So'lek teaching you to speak the na'vi language, his head placed between your thighs while he lazily eats you out.
With every word he gets faster, every sentence he gets firmer until he's eating you out like a man starved.
He supports your legs as you quake through pronunciation. Dishing out swift punishment when you falter, your mind stumbling for a coherent thought, smacking the outside of your thighs until the flesh reddens.
As you correct yourself, shaking all throughout, he kneads the soreness gently cooing complements to you all the while looking up at you yellow eyes nearly glowing in the low light.
ten years ago yesterday, I posted the first chapter of 'The Seven Gates'.
a decade. wow! 😂
i mean, i've written SO MANY WORDS in the past 10 years. easily over a million... but i don't think any other project has ever stayed with me for this long without being abandoned.
because 'gates' was never truly abandoned. i often took more than a year to update, for sure, but eventually i always came back to it. sometimes because i missed the world so much, sometimes because i got a rush of inspiration, sometimes merely out of spite.
i don't usually recognize any effort that i put into my writing unless the result is a clear success by my standards (which happens exactly... never 😂) but still, a decade is a decade. dedication can be an accomplishment in itself, i guess.
and most of all, i still love this story, and i hope to finish it soon.
“It’s a yes or no question, Jason,” Kyle said, still floating a foot off the floor with an aura of white light so bright boats in the Hudson could probably see it. “Do I need to fly to Gotham and kick Batman’s ass?”
Everything from the question to the still battle clad white lantern hovering in his living room was so ridiculous that all Jason could do was laugh. “I’m almost tempted to say yes, just to see you try, Rayner.”
“You don’t think I could take him? I’m like the only white lantern.”
“Yeah,” Jason said. “And he’s Batman.”
“Exactly.” Kyle finally had the decency to stop floating, but only so he could brace his feet and glare at Jason. “Which means I mastered the entire emotional spectrum before he’s even found it yet. World’s greatest detective, my ass.”
Jason hated that he found himself laughing again. Hated how fucking easy Rayner always managed to make it seem. Hated that he was getting way too attached to someone whose literal job was to be anywhere but on Earth.
“Just sit down, nightlight,” Jason said. “B would hand your ass to you backwards and upside down.”
“Hey, I do actually know how to fight,” Kyle said. “It’s not all just light shows and imagination.”
“Yeah? Please just tell me John or Guy showed you how to throw a punch, and not Hal.”
“The old guard wasn’t exactly around to teach me when I started this, so no. Donna taught me, and Bruce.”
Jason winced at the clumsy misstep. He forgot, sometimes, that Kyle had spent the first part of his hero career making things up and learning as he went. As much as Jason would never admit it to him, Kyle was competent, more than. He was smart, tactical when he needed to be, and on his second stint of wielding god-like powers.
“Wait, Bruce taught you how to fight? When the hell did that happen?”
Kyle shrugged. “Back when I was on the league. Almost seemed like he’d decided it was his job to look out for me.”
Jason hummed, giving Kyle a once over. “I mean, you are his type. Black hair, blue eyes, constantly stumbling into trouble. He probably thought you were one of his and he’d just temporarily misplaced you.”
Kyle snorted, before the sound became a full laugh and he finally flopped down on the couch beside Jason, dismissing his white lantern uniform as he fell. “That’s so fucked up.”
“Yeah,” Jason said, lifting his glass of water in a fake cheer. “Now, whose turn was it to pick the movie?”
I’m in a bit of a writers block atm, so send some asks or little art requests about either me or New Hardware if you’re up for it! I’ll do my best to get to all of them but I ofc answer at my discretion lol.
I grew up on a mix of American and British books, so both spellings of gr-y got lodged in my head. But (apparently I am not the only one, but it's still not *common*) I alternate not out of pure habit, but out of a deeply-embedded feeling that the spelling changes the type of shade it refers to.
Gray has always been *warm* to me. Its most ideal form is heavy and thick and mid-range darkness, preferably with hints of brown or yellow undertones. Gray is smog and wolf-fur and volcanic ash; particular shades of clay-mud can be gray, flint stone can be gray. Gray is something unsettling slowly bubbling in a witch's cauldron.
Grey is light and thin and cool. It is mist and stormcloud - but not the ones at sunset or the ones tinted by tornado green or windblown desert dust - it is shining ripples in rain-puddles, certain silks, the least organic and messy-looking part of the oyster-shell beneath its pearl, slightly bluish rough rock veined with pale crystal or bearing the shimmering trails of recent snail-slime.
I want *precision,* I want the weight of meaning in a word - a vowel-shift as code for a literal change of shade just feels so elegant.
But it's code. It's very narrowly understood code, a tiny shade of idiolect, and outside of very limited rings of people, not actually communicative or useful. Grammatically incorrect even, if you're dealing with a teacher or prof or copy-editor with one set of fixed norms for the spelling. And so sometimes I must remember to add an extra descriptive word or three to achieve the same weight for someone else's mental scales, sometimes while my brain turns the spelling underneath them like a pebble in my shoe, insisting it's the *wrong one.*
