#(though you will have to use a star fragment to do it again)

[razrbladekiss]

GUILTY AS SIN? | Joel Miller — PART TWO

SUMMARY: after a chance encounter, joel miller is faced with a dilemma. will he be able to resist temptation, or will he crumble beneath your mystifying gaze?

PAIRING: dads ex-best-friend!joel miller x afab!reader

WORD COUNT: 3.6k.

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI, 18+ WORK BELOW THE CUT. soft!joel, i yearn for this amidst all of the angsty, grumpy old man joel. some dialogue that melts me. dirty talk. pervy joel. mentions of f&m masturbation. pussy eating. fingering <3 protected piv cus if you’re gonna fuck your dad’s ex best friend, then you need to at least do something sensible!! sarah calls joel while you’re…yano.

happy birthday joel <3

PART ONE

Should I really be doing this?

Joel’s inner monologue—and conscience—is about to implode, firing fragments of stupidity into each corner of his brain it seems. Because that’s the only way this could be described rationally.

He’s fucking stupid. He has to be. To come back to Point Pleasant, for one, to admit that he has a crush on his ex-best-friend’s daughter another, and then take her HOME with him.

To the house that your parents used to go to every Saturday night for parties, gatherings, meals. Joel used to host Superbowl Sundays there, too, which were arguably some of the best days had by your father and something he’ll always remember regardless of the precarious terms that he’s on with Joel.

That house would be your after-school retreat, when you and Sarah were best friends growing up. You’d spend hours there playing games, riding your bikes in the yard, telling one another your deepest darkest secrets.

You took your first sip of alcohol in that house at a party that—to this day—you and Sarah still keep secret from your parents. You had your first fight there—at the same party, actually—and the scar from the Jack Daniels bottle still sits uncomfortably above your right bicep. The scar that your dad still believes is from you cutting yourself on chicken wire, and not a result of an intoxicated kerfuffle with a college senior when you were sixteen.

You haven’t set foot in Joel’s home for years, and that’s what terrifies him.

What if this all becomes too real? What if she doesn’t want me when she remembers all the history, all the things that happened here?

His brain is working faster than what his mouth or body can even dream of keeping up with, and he hasn’t even realized that his truck is still stationary outside of the bar.

“Joel.” You say his name for the third time, and he finally manages to cut free the ties between his reluctance and desire. He smiles at you.

“Yeah?”

Eyebrows fused together, you stare back at him. Joel fiddles with the keys to his truck before he’s stuffing them into the ignition.

You choose to stay silent. He knows that you know that he’s playing dumb. How couldn’t you? You’d been having those same reticent thoughts leaving the bar, too.

It’s a tricky situation to be thrust into, but it’s not exactly your worst nightmare. Banging Joel is only something you could’ve imagined. And, truthfully, it was.

You’d spent many a night with your deft fingertips between your legs, touching yourself to the mental image of Joel’s cock splitting you open and fucking you so hard that you’re seeing stars. But you’d never admit that.

How could you? He’s Sarah’s dad. At one point, he was your father’s oldest friend. A man that—despite his physical allure and more than charming personality—is much, much too old for you.

You swallow your indecision, rolling down the window when you feel the air getting thick. A cool—almost orgasmic—breeze flits through the cabin and you’re suddenly comfortable again.

Too comfortable, maybe.

“When did you realize that you wanted me, Joel?” You ask. It’s a bold question. One that he mightn’t hold the answer to. But it’s worth a shot.

Joel clears his throat, focusing on the road ahead. His knuckles begin to turn white for the grip that he has on the leather-bound wheel is unyielding. Though, he doesn’t feel as tense as he appears.

“Actually, you don’t gotta answer—“

“When you left for college.” He speaks over you, feeling an inexhaustible shade of maroon bleed into his cheeks. “When your father called Sarah ‘n I over to say our ‘goodbyes’ before you went, that’s when I realized.”

Your heart starts to thump.

“I think it was the thought of not seeing ‘ya for a few months that put it into perspective for me.” Joel admits somewhat uninhibited. It was nice. “I was so proud of you, goin’ ‘n chasin’ your dreams. Always been a bright girl.”

You smile at him. He’s still focused on the road, trying not to heed too much the glare from oncoming vehicle lights as Joel’s old age has cursed him with damn astigmatism.

He squints.

“Always had more of a soft spot for you than what I should’ve.” He says. “Not in a gross old-man way. Just always saw so much of your dad in you when you were growin’ up, and it took me back to when we were kids ourselves. And then when you turned eighteen—and grew up a hell of a lot—I couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you.”

“Perv.” You joke and he just shoots you a pointed glare. But he knows you’re kidding.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t think that I forgot ‘bout what you said. How you’ve always wanted to fuck me.”

Eighty-five million shades of crimson flush into your face at Joel’s crude remark, but all he can do is laugh at your suddenly reddened state.

“How old were you when you had your sexual awakening?”

“Fuck off.” You chuckle and swat at his shoulder. “Eh. Dunno. I always thought you were kinda cute, but the shitty sex in college made me yearn for a good pounding from a seasoned professional.”

Joel’s jaw drops. You’re filthy. He loves it.

“Have you ever touched yourself thinking of me?” You ask completely nonchalant, mainly because you have fingered yourself to the mental image of Joel.

He huffs out a laugh—humorless—and turns to you when he hits a stop light.

Joel never thought he’d be asked a question like this, let alone have to answer it.

“Yeah.” He concedes. “I—uh—I have.”

Your pussy throbs.

“Spent a lotta time fuckin’ my fist ‘n thinkin’ of you.” He divulges and suddenly feels that familiar ache in the chasms of his tummy. His jeans start to constrict as his dick feels like it’s getting strangled by taut denim.”Those vacation pictures you posted on Facebook last summer…”

Joel shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“That little bikini.” He continues, torturing himself. “Fuck. The things that I’ve wanted to do to you—“

“Then do them.” Bold—completely brazen—you say. “Joel, I didn’t say that I wanted to fuck you just for the sake of it. I want you.”

“And I want you, too.” Joel tells you, shifting a little to look at you as he promptly realizes that his house is another ten minutes away. “But I can’t wait.”

Hastily—in a moment of complete madness, blinded by the most lecherous haze—Joel takes a sharp left turn down some slightly sketchy side-street. He yanks up the parking brake.

“What?” You blink at him, heeding the raging boner he’s flaunting. “You want to do it here?”

Joel nods. “Car sex not good enough for the princess, huh?”

He starts unzipping his pants while you, on instinct, pull off your dress.

“No.” Your head shakes. “No, absolutely not. Just didn’t think you’d want to eat me out in the passenger seat, s’all.”

“Yeah, well.” He pulls his jeans and underwear down, and his prick springs free. Its so hard it looks almost painful. “I’ve waited long enough to get you alone, ‘n I ain’t wasting no more time.”

You nod, pulling almost sheer fabric over your head. Fair enough.

Joel’s eyes all but pop out of his skull at the sight of your tits. They’re even more alluring in person, than what that goddamn Facebook picture alludes.

“God. Your father is gonna kill me.”

“What daddy don’t know won’t hurt him.” You retort with a smile. It’s almost innocent. It’s almost driving him fucking crazy.

His features harden. As Joel puts one hand to the back of your neck and the other wraps around his cock—slowly pumping his length—he kisses you. It’s teeth and tongues, and he’s moaning because the pleasure flowing straight to his tip mixed with the saccharine liquor on your tongue is almost too much.

It’s intense. It’s steamy and needy, and Joel just smells so good. He tastes pretty sweet, too.

You whine into his mouth, feeling a haze of lust devour any sense of rationality that you might’ve had before this very juncture.

“Fuck.” He rasps as he pulls away, his hand still affixed to his literal throbbing cock. “Get on your back.”

You oblige in a heartbeat, laying against lukewarm leather, skin already sticking to it as its getting damp with sweat.

“Jesus Christ.” He lets out an expletive, feeling his already solid cock harden to an almost painful degree as you begin to leak liquid sexuality at the mere thought of Joel eating you out.

Your chest heaves as Joel starts to lick at your cunt.

A searing warmth percolates through your body as his tongue works your heat, licking a chaste trail through your folds. Its demure, its soft yet lascivious, and its driving you absolutely insane, the way he’s touching you. Feeling you. Eating you.

He laps at your honeyed sweetness, hastening the pace at which he licks and sucks and jabs at your core. Your wanton—borderline licentious—whines only encourage him.

“So sweet.” He comes up for air, slipping his middle finger into your pussy while he writes his fucking name with his tongue on your clit and wrenches inside of you. “So fuckin’ sweet.”

“Joel—“

“Baby.” The man murmurs against your swollen bud, overstimulating you to a point of almost no return, and you whine. You cry and whimper for him as he laps at your weeping bloom, feeling every ounce of pleasure twist within the chasms of your abdomen.

He spreads both of your legs apart and pulls them over his shoulders—hands firmly clamping against your stomach—and goes at it, hammer and tongs. No remorse. No mercy. No goal aside from making you squirt and scream the place down.

And of course it feels wrong, to be pinned beneath the man whose first sexual escapade was most likely shared with your father mere moments later. But you don’t care.

You don’t care that half of Joel’s life was spent by the side of your parent, or that he was there the day that you learned how to ride a bike for the first time. Because it’s so different, now.

You don’t know him anymore. Joel isn’t the same. He doesn’t look the same, or act the same. He was so grumpy, so mad at the world for the longest fucking time. But now he seems to be at peace.

Here. With you.

“Bet those stupid college jocks never tried suckin’ your soul outta your cunt.” Joel mumbles against trembling thighs, kissing and biting a little trail before he’s diving straight back into your heat.

Your head shakes and you whisper a little “no.” Speaking feels impossible, now.

And while the words won’t fall from your lips, a sharp mewl—shriek, almost—falls from your lips as your warmth devours Joel’s tongue and fingers. You tighten around him, immediately feeling your release.

But he doesn’t stop. Joel stays at it. He laps up the desire that’s pouring from you, feeling his cock start to leak at the sound of you and the way that he’s forcing your body to convulse.

You writhe and moan and he wants to take pity on you, but he can’t stop. He paws at his length and jerks his hand in time with his tongue as it slips through your folds.

“Joel—“ your hand goes to his head on instinct, wreathing fingers into his hair as his hold is relentless. “Fuck me—I—“

“You what, darlin’?” He lifts his glance, watching your eyes roll back in your fucking head. “You can’t take it anymore? You want me to show you what a seasoned professional can do?”

You cringe at your words being thrown back in your face, but you nod. Because Joel’s calloused fingertips strumming away at your clit is making you fucking ascend, and you’d like to leave his truck with at least some of your dignity.

He goes back down for another taste, drinking your come as it pours out of you. He licks a final trail through your pussy and lands at your clit, sucking it before releasing with a soaking pop.

Joel pulls away and gets on his knees bwteeen your legs, admiring the mess that he’s made of you beneath him. It’s a beautiful sight. But he worries that if he basks in it for too much longer, then he’ll blow his load all over you.

Fuck. His load. Joel grunts, pulling a hand over his face.

“Is something wrong?” You ask, propping yourself up by your elbows. “Joel?—“

“Condoms.” He rasps. “You got any?”

“No.” Joel throws his head back, frustrated. “Hey. I’m sorry that I don’t carry them around with me, but I don’t usually go fuckin’ around with people that I run into in the hardware store—“

“Sorry.” He apologises, hoping that he hasn’t ruined the mood. “Think I got some in the glove box.”

“Hope they’re in date.” Joel glares at you. “What? When was the last time that you got laid, Miller?”

He rubs his lips together. He ignores your remark, instead pulling a lone rubber from the glovebox. Joel sighs, complacent.

You peer at the back of the foil. 02.04.26.

“Huh. Got your dick wet pretty recently.” You muse, slightly downcast. But if it weren’t for being at the store today, you wouldn’t be in this situation and all would be so different.

Joel feels your trepidation. But counters with “I’m pretty sure that Tommy put these in here after I went on a Tinder date in January.”

You watch as he rolls it over his prick, and raise a brow.

“You haven’t had sex since January?”

He shakes his head.

“Fuck. That’s wild. I thought you were always out bangin’ bitches.”

“No.” He chuckles, gripping firmly his cock. He lines it up with your—still completely soaked—core. “Used to be, but not anymore.”

“Aw, I feel special, now.”

Joel leans over, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “Always been special, sweetheart.”

Throbbing once more, your cunt glitters. It’s humiliating, getting so wet so fast. But Joel is fucking luxuriating in it. He loves this sight, you underneath him.

“You ready?” The search for consent—or at least approval—forces butterflies to wreak havoc inside of your stomach.

You nod at him. “More than.”

Joel’s heart pounds. He can’t believe he’s doing this. He can’t believe that he’s being so fucking stupid. But, here you are. Here he is. About to have TRUCK sex with you, like you’re just some girl that he’s picked up from the bar.

IDIOT.

But he heaves all disinclination to the side, and pushes slowly his cock into the searing warmth between your legs.

He hisses out a “fuck” while you throb around him. You’re tighter than he thought, and he can’t believe it. He can’t get over the fact that he fits you almost perfectly, like his prick was just fucking made for you.

He could stay like this all day.

But he needs to get off. Quickly. Because it’s almost eleven-fifteen, and he promised Sarah that he’d call to see how her flight to Kansas was at eleven-thirty.

“Christ, Joel.” Your head hits the seat with a thump, feeling quickly the second orgasm that he’s bestowing upon you this evening. “Feels so good.”

“Can say that again.” He replies, breathless as he starts to hasten his pace. His knees dig deep into the leather-bound seat as he strives to keep his balance while rutting into you.

Your back arches as a surge of pleasure strikes your core, and Joel puts his right hand beneath the curve of your spine while the left is gripping tightly your thigh as it shakes and shivers.

“This pussy.” He groans through gritted teeth, watching his cock slide in and out of your weeping cunt. “This fuckin’ pussy is perfect.”

More of that arousal seeps onto his cock, slick and wet. A sharp squelch urges you to cringe, but the physical sensation cancels out any feelings of sheepishness.

You’re a mess. In Joel’s truck, on the front bench, you’re a fucking mess.

But it’s some of the best sex you’ve had in—well—forever, and you can’t even dream of elucidating the gory details to anyone. Because this is wrong. Completely forbidden. Yet it feels so good.

You’d die if anyone found out, but you’re hardly being private about it.

Your moans—loud and obnoxious—reverberate through the cabin and you’re pretty sure that people a mile away can hear how well Joel’s fucking into you.

“Wanna get on top.” You muster out and take him by surprise. But he’s into it, and pulls out to sit back down on his ass.

You clamber over—and feel that pooling wetness seap down the inseam of your thighs—watching him watching you.

Both legs land either side of Joel’s, and he takes it upon himself to line his cock up with your slit. You rub over the tip, slowly sliding down onto him while your eyes are locked on his.

Joel twitches and writhes underneath you. You put both hands on his chest—exposed through his green and red flannel—and slowly ride him. You’re gentle, with your movements. Unyielding, but gentle.

“Love your cock.” Through bated breaths, you say. “So, so big.”

“Love your pussy—“

He’s cut off by the almost offensive ringtone that came default with the phone that—honestly—you couldn’t put a name to even if you had a gun to your head

“Aw, fuck. What time is it?”

You shrug, rolling your hips. “Like, eleven-thirty.”

Joel grunts and groans, fishing around for his cellphone. He pulls it from between the seat and the door.

Sarah.

“Darlin’—it’s Sarah you’re gonna have to—fuck—gonna have to stop.”

You shake your head no. “I’ll just be quiet. And I’ll go slow.”

“Fine.” He says, though knows that you “going slow” will destroy him.

Joel clears his throat, feeling quickly his release looming.

“Hey, baby girl.” He greets her, and you hear her mutter something back. Something about him needing to stop saying that, and asking him to refer to her as something normal.

She hasn’t changed. You smile. It’s cute. You just want to kiss him.

But you want to torture him even fucking more.

Both hands take purchase against his shoulders, and you rock at a pace that you know is killing him.

He grinds his lips together, humming in response to something that she’s saying.

“That’s great, Sar’.” Joel shoots you daggers as your tits press against his chest. You moan quietly, writhing on top of his prick.

