#also yes i am still on hiatus :(

[thetomorrowshow]

time enough for counting

heyyyyyyy sorry

cw: jimmy is still dead, mourning/funeral stuff, loneliness, brief mentions of blood/being killed

~

I haeve left the artefaktes in the hands of the living gods. Taeke holde of them bothe and defeate Exor.

Scott rubs his eyes, sits back in his chair. He's read through the Alinar's cramped cursive instructions in the back of the book over and over again.

Because they are instructions, strangely enough. As far as Scott can tell, Alinar wrote his entire plan to defeat Conal in the back of this book, as frustratingly vague as it is.

Written several times throughout is 'mine apologies fore any person who is nowe fighting an daemone, as I have been vayge in my writing. I feare that this booke myte fall into the hands of the enemie, and fore this purpose mine detailes are sparse'.

The details are kind of sparse, but not as badly as he'd expected. For one thing, Alinar details exactly what kind of mountain he'd locked Conal in, specifying that it isn't the exact location that matters, it needs to be a strong holding place connected to Aeor's power. And there's an entire spell written for making a crystal that should be able to trap Exor's Champion. Not that Scott is capable of that kind of magic, but he could give it to Gem and she could probably create it.

The actually frustrating part is the artifacts. Alinar won't describe them, or where they are, or how to use them. He just cites the same 'taeke holde of them bothe and defeate Exor' whenever he mentions them, and twice he writes that he left them with 'living gods', whatever that means.

Scott's pretty sure he has one of the two artifacts already. He'd found the golden antler crown in that cave, and he knows it dates at least back to Alinar, if not before. The scholars that have examined it have declared it to be of magical properties, and he knows that it has a strong connection to one of the only living gods that he knows of.

So he has the antlers. But there is zero description of what the other artifact might be, or where it might be, or who it was given to.

And Scott has no clue where to start.

It's his most important work to focus on, but his councils never give him time to work on it. He is, after all, running a war right now.

The forces of Mythland have joined up with those of the Lost Empire to launch a targeted attack on the Ocean Kingdom. fWhip's still biding his time, sending out spies (which frequently get caught by Lizzie) and little armies to test the waters at various borders. Scott's work so far has mostly been in setting patrols for his own borders, and sending soldiers out to aid the Ocean Kingdom—not desperately needed, but a good show of their alliance. But having all those forces concentrated on the Ocean Kingdom? Giving the other empires plenty of time to prepare their defenses?

Why Xornoth wants to take down Lizzie is entirely beyond Scott.

It's actually been a minute since he spoke with Lizzie face-to-face—two weeks, to be precise.

Fourteen days since that meeting.

Fourteen days since Jimmy's death was confirmed.

Nine days since Scott released an official mourning statement, mostly written by somebody else who had no real idea of what he and Jimmy shared.

And three days since Ilphas gently suggested working with Lizzie to plan a memorial service for Jimmy.

The court, far too late, has ruled that he and Jimmy remained betrothed despite their eschewing of the betrothal law, due to the state of emergency. So added to his mourning robes is a veil, simpler than those he and Jimmy wore during the betrothal period, plain black cloth with a matching hood.

Mourning vestments are generally worn for a year when the death was of someone close, such as a parent or spouse. Or, in this case, fiance.

Scott's stuck in a mockery of the betrothal he hadn't been able to finish for an entire year.

And now he needs to plan a funeral for his love.

Before he can chicken out, Scott grabs his communicator from his new satchel that hangs off his chair.

The satchel was a gift from the Codlands and had arrived the same day the Cod Empire fell. It's hand-stitched, from what he can tell, with a design in blue of a leaping stag and a cod forming a circle on the side, the main bag a demure brown. He finds himself, sometimes, running his thumb along the stitches of the cod in a self-soothing motion. Since he received it, the bag has barely left his side.

It's a humble gift, one certainly not fit for a king. But Scott sees in it the hard work of someone, or several someones, who only wished to show their appreciation and acceptance to the fiance of their beloved Codfather.

Scott carries it as if it holds the same amount of worth as his crown, and his advisors know better than to say anything about it.

Have you any time for a visit to make memorial plans?

He sets his communicator down, flips to a new page in the ancient book. He has an Old Elvish to Elvish dictionary, but it takes forever to even parse through a paragraph of the original story. And this is less the classic tale of the Two Stags and more a history of Aeor, and while that's very helpful and educational, it's stupidly difficult to understand.

His communicator buzzes before Scott can even begin reading.

Tomorrow.

Right then.

Scott should probably inform his council.

-

Scott stops in the church on his way out of town—strange, for him, but he's trying to show his dedication to Aeor—and just wanders through the hall of paintings there: depictions of Aeor, and Alinar, and other heroes and times.

He halts, meandering, before a large portrait of Alinar that's never seemed to draw him in in the past. He remembers being a child, here in the hall on his way to his religious studies, walking far slower than necessary just to gaze at all the art but passing over this one with little consideration.

In the painting, Alinar sits on his throne, the whole hall laid out before him. His chin is held high, his robes lavish and deep blue, his crown of antlers shining gold. The hilt of a sword sticks out behind the back of the throne, a brown streak of paint against the beams of light filtering in through the grand windows behind Alinar.

Alinar himself is missing his left arm—a common depiction of the king, one that Scott read a scholarly debate about several years ago. The generally accepted theory is that it represents the distance and early death of his closest friend, a desert nomad tribe leader known to the elves as Lisdes—one of very few non-elves that has been granted a presence in the most glorious of heavens for his heroic works. Other theories include that it is a representation of the civil war fought under his reign—when Conal, his own twin brother, rebelled, it was like losing his arm; or that it is a representation of Alinar's control in many parts of the world, with one hand overseeing the elven colonies of the east (long gone) while the other rules from home.

There are many theories, but none have been found true, especially since the depiction isn't universal. Somewhere around fifty percent of the artists that have created a likeness of him do so without the arm, but the others include it. For all anyone knows, one artist forgot the arm and everyone else decided it was so meaningful that they needed to copy it.

The last one is unlikely. There's a folk tale of Alinar and Lisdes journeying together to a mountain of fire to retrieve his lost arm, so it probably had its beginnings in something other than a painting. Whatever it was, the truth has been lost to time.

In this painting, there is no one near Alinar. There are groups of people milling around in the hall below his gaze, but none of them interact with him, or even look to him.

Scott's always thought, looking at this, that Alinar was rather haughty.

Now, he sees him as lonely.

This portrait was painted only a couple of hundred years after his death, titled simply 'A King'. No embellishments of the ancient hero, none but those painted: the crescent moon halo hanging above his head, the jewels hanging from his robes, the carefully-detailed chain earring looping down around his long ear.

He's a king.

Nothing more, nothing less.

An elf with the role of leadership.

Adorned in gold and rich cloth, secluded above the other elves, looking down almost mournfully upon his people.

It's funny, Scott thinks, that he's never related to this painting. He'd always preferred the one two paintings down, of Alinar plunging a golden sword into a one-eyed monster, a pillar of light shining down on him from a moon above him.

That one seems to hold less wonder than it always did.

In that one, he can't help but see the pain in Alinar's determined eyes.

How much did he lose in his journey to become a hero?

His brother. Citizens of his kingdom. His best friend.

More, maybe, that was never written.

Never remembered.

Will Scott's losses be remembered?

Will Jimmy be more than a quick mark in the history books?

In the 109th year of his life, King Smajor was briefly engaged to the ruler of the Codlands. The ruler was killed in battle.

To an outsider's point of view, that is the maximum relevance that Jimmy has had on Scott's life.

Jimmy isn't some hero, as Lisdes was. He's just . . . just Jimmy. And his time here was short.

Far too short.

Maybe even insignificant. He established—what, ten years of peace in a country destroyed by war for hundreds of years prior? Only for it to be conquered again?

Who is going to remember the only person Scott truly loved?

Now, for the first time in a very long time, Scott sees just how far ahead the road stretches.

If they defeat Xornoth, he will have to survive hundreds of years without Jimmy. He will have to watch his beloved fade from the memory of mortals, as the world changes and he is alone.

Alinar is always alone in the paintings.

And then, after he dies, there will be nobody to anchor any part of Jimmy to this world.

No one lives forever, but even Jimmy's death will not last.

Scott turns away from the hall of paintings, adjusting the veil covering his face. He needs to plan a memorial worth a place in history.

He leaves Rivendell and sets out for the Ocean Kingdom, swallowing back the lump in his throat.

He can't help but think, in future paintings, he will always be portrayed alone.

-

Scott's shown to a meeting room when he arrives (after he's led to a set of rooms to change from his travel wear and throw some water on his face), and as he waits, examining the carvings on the table, he's reminded of another Ocean Kingdom meeting room, from months and worlds ago, when he had waited half-asleep to request an alliance.

He thinks, maybe, that he was in love with Jimmy, even back then. Back when he knew practically nothing about the man, some part of his soul deep within knew that they belonged together.

Which is a stupid and cheesy thought, as true as it may be. After all, he'd been so worried about Jimmy that he hadn't gotten much sleep in days. What kind of person does that without having feelings attached?

There were so many things to love about Jimmy, too. His sense of humor, the dimple in his cheek, his strong hugs, the kindness in his every action, his perpetually tangled hair, his loud laugh, the soft smiles he reserved for Scott, the feel of his lips. . . .

And he's gone.

And Scott knows that.

And now he has to live with it.

"Hey."

Scott looks up; Lizzie stands in the doorway, dressed in a simple grey dress that hangs off the shoulders. She gives him a small smile but makes no move to join him at the table.

Scott, of course, stands. He inclines his head in a bit of a bow, straightens his crown where it's set carefully over his hood.

"It's good to see you," he says, after what's probably been too long of a time. He waits for Lizzie to step within, but she still lingers.

"I wish they had been under happier circumstances," Lizzie says. "Apologies if I have to be pulled away, my armies are active at the moment."

"All going well?"

"Very," she replies. "As it turns out, it's a little difficult to attack an underwater empire when you can't breathe underwater."

Scott chuckles politely. That makes sense.

They stand in silence for a few more moments before Lizzie sighs.

"Look, Scott," she says. "I don't really want to sit here and talk about my little brother's death. Can we walk?"

Scott hurries to obey, shoving his chair in and tripping over his own robe. Lizzie waits patiently by the door, begins walking as soon as he gets out of the room.

"Not to—not to bring the conversation down—" Scott says, lengthening his stride to keep up (for someone who's only five foot something, Lizzie moves fast), "but . . . isn't that what this meeting is about?"

"Hm?"

"You just said that you don't wish to talk about—about Jimmy," he says, willing his voice not to crack. "But—"

"Joel actually offered to take care of it," Lizzie says. She halts, turns to look out the large windows of the passageway they've been walking down.

Scott stops beside her. They're in an underwater portion of the palace, and out the window is the sea.

A school of fish swim by, right beside the window, beyond them the clear blues of a sun-filtered ocean. Scott watches the waves on the surface (they're only just below) lap back and forth, adding a gentle sway to the floating bits of seaweed and the little bubbles.

"Mezeleans do a three day mourning period," Lizzie says after a moment. "Joel felt bad. He wanted to do more. So he asked if he could plan the service, since he doesn't have a forty day mourning period like us."

Scott blinks. "Sorry, forty days?"

"Yes," says Lizzie. She turns to Scott. "Is yours different?"

Forty days doesn't feel near long enough. That means Lizzie has only—what, three more weeks of mourning? And then she has to go on with her life, as if Jimmy never existed?

"For a betrothed, the elven tradition is one year," Scott tells her, watching her face for a reaction.

Her eyebrows raise, her eyes flick over to his veil before turning back to the sea.

"The court made its decision, then."

Scott nods.

They stand there, silent, staring out the window.

"I can't even imagine a year," Lizzie says at the same time as Scott says, "Only forty days?"

Scott mutters an apology. Lizzie shrugs.

"It gives us enough time to remember the dead, then go on to celebrate their life," she says. "Not long enough that we dwell, but long enough that we honor them. The grief is too heavy to carry it for so long. How can you even survive a year of it?"

"We lead a long life," says Scott. "Most elves live to be a thousand years old. A year isn't so long a time in the grand turning of our lives—can we not give it up for our loved ones?"

That's what he's been taught, at least. Standing here at the beginning of it, a year feels like an awfully long period of time.

He can see the appeal of forty days, even if he can't even imagine it. And worse, Joel—three days. As much time as he spent sequestered in Gem's secret library. That was the entire length of Joel's mourning period.

And suddenly, Scott remembers something that he's been carrying around for the past two weeks.

"I have something for you," he says, reaching for his shoulder bag. Right, he'd left it in the set of rooms that he'd freshened up in— "I found it at Crystal Cliffs—"

"I have something for you, too," Lizzie interrupts. "I thought it looked kind of elvish, but I wasn't sure—"

"Can we stop by my rooms, and I can get it?"

Lizzie nods. "Yours is in the Grotto, we can go on the way—"

And with that, she's off at almost a run, back down the way they came.

Scott follows, robes billowing around him, each step a hard slap against the prismarine floor, as compared to Lizzie's almost silent feet. She stops at the set of guest rooms that Scott had been led to earlier, and he grabs his satchel off the hook just inside the door before she takes off again, to the end of the hall, and down down down a long spiral staircase.

Scott follows, legs beginning to burn. In Rivendell, he usually just glides down cliffs or long staircases. He isn't used to the tight spirals here, no room to spread his wings to their full length.

They go down at least five levels. Scott doesn't really like being underground—even Gem's hidden library had been a little too close for comfort—but he swallows back his discomfort and follows, as Lizzie leads him through a dimly lit hallway and then into a dark, smooth tunnel, walls a beautiful deep blue.

The tunnel's made of glass, he realizes about halfway down, after trying to figure out what material could have been used to create such a mesmerizing blue-ish darkness. It's glass, and through the other side is the depths of the ocean.

As impressive as it is, Scott's not sure he likes that. Water all around him, ready to flood in if the glass breaks under all the pressure? Doesn't really sound like his idea of fun. He can't exactly swim all that well—his feathers get waterlogged instantly and he tends to sink fairly quickly. He found that out when he was around sixty-five or seventy, and Xornoth tried to drown him. Good times.

But he follows Lizzie through the tunnel, trusting that she wouldn't take him down any path likely to break. And trusting a bit more, perhaps, in her ability to save him if he does end up drowning.

Then Scott steps into the room at the end of the tunnel, and feels his eyebrows practically hit his hairline.

This is beautiful.

A cave, small but open, lit by lanterns hanging from the craggly ceiling, lined with shelves and stools chiseled out of stone. The cave sparkles, as if the rock that forms it is actually crystal, or rather, that little specks of gold are woven in so well with the stone that the sparkle has become indiscernible from the rock.

The shelves carved into the rock hold all manners of preciosities, from ancient crowns to sparkling jewels to seemingly ordinary items that glow with a magical sheen. Fishnets hang from the cave wall, and from those fishnets hang exceedingly fine pieces of armor and clothing, some so bright they seem to be a patch of starlight, others made of materials that look like they oughtn't be clothes (is that a dress made of driftwood?). Scott sees a tiara made entirely out of sapphires wired together, a pair of gloves sewn of what appears to be a spider's string, a bundle of bejeweled fish hooks, and a clearly enchanted scepter made of glass all on the first shelf, but Lizzie bypasses all of these things without even a second glance and leads the way to the left side of the cave, where she draws back one of the nets.

She turns after a moment, raises an eyebrow to see Scott still standing in the entryway.

"Right, you've never been down here," she says after a moment of staring at each other. "Welcome to the Grotto, home of the Ocean Kingdom's treasures! Ignore them, though. This is for you, over here."

Scott's kind of afraid that he'll knock something over, considering the fragile items on the shelves and stone stools and the size of his wings. But he inches his way through anyhow, keeping an eye on his every side. His thumb runs along the stitches of the cod on his satchel as he steps sideways around a glowing red rock on a pedestal, each movement careful until he reaches Lizzie.

She's holding back the net on this part of the wall to reveal behind it a little alcove, which begs the question of other alcoves all through this room, hiding who knows what. Scott steps forward, peers within.

Inside this little stone alcove is a pair of soft, blue leather boots, tall and folded over on themselves, the laces a faded white. A script that he instantly recognizes as Old Elvish (a bit of a shock to find here, surrounded by so many unfamiliarities) is pressed into the leather, trailing around the foot and up the back of the boots.

They almost seem to glow.

Scott feels something heavy in his chest, as if his breath has weighed all the way down to his stomach.

They feel . . . powerful. Magical.

Gingerly, Scott picks them up (something ancient pulses out through his fingers as they wrap around the soft leather), turns them over to look at the soles. He's not sure what he expects to find—a label? A size?—but the sole is blank, just barely scuffed from wear.

They haven't been used much, then. Barely-worn.

These boots are the other artifact. Scott's sure of it.

He doesn't know how, or why, but he knows.

He's holding boots that Alinar himself wore. Alinar wore these to face off Exor's Champion.

Was Alinar afraid? Did he stand there, palms sweating, feet flexing in these very boots, just gathering the courage to attack?

Did he think he would survive? Did he doubt himself?

Thoughts that Scott's never had before just push into his mind. In the stories, Alinar is always calm in battle, assured in his power, wise in his rulings.

But now that Scott is almost literally in his shoes, he can't help but wonder if Alinar ever felt the doubts he's feeling. If Alinar felt the pain of his losses so profoundly that he wasn't sure he could go on. If Alinar was scared his plans wouldn't work and he would lose the war, lose everything. If Alinar ever was tired of the weight of the entire world on his shoulders.

"They felt powerful," Lizzie says. Scott starts—he had forgotten she was there.

She's right. They are powerful, even if he doesn't understand how yet.

"I think," he says, putting his thoughts behind him, "that these are very important."

He doesn't say anything else about them. He doesn't say that he thinks they might end the war. He doesn't say that he thinks this is it, he thinks he has both the artifacts now and that means it's time to take down Xornoth.

Instead, he asks, still somewhat in awe, "Where did you find them?"

Lizzie shrugs. "Well, you know the Mezelean mourning period?" she says. "Three days of total isolation. We thought it was best, since I am the queen consort of Mezelea, that I participate in it as well. So those three days I spent down here, cataloguing the treasures. I don't know what many of them are, after all. I found those right there in the wall. When I tried to touch them, they . . . they burned me."

Scott looks at the boots in his hands, then back at Lizzie. "And you didn't warn me?" he says incredulously.

Lizzie seems unrepentant. "I figured you knew what you were doing."

"What I'm hearing is that you were going to let me get burned."

"That doesn't matter. So—what do they mean?"

They could mean everything.

Scott just shrugs, though, and shifts them to one arm so he can reach into his satchel with the other.

From his satchel, he pulls the ancient book he'd found, with the unfamiliar writings and the little bag hanging from the spine.

(Unnoticed, the smaller book that was tucked inside slips from between the pages of the book, falling deeper into Scott's shoulder bag.)

"Gem found a secret library," he explains, handing Lizzie the book. "We thought this looked kind of Oceanic. Can you read it?"

Lizzie takes it from his hands carefully, studies the cover.

She goes entirely still.

"What is it?" Scott prods.

She doesn't respond. She doesn't even seem to hear him, eyes scanning the cover of the book. Trance-like, she reaches for the little drawstring bag, squeezes it gently in her palm.

Before Scott can repeat his question, Lizzie turns to the stool beside her, sweeps off the glowing wooden staff resting there without a second thought. Scott hops back as the staff clatters against the stone ground, shooting sparks from both ends.

She lays the book on the stool, but doesn't flip it open. Instead, she picks up the pouch, hanging by the cord, and pulls it open. She peers inside, then tips the pouch over onto the stool.

"What is that?"

"I . . . have no idea," Lizzie says.

The 'that' in question is some kind of ball, a little wobbly like jelly, blue and flecked with gold and green. It's not quite round, parts of it sprouting with something like seaweed, little leaves poking out in a couple of different places.

It looks gross, if Scott's being honest with himself. He can just imagine the way it feels, squishy and weirdly sticky but not and—urgh, he never wants to touch it ever. It definitely is the kind of thing that would make all of his hairs stand on end and shivers run up his spine. He wants to gag just thinking about it.

"I wonder how long that's been in there," Lizzie whispers, sounding almost awestruck.

"Well, Gem's library hasn't been touched in hundreds of years, probably," Scott says. "So a while."

"Do you think it's crunchy?"

"Why would it be crunchy?"

"Parts of it look like seaglass." Lizzie, daringly, pokes the ball. It jiggles.

"Why would you touch it?" hisses Scott, just barely suppressing his gag reflex. "Great, now you probably have diseases."

"Say I were to take a bite out of it."

"Do not take a bite out of it."

"I'm not going to! But say I were. Would it be slimy, or chewy? Or crunchy."

"It doesn't matter, because you aren't going to eat it."

"Don't tell me what to do, Smajor."

"Oh, for Aeor's—" Scott cuts off the curse with a little sound—not a scream, or a screech, nothing undignified like that would ever leave his mouth—of fright as the staff on the floor shoots out sparks again, almost seeming to aim for him.

"Your god is mad at you for invoking his name to stop me from eating the thing," Lizzie says somberly. "He wants me to eat the thing."

Scott puts his hands in the air, still holding the boots. He shouldn't try to argue, it'll only make her more set in her ways. "Look, when you die after eating it—because that thing absolutely will kill you, look at it—tell Jimmy that I tried to stop you, and you made the choice yourself."

Lizzie lets out a snort of laughter, something that both relieves Scott (it was an okay joke to make, they're both starting to heal) and scares him (he just mentioned Jimmy and he isn't crying, he made a joke about his dead fiance, it should hurt more than it does).

"Of course. Any other messages to pass along before I experience this delightful new fruit?"

So, so many things. He oughtn't take this seriously, really—they're just kidding around, Lizzie isn't actually going to eat that thing.

"Just tell him I love him," he says, going for a light tone. It falls flat, sad, and Lizzie just looks awkwardly at her feet.

"If I could've changed anything, I would have," she says after a moment. "That warning message you sent? Hours after I got it, we received word from the Cod Empire that the attack had begun. I can't help but feel . . . maybe I should've gone to check on him. Called him to the Ocean for some reason. But . . . . maybe that wouldn't have really made anything better, would it?"

Scott opens his mouth to protest—Jimmy being alive would make things quite a bit better, in his opinion—but Lizzie continues.

"You haven't been there, Scott," she says mournfully. "The Codlands. It's . . . it's bad. And whether Jimmy was there or not, they would've been conquered. At least, with Jimmy's death, they feel like they have a purpose to keep fighting. Keep going. They think if they annoy Sausage badly enough, he'll just give up on them. If Jimmy was here right now, I don't think they'd have the motivation. So if anything good comes of Jimmy's death . . . I hope it's that."

Possibly the most bleak and depressing thing Scott's ever heard Lizzie say, and it absolutely makes him want to cry.

He's not going to cry, though. Despite the fact that Lizzie said the words Jimmy's death twice just then, and said that maybe good would come of it, Scott isn't going to cry.

Instead, he hefts the boots in his arms, and Lizzie, still looking away, picks up the book again and loops the cord hanging from the spine around her fingers.

"You have the boots," she says, voice a bit thick. "I have the book. Sounds like a deal. Want to shake on it?"

Scott does his best to smile. "Of course," he says, shifting the boots more to his left arm and extending his right.

Lizzie's hand meets his, cool and soft, his thumb brushing against a scale on her knuckle.

Maybe it's his imagination, but as his hand grips hers, something sparks up his arm.

Something electric courses up through his veins, up his arm and through his shoulder into his throat and down to his toes, and Scott doesn't move, frozen by the feeling, but Lizzie's hand jerks a little and he looks up to see her wide-eyed, a frown creasing her brow.

They stand there, hand in hand, unmoving.

All is silent.

"That felt important," Lizzie says in a hushed tone.

"That was some sort of deal with destiny," Scott agrees, looking down at the boots in his grasp, the book in Lizzie's.

These are both something very, very crucial.

And now to get to work.

-

He isn't able to get straight to work, though, only managing to find two books on artifacts and their qualities before he receives a summons to Jimmy's memorial service.

It's held at the Overgrown, and Scott arrives in his best mourning vestments, the Cod-made bag on his shoulder. Ilphas accompanies him, along with three guards.

Lizzie is seated beside him, at the front, hair braided behind her and dress long and layered, gently melding from light grey at the top to black at the hem. Joel sits behind the pulpit, anxiously shuffling papers for the eulogy, dressed normally but for the black sash across his purple coat. Katherine is across the aisle, her normal lavender dress replaced by a blue floral-patterned one, flowers weaved into her hair.

Shelby takes her seat behind Scott, a handkerchief clutched in her hand, dressed in a brown three-piece suit. Gem sits beside her, squeezing Scott's shoulder briefly, wearing her normal but in black.

Pearl finds a place behind Katherine, wearing a sunny yellow shirt under a grey dress, her sunflower crown sparkling on her head. The place beside her, reserved for Pix, remains empty.

The next three rows seat their various guards and advisors, one row left open for the three leaders that had to be invited, but know better than to show up. Scott won't hesitate to kill a man at his fiance's funeral, and he imagines that there would be a bit of a line behind him to pummel the dead bodies.

And behind them, the chapel is full of various minor royals that had been able to make the trip. Scott recognizes several elves, a Mezelean duke, and a representative from the Grimlands who seems very uncomfortable beside the fae that he's seated between.

There are also, to his surprise, near the back of the seats, a handful of Cod people, their finest clothes shabby and their heads bowed.

Scott turns back around in his seat when he catches Ilphas glaring at him. It isn't proper to be peering over his shoulder at all those who file in. He's a king, his job is to look kingly.

So he stares, blankly (hoping he looks at least somewhat enigmatic), at the pulpit.

And the service . . . the service is nice. Joel gives a nice eulogy, and Katherine says a couple of words, and about halfway through the service, the group of Cod refugees perform a traditional Cod song of farewell, which absolutely brings tears to Scott's eyes.

But it doesn't really feel like Jimmy. Jimmy was awkward, and hotheaded, and loud, and funny, and full of so much love. And even though Joel calls him an idiot three separate times during the eulogy, Scott just feels like the whole ceremony is too stiff and polite for it to be right.

And then Lizzie stands up, and makes her way to the pulpit for her closing remarks.

She gazes out among the people, chin held high and eyes solemn. When she speaks, her voice carries all the way to the back of the airy chapel.

"I knew the Codfather better than anyone," she starts, regal and measured. "I knew his character, his dreams, all his likes and his dislikes—or, most of them. Some of them I had no interest in knowing, but I'm sure Lord Smajor can tell you all about them."

A light chuckle ripples through the crowd. Scott feels his cheeks go just a tad bit paler. Lizzie catches his eye to give him a bit of a smile before turning back out to the congregation.

"I knew Jimmy," she continues. "And I know that my brother would never run from a fight. He was brave, and stubborn, and maybe a little stupid—which I can say, because he was my little brother. It was that bravery, that stubbornness—that loyalty that he had, that kept him from backing down. Even at his last moment."

She pauses, eyes on the back of the crowd. "Jimmy fought until the very end," she says, the words strong. "Even as the sword of a Mythland soldier drove past his armor, he fought. Even as his lifeblood spilled from him, he fought. Even as he fell to his knees, he fought."

Her voice is shaking suddenly, not with grief, not with anxiety, but with anger—hot, radiating anger. And Scott's face is wet, the veil sticking to his cheeks, a lump in his throat that he keeps trying to swallow away; he'd made it this far without crying but he hadn't heard those details and he can't control the tears.

Where did Lizzie get details about Jimmy's death?

"My brother fought for your freedom, and died for your freedom," declares Lizzie fiercely, tears sparkling in her eyes. "I would therefore urge you to defend your people, your country, and fight back against the evil of this demon! Don't let Jimmy's death be in vain. His people are currently in the captivity of Mythland, subjected to poverty and brutality, and if there is anything that we can do to keep the memory of the Codfather alive it is fight. Fight for their freedom, for your freedom, and for the eternal freedom of all who have already lost their lives in this war. Fight for Jimmy."

And on that dramatic note, she steps away and sits down. Scott can feel (not quite hear, more the sight of her shoulders shaking in his peripheral) her breathing heavily beside him, somehow managing to sound angry without even making a noise.

Silence.

Not a member of the crowd so much as coughs.

After a long moment, Joel stands again, steps up to the podium.

Scott expects him to be anxious, awkward. He can't well look around behind him, but he can imagine that quite a few of both Katherine's and Pearl's people would be unhappy with that speech, as both empires have currently declared neutrality in the conflict. He expects Joel to make some sort of vague statement about how everyone is doing their part, and maybe remark on how bold Lizzie's words had been with a nervous little laugh.

Joel doesn't do that, though. Joel levels his steely gaze at the crowd and says, words precise and cut-off, "Thank you for your words, your majesty. I'm sure that we will all find them enlightening and instructive."

Joel's mad, then. Scott's seen Joel's performance anger, his blustering and shouting and shaking of his head. He's never seen this frigidity, so perfectly the opposite of Lizzie just moments ago.

He's a little bit glad he turned down Joel's invitation to speak. He doesn't know how he would have competed with the two of them.

"Thank you to all who attended, especially those refugees from the Codlands. Our hearts and swords are with you in this time of loss."

Joel takes another moment just to look out over everyone, face stony, eyes cold. He nods sharply.

"Have a good evening."

Nobody moves. Scott resists the very strong urge to glance around.

Then Joel steps away, and Katherine stands up, and there's the great bustle of everyone else standing and whispering and gathering their things.

Scott doesn't get up. Instead, knowing that he's being watched, he turns toward Lizzie and shakes her hand with a small nod.

"How do you know what you said?" he mutters to her.

Lizzie smiles in return, brushing a pink strand of hair that's pulled loose from her braid behind her ear. "Everarda, a Cod refugee in the Ocean Kingdom," she says in a similar tone. "She witnessed it. She only managed to escape last week."

Of course people witnessed Jimmy's death. He doesn't know why he subconsciously assumed that no one had.

Scott can't even imagine watching his fiance die like that. He can't even imagine Jimmy on his knees, pain in every line of his face, soaked in blood, yet still swinging his sword at anyone who comes near, desperate to defend his people even until he eventually collapses.

He can't imagine the hoarse cries tearing from his throat as he's stabbed, the shuddering of his shoulders as he strains to lift his sword, the clanking of his armor as he falls to his knees, the tears in his eyes as he watches his people fall around him.

And Scott definitely can't imagine that maybe, in those last moments, he'd turned his eyes upward and begged for Scott, searching the skies for his first and final hope.

"Scott," Lizzie murmurs, a note of warning in her voice.

Scott blinks, and a tear falls from his lashes. Not good. He's meant to be stoic and unfeeling and respectable, and this is the second time he's cried in public in the past hour. In the past ten minutes, even.

People are watching. Ilphas is probably going to kill him. Kings aren't supposed to cry, they aren't supposed to actually have feelings.

Hopefully it isn't too noticeable. He has his veil, after all, but his eyes do get uncommonly red when he cries. Anyone could easily see the way his eyes scrunch as he wills himself not to cry, the tears, the splotchy redness, the way his shoulders tremble just the slightest bit.

"Have you heard from Pix lately?" Lizzie says suddenly, staring past Scott to Pix's empty seat. "He was one of Jimmy's closest friends. He should have been here."

Scott doesn't know. He hasn't seen Pix since the End.

He doesn't think about it for long.

He sits there, and thinks about nothing, particularly not Jimmy, until it's time for him to leave.

And when he gets home, he dives right back into his books.

Two days later finds him alone, in his study, head achy from crying, angry at the fruitless searches and his own inaction.

And Scott's done waiting. He's done researching, done preparing. Lizzie's speech hit a chord near his heart.

If the fight won't come to him, he'll bring the fight to Xornoth.

Scott reaches into his satchel, hanging from his chair, and grabs the boots.

[serenanymph]

find the word tag

tagged by @space-writes over here, with the words gentle, subtle, ample, and substantial. gonna tag uhhh @halfbit, @faytelumos, @writingamongther0ses, @lyssa-ink and @reneesbooks with the words silence, section, shallow and shatter!

gentle

Iri drops the man back onto the ground, and Beatriz stares at the spike dissolving into the soil with a hiss, turning it black and gooey. There’s a layer of dust hovering above the ground, kicked up from all of the commotion, and she barely has the presence of mind to guide in a gentle breeze, clearing the area so they won’t launch into a coughing fit mid-battle. Any moment now, the Noxx will be coming, but all she can do is stare at the man. The man who had just used the same kind of magic Noxx possess.

subtle (surprisingly this came from the most recent paragraph, though written when I was half-asleep so it makes less sense than usual. does this count as a last line tag I have way too many of those in my drafts)

She plunks the sole chunk of lirstone they have left in the center. The light throws stretching, malformed shadows onto the surrounding walls, paints everyone’s faces in pale, washed-out grey that almost makes them look ghostly. The tunnel stretches before them, winding and dark and no different from every other tunnel they’d passed through. They’d been sticking to the larger ones, the ones that sloped upwards, in the hopes of finding another exit, but she can barely notice any change. She hopes it’s just because of how subtle the transition had been; not because they’ve been going in circles.

no ample, but I did find one instance of plenty

“He’s a kid,” Icarus says. “He’s the same age as us,” she retorts. “That’s plenty old enough to make a decision like this, especially when you’re half Beast. Hell, look at Crys – he’s had anti-Beast values drilled into him since he was a kid. Didn’t stop him from seeing you like an actual person and helping you,” Rhyme points out, though her expression is a little sour. “But the Witchhunter’s Mutt? You saw what went down just now. He hates your bloody guts.”

substantial

Around her, magic flares – Icarus – tugging at the wind, too panicked to actually do anything substantial save for generate a weak breeze, grip dulled by his scattered focus and the fact that he’s currently struggling not to start flipping head over heels.

taglist (lmk if you want to be +/-): @deer-in-headlights-stare, @allianaavelinjackson, @arctic-oceans, @space-writes, @reneesbooks

[halloweend]

this blog is officially off hiatus as of today!!! happy spooky season everyone <3 now steve will still be main priority (esp w how much i owe there), but it’s the spooky babies season to shine! so i’ll be popping in here for sure & definitely aim to today - even if i only answer memes - i’m def gonna do some stuff! but yeah! spooky season time!!!

[therevengeoffrankenstein]

openly weeping at the idea of someone genuinely hating soul punk.

[scarletteflamerald]

Palamedes mention!!

[singsweetmelodies]

k

[supercantaloupe]

ughh listening to victoria always makes me wish i was in a chamber choir again

[mako-neexu]

.

[algae-tm]

LOVE STORY

Max Verstappen x Author!Reader

Author’s Note: IM BACK!! To put things into perspective, I started this smau when Alex’s insta was still private! Tbh I started writing it cause I like love her, I can’t call her mother cause she’s like a month older than me, but that’s cousin right there. Anyways sorry for the hiatus i was spiralling due to a man 😔😔 it happens to the baddest bitches, and also sort of writers block so pls give me requests! But to make up for the fact that I’ve been gone, this fic is fat as fuck so enjoy

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

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alexandrasaintmleux just posted

liked by pierregasly, charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and 300,000 others

alexandrasaintmleux: gorgeous gorgeous girls are published authors!!!! y/n, y/n! I remember when you used to force me to read when I wanted to play princesses and now you’ve written a goddam book!!! In awe of u 📕🥰🥰

(tagged y/nreads)

view all comments

yn.reads : ALEXXXX!! my gorgeous sister! I couldn’t have done it without you!! Love you endlessly!

— user1 : wait r they sisters???!!

— user5 : no! hope this helps.

— user6 : pls use your brain

— user7 : they’ve known eachother forever! y/n moved to Monaco when she was 4, so they refer to eachother as sisters.

charles_leclerc: bravo y/n! Well deserved

maxverstappen1: 👏🏻👏🏻

— user43: 🤨🤨

— user10: wait do they know eachother?

— user15: not as far as i know…

— user12: Max doesn’t even follow Alex, why is he here?

— user17: interesting 🤭🤭

— alexandrasaintmleux: very interesting…

yn.reads just posted

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, maxverstappen1 and 110,000 others

yn.reads: @alexandrasaintmleux thank you for letting me shake ass on your yacht, and cosplay as a rich monegasque while doing it! Your support has meant the world to me, you’re the reason Everything I Know About Love was written, cause you have taught me everything I know about love, friendship, life! You can purchase my book in just under a week guys!!

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alexandrasaintmleux: I’m so proud of you baby xx

— yn.reads: i love you so much alex, i had to write 124,567 words to express it

— alexandrasaintmleux: 🥹🥹

—charles_leclerc: am i intruding on something?

— yn.reads: yes!

user12: no but Alex and y/n’s friendship is literally my favourite thing

user11: is y/n not a rich monegasque?

— user10: she’s not even from Monaco, and she grew up with a single mum who I’m p sure just has a normal job so no

user14: not y/n using Alex for her money

— yn.reads: do y’all never get tired? Or is hating on the internet like your job?

— user14: no I have an actual job you should try it sometime…

— yn.reads: girl???? I just wrote a book?????

maxverstappen1 : I will read this book

— yn.reads: thank you max verstappen, current f1 champion

— user16: 🤨🤨🤨

— alexandrasaintmleux: what am I witnessing rn

— yn.reads: 🙃🙃

MESSAGES

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yn.reads just posted

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yn.reads: BOOKLAUNCHBOOKLAUNCHBOOKLAUNCH

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lewishamilton: 👏🏾👏🏾

— yn.reads: WHAT THE FRICK LEWISHAMILTON??? What are you doing here??????!!

— alexandrasaintmleux: girl you good??

— yn.reads: am I good?? AM IGOOD?? Lewis freaking Hamilton knows I exist!!!

— charles_leclerc: please stop embarrassing me in front of my coworkers

— yn.reads: kick rocks leclerc

pierregasly: well done, me and kika already have our copies

— yn.reads: 🥺🥺 thank you pear and kiks

alexandrasaintmleux: so proud of you mon ange

— yn.reads: I love you so much alex

— user12: their friendship is so cute I can’t

— yn.reads: friendship?? We’re lovers!

— user12: wait are you actually???

— charles_lecelrc: NO

— yn.reads: don’t be jealous sharl

charles_leclerc: well done I guess

— yn.reads: thank you I guess

— alexandrasaintmleux: aww my two favourite people getting along ❤️🥺🥺

— user12: I need my doctor to prescribe me whatever the fuck Alex is on EXPEDITIOUSLY

user14: girl no one gives a fuck about your book launch, we want to know wtf happened at the after party??!

—user15 wait, did I miss something what happened?

— user14: it’s all over social media but it starts with max and ends in verstappen

maxverstappen1: simply lovely

— user14: well well well

— user15: and she didn’t even interact with his comment

— user14: very interesting…

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maxverstappen1 just posted

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maxverstappen1: I’ve got a NYT bestselling author teaching me how to read

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charles_leclerc: I made this happen everyone! It was me! I did it!

— yn.reads: yes well done percy, we’re well aware

— user12: wait a minute Charles did something nice for y/n?

— user14: my moneys on the fact he was just trying to get rid of her so he could spend time with Alex

— charles_leclerc: what if i told you im a mastermind 😎

yn.reads: it isn’t much but it’s honest work 😔

— danielricciardo: has he learnt his abc’s??

— yn.reads: just about he gets stuck on x, it’s a very difficult letter

— danielricciardo: happens to the best of us 😞

— yn.reads: @/danielricciardo hey I actually have a question for you??

— maxverstappen1: NO!! Y/N DO NOT ASK UR QUESTION

— yn.reads: ☹️☹️

user16: is this a hard launch??

— user14: Idek anymore 😭

— user17: like knowing y/n she might actually just be giving him reading lessons

— maxverstappen1: guys of course I can actually read

— user16: yeah sure you can! That’s the spirit!

yn.reads: I bagged the baddest bitch y’all

—maxverstappen1: 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️💅🏼💅🏼

— alexandrasaintmleux: I thought I was the baddest bitch???

— yn.reads: oh my god… OH MY GOD, I didn’t think this through… @/maxverstappen1 what do you think of a throuple??

— maxverstappen1: NO

— charles_leclerc: NO

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

TAGLIST

@forevercaffeinated-lee

@callsignwidow

@a-beaverhausen

@emryb

@c0deincrazy

@dontworryaboutitokie

@c-losur3

@chuxk-lerclerk

@silkenthusiasts

@ietss

@sp1rl

[oreo-creampie]

𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐝𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬! fluff, suggestiveness - talking about/hinting towards satoru fingering/eating you out but nothing happens, kissing, satoru fondly makes fun of you a lil, he also carries you around, collage au, collage student!reader, collage student!gojo

fey: I’m still gonna be on hiatus for a little longer but in the mean time have this fluff nugget inspired by my hubby

Satoru huffs and pokes your cheek till you swat his hand away. He flops on the bed next to you, the soft breeze and movement disturbing your carefully placed papers.

You whine “Satoru!”

“Sweet pie! You’ve been studying and working in that essay all day for the past three days please!” He throws his hand across his forehead, clutching his chest. “I beg of you feed me attention before I starve. I’m wilting away before you! How cold hearted can you be.” His eyes are with tears.

Tossing your throw blanket over him, “This should keep you warm.” You take you eyes off the screen to read the open text book next to you. Before referring to your notes then glancing back up at your computer screen.

He pops his head out from underneath the blanket with gasp. “No I’m not cold! You’re cold hearted!” He sits up and wraps his arms around you. “Please just an hour, we can order some food, take a shower get you out of your funky funk.” Pinching his nose and waving his hand in front of his face.

“You’re foul.”

You can hear the smile in his voice. “Like your armpits! Study starting break now! I your wonderful boyfriend refuse to let you be stinky.” He slowly closes the lid on the rough draft of your paper.“I’ll help you write some more after, if you don’t give your mind a break you’ll fry it and make it useless.” He kisses the top of your head.

“Let’s go lil’ stink!” He drags you off the bed, your feet dangle in the air as he holds you to his chest.

Squeezing you whilst you protest, “Hey you can’t steal that! I don’t wanna hear it from the one with the stanky attitude making me take a break for my health how dare you.” He carefully sets you down in the bathroom.

He waves a hand in your direction, “Yes yes, how dare I care for my beautiful girlfriend and rub her naked body down with my large soapy hands in a warm shower, that I as her perfect boyfriend know the temperature of.”

He lights some of the candles arranged around the bathroom. And starts the heater that he insists your bathroom needs. After not stepping into another cold bathroom after a hot shower you can understand why.

You rid yourself of your clothes, throwing them into the hamper. “Do you need to toot you own horn?” Relieving yourself then washing your hands.

Turning around and watching him strip. His arms flex as he pulls his black shirt off. His v line peeks out of his sweatpants, which he pushes down. Your gaze lingers on his soft cock and large balls before you glance up into his sparkling blue eyes.

He corners you against the counter, booping the tip of your nose with his long finger. “You’ve been neglecting me for days I might need to remind you what a awesome boyfriend I am! What if you’ve forgotten!” He pouts.

You slide your fingers through his soft silver white hair. Pulling him in, your lips close to his, “I could never forget, you won’t let me, but I suppose it’s part of your charm. I guess it’s kind of cute when you’re cocky.”

Satoru smirks into the slow passionate kiss he gives you. Lifting you up, reflexively you wrap your legs around his waist. It’s easy to forget everything when you’re kissing him. There is the safety of his arms, the sweet passion of his soft lips on yours.

When he breaks away Satoru suggests, “After our shower would it be too cruel of me to give my girl a happy ending? As some stress relief and reward for all her studying of course.” He massages your cheek. His large warm hand feels wonderful targeting your sore spots.

You softly groan, “Please! I don't know if I wanna ride your face, fingers or cock.”

“Why not all three one after another? I can suck on your pretty clit and let you cum on my fingers then I can fill you up.” He carries you into the warm shower, supporting you with one hand. Closing the curtain behind himself.

He stands underneath the warm water, steam billowing off it. “‘M sorry for not texting for three days, you know I’ve missed my amazing boyfriend, you’re just so talented at so many things like distracting me when I need to study.” He helps you onto your feet, placing your backside facing towards the rushing water.

He protests, “I can behave and help you study.” Pouring some of his favorite strawberry and sugar scented body wash onto his hand.

You close your eyes tilting your head back. Soaking your curls and letting the water wash over your face. The water melts away some of the tension building in your neck and shoulders.

You rub your right shoulder and winch whilst insisting, “You tell me that every time.” Turning around and stepping out of the water, closing your eyes. It’s relaxing knowing he’ll take care of you, from washing your body, to treating your curls to applying your face care.

Rubbing soap over your back and ass, leaving soapy white bubbles. He massages your shoulders whilst pleading his case, “Please lemme help you study! We have the same essay due and test to take. Our study sessions is how we got together I miss them.”

You softly sigh and cave in, “I miss them too, ok you win can stay, you’re too charming.”

He playful croons “I always win.” Kissing the top of your wet head. “You won't regret it I'll be the best study buddy!” You widely smile, the delight in Satoru’s voice is heartwarming.

[benoitblanc]

does anyone know where i can find the ftf hallway outtake it’s for science (giffing)

[bubbbii]

A Mess

title : A Mess

pairing : Jungkook x Reader

genre : kpop smut, enemies to lovers, jungkook smut, bts smut, 21+ content

warning : doggystyle, hair - pulling, name calling, spitting, choking, spanking, over-stimulation, edging, pain-kink, very dirty content

Summary : two exes that reunite ? that can’t be bad. Besides, they hate each other nothings gonna happen .. or is it??

[REQUESTED]

[I’ll try to become consistent now .. i apologize for the hiatus 🫶🏼🫶🏼]

!PURELY FICTION! !NOT REAL!

please do not steal idea or story without permission please and thank you :)

Legoo

________________________________________________

“Y/N !! Welcome in you’re just in time!” “You lucky i came here early enough” Me and Hobi laughed as he grabbed my coat and belongings to set them on the hangers. “You didn’t tell me who’s all gonna be here” “Oh that reminds me, i’m pretty sure you dont wanna see -“ “Y/N!!” Jennie jumped up and hugged me as i hugged her back with the same level of comfort. “Heyy guys!! Look everyone’s all here it’s a full house looks like i’m late” I said as Jennie stood to my side still having her arm wrapped around me as i did the same.

“We’re just getting started we have a handful of snacks movies and all this weekend is PLANNED to the max!” I smiled as everyone laughed at Yoongi’s enthusiasm. I raised an eyebrow, feeling a familiar presence as my body felt tense. “What’s wrong?” “I don’t feel right … why do i feel odd?” i whispered back to Jennie as my body became even more tense. “Oh no .. it’s one of them feelings where that uncomfortable sits it’s you?” i nodded, looking around. “it’s getting stronger” “Okkk i hope y/n’s here because i am ready to get this party started-“ me and Jennie looked at the same time and saw Namjoon holding a bowl of popcorn ,

And Jungkook, holding banana milk.

My breath hitched , seeing him as i quickly looked away. “Found it” I whispered, Jennie looking back at me as she figured it out. “Is it too late to say i have plans?” “Oh it’s long overdue” Joon replied as he bear hugged me. “You didn’t tell me that he was here!” “Thats what i was trying to tell you!! Don’t let him, ruin what we have going on tonight ok? Do it for me!” I rolled my eyes as the three of them did puppy eyes at me. “Ok ok fine fine, but i’m sleeping in MY room whoever claimed my room gon get the hell up outta there” “Deal” Hobi responded as i sighed and Jennie dragged me to a spot next to her. Which was also next to Jungkook.

Why’d it had to be next to him.

“Hello Y/N” i sighed , not having no choice but to say something back. “Hey, jungkook” i responded, sighing as tears wanted to form in my eyes. But i didn’t let myself slip, knowing that that’s all he wanted. “You doin ok?” i nodded, smiling at the soft looking Taehyung. “Yes i’m ok, thank you” taehyung smiled softly as i felt a glaze on my head. A very jealous, hard glaze that i choose not to participate in. I know that stare all too well.

Trust me.

“Wait before we start we forgot our drinks!” Me, Jennie, Joon, and of course Jungkook got up to go get drinks from the kitchen. “Hand me a water please” “I’m giving you soda” i replied to Jimin, fake smiling at him before i went to the kitchen before he could say anything else. We all grabbed something giving it to each other as i looked in the fridge for Jimin’s soda. “So.. how’ve you been?” I recognized the voice as i sighed, turning around with the drink in my hand and looked into his eyes. “I-i’ve been good, been healthy … what about you?” “I’ve been well thank you. You look .. very healthy, you look good” I smiled softly, looking down at the marble counter.

“Thank you i .. i appreciate it. You as well” I said softly, seeing his shy smile appear on his face. “Thank you, angel” i gulped, tears wanting to form as i recognized the nickname. “Y-You’re welcome, kookie” i looked into his eyes, seeing hidden guilt as our eye contact gained stronger. So strong, that i didn’t realize we were inches away from each other. “Look .. no , awkward feelings between us? No bad blood right?” I sighed shakily, looking away as i thought about what he said.

He always knows when something’s off, that’s what special about him. And he really think i can sit here and pretend we didn’t go thru ALL of that? No.

“Y-Yea .. no bad blood” Jungkook obviously knew that wasn’t the case. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing! Nothing uh .. let’s go they’re waiting for us” “Y/N” he stopped me and my movements, making me sigh as i looked into his eyes. “Is there something you not telling me?” “W-Why does it matter !? We’re done right !? No bad blood Jungkook” I bursted out, sighing as i realize what i said before going back into the living room, leaving him there. “What happened?” “He wanted not awkward feelings between us, i can’t just do that after everything we’ve been through” i answered Jimin as he sat in between my legs on the ground.

“You know he isn’t over you” “He’s definitely over me, you can’t sit here and pretend that - all of our shit just got thrown away! I can’t do that. And you know it” I said , sighing for the 4th time. “You never know, don’t sit here and give up on you two like this” “I gave up when he broke up with me 2 years ago” I bitterly said, dunking down my water as anger rose in me.

2 years … of hell.

Author POV

That night was just fun and laughter, watching a total of 5 movies and playing different games around the house. It was now 1 am and the group was sitting in a circle. “Alright, truth or dare yall ready?” We all nodded as Hoseok spin the bottle. “Alright Jin, truth or dare” “Truth” “Is it true you and Joon had sex last night?” the group shocked, laughing as Jin and Joon’s eyes widened in shock as their cheeks turned red. “U-Uh … next question” The group laughed out loud as he spin the bottle. It landed on Jungkook. “Kook, truth or dare” “Dare” “I dare you … to bite Hobi’s shoulder” “UMM EXCUSE ME-“ Jungkook didn’t hesitste to bite Hobi’s shoulder making the 26 year old streak out loud.

“H-HEY!!” The group laughed along with Jungkook as Hoseok pushed him playfully. “Alright, gon head and spin” Jungkook spun the bottle and it landed on no other than Y/N. Y/N’s breath hitched as his eyes locked with Kook’s who was already looking at her. “Y/N, truth or dare” She gulped, not evening thinking about picking dare. “Truth” “You still love me?” Y/N’d pupils disappeared as she stared at Jungkook with shock as everyone looked at her in shock.

The group was waiting for her answer, Y/N not having nothing to say. “I-I … excuse me” Y/N excused herself, getting up quickly with Jimin and Jennie following after her. Joon and Jin looked at Jungkook as his expression was emotionless. Jungkook knew what he was doing, he was just looking for the right moment.

“Y/N?” she turned around with red eyes as she faced Jennie and Jimin. “U-Uh .. i think i should call it a night” “Nooo !! We were sleeping over! You can’t let this override you” “I told you” Y/N whispered to Jimin as she walked away from the two. But Jungkook heard and saw everything. “Kook-“ “I got it” He said, looking at Jennie as he went after Y/N.

He went into her room in the house, seeing her grabbing her belongings. “I did that on purpose” She looked and locked eyes with the hurt looking boy. “Jungkook i don’t want to talk” “Yes you do” She sighed, knowing deep down she did. “Ok, ok - fine! You want the truth!?” Y/N yelled, going to him and stopped when they were inches. “Yes! Of course IM STILL IN LOVE WITH YOU! You didn’t think i wouldn’t after everything we’ve been through !? You broke up with ME! ME JUNGKOOK! I am HURT , i am in DISBELIEF, and i don’t want nothing to do with this conversation. You got your fair share”

Y/N turned to leave but Jungkook pulled her by the arm and smashed his lips onto hers. She didn’t dare to fight back knowing he was stronger than her. She wrapped her arms around his neck as the kiss got heated. They felt every emotion between the two as he picked her up, closing the door with his foot as he led them to the bed and set her down gently. “T-The others-“ “I don’t care” Jungkook spat, going into her neck sucking on all her sweet spots as Y/N moaned softly at the pleasure she was feeling.

Jungkook did what he could, love hearing Y/N moan for him as he felt the tugs in his hair by her fingers. “M-More … kook” “I know, i missed you” He kissed her once again, taking off her clothes and his as well with ease as he touched every single part of her body. His fingers made it to his well to her soaking hood, sticking his fingers inside ever so easily having Y/N roll her head back and her back to arch as the pleasure rode over her.

“Fuck! Daddy” “Yea there you go moan for me” He scissored her as her moans began to become louder at the pleasuer. She’s missed this, having jungkook all over her having him take control over her. Over her body like this. She did anything. “Fuck! Yess daddy yes, just like that” “You like that? My baby likes that huh? Deep in that pussy like that” Y/N moaned louder at the dirty whispers in her ear. “M-More, i want more!” Jungkook went down and started to suck her out like his last meal on earth.

Jungkook dreamed of this after the first week they broke up. It was devastating to him, and he wanted her to know that she was still his. Even after everything that happened between him. Wanted to make her feel as much good as he could possible.

“Just like that, fuck - daddy right there right there right there- FUCK!” “It’s ok angel, stand still” He pressed her hips down, his tongue going deeper as his thumbs smoothed over her hips bones making her go crazy. “I’m close … daddy i wanna cum” “Cum for me princess, you can do it i know you can. You can cum for daddy” Y/N’s moans turned into choked - out whines and soon came on his face, Jungkook pleased as he sucked up every drop as he calmed her down.

“That’s my good girl, there she go” Y/N moaned softly at the praise as he got up and kissed her once again as he turned her around. “You ready?” Jungkook asked softly, kissing her back as Y/N nodded. “Y-Yes, yes i’m ready” Jungkook wasted no time, sticking it inside as Jungkook huffed at the tightness that welcomed him inside. “O-Ok … take it slow it’s been a minute” “I don’t wanna hear that shit” Jungkook grabbed her hips, fucking her vigorously as Y/N grabbed onto the sheets below her and screamed inside the pillow.

“Don’t fucking hide from me” He took the pillow and threw it on the ground making Y/N’s moans visible to him. “Fuuuuck it feels so good, it feels so fucking good!” “That pussy missed me huh, it missed me didn’t she. I know she missed that cock yea? You missed me fucking your like this?” “Yesss yes i missed you daddy, i missed you daddy fuck!” Jungkook felt pleased hearing that Y/N felt the same way, showing no mercy as his dick went deeper inside of her.

The night went on, Jungkook taking all the time he could possible as they fucked till their limits. Now in missionary as he pounded his dick deep inside her. Jungkook’s hand slithered to her half - way bruised neck as he held it. “Y-You’re not going nowhere, just remember that. You’re here and you’re h-here to stay. You understand?” “N-Nowhere, nowhere daddy” “Good girl, come on” he went faster, his hips grabbing energy as Y/N moaned her way to her orgasm. “I-I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum daddy please!” “Cum angel, you got it that’s my good girl. That’s my good girl” Y/N got motivated, squirting all over his dick as Jungkook came soon after.

They both reached their high, breathing heavily at the sexual night they had as Jungkook grabbed strength to sit himself up and clean themselves. He cleaned her throughly, putting her in a shirt as he got into sum sweats and he went back to her, setting his muscular body on her.

“Don’t go anywhere, please. I’m sorry i - i didn’t know what i was thinking i really do apologize-“ Y/N kissed him, interrupting his sentence as Jungkook returned it. “I forgive you, i’m not going anywhere” Y/N whispered. “Besides … who else could put up with you and your bullshit?” The two laughed, kissing each other again sweetly as they held on tightly.

Jungkook didn’t let her go. And Y/N didn’t either.

Just a mess.

[konniesreality]

smh y’all still over complicating the “void” state? Omg can we stooop. We are too old for this now 😭 can we please stop calling it the “void state”? that’s not even the OG name?? It’s the I AM STATE.

this isn’t some “void motivation 🥺” post or some shi like that it’s a wake up call, cuz oms y’all need it. Neville explained the “void” as a deep meditation that, in his exact words, is a “SURPRISINGLY EASY ACCOMPLISHMENT.” Tbh y’all saw it, when i had this blog up and running when it was at its peak I would post void challenges and everyone else was doing it too. I took a long hiatus bc I was focusing on my own life and the drama around the “vOiD sTaTe” was just too much for me lol

but now im preaching the right thing, the I AM state is literally you simply just:

1. Relaxing

2. Affirming I AM

…that’s literally it?

I feel like it be on y’all’s minds 24/7 like I wake up and I don’t even think ab the i am state I’m literally thinking about brushing my teeth and school and asking my mom if she can take me shopping and about the upcoming football game and what the theme is gonna be likeeee 😭

it’s not even hard to get into? You literally are just relaxing and AFFIRMING, like ya don’t need subliminals (if it helps then sure) ya don’t need a self concept or a “void concept” like wth is that?? Y’all creating your own fandom around a meditation like it literally has names and abbreviations for it?? Like HUUUH.

“I am a master voider” like hello? A baby can literally get into this meditation YALL stop plzzz. Yes you can manifest instantly with it. The reason you don’t hear about the I AM state is cuz not a lot of ppl now about it except tumblr if you think ab it. And I remember when y’all were going crazy about sammy ingram saying y’all were going nuts but NEWS FLASH she was right. like we not gonna keep sugarcoating this and acting all sweet like no.

Also you guys are always being like “But when I affirm and it doesn’t work 🥺” “I don’t feel symptoms” LIKE AHHH? Symptoms??? THE REASON YOU ARENT SO CALLED “ENTERING” is because YOURE FOCUSING TOO HARD!! Like when you’re playing a sport and you’re tryna get a goal or something and you’re saying “don’t mess up” over and over again and then you mess up. Yep you just let ya team down!! I did that in volleyball and figure skating and guess what I MESSED UP. LIKE?? Can we use logic plz?

it’s a meditation. It’s a meditative state. You don’t need subliminals. You don’t need challenges. You don’t need a 10k affirmation challenge. You don’t need ANYTHING. so please shut up and go meditate. You can do it right now, tomorrow, in a month, before you fall asleep bc your subconscious is open to suggestion, idc.

[junkissed]

goodnight n go (teaser)

member — fwb!vernon x reader genre — smut, angst, non-idol au teaser word count — 1.7k full fic word count — 10.2k synopsis — you keep coming back for more, but every night ends the same. maybe this time things will be different. warnings — mentions of alcohol, drunk sex, car sex, guitarist!vernon, rock band!hhu, no physical descriptions of reader, vernon is afraid of commitment. this is a teaser and the final fic will have a happy ending !! notes — before you ask, yes this is based on the ariana song lol but also inspired by black eye because it's been stuck in my head the past few days. as always, thanks to @onlymingyus for reading over this for me <3 i'm still on hiatus and requests are closed but i randomly had inspiration to write something for vernon so i hope you enjoy! i am planning on writing more for this story, but i'm back at uni and my time is already quite limited, so i'll try to write more when i can! reblogs, comments, and asks are super appreciated, it means a lot and helps me keep writing so please lmk if you liked it :)

“hey, you wanna get drinks tonight?”

as usual, that’s how it starts.

you probably should have said no. you’d played this game before. you knew exactly what hansol meant when he offered to hang out after band practice, because it was never just “hanging out”.

you don’t even know why you still go to practices anymore. for a long time you’d avoided them; it wasn’t really your style, and you were never interested in being a groupie for their local gigs. your roommate seungcheol always invited you to every practice, and every time you declined with the excuse of homework or other plans, but cheol finally convinced you to come just one time.

at first, it had been because he wanted you to hear a new song they were working on and he’d wanted to know how you liked it before they played it at an upcoming show. but then he’d introduced you to the rest of his bandmates, and after that there was no going back.

you couldn’t help the way your eyes always gravitated towards hansol, who insisted that you call him his real name instead of his stage name that everyone else called him. from the very first practice, you were captivated by him: the way his long fingers seem to dance along the neck of his guitar so effortlessly, the way his voice rasps when he sings, the way your breath catches in your throat when he grips the microphone stand and rolls his head back, lips parted in ecstasy.

he’s addictive, and it’s exactly the reason why you find yourself in the backseat of his car over and over again.

every time, it was easy to pretend that things would be different. you’d walk into the bar together and sit at the table in the back, order a few drinks, chat for a while about nothing. did you like the new stuff we played tonight? yeah, i know cheol is really excited to perform it saturday. you been doing any writing lately? mmm, a little. i’ve been feeling inspired. we could go back to my place and i could show you. except he never does.

hansol wasn’t a bad guy. he always paid for your drinks no matter how many times you offered to pick up the tab, he was polite, he listened to what you had to say. he just didn’t want more than that, and that’s where it all fell apart. you’d screw around for a while, then you’d part ways and wouldn’t speak to each other until next week. you never went to see them play shows, he never texted, you never called, never went on a real date besides meeting in the same bar down the street every thursday night after practice.

he seemed fine with that. you weren’t. and yet every time, you ended up back in his arms.

he groans into your mouth, pushing his hips into you and pinning you harder against the faded leather seats of his old honda. his lips are sloppy but eager, messily pressing his mouth into yours as his fingers tangle in the hair at the base of your neck. you can taste the beer and smoke on his breath, but for some reason it doesn’t bother you. maybe you’re used to it, or maybe it’s just because it’s him. you don’t want to know which reason is the truth.

he kisses you until you’re dizzy, and you can’t tell if it’s from the alcohol or from the thrill of kissing him once again. it’s a high you’re convinced you’ll never get tired of, although you’re not quite sure yet if it’s one that he will.

hansol always lets you set the pace, but tonight he can’t seem to keep his hands to himself. both of your shirts met the floor of his car what seems like hours ago, leaving you in just your pants as he makes out with you as if it’s the first and last time he’ll get that chance. his fingers breeze over your waist the same way they breeze over his guitar strings when he plays: careful yet greedy, each touch intentional yet impulsive as he grips your waist.

he drags his fingers higher and it sends a shiver down your spine, arching your hips up against him and rolling your head back against the seat’s headrest. if there’s only one upside to this relationship, it’s that he’s good at this. really good. if he weren’t, then you wouldn’t have spent so many nights letting him fuck you in the parking lot of your shitty local bar. it does something for your confidence knowing that he must feel the same about you, or else he wouldn’t keep inviting you out. at the very least, this arrangement is mutual, even if you wish it wasn’t.

his hips rock against your crotch again, and even through both of your clothes you can feel how hard he is. your mind is clouded, everything’s a haze, and all you can think about is how badly you want him. the warmth of his skin, the gentle scratch of his nails on the back of your neck, his long eyelashes that flutter against your cheek as he kisses you.

you feel your hands slide haphazardly down his bare chest, fumbling over his hips as you tug on the waistband of his jeans. none of it feels graceful, not like the way he handles his music. it’s sloppy, desperate, clumsy, and it’s everything you need right now.

he manages to lean back from you enough to undo his pants and push them down to his knees, but his mouth is back on yours in an instant. somehow you end up on your back across the seats, gazing up at him with slack lips as his thin silver chain dangles over your face. you might not remember a lot of what happens on these nights when you’re with him, but you’ll always remember this moment. him hovering above you with heavily lidded eyes, biting his lip and cursing as he pushes into you, is etched into your mind in a way you simultaneously love and hate. love because it feels so good, hate because it never lasts.

the rest of those nights never stands out in your memory. you remember feeling good, you remember trembling in his arms and gasping and moaning and crying in pleasure, but the images are too fuzzy to make out. you don’t really need to reflect on them anyway; you know he’ll just bring you out next week and do it all over again.

hansol kisses you once more after you’re both finally spent, but the kisses afterwards are always different. more… hesitant, more uncertain. none of the passion and desperation that you’ve come to crave from him. not what you really want.

“i can drive you home,” he offers once he’s finished cleaning you up. for once you think he might genuinely mean it, but you can never be sure enough to take that chance. you want him to drive you home. god, you want him to so bad. to have him come over with you and stay the night, stay another night and another until your apartment isn’t just yours anymore, that’s what you’ve wanted all this time. and it’s what you’ll never have.

“i’ll call an uber,” you answer.

“i’ll wait with you, then.”

the silence that settles over his car is heavy as you climb back into the front passenger seat. you want to tell him to get in the uber with you, stay more than just a couple hours with you in the furthest back corner of the bar parking lot that’s too far to be illuminated by streetlights. you want to argue that he’s too drunk even to drive himself, that he needs to come home with you and sleep it off together in the comfort of your bed, but you know it’s not true and it won’t work. this is a conversation you’ve had many times before. every night you’ve spent with him blurs into the next, always the same. 

sometimes you want to laugh at how naive you are, for thinking he’d eventually come to his senses and realize there’s more to you than a good lay before a gig. sometimes you want to grab him and shake him by the shoulders and tell him to grow the fuck up, give him an ultimatum and make him tell you what he wants from you or else put an end to it all. sometimes you just want to cry, to mourn your wasted time when you’re fully aware it’s never going to lead to something more, no matter how badly you want it and how hard you try.

no matter how many times you get your hopes up, no matter how many times you pray and beg and plead with god and the universe and every other higher power to get him to realize this can’t keep going on the way it is forever, nothing ever changes. you’re never going to stop running to him when he calls, and he’s never going to stop calling.

finally another car pulls into the lot, and you manage to pull yourself out of his car. you hear your name behind you and you stumble, swaying on your feet as he rolls down his window.

maybe this time will be different.

he says his usual goodbyes and goodnights, flashing you a loose grin and a wave as his engine sputters to life, and he asks if you’re planning on coming to practice next week. 

and you find yourself nodding.

you’re left standing there, your head and your heart pounding, watching his headlights fade as he drives away, until you’ve stood there for so long that your ride starts honking and calling for you to get in the car so you can leave.

maybe next time will be different.

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! thanks for reading!!

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[arachine]

— ❝on this fateful night...two hearts danced.❞ ˚₊✩‧₊

ᥫ᭡ pairing :: neteyam sully x human! reader

ᥫ᭡ synopsis :: in omaticayan culture, a young na’vi male does not yet become a full fledged adult until he passes one of two rites of passage: 1) choosing an ikran, and 2) carving a bow from the wood of Hometree (and/or choosing a woman). reader is now 20, and the only man she’s ever loved is expected to choose a wife soon. one day when she overhears a rumor concerning neteyam and the first woman in line to betroth him, reader is struck with grief, ultimately venturing off deep into the forest where she knows nobody will follow her—somewhere forbidden. however, unbeknownst to her, a certain someone follows her trail…

ᥫ᭡ genre :: mature

ᥫ᭡ general tags :: 18+ (explicit sexual content, explicit language), angst, fluff

ᥫ᭡ content warnings :: characters aged up to 20, use of alcohol, inebriation, size kink (kinda), vaginal fingering, oral sex (f receiving), male masturbation, overstimulation, riding (no penetration), m/f ejaculation, squirting…i took some things out but i think that’s it?

ᥫ᭡ notes :: what a long week this has been…but we made it! i cannot believe the first thing i post after being on hiatus for months is blue alien sex. anyway, i hope you all enjoy. also, be mindful that the dialogue switches between formal and casual. it’s something that i noticed neteyam and kiri do a lot in the movie. for what reason? idk…but the big font after the read more is intentional bc ik some ppl complain that the small font hurts their eyes :3

ᥫ᭡ word count :: 7.2k

— playlist :: spotify link

“You have been wandering off by yourself a lot lately…” 

There goes that attentiveness, you could never put anything past her—Kiri, that is. She was just too good (to a fault), and though her keen eye and emotional intelligence were extremely useful, they were also the most aggravating traits about her. 

Now, you could just tell her the truth about the place you’re always wandering off to, and you also could confide in her about the thing that’s been plaguing your mind recently—but you don’t, because you know better.  

For a split second, though, you hesitate telling her. The lean girl tilts her head, eyes flitting between your face and the satchel in your hands. Smoothly, you pull the satchel across your body and shift it to rest behind you—out of sight. 

Kiri seems to notice your apprehension, and so, she peels her eyes from the bag, offering you her full attention by resuming eye contact once again. If she has even the slightest hunch that you’re hiding something, she doesn’t voice her suspicions.

“Well, I won’t pry, sister. You know that I am always here to listen,” she reassured, reaching out a gentle hand towards your face. You let the tips of her fingers graze your cheek, the warmth of her hand providing transitory comfort. 

The two of you exchange sweet smiles before you pull away. It was getting dark, and the longer you stayed here, the harder it’d be to avoid the very thing you were trying to get away from—the very person you were trying to get away from. 

“I know, Kiri,” you grabbed her hand, encasing it between your own, “I know…but—I have to go. I promise I’m alright. I’ve just…been doing some thinking, and I think I gotta sort some things out with myself before I can be around the rest of you, you know?” 

There’s a silence between the two of you, and you’re not exactly sure if she’s taken offense to what you’ve just said, or if she’s carefully choosing her words. You decide on the latter though, because the last thing you want to do is make her feel as if she’s done something wrong, or if anyone has done something wrong. This was entirely on you; you and your stupid, selfish human heart. 

“Yes, I know what you mean,” she replies, squinting her eyes. Again, there’s a silence, but you can tell she still has something to say, like she’s mulling it over. “Will you at least be here tonight? You know, for the big feast? Everyone will be here, even Neteyam,” the girl tsks playfully, shaking her head as she walks circles around you. 

Immediately your body stiffens, and she responds to this by teasing you, “Or, I could just save you something…or maybe i’ll ask Neteyam to save you something since he’ll be the most important man tonight.”

“And why would you do that?” the words leave your tongue before you have the chance to process them. It reads rather defensively, but you ignore it. “I mean, why—why ask Neteyam?” 

“Because he’s your friend…” kiri pokes you, “because you love him,” she whispers, only this time her voice is a lot more serious, a lot quieter—a whisper. This is when you get that feeling again. 

That weird, achy feeling that leaves your stomach in knots and your throat all puffy. The sensation is debilitating—suffocating, and the only way you know how to ease it is by doing what you had set out to do in the first place (though, you were swiftly interrupted).

“Don’t be silly, Kiri,” your smile drops solemnly, “we’re…friends, just friends. Besides, he’s going to be spoken for soon. There are a lot of Na’vi women who would make fine mates…” Your voice decrescendos into the forest night air, the conversation lasting a lot longer than you’d anticipated. To stop your solemn mood from being expressed outwardly, you quickly turn around, looking back once to speak.

“Anyway, I have to go now. I’ll see you later.” Kiri nods and waves bye, her eyes watching as your small frame disappears out of her family’s tent. 

A cacophony of voices and music fall on deaf ears as you make your way through the village. The preparation is beginning, but all you can think about is him. Him, him, him. 

And ever since you overheard a rumor that Neytiri and Mo’at had chosen the next in line to become tsahik after Neytiri, your heart stopped beating…because you knew. You knew exactly what this meant—the end.

Neteyam was to be a future olo’eyktan, after all. And in Na’vi culture, the future head of the clan and the future spiritual representative were to be betrothed. You knew that, and yet, you couldn’t fathom it. Because then it’d be the end. 

The end of your late night rendezvous, the end of your special talks, the end of your banter, and your clandestine glances—your whispers. The ones that were quiet, and innocent…the ones that tingled the shell of your ears. Meant for him and you only. 

It was selfish, really. Stupid. You knew the day would come when he’d have to grow up and fulfill his duties as a Na’vi male. Just not this soon though, you wanted to hold onto him a little longer. And if drinking your pain away to preserve those precious memories could do that, then you’d do it. 

Lost in your train of thought, you don’t register that you’ve walked yourself right into the heart of a crowd until you bump into a young na’vi child. Apologizing, you then attempt to squeeze through the sea of bodies, tapping lightly on people’s legs until you reach the front. The people were cheering, celebrating the hunters’ return and the game that the Great Mother had graciously given them. 

Slowly, hunters had begun pooling in from the forest on direhorseback. Then, they started coming in clusters, all ululating, and pumping their fists in the air while holding their dead game in the other. Your head turned in awe as each hunter rode past you, the energy of the people so contagious that your sour mood was starting to dissipate, even if just a little. 

Thinking that was the last of the riders, you begin walking again, but the sound of heavy hooves striking the ground halt your movements. Turning your head back to the trees, you see something moving behind the shrubbery, and then enters none other than the man of the hour: Neteyam. If the people weren’t cheering before, they were definitely cheering now—especially since he’d managed to catch an adult sturmbeest (which was a difficult feat). 

The direhorse strides slowly through the crowd, and stops in the centre on Neteyam’s command. Nobody can take their eyes off of him, and neither can you. He just looks so strong, and masculine—like his father, even though he’s the spitting image of his mother. Neteyam puts his hand into the air before he dismounts his horse and ushers the people to settle down, and eventually, they do. 

He points to the sturmbeest that his direhorse is carrying back to be prepared. “Tonight, my brothers and sisters…” a pause, “we dance! we sing! we feast!” His words excite the villagers again, uluations so loud that your ears begin to ring. Just as you’re about to turn away, his eyes meet yours—he smiles. And there it is. That achy feeling in your chest. 

He wants to say something, reaches his arm out to you as if he were silently telling you to wait up, but then a girl strikes up a conversation with him. At first, you’re not entirely sure who it is—and you shouldn’t even care—but then you do a double take and your heart sinks a little more. It was Tsimandi, the girl rumored to be his betrothed. 

From this distance, you can’t hear what they’re talking about, so you watch intently. He’s got his head thrown back in hearty laughter, and she’s touching him—actually touching him, her hands wrapped around his forearm in an attempt to pull him further away. 

You think if you stay a second longer you’ll actually become a pile of liquid where you stand, so you take this opportunity to slip away while he’s preoccupied. 

When Neteyam looks back, he notices your absence. Squinting, he looks around in search of you, and then he sees what looks like a person disappearing into the thick of the forest. Just what is she doing?

“I apologize, Tsimandi, but I must do something,” he begins backing away, a genuine expression etched onto his face, “I will see you tonight, at the feast!” 

“Oh, o-okay,” she mutters but he’s already run off. Neteyam calls for his direhorse and waits at the edge of the forest until it comes running towards him. Before he can mount it and follow you, someone calls out to him. 

“And where are you going?” the voice queries, tone laced with suspicion. He recognizes who it belongs to and sighs. 

“Nowhere, sir,” he dismounts, meeting his father’s eyes, his mother also accompanying him. 

“Yeah, I’d hope so. The people are throwing this feast for you, or have you forgotten?” Jake gives him a once over, eyes still boring into his son. 

“No, sir. I have not forgotten,” the boy lowers his gaze in embarrassment. 

“Good. Go get ready, knucklehead.”

With each trudge through the forest, you were losing more and more sunlight. You’d walked about halfway to your destination when you remembered the bottle sloshing around in your satchel. 

Usually, you waited to drink the liquid there, but you decided given today’s strenuous events, you’d have some now. A reward, you tell yourself. Taking the bottle out of the bag, you lift your mask from your face briefly, twisting open the top and taking a big swig. 

No matter how many times you did it, the taste always made you gag. Bourbon—is what they called it. It was equal parts bitter and pungent but it did the trick. Helped you to relax, to forget. The first time you came across it, it was by pure accident. 

You’d been somewhere you shouldn’t have been, doing things you shouldn’t have been doing. But one thing led to another, and soon enough, you were inebriated for the first time. 

By the time you drink half of your weight in liquor, you reach your destination. The old shack. After what happened with the Sky People, Jake’s first rule as olo’eyktan was to prohibit anyone from entering. 

Even being somewhere remotely around the area was forbidden. But you were no stranger to disobedience, you’d come here once with Lo’ak (which was your first time actually). 

Though, you didn’t get to explore much because Tuk had spoiled your fun by telling Jake. That day was one of your favorite memories, you think. Jake couldn’t stop yelling at the two of you, but all you could do was laugh. Nothing was really even funny, but you couldn’t help it. Seeing Jake’s eye twitch at your outburst only exacerbated it. 

Lo’ak was getting the worst of it, and Neteyam fell victim to Jake’s nagging too for not ‘being there’. After a while, he’d dismissed the bunch of you from his tent and as soon as you were out of earshot, the three of you went into a frenzy of laughter. You think back fondly on those memories, all the ones that include Neteyam, that is. 

“God, there isn’t a second when I’m not thinking of you…” you sigh in exhaustion, extending an arm out to open the shack’s door. Reaching in your satchel, you pull out two jars full of glow worms (you’ve found that two jars are enough to light up the shack). Ambling over to your favorite spot, you open a cabinet and reach for another bottle of that bitter liquid you willingly put into your body. 

It’s still a wonder to you how well preserved these bottles remained over the years, and you’re pretty sure you’ve heard Norm or someone mention that the older the liquor, the better it tastes (which was a lie, but alas, you down another shot). 

“Wooo,” a cough erupts from your throat, “yep, still nasty.” 

At this point, the liquor is starting to take effect. Warmth radiates throughout your entire body, and you can feel your limbs gradually getting heavier. Being drunk had to be one of your top three favorite feelings. 

It either made you: sad, tired, or giggly (maybe even all at once). But now? Now you were feeling sleepy, so you groggily trudge over to one of the beds in the shack. 

As soon as your body hits the plush, a cloud of dust filters through the air. It was incredibly disgusting, but you’d slept in worse places. For now, you would lay here…succumbing to a sweet slumber. 

Neteyam had gone home without fuss as promised. Go and get ready. Well, he was doing exactly that now, exchanging his previous attire for that of something more formal. He rolled his eyes and huffed. Sometimes his father could just be a…

“Son of a bitch,” the boy snapped, his frustration reaching its peak. He’d been standing in the tent for about 10 minutes trying to figure out this headpiece his mother had laid out for him, but could not for the life of him figure it out. 

Giving up, he throws it to the ground and takes a seat with his head in his hands. Kiri slips in shortly after his outburst, bending to the ground to retrieve the item. Hesitantly, she walks over to her brother. 

“If you needed some help, you could have called, brother.” Neteyam lifts his head up from his hands to see Kiri towering over him, his eyes breaking contact with hers as she sits down next to him. There’s a pregnant pause, but it doesn’t last for long because Kiri is already opening her mouth to speak.

“What is troubling you?” She asks, forcing Neteyam to turn his back to her so that she can place the headpiece onto him properly. He inhales deeply, then exhales.

“I do not know…I saw (your name) earlier and…” Kiri hums, encouraging him to continue, “and—she had this strange look on her face.” 

“Look? What do you mean? Was she angry? Sad?” 

“I have never seen it before, sister. She usually looks happy when she sees me…but this look was different,” his voice is almost inaudible when he finishes. Kiri ponders for a bit, tilting her head as if she were mentally putting the puzzle pieces together. 

“How come you did not speak to her?” Kiri makes her final adjustments to the headpiece, ushering Neteyam to meet her eyes. 

“I was going to…I tried to, but Tsimandi found me before I could,” he fiddles with his fingers. Kiri takes note of his disposition, and she frowns empathetically. Clearly, whatever was going on with you two was something you had to work out together. This wasn’t like either of you! 

“But it was not just today either,” he continues, “she has been distancing herself for awhile, have you noticed?” She laughs at this, nodding her head.

“Yes, she has been acting a little strange lately. I think I might know what is troubling her, brother,” the girl takes his hand into her own. “But I cannot tell you. This is something that concerns only she and you…”

Neteyam squints his eyes in confusion, muttering a ‘what’. His mouth opens to speak but he is swiftly interrupted upon Jake and Neytiri’s arrival. He looks to Kiri for some clarification but all she says is: ‘go, go, you have a feast to attend’, followed with a, ‘find her later’.

“Well? Come on, the people won’t wait for your blue ass all day will they?” Jake teases. Neytiri slaps his arm, scolding him playfully. 

“Ah, my son, my beautiful son,” she pads to where he stands, taking his face into her hands. “It is time to go, we must celebrate you.”

Jake nods, flashing a quick wink of approval. Together, they all walk out of the tent and through the village where they’re instantly greeted with colorful luminescence, loud music, and food. All things that have been so generously prepared for him. By the time they make it down to the Tree of Souls, everyone halts their cheering to hear what Jake has to say.

“Tonight we eat,” a pause, “in honor of Neteyam’s mighty victory!” Jake grabs his eldest son’s hand, raising it in the air. “He led his first attack against the Sky People and made it back without any casualties!” A sudden roar of praise erupts from the crowd. 

Everyone is chanting his name, and clapping, but even amidst all this praise, he can’t help but to think about you. What does all of this matter if you’re not here to celebrate with him? 

You’ve been by his side since the two of you could walk, so where are you now? The thought saddens him, but he can’t wear his heart on his sleeve tonight. Not when there’s so many people here just for him. 

“For the past 20 years, my son has always been just a boy to me. But now I realize…he is a man—and he has proven himself in front of the eyes of Eywa,” The former marine glances down at his son, eyeing him in admiration. “Enough talking, let us feast!”

Laughter and songs fill the warm, breezy nighttime air. It’s been about two hours since the celebration commenced, and Neteyam has just about made his rounds to every important family. 

He smiles warmly as he looks at the scene in front of him: children playing and dancing by the fireside, putting on elaborate performances for the adults still filling their bellies full of food. Everyone is lively—happy, a testament to tonight’s success. 

Mo’at is pleased by this especially, she tells him that ‘this is what the people needed’—you know, to boost morale. At some point, when nobody is watching, he slips away from the party to walk around. Unbeknownst to him, someone has seen him. 

“Getting tired?” a voice questions from the shadows. Out comes Kiri, revealing herself from behind a leaf. 

“Yes, exhausted actually,” he jokes, disconnecting his braid from his direhorse. “No, but I need to find (your name). She has not come back and it is dark.”

“I figured you would leave early, that’s why I covered your ass and told Dad you were not feeling well,” the feline-like girl smirks. 

“Do you have an idea where she might be?” 

Kiri takes a moment before answering, “I’m not sure…but for some reason, I have a hunch that she’s at the old shack,” Neteyam furrows his brows in confusion. 

“Why do you think she’s there?” he queries, “I mean, it is forbidden.” Kiri offers him a shrug.

“I don’t know but if you’re going to find her, do it now while dad still thinks you’re not feeling well.”

With that, he thanks her for the intel and mounts his horse, disappearing into the thick of the forest. On the way there, his mind conjures up just about every possible scenario that might explain your absence. 

Were you upset with him? Did he do something or say something that you didn’t like? He wishes he could just read your thoughts because right now, his heart is pounding so rapidly within the confines of his chest, that he thinks it’ll explode. 

This wasn’t like you two, everything was always so easygoing. Being with you was easy, like breathing. But this? His heart couldn’t handle this. Yeah, there’s been some distance between the two of you recently but not due to his own volition—it was duty. If he could spend every second of his life by your side, just being kids, laughing with you, playing with you, he would. 

He’s trying to recount these last few days, weeks—months. Trying to pinpoint when exactly things got like this between you…pinpoint when you stopped smiling at him with that smile that made his head all fuzzy, and his heart race like a kid running for the first time. 

“Ah, everything’s going to shit, buddy,” he sighs, rubbing the side of his horse, “I don’t know what is wrong.” His mammalian companion grunts empathetically, stopping in its tracks at the edge of the forest when it sees the abandoned link shack. Neteyam doesn’t bother scolding her, because even the animals know that this place is forbidden. 

“Alright, I will see you later, okay? Stay here,” he pats her, disconnecting the bond. From this distance, he can see that there seems to be some sort of light illuminating from inside the shack. 

That alone already confirms Kiri’s hunch. The closer he gets, the more his stomach feels uneasy. He doesn’t even know why he’s nervous, but he attempts to ease his mind (and body) by telling himself that it’s only you. He’s talked to you one on one hundreds of times, so what’s the difference now?

Noises in the distance rouse you from your ephemeral repose. When you stand up, your head spins with the room, causing you to instinctively reach out for the nearest surface available. Whatever was outside had better be non-threatening, because you were not in the condition to be fighting—let alone standing. When you were drunk like this, you couldn’t even hurt a fly. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna have the worst headache soon,” you huff quietly, still aware that there might be someone or something outside. The noise is getting closer, and you’re running out of time to find a hiding spot. 

Quickly, you grab the closest thing you can to defend yourself (which is literally a jar of glow worms), and crouch down below the window. When you lift your head just enough to see outside, the makings of a silhouette cloud your vision. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” you whisper-yell, tightening your hold on the jar. Lifting your head up again, you notice that the figure is not in the spot it was previously. Then, the knob to the shack twists, and now it’s opening, and—

“(Your name)?” 

You pause your attack, slowly dropping your hand (that’s holding the jar) to your side. A flood of relief washes over you once you register who the voice belongs to. Rising from the ground, you open the door fully to see Neteyam standing in the doorway. 

“I almost killed you, you know!” you raise the jar, pulling him inside of the shack. 

“I think it would take more than a jar of worms to kill me,” he teases. Rolling your eyes, you continue ushering him further inside, leading him to an area where you can sit and talk. 

“What…what are you doing here?” you finally ask, folding your arms across your chest. Neteyam towers over you from this height, so he accommodates you by dropping to his haunches. 

“I was worried about you,” the boy confesses, “what are you doing here? Why were you not at the feast?” Suddenly, you don’t really feel like talking anymore. Even though the adrenaline from before was still pumping through your veins, so was the alcohol in your system. You’re not so sure you’d be able to keep your composure long enough to answer without exposing your truest feelings. So, you decide on deflecting. 

“Aren’t you the man of the hour? I think you should go back to the party before daddy throws a fit. We both know how he gets when his perfect little son isn’t at his every beck and call…” As soon as the words spill from your tongue, you wince. It came out meaner than you meant, and the last thing you wanted was to give him shit for being a caring friend. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—I didn’t mean that,” you apologize, sitting down on the bed. All he does is sigh, but he takes this opportunity to enter your space, gets all close until his body is nestled between your legs. 

“I know…I know, but I want you to tell me what’s wrong, hm?” his fingers lift your chin, “so I can fix it.” 

“Can’t fix this, ‘Teyam,” a saltine droplet ribbons down your face. Your head is tilted up with his fingers, but you can’t even force yourself to meet his gaze. God, how pathetic did you look right now? 

Here you were, inside an abandoned shack, drinking your body weight in liquor…all while a celebration was being thrown in your best friend’s honor. And for what? Because you were jealous? Because you liked him—loved him? 

You knew that eventually your relationship would shift. That he’d take on his duties as the future olo’eyktan, and you’d just be his human friend he hangs with from time to time. How stupid could you be to think things would stay like this forever?

“Hey, hey, hey,” he soothes, both hands now cupping your cheeks, “don’t do that. Do not shut me out. We’re not like this, (your name), you used to always talk to me about things.”

Things. You’d talk about things. But those things were not like these things. And if he knew what things you were thinking about, the things that involved him…then you two would never talk about things again. 

You’re curious, though. What if you just told him? Just told him about all the days you’ve loved him, all the nights you’ve stayed up thinking of him—all the stars you counted wishing for him? At least then, the burden of keeping such a secret would stop weighing so heavy on your heart. 

“I..” a breath, “I heard a rumor.” The boy hums, encouraging you to continue. “I heard your mother has chosen her successor.”

“Is that what this is about? Why does this bother you?”

“Because you know what this means! We both know what this means, don’t be dense, ’Teyam,” you droop your head in sorrow, coaxing him to just lift it back up. Only this time, his hold on your face is a lot firmer. His eyes are fiercer.

“No. I don’t, so just tell me.”

“You’re gonna be the future olo’eyktan, and we both know that the future clan leader and the chosen tsahik are to be betrothed,” you start, “there will be no time for me! No more late night talks, no more exploring, no more secret whispers…I mean, I get it, you have duties to fulfill but…I wanna be selfish a little longer. Can’t I be selfish a little longer?”

You say the last line while meeting his gaze. You’re teary eyed and shaking, but you try your best to keep any semblance of composure you have left intact (though, it’s failing). His expression is indiscernible. 

It makes you nervous. Sick. And now you’re forcing yourself not to throw up because…the realization that you just told someone your deepest, truest, most vulnerable feelings makes you physically ill. 

“Oh, god, I’m sorry. Forget what I jus—“

“Are you serious? You don’t get it do you?” Neteyam’s head falls forward, a little chuckle slipping past his lips. His hands leave your head and slither down to your hands. He takes them into his own, eyeing you while kissing the knuckles of each. 

The act is incredibly intimate, sends white-hot electricity down the column of your spine. Renders you speechless. All you can do is sit there, too scared that if you move or speak, you’ll shatter into a million little pieces. 

“I have duties, yes…but my heart is already spoken for. Always has been.” 

“What are you saying, ’Teyam,” your head snuggles into the warmth of his hand. You know exactly what he’s saying, but you want to hear him say—

“I see you,” he whispers in your ear, “you are my most beloved.” The warmth of his breath tingles the shell of your ear, it takes the strength of a thousand men to not scream. 

But in this moment? In this moment you want to kiss him. You want to kiss him silly, actually, but you quickly remember the thing on your face preventing your lips from connecting with his. There are truly evil forces conspiring against you.

“I want to kiss you,” you admit solemnly. 

“Oh, you don’t know how many nights I’ve spent dreaming about kissing you. Too many,” he jokes, “but I’m afraid if we remove this, you’ll die.” 

“Then you don’t have to kiss my lips,” a silence, “you can kiss me anywhere you’d like. Anywhere.” 

His green eyes flitter between your face and your body, and then his hands are on you, forcing you to lay back against the bed. You lift your head up and lean back onto your elbows, watching through lust-filled eyes as he begins his ministrations. 

He starts from the bottom, works his way up real slowly—too slowly. He’s showing restraint, and while you appreciate the fact that he’s worshiping your body like a devoted follower worships their deity, you want him to ravage you. To eat you up until there’s nothing left but bones. 

“’Teyam, please…” you breathe out impatiently. Like the cocky-brat he is, he ignores your pleas, only laughing into your skin. 

“Shh, be calm.” The plush of his lips trail up the plains and pastures of your body, up your calves, your thighs (he spends the most time there), and then comes to a stop at the crest of your breasts. His fingers fiddle with the cloth covering your chest, lightly tracing the edges that rest just beneath your mounds. 

A tease is what he is. And you didn’t have the time for a tease, so you figured you’d help speed up the process by removing it. Sitting up, you untie the makeshift top and let it fall to your lap, smirking deviously as if you’ve done something so naughty. 

“Thought I’d help you,” you grin, wrapping your hands around his neck, “Please, no more going slow…I think we’ve been going slow for twenty years, don’t you think?” 

And he gets the hint, once again resuming his assault on your body, but this time with more fervor. More urgency. He’s kissing you everywhere, licking wet stripes over your chest, and leaving love bites in the places where he’s kissed you. Right now he’s acting on his most basic, primal instincts—he’s claiming you as his mate—in the only way he knows how to. 

The feeling of his hands on your neck, back, thighs and waist send you into oblivion. But then his hands are creeping up to your tits, deft fingers twisting and kneading, and oh god, you’re seeing stars. The addition of his mouth doesn’t help either.

“You’re so,” a kiss, “beautiful,” a suck, “perfect.” Neteyam kneads one breast while his mouth works on another. He plops down onto a pert nipple, using his tongue to draw circles around the area, his saliva acting as a salve. 

A moan (that comes out more like a disgruntled sigh) vacates your throat, and his eyes widen in excitement. The sight of his tail swaying in the background makes you giggle. Cute, you think. 

Even though what the two of you were doing wasn’t innocent, you couldn’t help but to feel all giddy. Reaching a hand out, you place a gentle palm on the side of his face. 

You trace the contours of his nose, his cheekbones, smooth over his jaw, and then stop at his lips. Your thumb grazes them, first the top, then the bottom—learning. Committing them to memory, how they look, feel, and move under your thumb. 

Neteyam is unmoving while you continue to run your finger across his lips—save for his hand, which slowly begins traveling south to your thighs. Experimentally, you push your thumb inside of his mouth, pressing the digit down on his tongue before tracing his cat-like canines. This moment is particularly special, because now it’s you who’s doing the admiring. 

The free hand that’s not inching towards your core, skillfully removes the loin cloth around your hips. Immediately, he’s met with your bare sex. It’s smooth—wet, so incredibly wet that it has his cock twitching, and his hands eager to touch you. He wants to taste you. Feel you, all of you. 

“I—,” a slender finger rubs your slit, “mmf, see you,” you mewl, cupping his cheek. Neteyam’s eyes widen, he wants to hear you make that sound again…and again, and again, and—

The boy repeats the action. Watches your abs flex and tremble from the touch, and your thighs close in on his arm. