrut as closely as they'd like, which is why different people choose what's right for them. In this section, I'll cover the exact guidelines in Kashrut, exceptions to keeping kosher, and some modern interpretations of kosher expectations.

Anything produced by forbidden animals- like their eggs and milk- is prohibited.

Land mammals should have cloven hooves and chew their cud. — In Leviticus 11:3 and Deuteronomy 14:6 — Cloven hooves: Hooves split into two "toes". — Chewing cud: The process of chewing, partially digesting, regurgitating, and re-chewing food. — Permitted land mammals include oxen, goats, sheep, and deer. — Forbidden land mammals include pigs, horses, rabbits, and camels.

Marine life must have fins and scales. — In Leviticus 11:9 and Deuteronomy 14:9 — Permitted marine life includes salmon, tuna, and carp. — Forbidden marine life includes shrimp, lobster, and scallops.

Birds must not be scavengers or birds of prey — In Leviticus 11:13-19 and Deuteronomy 14:11-18 — Only specific birds are prohibited, not types of birds. Rabbis have decided to forbid the categories the listed birds fall into (scavengers and birds of prey). — Permitted birds include chicken, geese, ducks, and turkeys. — Forbidden birds include eagles, vultures, ravens, and owls.

Winged insects are… complicated. — In Leviticus 11:22 — Some winged insects used to be permitted, but we no longer know which ones those are, so all winged insects are decidedly forbidden. — Interestingly enough, Yemini Jews have very very old traditions of identifying and eating certain locusts as kosher animals. This could be an echo of our now lost outlines on what insects are, in fact, kosher. How cool is that?

Other miscellaneous animals are forbidden. — In Leviticus 11:29-30, 42-43 — Rodents (mice, squirrels, rats) — Wingless insects (centipedes, silverfish, lice) — Amphibians (frogs, toads, salamanders) — Reptiles (snakes, lizards, turtles)

Certain parts of kosher animals are forbidden to eat. — All blood from the meat of land mammals and birds must be drained out during slaughter and then salted/broiled out because blood is their life force and should be respected (Leviticus 7:26-27; 17:10-14). — Fat found on on the internal organs and below the eleventh rib (Leviticus 3:9; 7:23). — The sciatic nerve (of the lower leg) to commemorate Jacob’s victory over an angel after they wrestled all night, during which the angel dislodged Jacob’s sciatic nerve (Genesis 32:22).

Animals must be slaughtered in a particular way. — In Deuteronomy 12:21; 14:21 and Numbers 11:22. — These rules pertain to land mammals and birds, but not fish. • Animals cannot have died due to natural causes or another animal killing them. — Meat should not be diseased or flawed in any way. — Animals must be slaughtered by having their throat slit quickly and in one strong slash. This way, the most blood drains out and the animal is slaughtered in the most humane way.

Meat and dairy cannot mix (Exodus 23:19; 34:26 and Deuteronomy 14:21).

Foods which are neither meat nor dairy are pareve, and can be used freely with both meat and dairy. — Commonly, fish is counted as pareve, but some traditions (usually Sephardic) prohibit the mixing of fish with meat.

A certain amount of time should pass between the consumption of meat and dairy. — Traditionally, one waits 3-6 hours after eating meat to consume dairy, but only 1-3 hours after eating dairy to eat meat. — Some traditions include that one must wait only an hour after dairy, except for hard cheeses, after which they must wait 3 hours.

Different utensils and equipment must be used for meat and dairy. This includes everything from the tools used for slaughter to the plates in your home. — Utensils have a label just like food (meat, dairy, pareve, or treif) which affects the status of the food which comes in contact with it, but only in the presence of heat. — For example, a fork will become treif if it touched shrimp, and if it touches any hot kosher food (or if the fork or shrimp is hot), the food also becomes treif. This affects things like dishwashers (in which both meat and dairy utensils come in contact with heat in the same space), sinks (which can be hot), and towels (when used to transport hot pots). — It is totally fine to do something like use a knife with both meat and dairy, as long as both the knife and food is cold, and as long as the knife is cleaned between foods.

All fruits and vegetables are kosher. — In Genesis 1:29 — Fruits and vegetables must be thoroughly washed and checked for bugs. — Fruits and vegetables cannot come in contact with any products which include insects, like some dyes and additives.

Grape products cannot be made by idolators. — This began because of wine's ritual importance, and Jews did not want to consume wine that was made to use in the worship of idols. — This usually only refers to wine or grape juice. — More recently, because the creation of wine is now automated, it is technically not made by idolators and has been seen as kosher to some denominations (usually Conservative Jews).

We've gone through the different rules and regulations of Kashrut, which include that utensils/towels can become treif. But what happens if you accidentally eat treif? If utensils become treif, do they need to be thrown out?

Accidentally (or knowingly) eating treif. — The remedy for this is simply to feel bad and do better in the future. — But, if you feel particularly bad, you can do a good thing so that the bad thing (eating treif) leads to a good thing, and therefore the entire mistake becomes positive. Good things can include tzedakah, charitable giving (like donating money/old clothes, volunteering, etc.).

Kashering utensils, equipment, etc. — Kashering is done both when something is first bought and if it ever becomes trief. Usually, only new cooking equipment is kashered (like by being dipped into a mikveh, a pool of holy water), and not everything you buy. — To "reset" utensils/equipment after it has become treif, it can be dipped in a mikveh, or things like towels can be kashered simply but putting them in the laundry. — Everyone will have different ways to kasher and different intensities of kashering.

Treif food being the only option. — During medical emergencies (like a blood sugar crash) or similar situations, it is not a sin to eat treif. Human life is put above all else within Judaism, meaning that everything will be rendered not a sin if breaking it is necessary to save a life (which is also why abortion is required even in the most Orthodox communities).

Keeping kosher is hard. There's a ton of rules and things which build upon each other. It's a lot to remember. Considering that many households separate meat and dairy to the point of having separate sinks and refrigerators, most people just don't have the resources to keep kosher in that way. If you're low on spoons, disabled, or neurodivergent, those factors can make keeping kosher even more difficult. I'm a spoonie with ADHD and Autism, so I'm chronically fatigued, and have ARFID that contributes to multiple food-related issues. You should always remember that you are not required to keep kosher if it interferes with medical needs (like I listed), and so you should never feel bad about how "well" you keep kosher. That being said, let's move onto some tips for modified kosher eating.

Try only keeping kosher on shabbat and/or important holidays.

Sometimes, our safe foods or the only food we have access to are treif. However, you're usually already listening to 99% of Kashrut prohibitions on which animals you can eat (like avoiding bugs, reptilians, rodents, scavengers, etc.). So that's already a big step!

Instead of having completely separate equipment for meat/dairy, simply wash your utensils between using them for meat/dairy.

Instead of waiting up to 6 hours between eating meat and dairy, wait 1 hour, drink water between the two foods, and/or create a distinct separation in time between consuming the foods (like getting up to go do something, stopping to talk, etc.).

When it comes to washing utensils, try and separate them by putting them on different washing machine racks, run the washing machine between using it for meat/dairy utensils, or rinse off the inside of the sink between hand-washing meat/dairy utensils.

Use disposable plates/cups/utensils to separate meat and dairy.

Buy only kosher meat, or only kosher foods (most foods in everyday grocery stores will be kosher).

If you're vegan, and depending on the type of vegetarian, you're already eating kosher!

You've finally reached the end of this post, and I hope it was helpful to you. Below, I will list multiple sources for further reading, help in keeping kosher, and just some cool questions about being kosher ("is meat from a cloned animal kosher?").

An extensive course on the laws of Kashrut taught by Rabbis

"Bagels: A Surprising Jewish History" by Dr. Yvette Alt Miller

"Does G-d Really Care?" from Kosher Certification

"I Keep Kosher. My Parents Did, Now Don't. It's Complicated." by Talia Kaplan

"Is Lab-Grown Meat Kosher?" by Yehuda Shurpin

"Issues in Jewish Ethics: The Ethics of [Kosher] Cloning" by Dr. Daniel Eisenberg, M.D.

"Jews in America: The Kosher Meat Boycott of 1902" by Dr. Michael Feldberg

"Kashrut Laws as Written in Torah" from the Jewish Museum in London

"Kashrut: the Jewish Dietary Laws [from Biblical, Rabbinic, and Modern Perspectives]" by Jonathan Magonet

"Marijuana Is Always Kosher, as Long as You Smoke It" by Ruth Schuster

"OU Kosher Grocery Store Symbols Explained" by Rabbi Chaim Goldberg

"People Eat Treyf for Their Own Reasons. They All Think About Their Judaism." by Jonathan Katz

"Saying Goodbye to Bacon" by Liel Leibovtiz

"Ten Reasons to Keep Kosher (And They’re Not What You Think)" by Rabbi Alec Goldstein

"The Jewish Dietary Laws: Their Meaning for our Time and a Guide to Observance" by Samuel H. Dresner and Seymour Siegel

"The Rules for Kosher Creepy-Crawlies" from Sefaria

"What Archaeology Tells Us About the Ancient History of Eating Kosher" by Lina Zeldovich

"What Is Kosher for Passover?" from Chabad.org

"Why I Don’t Keep Kosher" by Rabbi Jillian Cameron

"Why I Stopped Freaking Out About Other People’s Kosher Habits" by Erris Langer Klapper

"Why Keep Kosher?: Jewish dietary practices allow us to welcome the sacred into our daily lives and into mundane acts." by Rabbi Dr. Bradley Shavit Artson

"5 Misconceptions About Keeping Kosher" by Mandy Hakimi

#judaism #jewish #jumblr #jewblr #jewish culture #pesach #passover #kosher #kashrut #torah #talmud #shabbat #jewish life #kosher food #halakha #yeshivawithcarver #references

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suzukiblu · 6 months

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Look I am aware that this is kind of a pet peeve and please understand that I am exaggerating my feelings about said pet peeve for comedic effect, BUT IF KRYPTON DIDN'T DIE IN AN AU THEN KARA IS NOT GONNA BE A TEENAGER WHEN CLARK IS A GROWN-ASS MAN, SHE IS GONNA BE A GOOD FIFTEEN YEARS OLDER THAN HIM AT LEAST asdfghjk. So why do I keep running into her still being a teenager in these fics? Why?!

Please if she IS a teenager at least come up with some kind of explanation for why she is, I don't even care how flimsy said explanation is, just make a one-off mention of a reason! Any reason!! Any acknowledgment!!!! That is ALL that I ask. Childhood illness she had to be put in suspended animation for, weird science disaster, her parents last-minute deciding to wait to flick the switch on her birthing matrix due to Insert Excuse Here, something, ANYTHING.

Alternately, just embrace MILF Kara and accept her into your heart, as we all dang well should. Give her a love interest who isn't an asshole and some adorable Kryptonian babies, make her the new head of the Thinker Guild or an against-the-Kryptonian-grain explorer or some kind of interesting career choice or another, I don't care, just STOP MAKING HER A TEENAGER IN AUS WHERE THE EVENTS THAT AFFECTED HER AGING NEVER HAPPENED.

. . . anyway pet peeve rant over, returning to regularly scheduled business, don't mind me.

Don't make me write a "Krypton lives" AU JUST to find an excuse to include some variant of Kara "oh yeah Superman is my adorable baby cousin actually, I used to babysit him and honestly still kinda am" Zor-El in it, fandom. Don't do that to me.

#meta ecetera #kara zor el

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dovithedarklord · 5 days

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Stucked - Part 6

You're trapped in a game and a new threat is lurking.

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Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x reader, Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader, König x reader

Tags: Mentions of death, Mentions of blood and gore, Blood and Violence, Sexual Scenes, Alternate Universe, No use of Y/N, Not Beta Read, AFAB Reader

Trigger Warning: Contains blood and gore, violence, injury, some body horror, description of grotesque creatures, some monster smut (light), and some dubcon (lightly). Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

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Author's Note

This part unveils a new evil!

There's a new threat, but your old friends are close by. Who knows what happens after...

Have fun! :D

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

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Like a faded picture that has been imprisoned in the depths of a drawer for decades, the vision is projected as faintly on the canvases of your eyelids. As if it were just a vision born on the plastic soil of a dream, nothing else, the memory that takes shape in your head seems so unbelievable. This horrible place has been holding you in its embrace hot with the stench of death for so long, that the images left from the real world seem to your brain like the remnants of a life that never existed. However, you're sure that the melodious children's laughter ringing in your ears is real, and you know that it belongs to someone who was once important to you. In this friendly fantasy world, there is no decay and no blood, only the inviting rays of the sun, which guide you to the surface with warm fingers, as you frolic under the cool foams, mimicking a mermaid. You paddle nimbly with your little hands as the princess of the secret underwater realm, and each tiny shell and grain of sand greets you as a subject of your kingdom as you swim above them. And when someone pulls you out of your adventure and lifts you back into the air, warm from the summer heat, you sulk and argue, trying to get free, but whoever the stranger is, they only respond with amused laughter. And your heart almost sinks at the fact that only blurred spots dance in front of your eyes when you look up at the figure who kisses the top of your little head and hugs you so tenderly. Because you know you should know her, but nothing breaks through the darkness in your skull apart from the feeling of loss that gnaws at your insides.

Although for a moment you don't understand why your own mind is turning against you, but even your frozen shock is penetrated by a faint recognition, that there is a reason why this is exactly the memory that arose in you after the many horrors you experienced. And it seems a very cruel trick from your subconscious that now, when an unknown force drags you deeper and deeper toward the bottomless pits of the icy water, it calls up this exact one out of the many mementos slowly fading to nothingness. Because you know that now the sun-tanned hand won't rush to your aid to save you from the frosty, otherworldly empire that is drawing you closer and closer to its gate made of torn bodies with each passing second.

And as if you just woke up from an unwanted slumber, you realize that no matter how much you want to linger on the soft lap of soothing reminders of the past, and no matter how much all your instincts protest against letting the false security of the images dancing on your eyelids slip away, you have other things to do. Oh, how easy it would be to let it end like this, rocking in the heavy arms of the cool water, finally die without rough hands trying to bask in the warmth of your still living organs. But you have work to do. And this ultimately breaks your body out of the shock injected into you by the unknown attacker, which pulled you under the surface, heavy with rot and death.

As soon as your resolve finally pushes you back from the temptation of the soft, shapeless drifting of unconsciousness, the shortness of breath tightening your chest reaches your senses, and your mouth opens in a desperate gasp before you can stop the reflexive movement. And as the cold water breaks through your lips and you feel the musty taste of mud on your tongue, your jaw snaps shut with such alarmed speed that you swear that you feel your teeth cracking. However, a stray sip of water that has gone astray still finds its way into your trachea, and as it pushes along the soft tissues like a thousand tiny blades, you would instinctively start to cough, but you're only able to ease the pressure of a force squeezing your ribs for a few pathetic seconds.

Your eyes open in fear, and you can see the taunting invitation of the moon's pale light even through the sting of the water blurring your vision, and you can almost feel how mockingly the silvery beams laugh at your torment. And as you become aware of with what frightening certainty the last faintly twinkling trace of the starry sky starts to disappear, your brain catches up with the facts, and even through the lack of oxygen, you understand painfully fast that the fragile thread of your life will soon come to a pitiful end and break under the cruel weight of the waves gathering above you. And because of this, your body, for the umpteenth time during the night, surges you towards action, and as the cocktail of stress hormones in your veins revives, you try to propel yourself upwards with almost instinctive movements. But no matter how you paddle with your hands, just as your legs would also join in the frantic work, the alien creature wrapped around your ankle tightens its grip even more, and the suppressed scream that is born in your lungs only echoes in your skull, when you feel how cruelly its spikes drill into your bruised flesh. You can sense, quite horrified, how the poison, similar to liquid fire, creeps through the boundary of the skin and muscles pulsing with agony. And you know that whatever this formless beast tries to inject into your body, soon it will help tip you back into oblivion so that you allow yourself to be driven into the predator's waiting claws with a willing daze.

Your hands rush towards the wretched monster holding your feet captive, and even you're surprised when you grab hold of the sleek extensions of a seaweed-like plant. And even though the army of thorns rising from the slippery tissue cut into your palm, you don't care about how the suffering radiates through your arm like a lightning strike, instead, gritting your teeth, you try to loosen your shackles, because it's only a matter of time before your luck runs out and you're back in that goddamn car again. Crimson drops of blood emerge like snakes from under the wounded skin, and the more fiercely you fight with the cursed seaweed, the cerise fluid surrounds you like a vague mist, casting your figure, wild from the fury of the struggle, into the midst of blood-red clouds.

All your nerves are occupied by the heat of your battle, because you feel it all too well how the merciless iron fist around your chest is closing, as if someone had thrown you into a press, and the metal plates weighing on you were trying to slowly drive your ribs into the living flesh. And you would swear that even through the gurgle of liquid against your eardrums, you can hear the horrible, almost insidious snapping of the hair-thin cracks running down your bones, as if a heavy boot were treading on freshly fallen branches.

But even through your despair, it occurs to you how strange it is that the crackles travel into your ears through the roar of the water so clearly, even though you know that nothing but the sound of bubbles could penetrate the chaos created by your panic. And when you catch a pale spot moving from the corner of your eye, like an uncertain vision dancing on the edge of your consciousness, you stop chasing your release for a minute. First, through the hazy clouds cast by your blood, you see a broken form unfolding, looking more like the dried remains of a wind-twisted and battered tree than anything else. However, when the tormented figure seems to be approaching, and the scarlet veil finally fades due to your immobility, then the shock cuts through even the tension of air that is stuck in your throat. Because your brain, fighting with hypoxia, understands that the creature is swimming closer to you with measured laziness, which may have previously feasted on the disintegrating corpses washed to the surface.

A pair of milky white eyes take shape from the dark, endless void with an almost otherworldly light, and the hunger looming in them paints the mouth so dreadful, which stretches into an impossibly wide snarl with cruel joy when it discovers in you its prey frozen in fear. As if the corners of its mouth were trying to get around the elongated head, splitting the dry, ashy skin on its skull like grotesque cuts. Yet, your eyes are immediately drawn to the pale gums and the sharp teeth protruding from them, stained a dirty brown by the rotting pieces of meat sitting on them. And as the twisted, thin body floats closer, a series of dim, tormented blots appear behind it, like an army of faithful shadows, which absorb the rays of moonlight piercing the water, bringing an ominous night to the desolate realm of the lake.

And it doesn't take much time, just a mere fleeting second, and you become sure that you have to flee, because these horrible devilish beings will clean the pliant network of muscles and tendons from your bones before suffocation has a chance to push you into the saving ignorance of unconsciousness. That's why the fierceness of survival awakens in you anew, and even you yourself can't believe the power that terror stirs in you, when you almost tear the tentacles of the stubborn seaweed from you, and the adrenaline that settles on your nerves doesn't allow the pain caused by the attack of the thorns stabbing into your palm to reach you. And if you'd have time, you would burst into tears of joy when the damned plant finally releases your ankle, but you have no time to be relieved, because you see the cautious advance of the distorted beasts squirming in the corner of your eyes, and you can feel the small waves on your skin that their excitedly grinding teeth create.

You're almost desperately try to swim towards the surface, and although the force of the pressure gnawing at your insides increases with each hasty movement, and small black spots slowly crawl into your field of vision, you don't care about the agony that crushes the soft tissues of your internal organs. When your hand finally breaks through the mirror-smooth border of the lake's surface for the first time, and your fingers are caressed by the prickle of the cold night air, then all the suffering that has tried to push you into the silky lap of another death disappears. And perhaps you've never been so happy to see the moon sprawled out like a divine being in the middle of this imaginary world, and you're not at all bothered by the sardonic glee with which its sparkling, silvery gaze follows how you begin to swallow the life-giving oxygen like a pitiful fish on dry land. Although you forcefully cough out the remnants of the water that have strayed into your airways, as soon as the first sip of air fills your chest aching with burning stinging, and the specks squirming in front of your eyes vanish, you have the strength to focus on the way out. And you know that you don't have time to hesitate any longer, because you can see the moving outline of the unknown monsters gathering below you.

You run your gaze along the landscape shrouded in dreadful stillness, and you feel your stomach flutter with gratitude when you discover how seductively close the line of the shallow shore stretches behind you. You only wildly hope that you're able to outrun these horrible creatures, as you put each of your tired limbs to work and start swimming without any delay, because it only takes one of these awful beings to catch you, and your remains will be reduced to tiny crumbs of bones and viscera. And despite the fact that you've met your end countless times, you know that each of your deaths would pale in comparison to being torn to pieces alive by these infernal abominations. Perhaps this is the motivation that breaks through the last barrier in your consciousness and helps to get your body to move with an unprecedented urgency, and this is what dulls the ear-splitting scream-like noise of the frenzy unfolding behind you.

The few minutes seem like millennia until you finally reach the swampy ground, and you stumble to your feet, yanking your shoes from the mud's stubborn grip with an angry cry as you clumsily drag yourself ashore. And as you finally make it to the edge of the wet sand, you drop to your knees, panting, allowing yourself a few meager seconds to rest before you're forced to run again from the evils that stalk you. Because you’re sure that whatever the tentacled creature was, it's still lurking in the depths of the abyss, and the two murderers can also be breathing down your neck thanks to the terrible sidequest you've fallen into. Almost instinctively, your hand sinks into the pocket of the soaked pants, and when you find the disconcertingly untouched map, you feel a heavy weight lift off your heart. All you have to do is to lie low a bit, and then calmly set off to look for the next clue, which can finally get you out of this ever-deepening madness.

But when that bone-shaking scream blasts into the silence of the night once again, you wince reflexively, like a startled animal that has finally realized that the predator will soon wrap its foul-smelling jaws around its neck. And although by now you should have gotten used to the fact that this goddamn place always lulls you into a mirage-like illusion of tranquility with the promise of a moment of ease, only to avenge its mercy all the more cruelly, yet now fear claws into your insides with the same force as if you were experiencing the terrors of this nightmare for the first time. Because when you glance back, you see the cloudy eyes break through from under the velvety, rippling veil of the water, like faintly looming ghosts that were vomited out by the mouth of the lake opening to the other world, to drag you with them into the pits of insatiable hell. One of the gruesome figures emerges from the waves rocking like liquid obsidian, and its sickly thin body straightens amid gut-wrenching crackles, as if every single bone would slide into place on top of another, crumbling under the withered tissue. But even though the beast looks ungainly, when its mouth full of sharp teeth opens and that high-pitched, whistle-like screech rushes out of it, you clamp your hands to your ears to try to dull the pain of the head-splitting sound, and with the pain piercing your eardrums, you realize that if you don't get away now, then those teeth will be painted ruby by your intestines next time.

However, before you can even move, the howling stops, and it takes a few moments for your mind to register what is happening. And when you discover that pair of glowing red eyes appear behind the enraged army of monsters, you wish these bastards would rip you apart alive, because maybe that would be a more pleasant death than what those smoldering irises have in store for you. Because there is such a hungry temper dancing in them that settles into the aggressive movement with which the stranger takes hold of the head of the menacing water creature about to attack, lifting it up into the air. His huge palm swallows its face green from algae, and the way his strong hand clenches around the abomination's skull seems almost pitifully simple, as if the wretch would be nothing more than a worm to be trampled upon. And you feel how your insides convulse with nausea when the stomach-turning crunch, with which the bones shatter into pieces, reaches your ear canals, and you desperately try to swallow back the bitter bile pooling in your mouth, as, after a wet splash, you see the soft, pink flesh spilling out between the hooded monster's long fingers.

It seems that this makes the other grotesque entities understand that something more terrifying than them has arrived, and they swim back to the protective shelter of the lake with such ready submission, as if they were trying to hide from the sight of their angry king, before he would erupt into a frightening rage. Through the dread slowly bubbling under your skin, you realize that maybe this man really is their ruler, since the horde of malformed forces living in the water turned against you after he first surfaced behind the sea of mutilated bodies. And perhaps there is some woefully obvious logic in this, since the game wouldn't have allowed this new location to appear if there hadn't been an even more horrible surprise waiting for you in it. When the last of his terrified subjects finally disappears, the giant starts towards you with lazy steps, and with each passing meter it becomes more and more noticeable, how the hard muscles weave through every terrible corner of his tall figure, and suddenly it becomes painfully clear to you that even the bloodthirsty shadows skulking in the forest would offer greater safety if you threw yourself into the arms of formless darkness now.

You try to get up shaking, because you understand that you're just hanging another death flag on your forehead with your hesitation, but as soon as you put weight on your wounded leg, a bitter pain shoots into your ankle, as if someone were trying to twist your foot around its axis with their bare hands, and from the stars dancing before your eyes, you helplessly let your knees buckle and help you fall back into the mud with a dull thud. And even though you try to relieve the persistent throbbing of the white-hot pain with the air inhaled through your nose, by the time your head clears enough to be able to get yourself to move, your body, trembling with agony, is already swallowed up by the all-consuming shadow of the man towering over you, and you know that you’re done for. You don't have to turn around to know that the hooded monster has finally stalked you down, because you can see the black blanket with which his large figure covers the ground decorated with small stones and plants washed up on the shore.

You don't even dare to move for a little bit, and you feel ridiculously stupid for offering yourself on a silver platter with your person immobilized by terror. As if you were willingly present your chest to him so that he can tear out your scared, beating heart, but you can't even twitch, because, with the pounding of your pulse in your ears, the fear spreads through every inch of your body, pushing every muscle fiber into paralyzed helplessness. And you feel how the blood freezes in your veins, when a terribly sweet scent snakes its way into your nose, like the smell of the juices of rotten fruit left under the rays of the summer sun, which at the same time enters your head and covers the frightened upheaval in your skull under some inexplicable hazy fog, and tightens your stomach in a death-tight grip. Although this strange smell brings you closer to dizziness, even in the confused daze that descends upon you, you can perfectly detect when an unknown creature glides onto your shoulder with a damp springiness, then slowly slithers its way up the graceful line of your neck like a curious leech. You're unable to restrain the reflexive movement that makes you cringe in alarm under the curious touch of the uninvited guest, and even though every fiber of your body turns to stone, you raise your eyes to the intruder despite the anxiety gathering in the pit of your stomach. And when you discover the pitch-black tentacle shining with a velvety light, and the purple suckers lined up on them, which breathe unsolicited kisses to the valley of your cleavage, you yelp and charge forward to try to crawl away from the monster with such panicked clumsiness, like a wounded wild animal trying to escape from the wolf with its last breath.

However, no matter how hard you try to break free, the fear raging in your body only leads to an uncoordinated shuffling, and you fall to your stomach on the fish-smelling ground, hissing from the ache that rips through your ankle. Your mouth fills with tiny grains of wet sand, but you don't mind the sour taste on your tongue, because it penetrates your terror much more clearly when you feel the searing heat of another body behind you, seeping through the thin material of your soaked t-shirt like a contagious disease. And you know that the end of the night has arrived, because when you see a giant hand sinking into the mud next to your head, you recognize, along with the horrible delusions flooding into your mind, that you already lost your chance of survival when you waded into that damn lake.

And the newcomer doesn't leave you a moment to recover from your shock, because you just got rid of the intrusion of the sticky organ, you feel the tentacle breaking under the battered fabric of your top, and you can't stop the terrified tremor that moves into your limbs in time, when the probing caress of the feelers passes through the tense arch of your spine. The tenderness with which he traces the small valley between your shoulder blades is almost stomach-churning, because you're aware that with one careless movement, he could unfurl the row of vertebrae from under your skin like fresh peas from their shell. And you know that he only wants to lull your vigilance with the fleeting gentleness with which the appendage moves towards the line of your ribs to try to migrate to your chest, like a lover who wants to explore the lush curves of his beloved's body. And your brain, stuck in the fear of death, is relieved a little when the sleek arm finds an obstacle in the moldy ground, but the small joy that takes hold in you is pitifully short-lived, because your attacker only grabs your hips with a frustrated grunt and pulls you up with such light carelessness, which you wouldn't be able to fight even if the horrors of the night didn't weigh on your every cell like a leaden blanket. And as his fingers sink into the soft flesh, you feel that following the touch of restrained power, the mark of his hand will soon be ingrained into you with a purple color.

Still, you’re much more horrified, and goosebumps run over every defenseless inch of your body, as the clammy limb reaches your bra on its path, and a startled squeak gets stuck behind your quivering lips that is elicited from you by the attack of the slimy organ burrowing under the soft material. You don't dare tear your eyes away from the pebble shining with a dull light, which rises orphaned from a small sand dune in front of you, because you're terrified that if you follow how the monster takes what your vulnerable body offers to him unwillingly, you will sink even deeper in the muddy swamp of terror. Yet every nerve ending in you is sharpened when you feel the cold, slick flesh sliding against the soft mound of your breast. And there is something repulsively intimate about how one of the suckers latches onto your nipple with an almost insatiable hunger, as if this monster wasn't holding you in the trap of his strong body for the first time. As if he's got his hand on a delicacy, the nectar of which he has tasted at some point, and now the longing for the tantalizing aroma on his tongue would drive him forward. But your brain cannot understand why this absurd thought awakens in you, because it's unable to focus on anything other than the involuntary shiver that runs along your spine when it sucks the sensitive skin that has become its prey with an almost playful lewdness. And this small act is enough for the miserable moan, that has been crawling up your throat on foul feet until now, to finally break through your mouth.

And as if this one sound would feed the horrible man's unquenchable greed, for you shudder in horror, as another tentacle wanders over the nervously heaving line of your belly with slow laziness, and for a terrible moment it just flirtatiously skims along the waistline of your pants. But his patience doesn't last long, because he pushes under your jeans with an almost violent want, and you don't even have time to react, the limb sinks under the damp material of your panties with such insidious speed. Your consciousness can't keep up with the siege on your body, but it still fills you with agony as the lush flame of desire flares up in your stomach, as one of the suckers closes around your clit. And the muddled whine that creeps up your trachea is unfamiliar even to your own ears, when the wet pressure increases around the sensitive bundle of nerves, because you would rather bite your own tongue in shame, but the shock that rolls over you is too strong to resist the pull of the sensation.

But when you feel the feeler gliding between the silky petals and almost curiously circling the entrance of your pussy throbbing with scorching heat, then the fire of protest rekindles in you, and you set your hands on the damp ground to brace yourself against the beast. But even though your unexpected opposition gives you momentum, it feels like you hit a concrete wall, the man's chest swelling with hard muscles press against your back with such unshakable confidence, and you become aware painfully soon what kind of fun you've made him have, when the hardness that bulges in his crotch pushes against your bottom. And he, perhaps mistakenly, perhaps on purpose, sees your pathetic attempt as an invitation, and the deep, throaty groan rings in your ears, with which he thrusts his cock against you with impatient fervor, like a damned animal ready to mate. And as his huge hand clamp down on your hips with an almost vise-like force, even the stray idea of escape suddenly seems like a ridiculously far-fetched dream, because his fingers will crush all your fragile bones to dust before letting you get lost into the night. But even though the icy poison of dread sneaks into your every brain cell, you know you have to take flight, since the goal hasn't changed. You have to survive. And if you stay here, you voluntarily count down the minutes until the moment of your death, which, no matter what sweet torment the game promises, you know it's coming.

And as if he would sense that he cannot drive away the stillborn idea of resistance from you with his insidious tactics, that hurtful, syrupy smell appears again, which fills your nose with such a vicious intrusion that you have no chance to understand what is happening, because as soon as the dark fog spreads over your brain, the burning tingle that sends liquid flames into your core saturates every inch of you. An almost drunken intoxication settles on you, and it's only a dull fear in the back of your mind that he might be using some kind of pheromones to deter you from running away, but even though you recognize the diabolical method with which he traps you, you're no longer able to pull yourself together. The desperate demand of lust stirs up in you too strongly, and suddenly it doesn't seem alarming at all, as the tip of the tentacle that ventured into your underwear teasingly slips into your wet heat just for a moment. And you don't even have enough common sense to understand how terribly pitiful it is that you willingly squeeze your trembling body against the stranger like a bitch in heat.

And if the hooded man didn't suddenly freeze over you, you wouldn't even notice what was happening around you, because his presence settles on every single one of your senses, as if someone would drip hot wax on you, slowly closing you in an impenetrable shell, condemning you to eternal lustful suffering. But as vehemently as he started, your attacker ends his torturous game as abruptly, and as the impenetrable veil of the treacly essence in your head is inexplicably replaced by the metallic smell of blood, then your consciousness is able to clear. And although it takes a few excruciating moments before your brain is finally capable of receiving the stimuli from the outside world, then you can hear quite well the pain-filled, enraged groan that breaks out of the monster's mouth, as a large knife lands in the sand with a dull thud a few short seconds later.

And there is nothing tender about the way the long appendages terrorizing you disappear and one hand smoothes on your back to pin you down to the ground, almost ramming you into the cold embrace of the wet soil, and for a moment the air is forced from your lungs, as his huge palm spreads between your shoulder blades with warning roughness. And you understand the silent instruction even without words, and the revived stabbing of fear escaping into your limbs helps to force you into corpse-like immobility. And that's when you hear the soft crunch of the autumn leaves, as something treads through them to sneak cautiously closer to you in the distance. Your frightened gaze is immediately fixed on the trees rising beyond the shore, but for a tense second, you see nothing but darkness shrouded in eerie silence. However, the man notices what you don't, and his robust figure towers over you so possessively, like a rabid animal protecting its prey, and you don't even feel like more than a piece of meat, which the cruel world of the game has turned into such an irresistible reward.

"Get the fuck back into the lake, König!" A deep voice breaks through the heavy quietness of the forest, and you would recognize Johnny's hoarse baritone out of a thousand, because you have been lucky enough to taste the danger of its deceptive bloodlust too many times. But now, as the outline of his body unfolds from under the black veil of shadows among the vegetation, you recognize the murderous anger, the icy tension of which sits in the line of his broad shoulders. And although you only see a distant figure moving out of the corner of your eye, the anxiety in the pit of your stomach immediately tells you that Simon is the one who stalks through the tangle of wild bushes like a big cat about to pounce. "She's ours."

And you can feel on your back how that angry voice resonates through the chest of the beast holding you down, with which he finally responds to the appearance of the uninvited visitors. And for a minute that seems like an eternity, nothing happens, and being stuck in this horrible anticipation, the panic awakens in you, which makes your brain finally able to form meaningful thoughts, and you can spot that tiny little detail that has been resting in front of your nose until now so happily. Because the man's hand is still resting in front of you, digging into the mud, and when you see the row of red beads adorning the thick wrist, the spark of recognition lights up in your head. After all, this terrible place doesn't place anything unnecessarily, and the crimson glimmer that brings the bracelet to life under the silvery rays of the moonlight cannot be a mere coincidence. This is a clue, and perhaps this whole horrible torture has prepared this moment. And you feel in your gut that you have to get it.

Therefore, taking advantage of the fact that the hooded creature is centering all its attention on the enemy hiding in the thick of the trees, one of your hands moves with cautious slowness to crawl toward the jewel, and every single one of your senses is keenly focusing to see when will the creature above you, who is becoming more and more furious, notice what you’re preparing in such great secrecy. And as your fingers get caught in the thin cord of the precious object, you look up in terror at the behemoth above you, and the pounding of your heart in your ears quiets down slightly when you see how unceasingly it scans the emptiness behind the thick trunks. And you only see it in your periphery, as something with a metallic glint shoots out from the infinity of the forest, and that's enough for the tentacles lurking above you to act on their own, wild with rage, certainly working to save their owner from an attack intended to be fatal. However, this one act unleashes all hell, because the monster suddenly loses its patience and launches forward with an aggressive roar like a demonic beast thirsty for blood, and he doesn't even notice how the bracelet is torn off him as he pushes forward toward his opponents who are hiding behind the vegetation.

And you know that you have no time to waste, because it's only a matter of time before the bloodshed unfolds and you become an unwilling participant, from which there will be no way out, only certain death and another miserable awakening in the back seat of the car. So, forcing the will into your limbs, you push yourself up onto your knees, and a series of dark spots swim into your vision, as a knife-like pain shoots into your ankle even from this harmless movement. But you swallow the scream that is about to escape your lips, because if you draw the attention of these scumbags to you now, all your chances of escape will be gone. That's why, overcoming the throbbing ache, you reach towards the pearls scattered in the sand, and as you collect the ruby spheres in your palm, they glow up in red, leaving behind a cool tingling sensation. The smoldering light travels along your arm, and as if guided by an invisible force, reaches your tortured leg, and you watch in amazement as the bruises drawn by the violence disappear from the skin in the wake of the faint glow. It takes a second for you to realize what has happened, and when you notice the sounds of the fight unfolding in the forest, you hastily put your treasure in the safety of your pocket. You'll have time to wonder what the hell is going on when you finally manage to disappear from your pursuers again.

That's why you just spring up nimbly and head towards the multitude of trees, hoping that the battle, drowned in increasingly violent shouts, will drag on long enough for them to lose track of you. Because the night is still long, and you're quite sure that no matter where your path leads, more horrors will be waiting for you, because this damned place will do everything to lock you in the glass cage of its fictional world. But with the map and the pearls in your pocket, the hope, that you might live to see the dawn and you get out of here, finally rekindles in you.

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museofthepyre · 2 months

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MAJOR CHNT FILE 33/34 SPOILERS. LIKE MAJOR MAJOR.

Sydney’s mode of death has been wracking my brain lately. So I’m here to ramble off my thoughts. I think the biggest clue is this line from Elijah.

“Died tenderly on the clean sheets it was gifted”… I was a fan of the drowning theory, but this is pretty solid evidence against it. Drowning is messy, whatever Jedidiah did was discrete and clean— also, possibly in some sort of hospital bed? Cabin… bed? Gifted clean sheets… whatever that means. Anyways drowning or not, the respiratory distress/ hypoxia themes are HUGE and INCREDIBLY RE-OCCURRENT so I cannot overlook them. The theory that Jedidiah may have just pulled the plug is also enticing, but I’ts not as directly linked to those specific “can’t breathe” themes… so.

There is a certain discrete and rapidly lethal poison which causes tissue hypoxia... and that is Cyanide. I found these tidbits interesting.

Sounds kinda similar to a certain someone’s current “mystery condition”. Anyways

Most important things here: Cyanide poisoning presents as respiratory distress/ hypoxia/ “trouble breathing”. longer exposures can result in a coma, long-term neurological issues, and obviously death. Exposure can be through ingestion, inhalation, or dermal routes. No mess. It’s often used in murders/ su!cides for these reasons.

So. That is! Certainly something! Just a theory, but very interesting! I also find it funny that most people think of apple seeds when they think of cyanide. Boy oh boy, I sure hope there isn’t anything dangerous inside this here apple. Like a teensy bit of cyanide… or a centipede.

To the drowning theory’s credit. Hypoxia, again. Themes of not being able to breathe. Sydney’s first described dream with Adam being set under water. Jedidiah throwing the necromancy’d rabbit into the lake after disassembling it. Sydney’s hydrophobia (though that may stem back to childhood). Jedidiah being averse to this years lake day all of a sudden (which is noted as uncharacteristic). Probably some other things that I’m forgetting… but that “died tenderly on the clean sheets it was gifted” line is pretty hard to refute.

Also also I think regardless of where Sydney DIED, he was RESURRECTED on the camp grounds. I could speculate on how he got to the campgrounds in the first place… but I’m almost wondering if… so yknow how when treatments are failing and it looks like a patient is going to die, they’re given the option to a) stay in hospital and keep going with the treatment, despite the risk of dying there… or b) embrace fate and spend their remaining days comfortable, at home and with loved ones? Sydney had fond memories of the camp. Sydney didn’t have a home to return to (besides maybe Lucille’s house but I doubt he’d choose that). So I wonder if, in that scenario, he would’ve chosen the camp. If he’d been gifted a room to stay in for however long (they thought) he had left. Which would be why Elijah knew where to go interrogate Lucille later on… if he’d followed them there initially. This bit is entirely speculation btw, major guess. The timelines are hard to string together atp so take this with a grain of salt.

This is driving me to madness

#ramblings #camp here and there #chnt #camp here & there #ch&t #chnt spoilers #camp here and there spoilers #ch&t spoilers #sydney sargent #sydney o sargent #jedidiah martin #jedidiah a a martin #elijah volkov #tem chnt

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celabi · 1 year

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i will forever want to cuddle scummy scara hes so AAAAAAAAAAAUUSGSHAUYAGAGAAAAAAA

Cuddling with scummy Scaramouche! ☆彡

Yandere creep!Scaramouche holds you so lovingly whenever you both cuddle. His arms wrapped snugly around your waist protectively, his grip probably a little too tight without him realising it— as he’s just got to make sure you won’t try to leave his embrace for a while, because he wants hold you for as long as possible (forever, if you will)

With your head in the crook of his neck, both your chests pressed up close together— and his hands occasionally rubbing up and down your back as he listens in on the steady pace to your breathing. (He opens his eyes and stares at you in worry when you hold your breath for longer then usual because he’s scared you’d like, die in your sleep or something) also loves when your nose is blocked cause you let out small and cute whistles as you inhale.

Doesn’t care even slightly what spoon his is— and would take any teasing he receives with a grain of salt. You say my girl holds me like I’m a little baby? So what? it’s comfortable… where’s ur gf huh 😒

Big spoon? He’s wrapping his thighs around your hips and holding you close like a koala would, with his face pressed against your hair. He likes this position a lot— because he’s able to smell your scent at a close up level. (And even though it hurts his neck, he always tries to smush his cheek against yours.)

Little spoon? He stuffs his face into your chest and ‘complains’ when you don’t squeeze him in closer— even if you’re latching onto him for dear life. Loves having your arms around his waist, it makes him feel loved and appreciated.

Scaramouche swears that if he doesn’t cuddle you for at least an hour every day, he’d go absolutely insane. And he does, because when you’re busy with something, and send him a text him saying that you can’t come over today— Ei has to answer her door to concerned neighbours who come over to check what the loud thumping noise is. It’s him, obviously, in the back yard as he’s pegging large rocks at the picket fence in a fit of rage, of course his anger is not directed at you, but the reason your attention had to be swayed away from him and onto something else.

Loves having you sit on his lap while he plays video games, and even if he needs both hands to work his keyboard and mouse— every once in a while he lets go and reaches down to squeeze your leg, to show that he’s not ignoring you.

Stuffs his head into your neck and mumbles curses into your skin when he dies lol. Then apologises in case you thought he was talking to/about you. (Of course you know he would never lolol)

#anon #scummy? scara :(#genshin impact x reader #yandere scaramouche x reader

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cordyce · 1 year

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(we are written) in the sand and in the stars

Neteyam x Reader

Fic Summary: Sullys stick together. That is something you have heard since the beginning. But when you are forced to uproot and leave your home, it is something you must learn to fully take to heart. You are not technically a Sully, but you fight like one. And that in turn is enough to be shielded like one as well. There is no choice but to openly accept that this family, these Na’vi, are your fortress. It is perhaps harder, though, to accept that Neteyam has seemingly appointed himself as your personal guard.

༄ CHAPTER ONE: THE TURNING OF THE TIDE

Chapter Summary: It’s quite normal for you to find yourself in a position where you’re forced to rescue your siblings out of whatever trouble they seem to get themselves into. This time, though, the trouble they stumble in has your life uprooting right out from under you.

Next Chapter | Read on AO3

Change is not always wished for.

Sometimes it just crashes in; ebbs and flows like the ocean waves as the tides attempt to conquer their never ending battle of easing against the grain. It does not give you much of a choice, does not care about your contentment in the moment, whether or not you are ready to embrace it. Fair amounts of times there is no warning, no siren to let you know of its approach.

It simply comes. And it uproots you from the comfort of where you find yourself to be planted. Your roots being forced out of the only soil that you know, that makes you who you are, that augments you.

And it plants you elsewhere.

Life on Pandora was the only life you knew, the only life you would ever know. You were born here, on the ship before the initial war happened. Apparently guns aren’t the only thing the human military doesn’t know how to keep to themselves, because you weren’t the only baby left behind either.

Growing up with Spider by your side as your off-the-record brother was a bit unorthodox, especially in the early years. You were older–by just a month, but you’d forever hang it over his head–and you felt that weight on you from the start. Which in turn might be where the guilt that settles so cooly in the bottom of your gut spawns from.

He has always been so curious, adventurous in his own right in a way that seemed to always tie him into trouble and get dragged down by it like a rope around the ankles. And you were always the one responsible for cutting him free, cleaning up his messes and tugging him back to reality when he would venture out too far in his escapades. The tether tying you two together was knotted and it reflected in how you felt the kinks tug at you like a bind on your wrist.

You were both human, exceptions that were allowed to run free in a fleeting sense among the Omaticaya clan and embrace it as you so chose. The Sully children were more accepting, more open to the thought of the two of you being there, than the rest of their people. You understood that–and you thought Spider did, too–but it was still so easy to selfishly question why you received such shunning looks as a child as you walked around their home.

Yet, it was comforting–to know you had someone who could really relate. Being orphaned in the same place really does wonders in bonding with one another. So maybe that’s why you felt so guilty, so contrite when it all went down.

You were still so young–just seven years old–when you started getting sick. The technology carried over by the scientists on Pandora was vast, sure, but it wasn’t like there was a research hospital planted there that could explain every medical outlier that occurred. So when they tried running tests, monitoring vitals and having trials with the different medicines they had on hand and nothing seemed to work, you came to mature conclusions at the brink of your childhood.

You were going to die, is what you had deduced. A month before your eighth birthday and your prognosis was due up by before then. And it was scary, of course, (the concept of dying is not an easy one to swallow, let alone for a seven year old) but you were more worried for Spider.

Leaving him there? Alone? As the only human child in all of Pandora when you yourself knew what it was like to feel like an oddly placed outcast? It hurt you, pained you, but even when you were bound to the confines of your bed you put on a brave face.

Because, after all, that’s what older siblings are supposed to do, is it not? Make sure their siblings never have to worry about anything? Make sure they think everything is okay?

It was then you learned the very dire lesson of what it meant to fake it until you make it. Smiling at Spider’s and Lo’ak’s absurd stories about whatever bind they had gotten themselves into this time and using your hand to cover up the blood you felt on the tip of your tongue as you laughed. Shielding him, protecting him, until the very last second.

But, as stated, the technology on Pandora was quite vast. And, while it was clear there was no human antidote that could cure you of whatever ailment was plaguing your body, there was a last stitch resort.

It was Kiri, who you heard propose it to Dr. Max.

To this day you think her origins are what give her such enlightenment about things, what opens her eyes to solutions of problems that always hold the best intentions and always seem to have ties to her soul. Even at such a young age. She’s connected to something, whether it be the pure humanity that Grace once held or something else, you’ve never been quite sure, but it has never failed to captivate you.

There was one singular unattributed Avatar that had been a sort of.. test.

Being the first abandoned baby left behind on Pandora in lieu of the resolution of war meant more opportunities. While the scientists knew full well how their prior Avatars maintained, there was a bit of a question in hindsight. Why not have one grow alongside you?

It seemed like more of a moral dilemma than it really was, but all you had to attribute was a sample of your DNA, which was really harmless enough. The Avatar would not be used–not while the driver was still young, at the very least–but it would be monitored, observed. They already knew how Avatars grew when being aided with rapid growth hormones during their flights from Earth, but this one would be left to run its natural course.

Unbothered, undisturbed, isolated from every outside force besides the scientists who were cleared to be in the room with its amnio tank, it grew freely. You had never seen it, never asked about it, because it was a touchy subject to address. After all, Spider didn’t have one, and while it seemed partially trivial to you (it’s not like you were going to be able to use it anyways), you could see how jilted it made him. So no one chose to bring it up into conversation.

That is, until you were dying. And suddenly Kiri’s seemingly innocent suggestion held more vital weight than anyone could ever imagine.

It took a bit to prepare and things like this tend to take some convincing. It was hard enough the first two times, bringing in one of the sky people for a consciousness transfer is never an easy subject to propose, understandably. But you were a special case. You were different; sick, innocent, familiar.

You were a dying child.

It wasn’t primarily easy but it was also easy enough convincing Mo’at to attempt the transfer when Jake carried you to her. You were frail, weak. It was clear your time was running out and running out fast, mere grains of sand away until your hourglass’s top half went empty. So it was set into motion accordingly.

After all, even if it was unsuccessful you were going to die anyway. It’s not like there was much to lose.

The night of your transfer was the first night you’d ever seen your Avatar. Looking over as Neytiri carried it, walking next to Jake as they took you to the Tree of Souls. Staring into a Na’vi-esque mirror is the best way your young mind could think to describe it. It looked like you, but it didn’t. It looked Na’vi, but it still had its flaws.

That was the last you saw of your Avatar before you were placed at the roots of the tree next to it. The feeling was strange, alien, as tendrils began to connect to you. You figured that was about accurate– alien. Though up until this point (and after) you realized that was how the Na’vi viewed all aspects of you.

Your last memory before you felt your consciousness slipping was the touch of each member of the Sully line pressing their palm to your temple. Jake, Neytiri, Neteyam, Lo’ak, all of their presences known to you. Spider wasn’t there, he was not permitted. And as your eyes fluttered shut and your consciousness regressed, you wondered what he was thinking about it all.

That was your last thought, before white light engulfed your mind.

Fast Forward - Present Time

“We will need to run another raid as soon as possible,” Jake states, looking to where the three of you were flanking him on your ikrans. “Keep them on their toes. Back to back blows will be the most effective.”

“Yes,” Neytiri nods, “Continue to cut off supplies.”

“More patrols should take place. Son, I need smooth patrols. If you are not up for that–”

“I am,” Neteyam interjects instantly, and your gaze flickers to him as he does so. His expression is serious, promising. “There will be no more errors, sir. Smooth patrols only.”

You study him, cinch your brows as he makes this promise as if he’s the one who chooses to stray from the marks. You suppose you get it though, understand the duty he feels to attempt to bear the chastisement for his younger brother. Still, it seems a promise too faltering to keep.

As if he senses your thoughts on this, his eyes dart over his shoulder to you. A side eye as if asking you to not comment on it, not pipe up. You hadn’t planned to but now you have the urge to retort something just because. However, you don’t have the chance.

“Devil Dog? Devil Dog, this is Eagle Eye. Over.”

Lo’ak’s voice over the comm brings all of your attentions back to hand. If not for his randomness, then his tone came through wired enough to have you all focused.

“Eagle Eye, send your traffic,” Jake answers, fingers to the button at his throat.

“I got eyes on some guys. They look like Avatars, but they’re in full camo and carrying ARs. There’s six of them. Over.”

The change in the air is instant. Despite flying it feels stiff, like the four of you are suddenly suspended rather than gliding. Lo’ak’s news means there’s people on the island, which you’re all obviously well aware of. But it doesn’t just mean that. It means there are Avatars, and if he doesn’t recognize them then it’s very clear on who they belong to.

Jake doesn’t miss a beat. “What’s your pos? Over.”

“Uh..” A breath. “We’re at the old shack.”

His father stiffens on the back of his ikran and sends a tense look to his mate. “Who’s we?”

There’s a pause now, at this question. A short one, a slight hesitation. You feel a tingle at the tips of your ears that doesn’t sit well with you. There’s a touch of static, a falter, then the silence breaks.

“Me, Spider, Kiri.. and Tuk.”

You see Neytiri’s eyes widen. You watch as Jake’s jaw clenches. You take note of how Neteyam’s grip tightens ever so slightly. And you become fully aware of the feeling of your stomach dropping as if you’ve fallen off your ikran from the peaks of the mountains.

“Son, you listen to me very carefully,” Jake instructs, no waver in his tone. “Fall back right now. Do not make a sound. Get the hell out of there. Move. Copy?”

“Yes sir,” Lo’ak hits immediately. “Moving out.”

Neteyam shakes himself free first and sends a glance back at you before moving up and getting in line with his father.

“Dad! I know a quick way,” he affirms, then instantly banks a hard right to which the three of you follow close behind.

For a moment you wonder how he knows a short cut. It was forbidden by Jake and Neytiri (especially the former) to go anywhere near the old fight zone, for anyone. So how would Neteyam know a way? If not that he had already been? Had not already broken that rule?

The thought turns trifling immediately after you have it though, because the weight of the situation finally hits you. It’s not just your friends turned family down there, it’s your brother. Your mindless, idiotic, always getting himself into these absolutely stupid situations brother.

The shortcut suddenly seems far too long to be considered as such.

As soon as your squad lands, you’re all immediately sliding off the backs of your ikrans. Jake and Neytiri are gauging up and you find yourself stepping right along with them, Neteyam as well.

“No no no. Stay with the ikran.” Jake lifts a hand to the two of you, looking at Neteyam a bit more intensely as he gives his order.

“But Dad,” Neteyam butts in, taking another step forward. “I'm a warrior like you. I’m s’pposed to fight.”

“Neteyam.”

Jake hardens his gaze. “I’m not gonna say it again.”

Neytiri gives her son one last look then shoots one to you before the pair turns their backs and brings up their weapons. You bite the inside of your cheek, clench the handle of the knife at your waist.

“Yes sir,” Neteyam mumbles back obediently. He turns around himself and brushes past you to walk back next to his ikran.

You stare after their retreating forms for a moment. Staying behind and doing nothing does not sit well with you. Not to mention the building up of anxiety in your chest that has your fingers twitching and your ears wanting to press back against your skull. Whirling around, you stalk back to your ikran and pull your bow off of where it's cinched to its side.

“Where are you going?” Neteyam catches you by your wrist as you go to follow the path your clan leaders have just taken.

With a shake of your hand you loose his hold and fix him with a glare. “I am not going to stand by while they are out there alone.”

It’s raining, and a drop hits you on your cheek that feels strangely cold. The pattering of rain in the forest normally calms you, puts you at ease. But it is different this night. This night, you can hear the artificial animal calls Neytiri and Jake are voicing to signal to their children. This night, you are on edge as you wait for your family to be returned to safety.

This night, you hear a blaze of gunfire.

Both you and Neteyam snap your heads in the direction of the noise. You suck in a breath, harden your hold on your bow at the sounds of yelling and machinery going off. You’re taking a step forward instantly, but just as quickly you’re being shoved back from your path.

“Let me go, Neteyam!” You hiss, bare your teeth at him as he locks his hands on your upper arms and pushes your back against the tree.

“You stay here,” he jeers right back. “Stay here in case they come back. You do not stray.”

You shove against him, get your back a few inches from the bark. “I will not– ”

“Stay here!” He barks in a tone you know to be his future leader voice as he forces you back again. There’s a squeeze to your arms, reassuring but also pleading. The look in his eyes is one you can only describe as desperate. “Rutxe.” [ “Please.” ]

Neteyam has this sort of air about him that tends to command respect, compliance. So maybe that is what steels you as he retracts his grip and runs into the forest. You watch him for a moment, hand still on your bow before your eyes flicker to your surroundings. Surely the ikrans would warn you if they sensed any incoming danger that you had not, but as you draw up your bow you think it right to be better safe than sorry.

It’s painstaking, the waiting. You twitch and turn at every creak and crack you hear around you. Wondering when and who is going to be coming through those trees first, who will reach the brink of safety in order.

The gunfire continues and unfamiliar voices mixed with those you know all too well seem to get closer and closer. It’s like everything begins to heighten, increase and expand like walls closing in. There’s a snap to your left and you ready your bow, pointing it in the direction your ears lead you just in case.

But it is no foreigner. You drop your weapon as Lo’ak and Tuk breach the small clearing and skirt in panting. Tuk jerks her hand free from Lo’ak’s when he stops to bend over and catch his breath, not faltering until she runs straight into you.

“Tuk,” you sigh in relief as she collides into your arms. As you’re kneeling to embrace her, checking for any injuries or damages on her young self, the second group of your clan comes through.

“You okay? Are you hurt?” Jake questions instantly as he and Neteyam make it into the clearing. Lo’ak shakes his head, and you do the same when he takes a quick glance to Tuk as she runs to him the next second, high sobs falling from her lips.

A bright light sweeps over the forestry and the Sully brothers step up to your sides as all of you look up to see an RDA aircraft come down to retrieve their men and then fly away. Just as they’re falling out, the missing segment of your family tumbles into the huddle.

Tuk makes an immediate bee line for her mother, who wraps her arms around her and exhales gratefully. You’re still on your knees as everyone begins embracing one another, holding and clinging and regaining themselves after too close of a call.

But not you, no. Slowly, you rise onto your feet and put your head on a swivel. Not everyone is here. Not everyone has been reconnected.

“Where’s Spider?” You ask, under your breath at first before his absence fully hits you. “Where’s Spider?!”

Kiri gets on her feet herself and a cry shatters out of her chest. She takes a step towards you, shaking and trembling as she reaches out.

“They took him,” she sobs. “They took him.”

As Kiri crashes into you, you feel all the breath evacuate your lungs as if you’ve been hit so hard your chest has concaved. You grip onto her, weeping and crying and gasping so harshly you feel as if you will never be able to breathe again.

A hand comes to your head and you feel yourself and Kiri being tugged into a firm chest. “Hey, it’s alright, babygirls. He’s a tough kid. Shh, shh. He’s gonna be okay,” Jake comforts and shushes, hooking his chin over the tops of your heads as he pulls you in tight.

“We’re all gonna be okay.”

But you do not believe that for one second. You can not all be okay because you are not all together, you are not all safe. Your brother has been captured by the very people who destroyed this land and population decades prior. Nothing is going to be okay. Not everyone is going to be alright.

And the solution decided for this problem only reinforces that for you.

#don’t mind me as i start cross posting LOL #this one was easy cuz it was the shortest chapter #now the other two …. pray for me #in the sand and in the stars #neteyam x reader #Neteyam fic #avatar x reader #neteyam sully x reader #avatar fanfiction #neteyam sully #atwow neteyam #atwow x reader

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akunoniwa · 5 months

Text

To Build a Home

AN: once again, i will use dottore to dispose of my emotions

Synopsis: In which Dottore comforts you... or something

Pairing: Il Dottore x fem(ish)!reader

Warnings: it's... sappy... it's fluffy..., the reader has vague mentions of childhood, a grain of angst

WC: ~2.1k

You feel like there is a good chance he may not know how to store the things you confess to him, yet his words in return are adorned with care as if he’d reserve every thought for you. Out of the vast population, there are more of him than there ever will be of anyone else, his segments collecting experiences and stimuli all on their own… With that logic, perhaps he is the most qualified to sift through your mind, having also gathered and simulated dreamscapes and nearly constructed a ‘god’.

Though the more you thought, the more intimidating it became… Your problems were naught compared to the lifestyle of malevolence he cultivated, but here you both sat anyway. His fingers wisp mindlessly beneath the hem of your shirt as you lay back upon his chest. To you, he was a puddle of sunshine that poured through the window to lay in, his heat lulling you as if his embrace were the safest, most secure place to ever be. Your eyes were not squeezed but closed gently as the tides of his breathing buoyed your body ever so slightly. He watched his own hand as it brushed your skin, caught up in the fact that you both were here like this, so easily… Naturally.

“Darling…” He called lightly from above you, your heart must’ve been in a fragile state leaping like it did as he’s called you that hundreds of times.

“I’d just rather lay here like this, on second thought… Please. I don’t want to burden you, especially with things I can’t control or change.”

You could feel the pull of his furrowed brows at your throat, “Burden me. I want your burdens just as desperately as I require any other part of you…”

Your head rolled back and forth in the crook of his neck, “I’d really rather these thoughts go away on their own, but it appears that may never happen.”

“Precisely. Thoughts aren’t flies that simply die when trapped for too long, instead, they will mutate to ensure they stick around until you air them out… No matter how you’ve branded them, or how much value you think they may or may not have, I’d like to hear them… If you’d let me.” His voice implored your mind gently into the open as if coaxing it with a treat.

Lashes hung slack in your vision as you searched for the willpower, “I’ve just been feeling… It’s been reduced to vague depression, really. I try to choke out my emotions about certain things, and I am well aware that that method isn’t really effective. I feel disappointed but I don’t know why anymore.”

“You don’t know what’s causing you to feel this way?” He paraphrased as he followed your words.

“See? It’s idiotic to even mind the past, especially childhood when nothing was up to me… Yet here I am, decades later, contemplating the same people as if they’re supposed to mean something to me by default. Where these things, still, cannot be helped.”

“If I may…” His voice barrelled through his throat despite it being not much beyond a whisper, “I’m not particularly versed in handling emotions myself, darling, I’ll be frank, but I find that you have an issue with accepting that you even have them to begin with. In doing so, you’re not really creating a space within yourself to, at the very least, just… Be.”

“I know… I have thought about my parents for all my life, in fact, they were most likely the first thoughts I ever had… I am so… So tired of wondering what could’ve been. I just want all of it to disappear.” Your face tensed, eyes painting the back of your eyelids frantically.

“I understand…” He opted to let the silence interject as need be, not knowing the best words to use and when.

“...All I ever wanted, like any child, was simply just a family. I just wanted to be wanted by them, yet in what I thought to be my own home, I felt as if I’d been orphaned. I often wondered why our dining room table had more than one chair. It just feels so pathetic, what I’ve been left with now… I thought I’d outgrow the loneliness I felt as a child, like my clothes, but…” Much to your dismay, you felt the wetness from your eyes trying to pry its way out in streams.

You couldn’t even hear his breaths as he’d maintained his stone silence while he listened, it was almost unsettling, “I’m sor–”

“Don’t.” His response snuffed out your apology, “I didn’t necessarily know you felt this way… Then again, I don’t really know much of anything about your family.” His hand meandered up to twist a random strand of your hair, you weren’t sure if this was as a means to comfort or to distract, “I can say… There are two chairs at our table for a very intentional reason I’d never allow myself to forget. The most lovely reason I get to look at almost every evening, wondering how… How she has the patience, for one…” You smiled abashedly as he spoke through a floating chuckle, “And how she chose me to be a part of her family. If not anything else, you and I are family and I will always be at your table, darling. Anytime.”

Your face was scrunched in an attempt to fend off bursting into tears, which couldn’t have looked very pleasant. He could feel your breaths trip over themselves as you sniffled, making him blush slightly as he recalled his own sappy monologue, but he meant every syllable. It wasn’t so much the desire to soothe that embarrassed him, but the realization that you made him feel so at ease, that even in sadness, he knew there was safety. He wasn’t very familiar with the concept himself prior to meeting you, a journey it surely has been.

“Of course you’re my family, Zandik… Absolutely.” Your glassy voice scraped his heart, shattering his own composure, as the more he contemplated a way to console you, the more he realized, too… He’d never had an ideal family life either. Your words were those he never knew he needed as he sat helpless within the first high of this unfamiliar feeling of blatant security.

He turned so as to set his lips heavily on the top of your head for a moment, practically absorbing you into him, a strange kind of aggression brewed. He wanted to dote on you so hard that any antagonizing thought would be minced to dust, embrace you so as to wring out anything that brought you sorrow… He wanted to give you so much more than just this metaphorical table– perhaps the entire home, with as many floors as you like, a grand garden in the backyard, a pool... Why determine bounds to what he’d give– He took in a breath to stop himself from letting the rabid, emotional dog loose in his mind.

The accepting silence gathered your tears as you were able to just lay in his presence comfortably once more, “I feel the inescapable need to kiss you but I also don’t want to move.” You shimmied in his grasp so as to get even more snug.

He couldn’t agree more, “Quite the predicament, as I’m pretty comfy myself…” He hummed, completely content… Aside from the brief chill that brushed his lips where yours should be. He waited for a moment to see if you’d break first, finger still intertwined in your strands.

You forced a breath into your lungs, seeing as he wouldn’t budge beneath you, not even for show. You sat forward, leaving what felt like his entire body bare from where your warmth was, adjusting yourself to straddle over his outstretched legs to leisure on his lap. He couldn’t fight the tickle of a grin pulling at his already taut features, eyeing you with a dense kind of anticipation. Your hands instinctively found either side of his face, admiring him as you did so. It looked as if his face were hewed and sanded with an artisanal attention to detail, while sharp at first glance, his features were accentuated with an unexpected softness. His gaze seemed to dance with yours like yin to yang, amused by your gawking, mirroring you with his own observations of your delicate face.

Your right hand wandered to brush a piece of frosty blue hair away, his eyes closing as he found peace in your movements. You could almost hear the summer breeze whirling from within your heart at the sight, the sickening delirium of sheer love for this curious man before you causing your trees to sway.

While he undoubtedly loved when you kissed him, this kind of moment made his soul broil in an inexplicably intoxicating way. Like watching the strands of a rope unravel between you two, the tension pulled sweetly at every ligament, every nerve. He kept his eyes closed as you pecked the tip of his nose, crinkling it upon contact.

“Thank you for listening to me…” Your words were hesitant, almost peeking around your back as you spoke them.

He allowed his hands to mold to your waist, holding you, “I’ll always listen.” His eyes a rich mahogany as they fixed themselves on yours, “Please never feel guilty for sharing yourself with me. Or, at least know that I would never be annoyed or angry with you for doing so… You know very well that I’m somewhat of a glorified mess, darling.”

Your lips stamped the apple of his left cheek, “I like your mess, though. Very much so.”

“You would be the only one, I can hardly stand myself, especially with the… Other clutter.”

A kiss to his right, your hair grazed his forehead each time you neared. You could feel his cuffed hands rise up your sides, wondering how long you’d neglect his lips, “Just kiss me, please?”

“I have been…” You grinned, obviously avoiding him now.

He lightly grabbed your face in return, halting your game as he rolled his eyes playfully, “‘Inescapable’, you said earlier, yet you opt to tease me instead…” He tsked. Your face reddened slightly, he could feel the heat in his palms, “Adorable. Can’t even stand up to me when I call you out, huh?”

“Maybe I don’t want to.” Your voice flicked at the end in suggestion.

He leaned into you, giving you a few quick kisses around your chin, finally landing on your lips as he was unable to wait any longer. The crowd in your heart was growing belligerent as if he’d never touched you before now. To be able to still taste this frenzied feeling between you swept you into your own sea. You sang a light hum into his mouth as his lips pressed into yours, properly breathing you into himself.

He made you so addictingly dizzy, each of your senses completely captivated by him as your movements were like a leaf in an almost stagnant pond, slow with purpose. Becoming too aware of the sounds between you made your face burn even harder yet, a bashful smile caused you to break it briefly.

Your expression was impossible to divert from as he fed off of the overt desire embroidered into every pore of your face. Your lips were wet and plush, your eyes uncertain about where they should land, all making him want to be locked in a perpetual kiss with you for as long as time. His body seethed, trying to maintain a certain genre of composure, but he couldn’t help but become acutely aware of the weight of both your body and your gaze on top of him. He sealed your lips once more, ignoring which way his thoughts pulled him, just focusing on you alone.

You noticed the clear increase of intensity, following the accidentals of his movements as he let his hands fly all about your silhouette. You’d not allow the way he groaned softly into you to miss your ears, causing you to stop before a point of no return.

“Are we just… Incapable of not obliterating the other at any moment?” Your breaths were chasing each other quicker than before, you leaned your forehead on his.

He laughed through his nose, defeated, “It often appears that way. You just… I have a hard time reserving myself around you, especially when you’re sitting so pretty on top of me like this…”

You nudged into his forehead in playful reproach, “I love you.”

His insides bloomed upon your words, or perhaps… The entire process of germination and a few cycles of photosynthesis happened spontaneously as he felt his body renew itself, almost painfully so, “...I love you.”

#ig i needed to get this outta my system #yet again it is dottore bc i have no self control #genshin impact x reader #il dottore x reader #il dottore #作文

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