You’re not going to quit, and he knows that. So as she’s describing—in depth—the ordeal that she had at the airport, he takes it as his cue to lift his hips and pound into you. All the while striving not to make a noise.

“Fuck, Joel. I’m gonna cum—“ You whisper, hating how quickly you’re unraveling atop him. He jolts his hips upwards—fast and lazy—as you’re orgasming in front of him. Again.

And it’s only a matter of time before he starts his unyielding release, and so you ride him until you’re seeing stars. You’re so sensitive and overstimulated, and feel as though your cunt is going to drop off.

But it’s worth it. To see Joel’s face contort, and his breathing grow sporadic, is so worth it.

“What—uh—what day will you be home?” He asks her, throat hitching.

“Saturday.”

He groans, watching you throw your head back.

“Dad? You alright?”

“Yes.” He says, short. “Sorry, that was blunt. I’m alright. Kinda caught up in an emergency, hon. Mrs. McKaye’s pipes are blocked. Can I call you back in the morning?”

She mumbles something about him being too nice and how he can never say “no” to anybody, and agrees to speak in the morning. Joel switches off his phone and throws it behind him, quickly fastening his palms to your thighs.

“”Mrs. McKaye’s pipes are blocked?” Joel, you are such a shitty liar.”

“I know.” He says, letting his cock hit the spongiest part of your cunt as he slams into you—hilt deep—and mumbles a slew of curses entwined with your name. “I never lie. That’s why I’m so bad at it.”

You laugh for a millisecond, before pleasure is surging over you and your sweat-slick torsos are fused together. A gorge of complete and utter rapture almost drowns the two of you, and before you know it Joel’s cock is twitching—pulsating—inside of you as he hits his release and cum is spitting from the tip of his prick.

You’re grateful for the condom—as getting pregnant by your dad’s ex-best-friend is literally a death sentence—but desire the feeling of Joel’s hot cum painting threads of white against the walls of your pussy.

“Fuck.” You whimper, wriggling as he’s still deep within you. “Joel, that was—“

“Fucking amazing.” He finishes, panting. Sweat beads against his forehead, chest and neck.

Joel—hesitantly—pulls out, and his head hits the rest behind it. You peel yourself away and reach for your dress, quickly shimmying back into it before you’re curling up next to him. Joel puts his arm around you.

“Kinda glad that I went lookin’ for a gate lock, now.”

“Mhm. Me too, sweetheart.” He replies, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your head.

“I’ve gotta go and get caulk tomorrow. You gonna be there?”

Joel chuckles. “Depends. You gonna come home with me again?”

“We haven’t even made it back to your place once.”

“This is true.” He says.

Joel reaches for his pants and jeans.

He leans into you, nipping your ear. “But I ain’t done with you yet.”

[theblueflower05]

Crawling Back to You

(Part Two of First Love/Late Spring)

A/N: So like, I’m really excited that you guys seem to be digging this story. I was hesitant about it just because there’s so much of my own Na’vi/Metkayina lore thrown in there. Thank you for all of the kind response.

Word Count: 8k+

Warnings: From here on out, this story will be extremely explicit. Minors DNI. If Aged Up! Neteyam isn’t your thing, please exit to your left. Let’s all respect each other's boundaries, please.

Angst. Self deprecation. Alcohol consumption. Smut. Mutual masturbation. Fingering(fem receiving). Nipple sucking. Breeding kink. Scent marking. Public sex(if you squinttttt)

Summary: Neteyam returns from his Motnaui and isn’t in much of a celebratory mood when he realizes that he’s scrapped any chance of having a mate for Fertility season…or has he? Neteyam x Reader

Series Masterlist(all parts can be found here)

Previous< First Love/Late Spring

Next>: Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea

Secret's that I’ve held in my heart

Are harder to hide then I thought.

Maybe I just wanna be yours- Artic Monkeys

The brilliant Pandoran sun beats down on the crystal blue waters, fragmenting into bursts of light under the surface of the waves.

The Motnaui is intense, Neteyam’s lean frame isn't made for the open ocean but over the months as he trained intensely with the Metkayina hunters, he gained muscle he didn't even realize his body could retain.

His shoulders are broader and thighs thicker. He can keep up with the clan, he can help row the boats without his arms giving out on him.

Neteyam hasn't felt this way since they had fled the safety of the forest. He’s useful again. He’s worked hard to regain his title of Hunter.

Warrior.

Brother of the people.

He sense’s it as they jump between the endless maze of isles. Hunting and sleeping on the beaches under the open night sky. Swapping stories around the small campfires.

They don't see him as an outsider anymore. No, he is Metkayina. All of the hunters treat him as such. Clapping his back. Embracing him tight. Sharing in the whopping joy as he makes a clean, merciful kill.

They listen to the Omaticayan legends he tells the and fill him in on the lore of the sea.

The four days out at open ocean are needed and he feels sure footed now. Knows that he will always have a place in Awa’atlu. He can't wait for Lo’ak to complete his Iknamaya next cycle, to get to feel this feeling of deep belonging. Of acceptance.

The tattoo forever etched into the the skin on his on his shoulder burns. Throbs all the way down his elbow, ends right above his wrist. The permanent swirling ink a symbol of his place among the reef.

His third birth is as beautiful as his second. He is a man, twice recognized.

Neteyam reminds himself of that fact as he sits down next to Tonowari one night. The stars are sparkling and the dimming light of the dying fire makes the hulking chief look larger than life.

Still, the younger man gathers his courage.

“I wish to mate with Y/N” Neteyam states firmly. He had been Olo’eyktan in training for over a decade back in the forest. He uses the voice he’d take on when speaking of important matters “I would like your blessing to do so, sir”

Their brothers and sisters in the hunt surround them. Either asleep at the late hour or lost to their own conversations.

Or maybe they just know not to interrupt this important exchange. They only listen in with peaked ears and envious hearts.

Tonowari’s features go stern, his strong brows pulling together “Before my T’smuke returned to the great mother, I promised her that I would always take care of her daughter as though she was my own. I love Y/N as I do my children. Do you understand that, Neteyam?”

Neteyam is nodding “Yes sir, of course”

“She is a good woman. A very important member of our community, if I allow this courtship I have to be certain that you will honor that. That you will honor her place among us, and be serious about what that means for your own”

Neteyam mules over the words, thinks he knows what they mean. He will be marrying into the royal family of the Metkayina. He will be bound by blood to the clans chief. His future children will have a claim to the title of Olo’eyktan or Tshaik, third in line should anything ever happen.

“I am very serious about her, I will work hard to give her all that she deserves. I will build us a Mauri to raise our family in. I will dedicate my life to her and the tribe” It is not a vow lightly made, Neteyam knows this.

He had never been one to be fickle about responsibility.

It’s only when the intense expression on the Olo’eyktans face shifts, a broad smile stretching across his mouth, that Neteyam feels his posture untense.

Tonowari claps him hard on the back and offers him the leather flask of strong liquor that the hunters pass amongst themselves-

“Then you have my blessing” Tonowari laughs as the younger Na’vi man almost chokes on the burn of the Kava.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

When they return to the main island of Awa’atlu with their abundant catch they are greeted warmly by the clan. The giant horns are blown, drums play rhythmically. Children scream joyously and women dance scantly clad in ceremonial drab.

Its busy and blustering but there's only one thing on Neteyam's mind.

Only one person.

The same woman who had plagued him since his arrival all those months ago. You’re as elusive as the receding tide and he had become accustomed to having to look for you. To having to seek you out in a crowd, to go searching for you.

You hadn't seen him off and he hasn't spoken to you in many days. He misses you. It's an ache that he wants to soon remedy, that he knows he’ll never have to feel again. Not with Tonowari’s blessing fueling him.

Since he was young, Neteyam had wanted to be bonded.

He’d dreamt of sharing that special connection with another individual; the way that his parents did. He craved someone to cherish him, to take care of him and in return he’d do the same for them. He itched for a woman to braid his hair, to bear his children. To bury his cock in every night and wake up to every morning.

He was a simple man with a big heart and a lot of love to give. And he wanted to give it to you.

He just has to find you first.

Neteyam tries not to worry when he can't catch sight of your petite frame. Not one peek of your long hair or seafoam eyes. He couldn't scent the natural perfume of florally herbs that always seemed to surround you-

“Neteyam!” It’s Tuk.

She collides with him hard. Many years of being a climbing post for his siblings is the only reason he doesn't topple over. Is able to catch her mid air and hold her to his chest.

He’s greeted by his family-

And only a moment passes before he can notice that something is wrong.

It’s written all over Kiri’s face. In his mothers expressive eyes and the glances his father throws him as he embraces the Olo’eyktan from across the way. Even Lo’ak gives him something akin to a small glare.

“Whatever is going on, it will have to wait” Neteyam decides out loud, slowly lowering his baby sister to the ground. “I need to find Y/N, have any of you seen her?”

Kiri’s mouth opens and shuts, as though she’s trying to figure out what to say and it frays his nerves. His legs are antsy, burning with the need to run. To seek you out- still on the high of the hunt.

“I don't have time for this-”

“Brother, wait. It is about Y/N” Kiri grabs his elbow, keeping him still.

He doesn't like her tone.

Likes the expression on her face even less. She looks too serious, it doesn't suit her at all. Kiri had always been as airy as a tree sprite- carefree and bubbly.

Call it a gut feeling or the simple ability to read the room. He just knows whatever she’s about to tell him isnt going to be pleasant.

“What happened?”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

His sister pulls him aside, into the mangrove tree’s and away from prying eyes and ears so that she can relay what she’d heard. Fill Neteyam in on what he’s missed.

He listens to every word…and they settle like stones in his stomach.

“Y/N thinks that you have accepted an offer of courtship from another woman”

“I didn't- I’d never!” Neteyam hisses in protest, shaking his head. It’s all one big misunderstanding. He has to make find you, shake these thoughts out of your head. Make you see-

“But you did,” Kiri replies firmly, her mouth pulled into a grim line.

She explains the meaning of the Lei’s.

The gravity of him accepting one from another female and Neteyam hasn't felt so small in many years. He’d been forced into adulthood early. Taken care of his siblings from a young age and then was thrust into the war with the RDA before he had even fully come out of adolescence. He was wise beyond his years, that’s what everyone had always told him.

He doesn’t feel that way now.

He’d fucked up, made a mistake that could very well cost him the future that he had worked so hard to secure since coming to the reefs-

And he hadn't even meant to! He’d been as naive as a baby, as ignorant to Metkayina traditions as an untrained child-

He wants to scream in frustration. Wants to kick the absolute shit out of himself. Instead he listens to his sister, his hands shaking as he balls them into fists.

You had been devastated. Heart broken. Wouldn't talk to anyone or come out to eat. Couldn’t stop crying-

“Enough” He pleads, he can't hear anymore of it. Guilt rises in his chest like bile.

Imagining what the last days had been like for you as he’d spend them having the time of his life, galivanting with other hunters. Getting drunk and having carefree fun-

“Kiri, what do I do?”

She sighs. It’s so rare to see her older brother like this. He’s always so solid. So strong and stable. It’s unnerving when he loses his composure. When his carefully built walls come down

She had known that the whole thing was a miscommunication and had tried along with Tsireya to convince you of that fact. But you wouldn't hear it, and avoided her at every turn.

You and her brother are both such stubborn dumb asses. Rubbing at her temples Kiri prays to Eywa for strength. Sully’s stick together.

“We fix this”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

As the evening eclipse starts and the sun disappears in the sherbert sky the beach lights up.

Bonfires roar, their flames tall and burning bright.

The air is filled with the smell of roasting Paokpak(island boar) and fish. Huge pots full of dishes that Neteyam had never seen line the long wooden table set up at the center of the celebration. Barrels of Kava have been brought out. The strongest of Metkayina liquors, brewed and stored for decades in airtight containers. Made from berries that are extremely hard to harvest.

This is a time for celebration, to gorge on the hard earned harvests the hunters have brought back. To celebrate the newly rited adults and prepare for the Fertility Season.

The beat of the drums is hypnotic. It's sexy and primal. It's a tune that all Na’vi know in their chest, one that their hips move to as if of their own accord.

Children play, Women sing, stories older then the briny deep are told. The air is electric; so full of magic and unity.

And yet, Neteyam is on edge.

He had been since his rude awakening earlier in the day. He’d spent his afternoon running around like an Austrapede with its head chopped off. Desperately trying to solve the issues that he hadn't meant to create.

After hunting down the culprit to all of this mess, a pretty lei made up of sunset orange lilies which he’d given to Tuk almost automatically after it’d been given to him, he returns it to its owner.

Seychelle is haughty. Rightly upset and shrilly confused as she takes the token of her affections back. Neteyam’s apology is poor and he knows it, he backs away before she can throw her drink in his face.

Tsireya had told him this was the only way to remedy the issue- to refuse the offer for courtship so that he could be open to be with another. The younger girl had been so relieved when he came to her, begging her to help him win back your affections.

“I knew you are a good man, that you don't have a mean spirit”

Tsireya is as eager as Neteyam to see her cousin happy. She doesn't think she could spend another night listening to your inconsolable weeping.

The last obstacle is the hardest.

You refuse to be anywhere near him. Are forced into the festivities because of your family standing, but pretend that Neteyam simply does not exist.

At every turn you evade him.

Sandwiching yourself between the hulking muscle of Ao’nung and Tonowari at the buffet table. Dancing in an enclosed circle of swaying women. Flitting away in a plume of smoke when he approaches you with your favorite ripe fruit in hand; leaving him standing there stupidly. Palms stained by the juice of the Lionberry as he squeezes it in frustration.

You’re hauntingly beautiful in the firelight.

He hates the fact that he’s not the only who notices it. The way the other males consume you with their carnivorous gazes makes him sick. His fingers clench and his knuckles crack of their own accord.

Long dark hair pours down your back in bouncing waves. The top that you wear clings to you like a second skin; the pearls and seashells glittering in the warm hue of the flames. Your own Lei, pink and pristine, is still resting on your throat. Many intricate bracelets and anklets clink as you walk and he cant take his eyes off of the way that the back of your tweng sits on your pert ass-

“Go talk to her” His dad suggests gruffly as he watches his son watch you. It’s getting hard to stomach at this point, all of that longing palpable and souring the atmosphere.

“She doesn't want to speak to me” Neteyam mutters. Trying not to feel too bad for himself. And failing.

Neteyam hadn't thought his return from Motonui would be like this. He’d envisioned a lot more kissing, and alot less moping.

“Woman aren't as complicated as they seem, son. You don't need some grand gesture-”

“Says the man who tamed Toruk after his first fight with his mate” Neteyam interrupts and Jake snorts at his unusual outburst.

His eldest son is usually so very put together- it's entertaining to see that a woman could bring out this side of him.

“I have nothing to offer her. Back home in the forest I could have given her- everything” Neteyam sighs as he admits what's been on his mind since he’d begun pursuing you “There’s no reason why she’d want to be with me, I’m aware of that”

Jake pulls his son close.

His first born. The apple of his eye. Neteyam was good to his core, and anyone who knew him could see it. Jake was so proud of him and wondered if this lack of self confidence came from the fact that he probably didn’t tell the boy of that fact enough.

“All that girl wants from you is reassurance. That’s all you need to give her, everything else will come with time. If she wanted to mate for status she would’ve done it long before you got here, kid. ”

Jake had been shitty at motivational speeches since his stint in the military. You would think his time as reigning Olo’eyktan would have given him some kind of skills. But still, his words are a bit clunky. But sincere.

After a moment, Neteyam gulps at the Kava in his hand. Drains his cup and then squares his shoulders before he’s off.

Eyes set unyieldingly on the prize.

Jake grins. If a good ol’ pep talk doesn't do it- liquid courage sure will.

You’re half heartedly participating in the conversations going on around you, just distracted enough that Neteyam’s able to stalk over. Unnoticed until he’s standing right infront of you-

“Y/N” His voice is firm, he wonders if you know how hard it is for him to keep it as such. “I see you”

Up close he can see how swollen your eyes are. How exhausted you look. You just nod, muttering out a quiet “I see you” in response.

Everything about your body language screams that you want to be left alone. Your arms are crossed over your chest, your ears tipped low. Your tail curls around your ankle and your nose keeps scrunching up.

He wishes he could let you be,

But you make him selfish. You bring out a side of him that wants to take. Has to be satiated or he’s going to lose his fucking mind.

“I must speak with you” He states his intentions, clear. Ignores the way Ronal glares daggers at the side of his head.

“I don’t think-”

“It will only take a moment. But I ask for the privacy to explain myself to you. If after you hear my words you still do not wish to talk to me I will respect that”

You glance at your family before responding to him. Sharing a look with both Ronal and Tsireya. Your cousin smiles encouragingly, your aunt gives a barley tolerant tilt of her head.

You sigh and nod, but step away from his hand when he offers it to you. It's an obvious rejection, but Neteyam tries not to dwell on it. His tail flicks anxiously behind him.

“We may speak in private. Come” your voice is low, before you begin to lead him away from the festivities. Down the beach until the firelight is in the distance and the beat of the drum is a low hum on the howling wind.

The storms will start soon. The sea is choppy, the clouds rolling in and the breeze cool.

It’s hard to find privacy on the sandy shores, intertwined couples can be found scattered along the waters edge. Lips locked. Speaking lowly and intimately.

Neteyam is pretty sure that one of his fellow hunters has his mate twisted into a mating press- if her breathless whimpers are anything to go by.

He avoids their writhing bodies, ignores the way it makes his own core tingle.

Fertility Season is all but here. The entire clan falling under its low boiling energy.

All he could think about as he had been out on the open ocean; is that this cycle he wouldn't have to spend it alone.

He’s not sure that is the case anymore.

After more walking, completely in silence, the two of you come to a mostly desolate area. Quiet and still, as private as it’s going to get.

You stare out at the cresting waves and Neteyam knows he needs to say something, anything. But all he can to is look at you.

At the way that the moonlight illuminates your silhouette, at the dusting of turquoise bioluminescent freckles that are scattered across your nose.

“I-Um-” You start, and that wont do. He cuts you off quick.

It is only him who needs to explain himself. “Let me start by apologizing to you. I am so sorry, Y/N”

You appear as though you’re going to start crying and if you do, he’ll lose all his carefully cultivated cool.

So he presses on.

“I had no idea that accepting Lei’s was a courting symbol here. I don't know how to make you believe me but if I had know I would’ve never-” Neteyam lets out a long shaky breath “I can only swear to you that in the future I will be more mindful of your clans traditions”

Time ticks by. The moon shines and the waves crash against the shore.

“Our clan” you break the silence, your voice gentle and melodic. “You passed your Iknimaya. It is your clan as much as mine”

He wants so desperately to hold you. He has for months, but the need is almost unbearable at this very moment.

“If I have lost my chance. Please, tell me now” it’s a plea. Because it hurts to look at you. If he can not have you- if you do not want him, he will accept it. Somehow. But being alone with you like this and not knowing is killing him. “I will…I’ll leave you alone, if you want me to”

You scoff, not looking away from him. Refusing to meet his eye, still staring blanky at the waves. “You act as though I am the one who accepted someone else’s offer. I have never wanted you to leave me alone, Neteyam”

“I’m sorry” Does he sound as idiotic as he feels? He surely hopes not.

“You already said that”

“Please, look at me”

“I can’t” you whisper- hissing at him warningly when he outstretches his hands “I- I don't want to ever feel like this again. You need to tell me what you want from me because I do not know. I will get confused again, if you do not tell me what we are doing”

He can tell by your expression that you are serious, and even so. He cant fucking believe it. Had he failed at courtship so immensely that you really don't know? He’s stuck in his head for a moment too long.

It makes you anxious, makes you back even further away.

“Please-” He’s all but begging, yet

you avoid his touch again and it feels like blades.

Your shrill warning hiss rings in his ears.

He returns it with a snarl of his own when you continue to refuse to let him touch you. Can't help it, the need to rebuff all of this uncertainty around the union that is so special to him is strong.

He grips the top of your arms, his long fingers holding your biceps.

You finally look at him. Your round eyes wide and vulnerable. Filled with unshed tears and unspoken questions.

“I want to mate with you” He starts because if you need to hear it all, word for word, then he’d tell you. “I want to build my life here with you by my side. I want us to have a home that will never know war-”

A tear rolls down the swell of your cheek.

“I-I want you to choose to be with me” He swallows, the lump in his throat getting bigger, higher. Threatening to choke his vocal cords “I will be good to you. If you let me”

His family had always required him to be the rock. Had leaned on him to take on the role of caretaker, he had had to keep it together. Keep them together. It wasn't easy for him to break open like this. It went against his very nature, all that self preservation he’d learned early.

But you need this. And he thinks he might too.

“Neteyam-”

“I will ask you again. If I have lost my chance tell me now”

Have mercy on him.

“I understand if you want to be with someone who can offer you more. I won’t fault you for it” he doesn’t know why he feels the need to tack that on. Why the self deprecating thoughts manifest their way into words that hurt for him to speak “I don’t have much here. But I’ll build it, for you”

Your muscles tense under his palms and he prepares himself for the rejection. The physical blow of it-

But then, you melt. Loosen. Your entire body sags fully into his grip. That pinched expression on your face slips away. Your full lips part and your eyes soften, brows furrowing together.

You look at him like he is something precious. Like you can see him- and he thinks you might be the first one who ever has.

He’d known it in his bones. Since the day he’d arrived. Since he’d first spotted your face in the crowd.

“Oel ngati kameie” you whisper, your hand coming up to cup his jaw. “Oel ngati kamei, Neteyam. I see-”

He leans heavily into your hand. His forehead clunking against yours, pressing hard. The contact stings, but its welcome. He needs it.

He needs.

“I don’t care about any of that. I don’t care what you have or don’t have. You know I don’t.” you murmur urgently, he can feel the words against against his skin.

When you press a whisper light, tentative kiss against the sharp of his cheekbone, something snaps. Something that had been strained and barely held together just breaks.

His control, he realizes as he crowds you.

As his fingers dig into your arms and he presses the line of his body against your own firmly.

You’re so soft everywhere. So much smaller than him. He’s all lean muscle, tall and hard. You’re pliable skin, a layer of blubber to keep you warm in the deep. So different from the women he’d grown up with. Your hips are wide, thighs pillowy.

You’d give him healthy children. His hindbrain howls.

When he captures your lips he hopes you realize that there’s no going back. That this is until death. He’d go to his grave before he was robbed of this again.

You gasp, sweet and small, and he eats it. Consumes all of the air in your lungs. You’re good at holding your breath anyway, right?

“Neteyam” you whine, pulling away, your lips wet and your pupils wide. You’re shaky, already a bit disoriented and he wants to keep you. Protect you. He’ll give you anything if you just keep looking at him like that.

“Are you ok-”

You reach up on the tips of your toes, slamming your lips back against his before he can finish his words.

Your hands tangle into his braids as you try to gain traction, pull him down to your level. Get a better hold on him.

Its intense, dizzying. You kiss him like you’re dying and maybe you are. Maybe you’ve been slowly dying since he first got here. Every moment that you hadn’t been able to be held by him had killed you- a slow torturous death.

You drag him down. Do you know he’d follow you anywhere? Under the waves, down onto the soft sand. He cups the back of your head, shelters your neck as he bullies his thin hips between your dense thighs and pressed you against the ground.

The months worth of tension isn't released gently, because it can't be.

The kisses are bruising. Wandering hands and desperate tongues. It’s carnal, Fertility season making both of your minds cloudy as you try to dig into each others flesh.

Nothing is close enough.

With a whine, your fingers slip under Neteyam's multilayered choker. Using it as leverage to tug on as you thrust your hips up violently. The heat at the apex of your legs grinding against his covered erection dangerously.

“Ah-” he gasps wetly “Easy, Narlor. Easy”

“Sorry” you simper, panting. Trying to get a hold on the feelings rushing through you. One hand gripping his necklace, the other slipping into the back of his hair, brushing the nape of his neck “I want- I dream about it all the time”

Fire rushes down Neteyam’s spine, both at your words and your feather light touch to his kuru. He wonders if you touched yourself after those dreams. If you had to take the edge off like he had. He shudders at the thought-

You’re kissing at his neck again, at all of that sensitive skin under his braids, near his ears.

Your quick touches are everywhere. Rushing all over his body. Manicured nails scraping over his skin-

“Ugh,” he warbles out as your curious hand disappears under his tweng.

Its a tight fit as your fingers dance along his hard cock. Delicate and teasingly light. He’s going to come all over himself like some inexperienced teenager that had never gotten a taste of pussy before if you don't. Slow. Down.

“Tell me about those dreams of yours. What’d we do in them?” Neteyam teases, his lips moving against the corner of your mouth. A distraction for both you and himself.

You can't form words, not as you feel how big he is. As you cherish the fact you’ll never be empty again. He's hard and pulsing in your hand and you want him inside of you. Your mouth, your cunt. You don't care. You want to be the only one who gets to feel him, no one else can ever-

There’s only one way to ensure that.

“Tsahelyu” you whimper, “Please Neteyam. Need it”

He slows down a bit, his head spacy but not totally lost. The bond is everything. It’s the most important aspect of Na’vi culture “I can't bond you here”

“Why?” its a petulant whine, your hips pressing against his again.

“I’m not going to bond you on the cold ground, Yawne. Out in the open”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind” you press and he chuckles, shaking his head “you could have me anywhere you want me”

It’s the raw honesty in your voice that drives him crazy.

Devotion in a way that makes him lightheaded.

He can't give you Tsaheylu yet, he wants it done right. He wants you tucked in a mountain of blankets with a warm fire going- at the height of Fertility Season. The ancestors watching over you as he intertwines himself into your soul for the rest of time.

“I will have you” He assures you, dragging his mouth across your clavicle, his long fingers working the strings of your intricate top loose “And you’ll have me. But you have to let me do it right”

You hate waiting. You tell him as he suckles his way across your chest. Moaning as he finally gets his mouth on your soft breasts. Your fist his braids, shivering as he feasts on your skin.

“I’ll make it worth your while” Neteyam promises between mouthfuls of supple flesh “You’ll want for nothing. I’ll give you anything”

He’s humping down into you, unable to stop his hips from shifting. His cock seeking your warmth. You’re right there, he could just-

“Please” you shiver, like you know what he’s thinking. Like you can read his mind and all the dirty thoughts that cross it.

You can't take it. All of his hesitating.

You’d heard that the Omiticayans were more reserved, more traditional when it came to mating but he was going to drive you crazy.

You push on his chest. Gentle yet demanding.

He doesn't want to remove his mouth from your breasts but he allows it all the same. His lips swollen, a thin string of spit connecting him to your tender nipple as he stares at you with questioning eyes.

Neteyam lets you push him off of you before he goes down onto his back, the sand grating against his shoulder blades as he lays flat. You grin the entire time. Your eyes sparkling with excitement. With hunger.

You look as horny as he feels and it kills him.

Your fingers pluck at the at the delicate ties of your tweng, loosening it until it falls from your curvy hips.

“Y/N” he warns as you then reach for his own. Tugging at the leather straps of his loincloth. He raises his hips, helping you shimmy it down his long legs.

“You can't bond me” You whisper as you straddle his waist, your small hands using his broad chest for balance, palms on his pectorals “Not yet anyway”

“Mhmm” Neteyams murmurs as his eyes roll into the back of his head. You're hot and dripping wet, the center of your legs steaming as you rub it against his groin.

“That doesn't mean you cant touch me” you coo at the man under you as you slowly begin to undulate above him. Your hips circling as your head lowers to tongue at the underside of his jaw.

“Shit” He curses in English, gasping at the night sky as you drag damply across his lower stomach .

“Yes?” you question him as you reach for his hand, leading it exactly where you need him most.

“Yeah” Neteyam assures, fingertips dipping where you're skin is plush and dripping- right in between your spread thighs “Yeah, Yeah”

Your hand is still leading his, cupping him firmly against your pussy as he feels how much you need him. You hadn't been the only one dreaming of this. You had danced behind his eyelids for months. His brain had played tricks on him, desperately splicing together mismatched audio in an attempt to conjure up what you would sound like when he finally got to have you.

A shivery keen escapes you when he presses on your swollen bundle of nerves and nah. His imagination couldn't hold a candle to this.

It’s not just how you sound its how you look.

Sat on top of him, resting on your knees with your chest bare save for that brightly hued Lei. Your kiss bruised bottom lip is skewered between your sharp teeth as you worry it in keyed-up concentration. Blue eyes low, your long eyelashes almost fluttering against your cheeks as you stare down at him.

It’s how you smell.

Ripe and earth wet- his mouth floods as he inhales lungfuls of it, your juices are all over him. His waist, coating his hand . Everywhere but right on his tongue where he wants it the most.

Exploring you where you’re the most vulnerable is slippery, your pussy swollen as he traces along the folds. Your clit beats with your pulse under his touch, inflamed and you cry out.

“Awe, baby” he tuts. Your hips chase him in jagged little movements, unsure and needy and it’s enough to get him grinning. You’d been so sure of yourself when you’d pushed him down and climbed on top of him.

Yet here you are a whining mess of his thing in his lap.

There’s no room to tease, he wants to watch you come all over him. Everything still feels too over sensitive. Too new and easily breakable. You’d spent the last near week questioning his feelings.

Neteyam had his words. He could wax to you poetic until your ears bled,

But he had this too. He needed to make you feel a way that no one else could and as he sunk his long digit inside of you he realized that this was better then any conversation. This felt like the most natural way to express all of his emotions, you sucking him in knuckle deep felt so right.

Velvet soft and vice tight, he’s hard between his own legs from just the feel of you. Just knowing that this was his.

You, your heart. Your body. Your tiny little cunt.

Tiny but taking him so well, not just one finger. But two. Then three. Your body moves like the crashing waves behind you, intense and wild. Shoving down onto him so hard that his wrist starts to ache with the demanding press.

“More” you pant wetly into his neck “Faster. Net-please”

He figures out that faster means harder, and harder means he has you all but vibrating on top of him. Bouncing in time with every thrust of his digits. The arm that isn't preoccupied comes around you to hold you steady as he finger fucks you until you're a squealing mess.

This isn't the first time Neteyam has done this.

There’d been girls back home. One girl in particular that didn't take it too personally that he needed tension relief from the war raging around them and not the arranged soon to be wife that everyone had been trying to shove down his throat back them.

This isn't the first time he’s done this but it’s the first time he’s felt this.

He nuzzles your head out from its hiding place in his shoulder. He has to watch your face, needs to see the way he’s making you fall apart.

This is the first time he’s felt the all consuming pull to be with another person. He wants you like this always. So close to him that he could taste the perspiration from your panting breaths.

You tighten up in his arms, going rigid as your pleasure crests. Your pussy fluttering and mouth gaping. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. You’re orgasm is ethereal, raw and fervid.

It’s a glance at Eywa. He sees the great mother on your face as you writhe atop of him.

It’s alot, he can tell. Fuck he can only imagine what you’re feeling if it had been this intense for him. Neteyam lets you hide again after a moment. Your hair covers your face as you shake and he thinks you might be crying, but he just brushes a hand down your damp back. Soothing you back down from the high.

The stars are brighter, even as the clouds gather in gluggy gray storm clusters. Everything seems a little bit more beautiful with his fingers still inside of you. It pains him to slide them out, missing the tight clutch of you once his wet fingers are exposed to the cool night air.

Tsaheylu, you’d begged him earlier. His kuru throbs and gooseflesh erupts all over his body just thinking about bonding with you. He wants it more than he’s ever wanted anything.

You nuzzle against him, nosing at his cheek. Your lips ghosting at the corner of his own.

“You okay?” you wonder. Your voice deep and husky. So sexy it makes his eyes close for a second.

“I should be asking you that”

“Mmm, no need to ask. I feel so so good” you assure him, starting to sit up a little “I um-I kind of got really into it. I’m sorry”

“Sorry?” Neteyam questions, keeping his grip on you as you start to squirm. Not in pleasure this time. But in shame, the embarrassed kind. Coming down from the pleasure haze, that anxious edge comes back. Unsure even as you’re on top of him. “Don’t say that. Why would you be sorry right now?”

You huff, nose scrunching. Ears flicking “I made a mess all over you”

It might not be very nice but he can't help but laugh at you. His pearly white canines on display as he hoots, the belly laughs jostling you from your perch.

“What!” you grumble, but smile all the same. “Stop”

“Hmm. I love messes like this. Feel free to make messes like this anytime” his fingers, still glistening come into view as he brings them to his mouth. Your eyes widen, glued to him. At the slight suction of his cheeks as he licks them in earnest “See. Easy clean up, you’ve got nothing to worry about, Pretty”

You taste as good as you smell. His tastebuds tingle as he swirls the new flavor around. Complex; a sweet musk that he wants to bathe in. He’s acutely aware of the way you watch him, your sweet cheeks burning at his lewdness.

When he frees his fingers with a pop, he gasps as your tongue surges in his mouth.

Tasting yourself on his spit.

Fuck.

He lets you kiss him breathless. Lets you run your sloppy kisses all over his face, down his chin. Across his neck. He arches into it all, gives you all the room you need. He’s well aware of what you’re doing. Working your strong scent into every inch of his bare skin.

Scent marking is a vital part of Na’vi courtship. Ancient, ritualistic and respected. Practiced by your ancestors before the first songs.

It’s makes something in him pur, knowing that you want him to smell like you.

“I think that's enough” He grins when your tongue dips into his navel “They can smell me, baby. You did a very thorough job”

The pout on your face is beyond cute as you sit up on your knees. The little ‘hmph’ sound so adorably out of place in the highly sexually charged situation “But I wanna smell like you too. How will anyone know I’m yours if they can’t smell it?”

Neteyam's nostrils flare. His ears swivel on his head and his tail gives a good lash at that. You want to be marked by him too. Are willing to parade his scent around all of those assholes in the clan that have been trying to win your affections, even when it was clear you were uninterested.

“Lay down” It’s an order, spoken softly but directly and you follow it at once. A giddy smile on your face as you lounge on the sand.

You are a vision.

Hair sprawling and messy behind your head. Your legs spread, back arched. Pretty nipples pebbled hard and on display. The only thing covering you is the floral necklace around your svelte throat.

It doesn't take him long at all. He strokes his striped cock firm and efficiently. Too many years of having to get himself off fast enough not to be caught has made his practiced movements almost perfect.

You’re looking at him like that again. Adoration clear as day on your face. Soft for him. You see him-

“Ol Ngati Kamiel” your voice is saccharin as you speak and he grunts violently as he comes.

Ropes of it land on your belly, across your exposed chest. It’s almost too much when you reach down swiping into the translucent, sticky, mess and start rubbing it into your smooth skin. He collapses shakily beside you, needing to collect himself for a minute before he helps your cause.

It’s the most intimate thing the two of you have done all night, laying together. Basking in the afterglow. Your scents mingle, dancing together in the evening breeze and Neteyam wants to imprint this memory somewhere deep.

The festivities are still raging- and you really do need to get back. It’s an important night. Your clan wants you there, the two of you need to make your rounds. Keep appearances. He won’t keep you from your duties, no matter how much he may want to.

After a quick dip in the ocean, removing the filth of love making but still wearing the strong scent of each other's pheromones, you begin to redress.

Neteyam watches. Highly distracted as you shimmy back into your tweng before looping your top around your shoulders. He works clumsily at the leather of his loincloth.

“Wait-”

The two of you are starting the trek back to the bonfire when he reaches out to halt you. His fingers play with wreath of lilies around your neck and his eyes bore into yours pleadingly.

The smile you give him is more radiant then the silvery moons that twinkle in the inky sky.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Even at the late hour the ceremonial bonfire still crackles with life. The festivities have ebbed into something slower, more intimate.

The adults of the clan are all that’s left, children long gone and tucked into their beds or dozing off against their parents' side.

Kiri sits on a carved log, in a circle of familiar faces.

Her mother and father had left not long ago. Tuk had been fighting slumber but succumbed after the Elders crooned a particularly slow song about the Sky and Sea’s forbidden love. Jake had hoisted the young girl up and bid everyone adieu, swaying on his feet as his wife hissed at him about how after all these years, he still couldn’t handle his liquor.

Now, Kiri listens to stories as she sips slowly on her cup of Kava. Enjoying the pleasant burn;

But not willing to end up like her dumb as rocks brother who is sprawled on the ground. Lo’ak is all but unconscious, every time he opens his eyes they are unfocused and hazy.

That’s what he gets for trying to out drink clan members twice his size. He’d been on the losing end of the drinking competition from the start- he was just too stubborn to see it.

Lo’ak is lucky Tsireya doesn’t care much for drinking, and is more than willing to tend to him. She keeps trying to force him to drink water and nibble on bits of food.

Ao’nung isn’t faring much better; he stares at the moon with a dopey smile as he sings, incredibly off tune, to the song that fills the air. A gaggle of girls surround him. Each hoping to catch his eye.

It’d been an all night thing, affections being thrown at him while he ignored it all too easily.

“My bed will be full this season, I’m not worried about a thing” he’d shrugged it off when asked about it.

Roxto’s boisterous laugh had dwindled down when Kiri shot him an extremely unamused glare.

She’s debating on leaving Lo’ak to sleep on the beach for the night when out of the shadows comes her eldest brother; who had been missing for most of the evening.

The hours had bled away and Kiri had tried not to worry too much about the confrontation that was going on just beyond the jovial bubble of the Metkayina celebrations. You had been distraught and Neteyam had never been good at voicing his own emotional needs-

Huh.

It looks like she had nothing to worry about.

The grin on Neteyam’s face is shit eating. It’s the smuggest she’s ever seen him. Even at his first Inknimaya, back with the Omiticaya, he hadn’t reacted like this. All head raised high and walking on a cloud.

You tug him along behind you, you guys’ fingers tightly intertwined. Your hips sway excitedly as you bounce along the sand. Kiri’s brother's chest is puffed out in obvious pride as he follows your footsteps.

Around his neck is Lei made up of vibrant pink flowers. It matches the one in your hair, that sits kind of lopsided now.

As the couple gets you closer, and Kiri catches a whiff of your approaching bodies, she wants to wretch. You’re drowning in each other's scents and it’s quite obvious what you had been up to all night.

“So gross” Kiri gags in accusation once you’re both in earshot.

You two owed her so big. She thinks naming one of your future children after her would suffice.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Okayyyyy. This was so fun to write and I already have Part Three brewing! TAGLIST IS CLOSED.

So like. Lots to address here. Tons to talk about. I’m gonna start the conversation but I hope you guys continue it in the comments.

1. The Motnaui is something I completely made up(…yes after watching Moana and taking inspiration for the name) lol it’s a ritualistic hunt that newly anointed hunters and warriors go on after their Metkayinan Iknimaya’s. I know all the different clans Iknimaya traditions would be different and I thought this would be cool.

2. I read a story in the Avatar fandom where the liquor they drank was called Kava and it just stuck in my brain. I know Kava is a drink in real life too, but for the sake of storytelling, please think about them as completely different things. The drink in this story is more of a wine/moonshine mixture deal. Would really fuck your ass upppp.

3. Fertility Season is obvs totes made up. Why is it rainy during it? Because I myself would want a week of non stop loving making with a nice little fire going, under lots of blankets with it chilly and rainy outside. And at the end of the day I’m writing for me lol

4. NETEYAM IS A SWEETHEART WHO STRUGGLES WITH HIS SELF WORTH JUST LIKE THE REST OF US. Please listen to the Artic Monkeys while you read this chapter(wanna be yours, do I wanna know, 505. THE LONGING)

5. Expect more POV’s to come! It will always be mostly rooted from Y/N’s point of view but I love touching base with all of the other characters. It’s so fun. I’m thinking a snippet of Neytiris in Part Three!

[howtofightwrite]

I've got a world-building/combat question. I have these two warring nations in my setting, both medieval-ish tech levels. One of them figures out how to make magical flying craft that are basically WWI airplanes. The other country invents dragon riders in response. Since then, they've been at war for ~60 years. I'm trying to figure out how the heck an air force would alter medieval combat strategies. If you've any suggestions, I'd appreciate it

The first, and biggest world building problem is that magic is part of your overall tech level. Ironically, Diskworld is an excellent example of how magical technology can basically function as an alternate path for social and technical development, though, honestly, a lot of high-magic settings tend to have tech leakage from magic.

One of the more common examples that comes to mind are “magical radios.” Either it's an enchanted device that allows person to person communication, or it's direct telepathic communication, but whatever it is, it serves a fundamentally similar role to a handheld radio, or (depending on how it works) a phone. The thing is, it's functionally a magical replacement, and it would affect society in much the same way those technologies have.

This is a long way to say, if your magical combat technology has WWI-grade planes, there is a very real possibility that a lot of your warfare is also going to be at a similar magi-tech level, if not more advanced. Having written that, I'm reminded of The Red Star comic series; though, that has a heavy Soviet aesthetic, and is not-at-all medieval.

Again, it doesn't really matter if you have fully-automatic firearms, or if you have a bolt thrower that conjures and propels crystals at hyper-sonic speeds into your foes. If they have a similar rate of fire, and similar accuracy, the meaningful change is texture. Your characters might see tiny crystal fragments shattered on the floor, or embedded into walls, instead of bullet holes. There may be no smell, or conjuring the crystals might leave a different odor. A handheld lightning projector might leave scorch marks, and a scent of ozone, for instance.

Magic might also factor into armor and defenses. If you can use a magical ward to dispel conjured objects, that might be extremely useful for fortifying specific targets against incoming conjured attacks, but it would likely be wholly ineffective against the lightning projector, or some other kind of directed energy beam weapon.

“Inventing,” dragon riding as a response to someone else making a magical airship, does strike me as an odd cause-and-effect. If dragon riding was that easy, it would seem likely that someone would have militarized them long before that point. Inventing flying objects that could function as a hard counter to dragons feels a little more natural. Or, magical, AA installations. Though, this is something that could probably be finessed, if you're really committed to the setup. It's also worth remembering that air superiority is an extremely potent advantage, even if you're not sure what to do with it, meaning that if one side suddenly had fliers, and the other side couldn't come up with a counter in short order, they'd be picked apart, and the war wouldn't have this 60 year timescale.

If it seems like I went to ranged weapons very quickly, there's a simple reason. You can't joust from a plane. Your options are to either propel objects at people, or drop things on them from above. Dragons also (usually) have the option to breathe fire on them. Now, firearms did exist in the late medieval era. So, that's not that far out of range. I'm less sure of the invention of bombs. At least, of the variety you could deliver to your enemy on the battlefield. Though, it occurs to me, you could probably use a catapult or trebuchet to deliver an explosive payload, if the explosives were stable enough to survive launch, but sensitive enough to detonate on impact. (Of course, if you have some kind of magically primed explosive, that stays stable until it is ejected from the catapult, and then explodes on impact, that would work.)

Looping back to the timescale again, this would require some pretty potent defensive capabilities. A dragon, with the ability to breathe fire, and the capacity for strategic thinking, could easily starve out an entire kingdom, simply by making a habit of torching all the cropland it could find. It doesn't, particularly matter if it gets all the food, so long as it torches a meaningful percentage of the available crops. When you have farmers going hungry, you're going to see food production dipping, exacerbating the problem. When you have soldiers going hungry, they're not going to be able to fight as effectively. When you have the peasantry going hungry, you're going to see civil unrest, and probably rebellions coming for their lord's head. You can't wage a war against a hostile nation under those circumstances. (In fact, there were multiple peasant revolts during the Hundred Years War, which basically stalled out France's ability to fight. England also suffered multiple peasant uprisings at roughly the same time. Though, those were motivated by taxation, which ends in a similar place.)

A related concept that's somewhat hinted above, is that wars are expensive, and both France and England found themselves facing uprisings because of taxation needed to support the ongoing war. (The irony being that both nations encountered this at roughly the same point in history. Roughly 40 years into the war.) A war that's been going for 60 years will likely have ravaged the economies of the involved nations. This isn't necessarily something that your characters would be aware of, unless you expand the context to show non-wartime economies.

The simplest explanation for why this happens is that any money you spend prosecuting the war are products that you never see returning value from. The money itself doesn't leave the economy, but the natural resources, and labor required, are expended non-productively (from the perspective of economic growth.) So, if you have a peacetime merchant, they're moving money around, but they're paying for their goods, and then those goods are going to consumers, who may also be contributing to economic activity with those goods (this even applies for food, you can think of that as a necessary component to any productive activity.) If you're a wartime merchant, selling weapons to the military, you are contributing to economic activity when you buy the weapons, but when they're sold to the crown, that's no longer productive. Those weapons leave the economy and never return. Worse, any soldiers who are permanently wounded, or killed, are also removed from the economy. Over time, this can destroy the most prosperous of nations. (To be clear, this is more advanced economic analysis than anyone in the middle ages would have had. So, the idea that wars are expensive was understood, but the exact reasons it slowed the economy were not.) And, this kind of thinking is another form of technological advancement. Ideas for understanding complex systems have become more intricate and detailed over time. While it's not the concept of, “invention,” that you might be used to, it is a similar form of progress.

So, how would this look in your world? There's a lot of potential consequences, most of which are not contradictory.

An impoverished lower-class is very likely. Whether that includes wounded veterans or not is a little more up in the air, though after 60 years, military pensioners, and those who suffered life-altering injuries on the battlefield are likely to be a common sight, either on the street or in the poverty line. (Especially if the crown is willing to enforce drafts and conscription.) At this point, that might be a very real possibility.

A struggling aristocracy is also likely, with former major power players who've declined into poverty. This might take the form of borderline abandoned estates that have been taken over by the crown or squatters. (Probably not both at the same time.)

Serious inflation is likely (and could be why formerly stable guild members, merchants, and even some of the aristocracy might now find themselves struggling.) I realize this point isn't something most really think of when you're trying to write a fantasy world, but it's worth considering. More likely this will be seen in food prices having increased over time. So the major symptoms you'd likely see would be decaying structures that no one has the resources to maintain, rising food prices, and generalized poverty. Even in a fairly magically advanced setting, a lot of these things would, likely, still happen. Of course, if the dragons have been used to destroy the agricultural base, things would be even worse in that nation. To be clear, food and taxation riots are not off the table there.

This is sort of a non-sequitur, but if you have a setting with classic transmutation (lead, or other base metals, into gold), you would actually see inflation with every batch of transmuted gold hitting the market. It's sort of an amusing note on the fantasy of being able to produce as much money as you want, but ultimately, it's actually harmful from a macroeconomic perspective. (Basically, the same reason counterfeiting is a problem.) Though, it is a possible hook for criminal groups in one of those nations, producing counterfeit gold via transmutation.

There's also a real world example from 2020, where a jewelry company had fabricated “fake,” gold bars as collateral to secure loans. In total, they claimed to have 83 tons of gold used to obtain loans worth over 2.8 billion dollars, from 14 different creditors. Except, when they defaulted on those loans, and were forced to hand over the gold, it was discovered that these were in fact gold plated copper bars.

I realize the question was about the flying forces specifically, but so long as that advantage is dealt with quickly, and neither side is able to monopolize air superiority, that's not going to change nearly as much as having that level of magical advancement would on its own, and of course, the general consequences of having a war that's been going on for long enough that multiple generations have died on the battlefield. That's going to a bigger effect on your world as a whole.

-Starke

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[gliphyartfan]

Rewrites of Four’s Reward bit!

Original: Here

Enjoy folks!

@stars-for-thought @eternadreeblissa @yanderelinkeduniverse @imprisioned-in-the-hole @screaming-until-god-hears-me @crestfallenmermaidan @ice-cream-writes-stuff @linked-heroes

For dear Anon who give me the suggestion to rewrite this!

——-

——

—

Four was still clinging tightly to (y/n) as she walked away from the Square.

his head resting against her chest, his arms wrapped securely around her shoulders. Her warmth, her gentle heartbeat, it was an anchor that kept his darker emotions at bay. His anger simmered quietly, a shadow just beneath the surface, but with her holding him like this, he felt it fade…just a bit.

“Are you gonna stay grumpy all day?” she teased, her voice light and playful.

He stayed silent for a moment, averting his gaze as he tried to wrestle his temper back into submission.

“…maybe…” he muttered eventually, though his tone was grudging. The anger still boiled beneath his calm facade, and he was only too aware of how close he’d come to hunting down that man himself. His fingers twitched, imagining what he’d have done if she hadn’t intervened.

“…you should’ve let me talk to that man,” he grumbled, the bitterness in his voice barely masked.

She chuckled, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. “Oooh, relax, you,” she replied, her tone soothing but firm.

He knew she meant well, but letting that lowlife escape without his personal brand of justice gnawed at him. His fingers clenched reflexively, his mind flickering with images of what could have been. He could hear his fragments speak up in his mind, each one tugging him in a different direction.

“Should’ve run him through,” one murmured darkly, his voice edged with a bitter resentment.

“Left him crawling,” another one agreed, the idea pulled satisfaction from him.

“Make an example of him, he’d never speak to her that way again,” a third voice hissed, filled with a fierce protectiveness.

“Next time, we’re handling it. No one gets to breathe near her like that,” the final one growled, seething with possessiveness.

Four tightened his hold on her, his face pressed against her shoulder as he tried to quiet the chaotic voices in his head. Pain pulsing from the brewing headache.

“You guys and your constant need to be protective,” she said with a shake of her head, oblivious to the storm simmering within him. “You gotta learn to let words like that slip off you. Otherwise you’ll just keep being miserable. Besides I can take a few silly words.”

His lips twitched into a faint smile, though his eyes still held a glint of dangerous intent. “That doesn’t make what he did right,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

They walked in silence for a while, her presence slowly soothing him, his grip on her loosening just a bit.

“…”

“…”

“…You know you can put me down now, right?”

She looked down at him with a playful glint in her eye.

“Do you… want me to put you down?” She asked, could not dare meet her gaze, though he could feel the smirk he knew would be there.,

He stiffened, holding her just a little tighter.

A rational, almost detached part of him thought maybe he should let go, maintain some dignity.

But every other part of him clung to her warmth, his grip firm.

“DON’T YOU. DARE,” the voices in his mind murmured in unison, the tone laced with a hint of desperation.

“…No, I don’t want you to put me down…” he mumbled finally, his face heating up as he tightened his grip.

“Thought so~” she cooed, giving him a soft squeeze that had the effect of pressing his face even closer against her chest.

His face turned bright red, and he hurriedly tightened his legs around her waist to make sure he didn’t slip. Her warmth surrounded him, and the rhythm of her heartbeat lulled him into a rare state of peace.

“So close…~”

“Feels nice…”

“Think she’ll let us stay like this for a while?”

“We’re certainly not moving an inch.”

She stroked his hair slowly, her fingers threading through his messy locks with a tenderness that melted the last traces of his anger. His eyes fluttered closed, and he let out a soft, contented sigh, her presence washing over him in a wave of calm.

“There, see?” she murmured gently. “You just let your temper get ahead of you. I’m not gonna let some silly guy get between me and my favorite group of boys.”

He let out a quiet chuckle, looking up at her with a soft, relaxed smile. She always had a way of making everything feel better, even when he was wound up and ready to fight.

“Poor you,” she teased, her eyes twinkling with mirth. “So many guys vying for my attention and only so many sticks to beat them back with.”

He let out a soft hum, nuzzling closer to her warmth. “Need to keep them away…” he mumbled, his voice a sleepy murmur as he let himself sink into the comfort of her embrace.

Her hand brushed a lock of hair from his face, her touch featherlight. “Just keep being you,” she whispered. “I’ll be just fine.”

He sighed, his anger fading into nothingness under her gentle touch. He never could stay mad when she was holding him like this,

it was simply impossible. He’d gladly trade his chance at revenge for this.

He looked up at her, a quiet, almost shy request in his eyes. “Can we… stay like this a bit longer?”

She smiled, nodding, and he felt his own smile grow as he settled against her, his body completely relaxed as her fingers traced soothing patterns through his hair.

This… this was everything.

———-

———

Here’s an expanded and more descriptive version of the scene, detailing the horrific fate of the man who insulted (y/n) earlier, and amplifying the heroes’ calm but unsettling demeanor as they discuss it.

“You’d think people would learn by now,” Twilight muttered, his tone oddly casual as he scrubbed the blood from his hands in the icy river. The water ran red around him, the stains swirling in thin ribbons downstream, but he paid it little mind.

Warriors gave a low, humorless chuckle, clapping Twilight on the shoulder with a hand that still bore smudges of crimson. “Upset, rancher?”

Twilight stared at the river with narrowed eyes, his voice a quiet murmur. “Not upset,” he replied, dipping his head to rinse the clumps of dried blood from his hair. “More… frustrated.”

Warriors shook his head with a grin that bordered on feral. “If I had any say, there���d be no filth left in the Land to need a reminder.” His voice was light, almost cheerful, but the malice beneath his words was unmistakable. “But we don’t get to be that lucky.” His grin widened as Twilight straightened, droplets of cold water trickling down his face.

Sky, who was calmly washing the blood from his arms, joined in. “Relax, guys,” he said, scrubbing away a particularly dark stain that lingered on his skin. “Besides, we didn’t waste much time with this one. Just enough to make it memorable.”

Twilight’s lips curled into a dangerous smile. “Yes, but I still believe the bag of flesh got off easy.” He ran a hand through his damp hair, his expression thoughtful as if considering whether he should’ve stayed to witness the man’s suffering.

Warriors raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he leaned against a nearby rock. “Because dumping an injured man in a starving Lynel’s den is getting off easy?” he asked, his tone dry, though his eyes glinted with a sinister satisfaction.

Sky returned his look, a faint smile playing at his lips. “I mean…isn’t it?”

Warriors only smiled at him in response.

Twilight let out a low hum, his eyes narrowing slightly as he recalled the man’s panicked, weakened form as they’d left him, half conscious and barely able to crawl. “It is a kindness, in a way. The Lynel will tear through him fast. But it’s a real shame if he managed to drag himself around and we weren’t around to see it, i bet it’ll give the beast time to play.”

“Yeah…like another minute…at most.”

The captain let out a deep chuckle, the sound rather off for such it topic as it echoed through the trees. “Don’t get me wrong,” he replied, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “I agree with you. But honestly, I’d much rather be back with our darling than waste my time on a bug.”

Twilight scoffed, his tone laced with grudging amusement. “Guess that’s the only good side to showing restraint. We get to see her sooner.”

Satisfied that most of the blood had been washed away, Twilight straightened, wiping his hands on his tunic. “All washed up?”

Sky nodded, brushing a stray drop from his cheek as he stood. “I spotted a few moblins near the Lynel’s den on our way here. They’re close to camp. Too close.” He said, pointing in the direction he was speaking of.

“Think they’re black blooded?” Twilight’s question was calm, detached, as if asking about something as mundane as their travel plans.

Warriors shrugged, adjusting his gloves with a faint smirk. “Gives us a reason for being gone so long, doesn’t it?”

Twilight nodded slowly, his lips curling into a dark smile. “There’s our alibi.”

“Well just have to meet with the others, regardless of our combined skill, better to have more numbers on our side.”

“Where are the others anyway?” The Rancher asked.

They were interrupted by the soft crunch of footsteps on leaves, and they turned to see Hyrule emerging through the trees, his expression calm but his eyes holding an edge of mischief.

“The others are finishing up,” he replied smoothly, as if speaking about a simple chore. His eyes held a glint of something unsettling as he continued, “Time, Wild, Legend, and Wind are clearing out his place. They’re taking care of any… reminders.”

Sky raised an eyebrow. “Reminders?”

Hyrule gave a faint smile, almost as if he were amused. “Evidence. Better to be careful in eras that we visit more than once, safer to get rid of anything that announces that we were there.”

“Trouble?” Warriors asked, giving him a lazy grin.

Hyrule shook his head, his lips quirking in a faint smile. “No trouble. Just came to see if you needed any help,” he replied. “I followed the trail of blood here.” He nodded to the ground, where smears of red still lingered among the crushed grass and leaves.

Sky grimaced, his eyes flicking to the streaks of blood. “Did we really make that big of a mess?”

Hyrule’s smile widened, an unsettling glint in his gaze. “Don’t worry. I took care of the more concerning ones.” He jerked a thumb back toward the forest. “Left a nice, clean path back to camp for (y/n).”

Twilight let out a low chuckle, his tone dark and tinged with satisfaction. “And Four?”

Hyrule let out a sigh, his expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Four’s happily keeping (y/n) distracted,” he said, his voice dry. “Much to our…dismay.”

Twilight deadpanned, “He’s clinging to her, isn’t he?”

“Yep,” Hyrule replied bluntly, his lips twitching in faint annoyance.

Warriors rolled his eyes, a grumble escaping him. “Let’s get rid of those moblins and get back to camp before the brat convinces her to let him sleep next to her.”

The foursome let out a collective sigh, some grinning, some pouting, but all with an sense of amusement.

————

————

Back at camp, Four nestled against (y/n) as her hand ran soothingly through his hair, his eyes closed, a serene smile on his face.

He was so utterly at ease, so wrapped up in her warmth, that he barely noticed the sound of approaching footsteps.

But when he cracked an eye open and saw the others emerge from the shadows, their expressions a mix of frustration and barely concealed jealousy, he couldn’t help the smug smile that spread across his face.

“Feel better?” she murmured, her voice soft and gentle as she stroked his hair, oblivious to the dark glares from the others.

He let out a contented sigh, leaning into her touch as he shot the others a satisfied glance. “I’d feel even better if you don’t let go…” he murmured, his tone soft, almost lazy.

She chuckled, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. “Turned into a little cuddle monster, haven’t you?”

“Mmhm.” His grin widened, his eyes gleaming with quiet satisfaction as he nuzzled against her chest. He could practically feel the others’ irritation from across the campfire, and he relished every second of it.

“Well, enjoy it while you can,” she whispered, her voice warm and indulgent. “You’ve earned it for being so well behaved for me.”

Four’s smirk grew as he tightened his hold on her. He knew what they were thinking, how unfair it was that he’d left the dirty work to them and gotten the reward all to himself. But he didn’t care.

This was his moment, and he was going to savor it.

“This is the best…” one color sighed.

“Her touch is simply heaven…” another gushed.

“So soft…” the third said shyly.

“Look how jealous they are…” the fourth announced smugly.

From across the campfire, Warriors clenched his jaw, his gaze dark as he watched Four nestled so comfortably in her arms. “I’m gonna kill him,” he muttered, his tone low and threatening.

“No, you won’t,” Legend replied coldly, his arms crossed over his chest. “Because I will.”

“Get in line,” Twilight growled, his eyes narrowed, a dangerous gleam in his gaze.

Time shot them a warning look, his voice carrying a quiet authority. “Enough. He’s not dying,” he said, though his tone held a faint edge of reluctance. “Even if it is… tempting.”

Legend shrugged, his expression cold and indifferent. “We could always drop him in the lake.”

Wind’s eyes lit up, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Yeah! I’ve got octorok balloons stashed away. We could dangle him and drop him right in the middle.”

Wild’s grin was equally wicked. “I’ve got an ice rod. We could keep him under for a bit.”

Time gave them a sharp glare, his voice low and stern. “No one’s freezing anyone under the lake,” he warned, his tone brooking no argument.

The camp settled into an uneasy silence as they turned their attention back to the fire, though their eyes still darted enviously toward Four.

In that quiet moment, Time glanced at Four, his expression softening slightly. As much as he envied the blacksmith’s position, he supposed he’d be just as smug if he were in his place.

But that didn’t mean he had to be happy about it. He let out a low sigh, his gaze lingering on Four, nestled so contentedly in her arms.

…Lucky bastard.

[nephalem-da]

After the Fall

(Bill Cipher x OC)

Synopsis: After destroying their home dimension, Bill Cipher struggles with guilt, especially as he comforts a grieving Maeloraelis.

The remnants of their home floated in the vast emptiness, fragments of a world once full of life now drifting like dust among the stars. The silence was deafening, broken only by the soft, pained sobs of Maeloraelis. Her body, a soft pink glow amidst the darkness, trembled as she tried to hold herself together. Bill, hovering beside her, felt a tightening in his core that he had never known before.

“Mae…” Bill’s eye softened, his lids forming a tender curve as he floated closer to her. “I’m so sorry…” His voice, usually full of mischief and arrogance, was now low, almost a whisper. He reached out, his hand trembling as he took hers, the warmth of her touch a stark contrast to the cold void surrounding them.

Maeloraelis’s stone, embedded into a hand-made necklace, flickered with colors—deep blues of sorrow mixed with the fiery reds of anger, though her gaze remained fixed on the broken pieces of what was once their home. “Why, Bill?” she finally whispered, her eye filled with tears. “Why did this have to happen?”

Bill didn’t have an answer. Not one that would satisfy her, at least. He had wanted them to see it—the stars that only he and Mae could see, the beauty that transcended their world. But in his eagerness, in his desire to show them what he had seen, he had unleashed something uncontrollable, something that had shattered everything they had known.

“I… I wanted them to see, Mae. I wanted them to understand,” he began, his voice cracking under the weight of his guilt. “I didn’t mean for this to happen… I didn’t mean to destroy everything.”

She turned to him then, her eye meeting his, and he saw the pain there, the deep, aching hurt that cut him more than anything else ever could. “But you did, Bill. You destroyed our home… our family…” Her voice broke, and she squeezed his hand tightly, as if trying to anchor herself to something, anything, in the vast emptiness.

Bill’s eyelid lowered in a sorrowful expression, his usual sharp edge completely dulled. “I know, sweetheart. I know I did. And I’ll never forgive myself for it,” he whispered, his free hand brushing away a tear that escaped from her eye. “But I promise you, Mae, I’ll do everything I can to protect you. I’ll make sure we have a future, no matter what it takes.”

Maeloraelis shook her head, tears spilling over despite his efforts to comfort her. “We lost everything, Bill. Our home, our people… How can we even think about the future when there’s nothing left?”

Bill felt a cold, hollow ache in his core, the realization that he had caused this, that he was the reason for her pain, gnawing at him. But he couldn’t let that show, not now. She needed him to be strong, even if he felt like crumbling inside.

“Because we still have each other, Mae. We still have us.” He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her, his eye reflecting nothing but love and determination. “And as long as we’re together, we can build something new. It won’t be easy, and it might never be the same… but we’ll survive this. I’ll make sure of it.”

Maeloraelis leaned into him, her sobs quieting as she clung to him. The warmth of his embrace, the certainty in his voice, gave her something to hold onto, something to believe in, even in the face of everything they had lost. “Promise me, Bill… promise me we’ll never let go of each other,” she whispered, her voice small and fragile.

“I promise,” Bill replied, his voice firm despite the turmoil inside him. “I’ll never let you go, Mae. I’ll protect you, always.” He gently tilted her head so she could see the stars again, the very ones that had sparked this tragedy. “And one day, Mae… one day, we’ll find a place where those stars can shine for us, without any more destruction.”

She nodded against him, her eye reflecting the twinkling lights above them. “Okay, Bill… I believe you.” And in that moment, surrounded by the remnants of their world, they held onto each other, the promise of a future together guiding them through the darkness.

[stsgluver]

synopsis. gege ensures that you’ll never really get your satoru back.

wc. 750

"chairs?" you raised an eyebrow at ieiri who placed two foldable chairs down side by side, gesturing for you to take one. satoru’s glasses were resting on the top of her head.

"comfort,” she said like it was obvious. a tone so dismissive and natural it almost wasn’t like you were about to potentially watch satoru die. if you even saw him at al. “it's been a stressful few weeks thanks to this idiot getting himself locked up."

you scoffed. an understatement to say the least.

it had only been nineteen days, but in those nineteen days everything had gotten so so so much worse. you hadn’t even had the chance to give nanami the memorial he deserved and your heart ached at the loss of your close friend. your heart completely fragmented into pieces, however, when you thought of megumi and his current state as sukuna’s vessel.

you weren’t sure if you’d be able to look satoru in the eye.

“hey,” ieiri grabbed a hold of your hand that had balled itself into a tight fist, knuckles turning white. “this will work. we’ll be okay.”

you give her a tight-lipped smile back, gently squeezing her hand in response. if you opened your mouth, all that would come out would be another broken sob. ieiri was basically your sister, but to lose all four people you’d started this mess of a world with… you’re not sure you had it in you to cope.

satoru was your tether to sanity. you hated the jujutsu world — it was an inherently misogynistic society built upon pillars of conservative outlooks. satoru had become this beacon of what could be and offered you a glimpse of a world where curses don’t dominate your every decision.

to lose satoru would be to lose a star. he was the foundations that kept the crumbling world stood and without him there’d be anarchy. without him you’d have nothing to lose.

"jacob's ladder!"

you’re brought back to

"missed me?" that voice.

you spun on your heel and yes, gojo satoru, the man you loved was standing right there. his blindfold was gone and his uniform ripped apart but he seemed to be in one piece. you were terrified to touch him, to speak to him, to acknowledge him.

because in your dreams, the moment you believed he was real you woke up. you didn’t want to wake up again. you were almost catatonic.

“baby? you’re still with me?” he sounded like he was teasing you, an airiness in his tone that anyone with ears could pick up on. but his eyes told a different story.

he was worried — terrified even. neither of you thought you’d see the other again alive.

“can i touch you?” he asked when you failed to respond to him. it wasn’t inappropriate, satoru was just scared you’d run off. he’d never seen you so on edge in all the years you’d worked side by side.

you meekly nodded and he cupped your cheeks in his hands, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead. the second you felt his lips on yours and you didn’t find yourself sitting up straight into bed, the dam broke. you all but collapsed into satoru. your very real toru.

his reflexes were quick and he caught you by the waist, holding you to him as he tried to comfort you with sweet reassurances into your ear.

you wanted to apologise but no words beyond your quietening sobs could be formed. instead, you cling to his shirt instead, willing for this contact to never end so you’d never have to live another moment separated.

“i love you. never forget that,” satoru kissed your forehead again, lips lingering as he breathed in your shampoo — well, his. despite the fact the constant reminder of what you couldn’t have pained you, you used his shampoo and wore his clothes far too large for you to just to be able to smell him. you were doing everything in your power not to forget.

your pull back slightly, just enough for an inch or two of space to be created as you tilted your head up to your husband. he looked ethereal despite all that had happened.

you opened your mouth to ramble your congested thoughts (i love you toru, i’m sorry about megumi, please forgive me. i could never forget you) but a jarring sound as you stiffening and tightening your grip on satoru.

sukuna’s laugh shattered any glimpse of peace satoru had brought back to you.

tags ! @bontensh0e !

since you wanted more xxx

[desaulnierss]

Adding onto this, I personally ran Salamander Dagger head on Acidic Crystal Spear handle for some poking (the City Longspear has a longer reach but is slower in a way that’s unhelpful for this fight), fully upgraded Puppet String, and the Friendship Wishstone.

The Spectre is unfortunately hit or miss in boss fights wrt actually helping, but can be useful to draw aggro and let you get some attacks in, as @venigni said, or even give you a second to breathe, and that’s definitely true here. (There’s a specific Wishstone for it but imo you don’t even need to buy it because it happens naturally lol. Caveat: This works better in some fights than others because of tracking — not recommended for Black Rabbit Brotherhood gank.) If you’re using the Friendship Wishstone, pop ✨the Cube✨ when Giangio Romeo you from the future, stronger and cooler the Spectre has about half of his health left for maximum effect.

Use Puppet String to build up stagger while he’s on all fours. He’s fairly susceptible to it; I think it was about three times I had to use it before that health bar went white. (It’s also just goated.)

For his actual attacks, although his second phase is a spicier version of the Scrapped Watchman, try approaching him like Archbishop Andreus instead. That is, stay in his face and dodge INTO him. This sounds counterintuitive and in most other fights you’ll have a bad time, but for whatever reason he’s similarly less able to hit you at that close range, and he’s more manageable if you don’t give him an opportunity to ever use his ranged attacks. Ideally, roll into him at an angle (left) so you end up on his right side (many bosses are weak here it seems), or end up going right through his legs, because most of his attack AoE is directly right in front of him — and because just like Andreus you wanna target his ass. Just completely go to town on him back there, especially if the Spectre has his attention.

His burrowing attack can be avoided by running around, but if you learn the timing to dodge or even block/parry it it’s super punishable. He telegraphs pretty obviously: hit him with a charged heavy attack when he stands up on two legs, but watch out for whenever he shakes his head in particular.

If you’re trying to hone your parrying skills, my general advice is that it’s more practical to pick one or two specific attacks and focus on mastering perfect guarding those, rather than trying to do so with everything. His Scrapped Watchman punch with the windup is a good one to learn, for instance. Remember, too, that if you’ve played other Souls games before (Sekiro especially), you may actually need to unlearn some muscle memory, because Lies of P is the opposite and the window for a successful parry is based on you, not the enemy. Generally, you want to press the block button as soon as you see an attack start to connect (i.e. a limb moving toward you) and HOLD, not tap it — if you’re early, you still get a block and can regain health by attacking.

ok i tried everything. i just can't beat him. fuck the green monster. Got the scrapped watchmen first try but this thing? even with an specter? idk. king of puppets was somehow fun and even victor was "easy" after i knew his moves. but the monster seems to have no window for a attack? he's constantly moving and I can't land a punch. for the first time i really don't enjoy this game ffs.

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Bells and Whistles (John Price x Captain!Reader)

Summary: This was far from what you imagined your first date with John would be.

AN: This is part of the "Star-crossed in the Crosshairs" universe, but you don't have to read that fanfic first. You can enjoy this as a standalone!

Thank you and special shout-out to @feedthemadness_sweetie on AO3 for commenting on near EVERY chapter of that series and motivating me to do some actually short slices of life for this series.

Bit of context: Reader is a Captain, they and John trained together before John was MIA for three years (and didn't contact them for the rest of the decade when he did get rescued). Reader has finally decided to give him a chance now that he's atoning for his mistake, and they're falling back in love.

"Star-crossed in the Crosshairs" Chapter 1 // Masterlist // AO3 Version

-----------------------------------------

“I’m sorry, but I fucking hate this.”

“Oh thank God, me too.”

So above your level was this restaurant that you’d been sent derisive looks when you’d requested to be seated near the fish tank wall. That wall turned out to be the highlight of this place. The menu? Incomprehensible, both in the style of writing and the combinations of flavours. The napkins? Folded into a shape you couldn’t have created outside of a dream. The chandeliers? More expensive than your flat, casting a thousand rainbows to be fragmented further by the glass displays dotted around this restaurant. Your outfit felt cheap, even though you’d technically splashed out on your first actual date with John. Speaking of, John was wearing a pressed suit with a bow tie you could tell he’d tied himself.

“Can we go please?” You asked quietly. John nodded and immediately signalled to the waiter. You’d barely had an entrée and a glass of wine so the bill didn’t take too long to arrive. Ripples of dull aqua wobbled over your hand, the bulb in the fish tank offering you no reassurance. An angelfish glided past your head whilst John slipped his card into the leather tab, and you pulled on your denim jacket, the one the egregious maître d’ had stared at for the longest second in your life.

A chill caught you off guard as you stepped outside. Glass shook in the door’s frame as John let it swing shut, catching up to you in two long strides.

“Sorry, love,” He said, his voice steel, but you could feel the dejection.

“It’s ok,” You took his hand and used it as an anchor to pull yourself closer to him and slow the return to his car right down. Again, you were really glad to be leaving that place behind, behind with the conversation that was mainly catching up on the last few years and awkward silences.

Thankfully, John reduced his speed and his hand pulsed twice around yours, “I just wanted you to have a good time.”

“We’ve changed a lot, but I still don’t need all the bells and whistles.”

“You deserve the bells and whistles.”

“True, but not that many bells and whistles.”

True enough, on the glum walk through streets you hadn’t really paid attention to on the journey up, you eyed up a pub across the road that screamed “local legend”. When you pointed it out to John, he noted the giant bell hanging over the doorway in lieu of a hanging board. It took two minutes to get you both situated with your drinks and a laminated dogeared menu attached to a clipboard with all the classics in Georgia font. Much more your style.

“You’re not going to believe this,” John said, crinkles by his eyes clueing you in on a jest.

“What?” You followed where he’d indicated, sipping through your straw until you choked on it. A karaoke machine dazzled in the corner by a square of parquet flooring, acting as a flat stage.

“I’m not drunk enough to get up there,” You indicated to your J20 (orange and passion-fruit - classic), “And I’m not drinking anymore. You?”

He shook his head, “Young man’s game.”

“John. You just turned forty.” Your pause and emphasis were there to say “shut up, you’re hardly about to cash in your pension”.

“Don’t remind me.”

“Well, if we’re taking stock, I’ve got the knees of a grandfather in my ‘old age’.”

“Yeah, ‘cus you keep jumping off second-storey buildings and taking sledgehammers to them.”

A second elapsed then you and John both turned into piglets, snorting at his jab whilst your food arrived with a carousel of condiments. You grabbed the sauce bottle, shaking it to test if there was enough, whilst John shook a packet of salt to douse his chips in. 

Neither of you bothered with the paper napkins in your laps, protecting your debonair wear. The food was good enough that you didn’t have to talk through it, except to pretend to complain when John took a pickle poking out from your burger and you stole the extra crispy bit of batter from his cod. Worth it though, every time, to see that fake frustration fade into that dumb fucking smile that made him look like a cartoon and endeared you more and more. All that work put into atoning for you and forgiving him was made worth it.

[puppyxaegon]

Yours, pt. 1 Captor!Ramsay Bolton x GN reader

Okay, realizing I teased this fic like A MONTH ago and just left yall hanging so I do apologize for that,,,anyways this was another of those situations where I start writing HCs but I get overly invested and filled with ideas so I want to make it a fic but then I get overwhelmed and overthink and excessively scrutinize and end up just putting it off. The neverending cycle as it were. But I've decided to take some pressure of myself and just make this a short part one/teaser! So here you go, please enjoy and leave feedback if you like!

Tags/warnings: SFW, Captivity, memory loss, mention of drug use

As you awake, the first thing you feel is discomfort. You’re groggy and vaguely stiff and sore all over. Your mouth feels dry and stuck together, and crust around your eyes begins to sting as you come into awareness. Everything is oddly fuzzy, muffled or blunted somehow and your whole body hums with a kind of numbness you can only associate with a limb that’s fallen asleep and lost most of its sensation. ‘A dream’, you think. Every breath feels like a concerted effort.

It doesn’t take long after you open your eyes though to take in your surroundings in the fairly well lit room. You use all the strength you can muster to lift your head enough to look around. You feel your stomach cramping with the effort as you shake slightly, but the pain is far away. The room seems empty, barren of furniture or any semblance of décor. The grimy concrete floor combines perfectly with the stone walls, weakly buzzing lightbulb that hangs from the ceiling, and the rickety wooding staircase ascending into nowhere to create the stereotypical image of a ‘creepy kidnapper basement’. It was something straight out of a trashy torture porn exploitation film. The thought made you chuckle, but you were faintly aware that the sound was more of a dry grunt.

 As you move to sit up further, you feel your right arm weighed down by what you turn and see is a cuff and heavy chain, no longer than a foot and attached to a disused radiator. As you trace the links with your gaze, you notice what you’re sitting on, a lumpy and yellowed mattress which had certainly seen better days. ‘This is too fucking good’, you think to yourself. You’re well used to strange and foreboding dreams, but this one feels a bit on the nose. You want to laugh again, but recognize the feeling of your mind becoming more and more withdrawn from your body and lacking control of its functions.

You feel yourself lay back, suddenly uninterested in the previous line of thinking. Your head was beginning to spin, and the pain in your stomach threatens to break through the delirium. All you want to do is sleep, but aren’t you already asleep? The quietly growing pain is what makes you question your state of consciousness because as far as you can remember, dreams were not supposed to feel this sharp.

As you recede into exhaustion, your vision dims and your mind attempts to reach out past the island of your thoughts in the moment.

Where was I before this?

What had I told Alys before I left her?

Who was the man with the dog?

You can’t answer any of these questions for yourself or make out exactly what they mean. You fall back into what should be sleep, but are assailed by images, vignettes, fragments of some story or memory that nags at you.

Alys’ copper hair catching the glow of the streetlight and her radiant smile that evaded the appreciation of the man who’d wrapped himself around her.

“GO, have fun! I’ll be fine, its beautiful out anyway, I could use a walk.”

The night which got so dark and so quiet more quickly than you expected when it’d felt like you just left the concert. As if the world had simply fallen away from you.

The park bench where you lay, staring up at the stars and ignoring the cavernous pain in your chest and the urge to cough as you inhaled again from the device Alys had left you with.

“She’s friendly, help yourself.” The voice of the man shrouded in darkness which carried an odd tone as you found yourself kneeling and reaching out to pet a huge back dog, with floppy ears and some of the biggest eyes you’d ever seen.

“You know, It’s not a good night to be out here all alone.”

A cruel stare.

Rough hands.

A sharp pain at the back of your head.

And then nothing.

No more memories, no more thoughts, no more images.

Nothing but the bitter, coppery taste in your mouth as the last of your consciousness winked out of existence.

[angellurgy2]

hi this is a story i dont think i ever posted here where i was fucking around with writing a relatable dissociated victim. its currently unnamed and its about someone having their place in their own head fucked with really bad by some kind of hypnotist esque person.

A void swirls around me. my eyes are blanketed in a deep, ephemeral grayscale sky. stars of red and green and blue scatter around me, mixing together, granting a small beauty through the null. its like space, if it was imagined by a kid with aphantasia who’s never looked into the sky before. i used to love space when i was younger. this wondrous, beautiful extremity of the world, with so much potential. so much to learn, to explore. its awe-inspiring. there is nothing like that to take from this soulful space,  though, for it is not a space in the sense of celestia, but a blank space. an empty fragment, visualized. is this supposed to be my ‘happy place’? i always wanted one of those.

i hear a piercing scream, echoing from the outside i cannot see. i recognize the voice, but i don’t know it. a shaking, grabbing at my form. who are you?  it shouts at me. no one. im sorry. why am i sorry? is that an emotion, if so it might be the first semblance of one ive felt. i think it was more instinctual. sorry, im rambling. rambling to myself? stop apologizing, body. i have a body, huh. i begin to feel, it takes me a while to figure out what, while the shaking continues. oh, those are my legs, i guess? i remember having those. not the tactile sensation, but the existence. i dont think i use them much, they’re worn with cuts and bruises and the whole body aches as it steps onto its feet. i can feel my eyelashes flutter as i peer into the behind of my lids. they well with tears. why am i feeling, stop it. stop it. i don’t want this. i can move my arms again. i don’t like this, put me back. please. please stop touching me. 

WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE.

not my voice. why does it sound like that. why do i sound like that. that’s not me. please stop? grabbing at me more, feverish touch, groping fingers, rotten. outside of existence.

the police are here. 

nononononono not again. who- why. why. maybe i can run. fuck. the screaming’s inside now. i left it, please dont bring me back. my feet move of their own volition, dragging my desecrated corpse through the halls, out of the depths it hibernates. creaky steps up the wooden stairs, a door unlatching, her faint instructive whispering in my ear, the sound of heavy boots on the porch, i see nothing but noises. 

words slip from my chapped lips, a routine carved into my instincts. “hello officer” i choke out.  “hi sir.” i twitch. take his gun take his gun take his gun take his gun. sigh. its the shame shpeal as always. blah blah we’ve gotten some reports worried for your safety blah blah blah. traitors. they always do this when i disappear. let me die. the lies slip from my tongue so easily. im fine. they’re worried for nothing. i totally ate today yes. the blood stains aren’t fresh. the scars are old. no i dont know who that woman i- wait what woman? some thoughts finally rush to my head, i dont remember having a porch. wasn’t i in a studio? it would’ve been easier to die there what’s going on- a hand reaches into my hair. makes it feel better. yes of course i know “her”. yes i’m happy, can’t you see my smile? :)

I dont know if any of the pigs believe it but they leave without a second thought. fucking cops. pathetic. the lady yells out something nice at them. makes me squirm for a second. something angry bubbles up in the body’s head. i close the eyes and shut it down quick. no use for emotions in a carcass. 

a hand tugs into the hem of my neck. my shirt. forgot i had one of those. forgot those were a thing, honestly. i hope its cute at least. my limp form is pulled backwards through the front door. i almost fall but something else picks us up. i start to lose myself in the greyscale again before the sanctity of my eyelids are forced open, gazing directly into the asynchronatic blue and hazel eyes of an unrecognizable being. i’d say her beauty startled me awake if i wasnt so unsure this is even real.

apparently she was talking the whole time, because now we’re in the living room. i think? i forgot what that’s supposed to look like. her voice now tuned to the ears, i jolt at the sudden audio input. she sees and tilts her head with a mock smile. i think. her eyes glare into me like she’s staring into my absent soul. “Mutt.” 

dizzy. body moving away from me, again. so far. i watch it fall to its knees. fading. i can’t look at myself. she’s just smiling. bark! i feel familiar body spasms but don't see any physical representation. i never thought id miss the bodily prison. bark. bark. tilting its head to the side. my nonexistent hands clench tight. the woman brings her left leg to rest on her right, twirls her finger and we- it rolls over, instantaneously. like its ingrained into its programming. short-circuiting mental wires twist and fray in the head i unassuredly inhabit. pulling, twisting at cords between me and the form, voices berating myself for wanting back in as i thoughtlessly climb. 

her eyes suddenly glare upwards, past my head, almost as if directly into the ‘me’ i can feel. another twisting grin, teethy and sharp. “are you alright, dear?” her voice is malevolence. staring into the sky, she lifts up her hand, causing the body to jump on its hind legs, twirling stupidly. another chuckle slips from her lips, reverberating all around me. “want back in?”  teasing. who does she think she is- who even is she? i growl. not as a dog. she smiles again, and with a snap of her fingers i am slingshotted back into physicality, gasping for air, breathing new air into new lungs. i come out twitching uncontrollably, trying to forget, need to forget, get out of place again. i shut my eyes tight and pretend nothing is real. nothing is real, it cant be. 

tsk tsk. “you’re not getting back out so easily, girl.” she growls, clicking her tongue. she does a quick pulling motion with her hand, and my body is suddenly flung forward with it. leashed. thrown into the armchair beneath her. i throw my hand at her face, without thinking, imprinting a bright red into her skin. i flinch. // add more here //

“who do you think you are, DOG.” she yells, my body wants to curl up into a ball. “i FIXED you, and you don’t even recognize who i am!” she presses and grinds the toe of her leather boot into my legs. into cuts i dont remember existing. i collapse the second pain courses through me. “you need me, girl.”

the air is choked out of me. ripped out exorbitantly. i trudge through the pain, look her in her perverse face and spit. bitch. she digs her boot harder into my leg. i squeal in a pitch i’ve never reached before.

“seems like someone needs some more time alone in her room-” she grins. the body shudders what does she even get from this? pleasure? what has she done to us? me. why is this so different. how can she make me be here? her hand pulling at the collar of my shirt jolts me out of thought. pinprick goosebumps run up my arm. body tics from the disembodied draft in the air. i am forced despite myself, dragged across dirty ceramic floors. i scream. i cry. i hit. i thrash. everything i can muster at once, leads to nothing. i remember the feeling of weight, yet she throws me from the floor into the back of the empty room with no effort. spine stings with anger. careless fucking-

“you’re gonna wish i had kept you disembodied. doll.” she leans against the doorway so non-chalantly. like im not quaking with pain. “i’ll make sure you dont forget this next time, at least.” and she pushes the door. 

i scramble on the floor fighting the pain surging through my joints, clawing at the floorboards to get to the door as it slowly closes. no use. closing, closing, closing, my ragged dirty fingernails almost reach it but fall just short. the last thing i see before the door closes and the darkness takes hold is her twisted, eldritch smile mocking me through the gap.

[cosmic-ships]

Hot Chocolate

Ship: Starbound Companions: Obi-Wan x Kaden

Words: 976 smol

Warning: NONE! :D

summary: Kaden reminisces

suns had long since set, leaving the desert cloaked in a blanket of cool darkness. Kaden and Obi-Wan sat near the mouth of a small cave, their modest refuge tucked away from prying eyes. The sky above was a cascade of stars, glittering like scattered diamonds across an infinite black canvas. It was a rare, quiet evening, one that both cherished deeply.

Kaden, with their legs crossed and their hands wrapped around a cooling cup of black tea, tilted their head back to gaze at the stars. The silence between them was companionable, but soon enough, Kaden broke it with a wistful sigh.

"You know…" they began, their voice soft, "when I was little, back on Lothal my mom used to make peppermint hot chocolate. It was… one of the few good memories I have of her." They gave a small laugh, their green eyes reflecting both the stars and something deeper, more melancholic. "I used to love it. The rich chocolate, the hint of peppermint… it was magic in a cup~"

Obi-Wan shifted slightly, turning his gaze to them. "It sounds delightful." he said, his tone warm and encouraging.

Kaden nodded, a faint smile tugging at their lips. "I’ve tried to recreate it over the years. Found some decent chocolate, managed to make do with improvised tools, but the peppermint… that’s been the elusive part. I’ve searched through passing merchants’ wares, scoured settlements for any sign of it, but it seems like the galaxy’s hiding it from me…"

They chuckled again, shaking their head, and Obi-Wan’s chest ached at the mix of longing and acceptance in their voice. It wasn’t the peppermint, he knew. It was what it represented: a fragment of home, of childhood, of fleeting warmth amidst an otherwise turbulent life.

That evening, after Kaden had fallen asleep, Obi-Wan sat quietly, staring into the embers of their modest fire. Kaden’s words replayed in his mind, a persistent echo that refused to be silenced. A small smile tugged at his lips as he made a decision.

Three days later, Obi-Wan returned to the cave carrying a small package wrapped in cloth. Kaden, who had been busy tinkering with a broken datapad, looked up, their expression immediately brightening at the sight of him. “What’s that?” they asked, curiosity lighting up their face.

Obi-Wan hesitated, his usual composure wavering as a faint blush crept up his neck. He cleared his throat, then handed the package to them. “A… small gift.” he said, his tone casual but his eyes betraying his anticipation.

Kaden took the package, unwrapping it carefully. The moment the contents were revealed, they froze. Inside were several small, dried sprigs of peppermint. Their green eyes widened in disbelief, their mouth opening and closing as they struggled to find words.

“Obi-Wan…” they finally managed, their voice barely above a whisper. “Y-You… how did you…?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, the blush deepening. “I called in a favor. It… wasn’t terribly difficult” he said, though the faint smirk tugging at his lips hinted at the lengths he’d gone to.

Kaden’s smile was radiant, brighter than any star in the sky or the suns themselves. Tears began to gather in their eyes, their emotions overwhelming them. “You have no idea how much this means to me…” they said, their voice trembling softly. A tear slipped down their cheek, and they quickly brushed at it, laughing softly. “Sorry, I… I don’t mean to get so emotional. It’s just… it reminds me of home.”

Obi-Wan reached out, his thumb gently brushing away another tear. “Is this a bad cry or a good cry?” he asked, his voice low and soothing.

Kaden let out a teary-eyed giggle, their cheeks flushing. “A good cry~” they assured him, their eyes shimmering with gratitude.

“Good to hear dearest” Obi-Wan said with a soft smile, his hand lingering on their cheek. He leaned in, his lips brushing against theirs in a tender, heartfelt kiss. When they pulled apart, his eyes searched theirs, full of unspoken affection.

That evening, the rich aroma of chocolate and peppermint filled the cave. Kaden carefully prepared two steaming cups of peppermint hot chocolate. When they handed him his cup, their hands lingered on his for a moment, a silent thank-you passing between them.

They sat on the edge of the cave, sipping their drinks as the desert winds whispered around them. The beverage was simple, but to Kaden, it tasted like home, like comfort, like love.

As they finished, Kaden shifted closer to Obi-Wan, their head resting gently on his shoulder. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arm around them, pulling them snugly against his side. He pressed a tender kiss to the top of their head, his lips lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

“Thank you, my Crescent…” Kaden murmured, their voice barely audible over the night’s quiet symphony. Their voice trembled slightly, and more tears welled up in their eyes as the weight of the moment settled over them. They sniffled softly, the happiness and memories overwhelming. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”

Obi-Wan’s heart clenched, and he gently wiped away the fresh tears with his thumb, his expression impossibly tender. “I do.” he said softly, his voice laced with affection. He glanced up at the stars, his grip tightening slightly around Kaden. “And I’m glad I could give you this.”

For a long while, they simply sat there, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the empty desert around them feeling, for once, full of life. The stars witnessed their quiet joy, their shared peace, and the love that bound them together in a galaxy that often felt so unforgiving. In this moment, Kaden felt so incredibly lucky to have someone as amazing as Obi-Wan by their side. they would cherish every moment they had together from now until forever.

T A G S

@ama-ships // @hyperfumetsu

// @heatobrienswife // @literally-just-there

// @lances-wife // @mahitosoulmate

// @nghtydogs // @dragonsmooch // @kylilah

Let me know if you want to be added~!

[eris-snow]

𝐈𝐜𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐝

Tags: bakugou x fem!reader, bakugou x ochaco, angst

Your first love felt as warm as the sunshine, and as welcoming as a fireplace.

Bakugou was your first love.

As warm as the sunshine, and as welcoming as a fireplace, that's exactly what first love was like for you.

The wind picks up speed whenever you see him again, as if guiding you to him...or pulling him away.

Awkward silence engulfs the two of you when you see each other again. He has Ochaco now, and he has a familiar large, protective hand snug around her waist, right where it used to be around yours.

You wish Ochaco's meaner. Wish she was cruel, unkind or even taunting just so it'd be easier to hate her. She's the opposite though. Bubbly, beautiful, strong, all encapsulated in her being displayed like she was an angel from heaven.

You can see what Bakugou sees in her.

You remember the feeling of your heart breaking all too well when you see him dipping her into a kiss at their wedding. You wish you hadn't been invited.

You do your best to feign smiles to ensure the couple that you're over him, over them, but it reaches the breaking point when they start with speeches.

You're not over Bakugou, the wound is still so fresh, and it never really set in for you until you see that dazzling ring on his finger, an identical band around Ochako's on the same hand.

Perfect, smiley Ochako.

It feels a little chilly in here, don't you think?

"I don't deserve you, Ochaco," God, her name sounds so fond when it comes out of Bakugou's mouth. A gentle caress contrasts his gruff, raspy voice that makes everyone coo. "No one here knows what shit we've gone through, the war, the damn PRESS THAT WON'T LEAVE US ALONE!" He emphasises this by throwing a withering glare at the cameraman as if daring him to sell the photos to the internet.

Everyone laughs good-naturedly, and you're the only one that feels a sting to the heart at every sentence he utters. "I'm not good with words, but I mean what I fucking say. I love you, Ochaco," There's a pause, not an ounce of doubt and it's ripping you apart as everyone around 'awws!' at his bold declaration.

"I'm not gonna elaborate about how I'll catch every star in the universe for you, or whatever poetic Shakespear equivalent you're expecting. I love you. Those words, those three simple words? They prove my fucking point."

He just had to say it again.

Your heart is shattering with every word while you gather up the shards with gloveless hands. Each fragment cuts deep, and it feels like there's a messy trail of blood trickling behind as you hug the splintered memories close to your chest.

"Izuku," You whisper, catching his eyes with a pained gaze. "I can't do this anymore. Could you tell them that I'm sorry for leaving so early? I-I just...don't want to ruin their best night and-"

Izuku cuts you off with a tight embrace. "Go," The hero says, smiling gently in understanding. "I'll explain it to Kacchan."

You thank him profusely, saying that you'd do anything to make it up to him for the trouble but Izuku just waves you off, telling you to have a safe trip home.

You hastily grab your coat from the rack, finding a bench to take your high heels off and exchange them for comfortable sneakers.

"Leaving so soon?"

Your head snaps up so fast you thought you'd dislocate something, and your eyes meet red.

Bakugou.

Your guard flies up immediately, expression guarded. You're not faking happiness, simply a void of emotion, neutral and defeated.

It fucking hurts.

"Izuku told me," He said, raising an eyebrow. "Mind if I join you?"

"No, yes, maybe." You laugh at yourself. "It's been quite a night."

Bakugou never meant to hurt you, and never, ever to this extent. He sits down. "Congratulations." His eyes meet yours, and they're so fucking blank like it's your only way to stop yourself from crying. "Ochaco's a wonderful person. I couldn't think of anyone better suited for you."

Bakugou studies you carefully and watches out for a lie but never finds one. Oh, God, you mean it. Bakugou sees what you're doing. Your self-esteem has crashed into the negatives because you don't even believe you were even worth it.

Bakugou can't help but cave.

"L/n, you know that it wasn't you, right?" He insists. There's an arm's length between both of you like you're afraid he gets too close. "It was me, fuck, I wasn't ready for a relationship. Not when I wanted to be the number 1 hero-"

"I get that." You interrupt calmly. You don't smile, you don't frown, simply keep that dumb sangfroid mask on your face. You've always been too fucking respectful. "I know everything, that's why I need to go tonight. It's painful knowing."

Bakugou wishes you'd show him something. You used to be an open book, full of life whether it was large, overexaggerated reactions or the energetic person that'd always make time for him, but now you look...tired. Subdued, if you will, as if the life got sucked out of you. You're so tensed that it makes Bakugou's eyes furrow because, gosh you seem so quiet now.

Just a sign...a tear forming, eyes misting, a bottom lip quivering perhaps? Or maybe he'd get a hearty laugh and a smack to his shoulder for him being so concerned.

Any second now.

The blank look stays in your eyes. There's nothing.

"You were great out there." You continue, finally averting your gaze to slip off your shoes. "Ochaco's lucky to have someone like you. Your speech spoke volumes. I think she'd like those bentos you make for her on the daily. I remember seeing them on her desk when I got the same patrol shift as her-"

"L/n, listen, I-"

"Your skills really improved," You power through, tying your laces on the sneakers now. "You should keep doing them, you know?" your laugh sounds more like a wheeze, like there's glass stabbing your lungs. "Bet they tasted heavenly-"

"Y/n, stop-"

"Her face lights up every time she sees you, y'know?" You stand up, eyes staring up at the stars. "She loves it when you surprise her, I remember that one time-"

"Sunshine!" yells Bakugou.

Your eyes flicker back to his, finally pausing your rant. "That's playing dirty, Bakugou, I thought you'd never call me that again." You frown.

You're like a different person now, so rational and collected it throws him off. "I just..." He runs a hand down his face, and you look at him curiously, guard higher than ever. You fully expect him to do say something worse, and he hates it.

He was young and cruel back then, he should have handled the breaking-up process better, not just...tell you so out of the blue as if he simply wanted to tell you his hero schedule for the month.

"I'm sorry," Bakugou apologises, soft and genuine. You look as if he just grew another head. "I never got to...apologise. You didn't-you never deserved to be let down like that, I should have done it better. I should have done..." Bakugou's eyes drop down to his ring, shiny and beautiful, just like his life ahead. "a lot of things better."

You catch him staring, and shake your head. "You shouldn't dwell on things so far back in the past," You chide. "What's done is done. I forgive you."

Stop.

Show him something, anything. Bakugou knows, he knows you're breaking inside, knows you want to slap him, laugh at him...he doesn't know but just anything!

Instead, you make your way to the door. "I'll be going now," You bow towards him, the corners of your mouth upturning into a small smile. "Have a good night."

Bakugou's eyes trail to your face, but you've already turned your back onto him. His eyes fall on your shoes, the same, battered sneakers he'd gotten you close to a decade ago back when you were together.

"Good night," He whispers softly, staring at your back a little longer before closing the door.

Your high heels dangle on your fingers as you use another to wrap your hands around yourself, a bitter laugh escaping you as your tears overflow.

It's really cold out tonight, isn't it?

---

End notes:

I don't really know why, but I started to tear up while I was writing Y/n talking about bentos. I was really feeling this story, so I hope it came out well.

[littlesliceofimmortality]

hey henry i was going through ur circus au tag and i was wondering do u have any lore for this specific au??? im VERY curious i really like the designs esp mingus and norm (worlds most predictable phrase) :-)

HII MICH :-) smile! my circus au started as "lol wouldnt it be funny if cowboys instead of clowns were a separate species & went extinct". & now it makes me sick

ITS NOT EVENthat much different than the canon story ingame!!!! its just flashier & showy-er & LOUD. mingus demands attention, especially. her being a lioness does in fact mean callum had a pet lion. Alot wrong with him

she had callums ringleader outfit retailored to fit her, fun fact! (shes VERY large, almost scraping 7ft). its different cloth though & the gold studs had to be replaced & coattails needed lengthening & etc... so maybe it really isnt the same

(GINGIs made up of the same cloth as callum, however! the original CIRCUS tent, with polka dots and all !!! and who am i to argue that callum didnt embody the entire city of dialtown?) (mingus is very mad about this fact & actively denounces it)

rather than living on the outskirts of town, norm was found as a lone ranger out in the open prairies of Wisconsin (i cant elaborate here. thats another rant & theres too many parenthesis already) . instead of being immediately executed As is normal procedure, mingus recognizes him as a fragment of history & essentially forces him to join the ragtag rundown circus she runs

since dialtown is already a group of misfits, not many of the cast oogled at the new rodeo clown (it was a HUGE fight on what he'd "star as", & mingus finally relented to him keeping the cowboy hat & paper bag) (if he acts up she threatens to categorize him as a "freak show" and shred his bag)

mingus doesnt treat him as a thing with feelings alot of the time & moreso a thing to help get her pawpaw back. since right now hes. kind of a statue. shes opened up & put back together his head so many times & had to repair him & ward off rust so often that now ALL of his head is golden. not patchworked, but rather, polished

the city is only KNOWN as a city & NOT a travelling circus anymore is because of this, actually. its too much work to transport callum around in the state he is. so mingus dug her heels in & hammered in the tent poles hard. immovable force. not going anywhere til she can step down & let her pawpaw lead again

he was objectively better at it, anyhow. she knows this but WILL bite you if you say it to her face. callum was a magician too, after all! had tricks up his sleeve. much sneakier when hes pulling strings behind the curtains. he had his "assistant" too (aka the other half of the entire show) , which mingus TRIES to replicate, which... i love tango, but nobody can compare to marla

all of this is very upsetting to norm. everything about it, really. worst anyones ever done it. however hes just as stubborn as mingus and will NOT be used as a tool! (thats the ONLY reason, trust) (theres totally nothing about how he'd rather idolize crown in his mind & is a little terrified of whatd happen if he came back & saw the state of everything)

[mlkbwunnies]

The moment still felt like a dream, even though it had passed. You stood beneath the arch woven with flowers, petals drifting lazily through the air like fragments of a fairytale. The scent of jasmine and roses hung heavily around you, mingling with the crisp breeze. It was perfect. More perfect than anything you could’ve imagined.

And then, there was him.

Alhaitham. The usually composed, pragmatic man who seemed utterly untouched by the whims of sentimentality or frivolous displays, looked at you as though he was witnessing the birth of a star. His sharp green eyes, now softened, carried an intensity that made your knees weak. You had never seen him like that before—utterly awe-struck.

It wasn’t the awe of someone who marveled at the grandiosity of the moment, but the quiet reverence of a scholar discovering something sacred. The petals that fell between you mirrored the slow fall of his guarded walls, revealing something raw, something unspoken, something entirely his.

When you took your first step toward him, your heart was pounding so loudly you wondered if he could hear it. He had always been observant, after all. But his gaze wasn’t on your trembling hands or your hesitant feet—it was fixed on your face. His lips parted slightly, his breath catching in his throat as though he didn’t know what to do with the overwhelming sight of you.

“I…” he started, his voice uncharacteristically shaky when you finally stood before him. His hands reached for yours, steadying, anchoring. “You’re beautiful.”

Those words, simple and understated, carried a weight that made your chest tighten. You smiled, shy under the intensity of his gaze, and squeezed his hands in return. The officiant began to speak, but Alhaitham barely seemed to notice. His thumb brushed across the back of your hand absentmindedly, his focus entirely on you.

And then, he spoke.

“For the one I choose to spend the rest of my days with: this I give to you, my love, lasting forever more. May you never steal, lie, or cheat. But I implore you, if you must steal, then steal away my sorrows. And if you must lie, I beg that you lie with me all the nights of my life. And if you must cheat, then please, cheat death, because I couldn’t live a day without you.”

You heard the slight hitch in his breath as he paused, squeezing your hands. His voice steadied, clear and deliberate. “I, Alhaitham, take you, Ying, to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse—for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”

Somewhere in the middle of his words, your vision blurred with tears. By the time he finished, they spilled freely down your cheeks, unbidden and unstoppable. You tried to blink them away, but Alhaitham reached out with a tenderness that stole your breath. His thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping away your tears as if to hold back any sorrow you might feel. The way he looked at you then was a vow in itself, silent yet profound.

When it was your turn to speak, you inhaled deeply, steadying yourself. Your voice trembled but carried through the quiet clearing. “To the one who I can say has shamelessly captured my heart—I stand before you today, in front of those we love, choosing to commit my life to you as you have with me. I pledge you this: that my love for you will hold fast, for better or for worse—for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish and to hold for the rest of my life.”

Your hands trembled in his, but his grip never faltered, grounding you. Tears welled in your eyes again, but you smiled, pressing on. “I, Ying, take you, Alhaitham, to be my lawfully wedded husband. I promise to fight for you and to love you wholeheartedly, so that when the day comes where death does us part, I can stand before him and say that I have loved to my fullest. Till death do us part.”

You barely registered the officiant’s words declaring you as husband and wife. All you could see, all you could feel, was Alhaitham. He stepped closer, his hands cradling your face as he leaned in. The kiss was soft at first, a gentle joining of lips, but it deepened, the world falling away until there was only him.

Somewhere in the background, the crowd, full of people you both cherished, erupted into cheers and applause, but the sound was faint, distant. You and Alhaitham were too wrapped up in each other, too in love to hear anything but the steady thrum of your hearts, beating as one.

By the time the ceremony ended, petals rained down in a shower of color as cheers continued around you. Alhaitham’s hand tightened around yours as though anchoring himself to reality, to you. His free hand brushed a stray petal from your hair, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles.

“It suits you,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You raised a brow, tilting your head curiously. “What does?”

“This,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the air between you both. “Happiness.”

You didn’t have a chance to respond because he leaned down then, closing the space between you in a kiss that was soft yet filled with an unspoken depth. The petals continued to fall, a cascade of color and fragrance that framed the moment, but you barely noticed. All you could focus on was him—Alhaitham, your husband, the man who once seemed untouchable and now looked at you as though you were his entire world.

And for that moment, you believed it too.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

[hopelessromwriter]

Dancing In The Starlight

Azriel x reader

Warnings: none

The night was alive with a luminescent glow, the sky adorned with a tapestry of stars that seemed to dance and twinkle in celebration of an extraordinary meeting.

Among them, Azriel, the shadowy warrior from the Night Court, found himself drawn to a mysterious figure that had captured his attention like no other.

As the moonlight cast its ethereal glow upon the secluded glade, Azriel spotted a lone figure standing in the center, surrounded by an aura of mystique.

The figure seemed to emanate an enigmatic energy, and Azriel's curiosity piqued, drawing him closer with each step.

It was you, an unassuming mortal, caught in a reverie of stardust and moonbeams.

Azriel observed as you spun gracefully, your laughter ringing through the night like a sweet melody. Your soulful eyes sparkled like the stars above, and Azriel found himself entranced by your every move.

Unable to resist the allure of your presence, Azriel stepped forward, his wings of shadows casting a dark and protective embrace around you. His powerful, silent presence did not startle you, but rather, it seemed to intensify the magic of the moment.

"Who are you?" you whispered softly, a glimmer of recognition in your eyes as if you had been expecting him.

Azriel remained wordless, his gaze searching for the right response in the depths of your soul.

He found that your soul was unlike any he had encountered before, a kaleidoscope of emotions and experiences that stirred something deep within him.

Instead of answering, Azriel extended a hand, offering to share a dance under the celestial canopy.

Without hesitation, you placed your hand in his, and the two of you began to sway in harmony with the night breeze.

Time seemed to stand still as you danced, your heartbeats echoing in rhythm.

The barriers that separated your worlds dissolved, leaving only the connection between your souls.

Each step, each touch, felt like a revelation, as if the universe had conspired to bring you both together.

In the silence of the night, you dared to ask him about the secrets he held, the shadows that clung to him like a cloak.

And in return, Azriel shared fragments of his past, his pain, and the battles he had fought for the Night Court.

Despite the darkness he carried within, you sensed the glimmer of hope and compassion within Azriel, a side of him that few had ever glimpsed. It was a fragile vulnerability he entrusted you with, and you vowed to cherish it as a precious gift.

As the night wore on, the dance became a timeless expression of connection and understanding.

With each twirl and spin, you felt as though you were unraveling the complexities of your own heart, exposing your deepest desires and fears to this captivating fae warrior.

With the first light of dawn peeking over the horizon, the dance came to an end.

You gazed into Azriel's eyes, feeling a bittersweet ache that this enchanted moment would soon become a cherished memory.

"Will we meet again?" you asked, your voice filled with a mixture of hope and uncertainty.

Azriel smiled gently, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "The stars have a way of guiding us to where we belong," he replied. "If it's meant to be, we'll find each other again."

With that, Azriel disappeared into the shadows, leaving you standing in the glade, your heart a swirling mix of emotions.

As you watched him go, you knew that this fleeting encounter had forever changed the trajectory of your life.

And so, you kept your gaze fixed on the stars, knowing that somewhere out there, a shadowy warrior named Azriel was doing the same.

The memory of your dance in the starlight remained imprinted in both your hearts, a reminder of the rare and extraordinary connection that could transcend the boundaries of worlds and time.

[icedragonlizard]

Gonna finally discuss this particular topic now.

I'll be quick to admit; I myself acknowledge that the whole "Dark Meta Knight corrupted Sectonia" thing is not confirmed in canon.

It's just a fan theory.

.... But I still kind of subscribe to it in my headcanon universe, lol.

I say "kind of" because in my headcanons, while DMK had some complicity in Sectonia spiraling into madness, he wasn't the main instigator behind it. The main instigator behind it was Dark Mind.

So, "Dark Mind corrupted Sectonia" is more true in my headcanons than "DMK corrupted Sectonia", but the latter is still somewhat true in the interp, as DMK was an accomplice. That's about it, though.

I've said this before in previous tumblr posts of mine, but Dark Mind didn't completely die in my interpretation. He was just neutralized into a weak little fragment that desperately needs someone to follow his orders. And luckily for him, DMK hasn't given up on him and is still willing to follow his orders, even as a mere shadow of his former self.

There was one point where Dark Mind was looking for a new vessel to help accelerate the process of coming back to his former glory. He noticed Joronia looking at the dimensional mirror that Taranza gave her, and figured that she'd be a potential candidate for a new vessel.

Dark Mind would've corrupted Joronia on his own, but he was in too weak of a condition to do so. Therefore, he asked for DMK's help in 'feeding' her dark magic to see if she'd be a good fit for a new vessel. This was a gradual process. They sneakily did it under her nose.

But once she was given enough dark magic, she eventually became too out of control for them. They realized they had given her more dark magic than they needed. She became too corrupted to the point she didn't cooperate with them, and so they gave up and left her to do whatever. That "whatever" was, of course, causing Triple Deluxe.

Sectonia was being tested as a new vessel for Dark Mind, but failed. Dark Mind and DMK just moved on to do something else afterwards.

So yeah, there you have it. DMK technically did help cause Sectonia's descent into madness in my headcanons, but it was merely because Dark Mind told him to do so. It was just an order from his master. Again, he wasn't the main instigator/mastermind behind her downfall.

.... But DMK simply being a mere accomplice to her downfall was still more than enough for Taranza to hate his guts when he found out about it at one point during Star Allies.

Taranza vehemently hates both DMK and Dark Mind.

The beans got spilled when DMK 'privately' confessed it to his friend Daroach, but it got overheard by Magolor, who then informed Taranza.

This resulted in bad blood between Taranza and DMK. Taranza has constantly accused DMK of corrupting Sectonia. He has berated him, has angrily yelled in his face, and has physically attacked him for it. He's even gone as far as to try to kill him for 'ruining his queen'.

At first, DMK scoffed at it. He was just following Dark Mind's order when giving Joronia dark magic. But as Taranza kept attacking DMK more and more, DMK eventually snapped and has become equally vicious and vitriolic to him back. Eventually, he's gotten absolutely sick of being constantly blamed, shunned and demonized.

DMK firmly states several times that Sectonia's corruption was ultimately Taranza's own fault for taking the mirror in the first place.

To be entirely honest? DMK isn't wrong with that statement. After all, Joronia/Sectonia wouldn't have gone into the slippery slope that resulted in her death if Taranza hadn't taken the mirror to give to her. One could easily look at it as if Taranza may just be using DMK as someone to project onto and to blame for Sectonia's demise.

... That being said, it's more than obvious that Taranza didn't know the mirror was going to corrupt Sectonia. And despite the fact that she wouldn't have gone corrupt if he didn't take the mirror, that still didn't mean it was okay for Dark Mind and DMK to do what they did. They took advantage of Taranza's unknowingly bad move. Therefore, I'd say that Taranza ultimately still has the right to be mad at DMK.

And so Taranza continues to hold a vehement grudge against DMK, even after having to accept the fact that Sectonia's corruption would not have happened if he didn't take the mirror. He's not wrong to still be mad at the guy for taking advantage of his irreversible mistake.

It's also resulted in Susie and Magolor sometimes going out of their way to mock/harass DMK, as they both heavily resent him for playing a hand in corrupting their buddy Taranza's queen. Susie mocks DMK by calling him a worse version of Meta Knight, while Magolor tells lots of emo jokes to get on DMK's nerves and even sometimes puts on an edgy outfit to mock him even further. They do it in Taranza's name.

Most of the other star allies, however, have been trying to intervene and stop the bad blood between Taranza and DMK when it got really alarming. Kirby and King Dedede made the declaration to issue restraining orders for Taranza and DMK to have on each other. They are not allowed anywhere near each other during star ally meetings.

I don't portray DMK as pure/irredeemably evil, by the way, despite playing a hand in Sectonia's corruption. I headcanon he's friends with Kirby, Adeleine, Ribbon and especially Daroach who is more or less his bestie. And it's those 4 people that are the most dedicated to stopping Taranza and DMK from going for each other's throats.

Kirby understands why Taranza has a problem with DMK, but Kirby is also a stubborn optimist and continues to see the good in DMK despite what was revealed at one point. He does not at all approve of Taranza and DMK trying to tear each other to shreds. He, alongside many others, are always quick to break up their fights.

And if I have to be honest, I headcanon that Taranza has deep resentment and distrust for the mirror world in general. So even if DMK had absolutely zero hand in Sectonia's corruption in my hcs, Taranza most likely still wouldn't get along with him. Lol... I'm sorry, Taranza and DMK friendship wasn't gonna happen regardless for me.

Although I don't portray most mirror worlders being evil. I interpret DMK, Shadow Dedede and Dark Taranza all being bad/not-good people, but they're outliers, and I wouldn't call any of them irredeemable levels of evil, just crappy people. Shadow Kirby on the other hand is a good person trying to protect the mirror world.

But yeah... I think that's basically it for this post. I'm fully aware that "DMK corrupted Sectonia" is a mere fan theory and not actually proven in canon at all, but I find it interesting enough to implement it into my headcanons, and it's pretty complicated. It wasn't completely of his own volition as it was an order from Dark Mind, and one can argue that Taranza is still at fault for taking the mirror, but ultimately DMK still isn't innocent of this deed. I would also like to mention that I interpret Sectonia already being just a little bit unhinged even before the mirror doomed her. They took advantage of her flaws and amplified it to utterly disastrous levels.

Thanks for reading, guys.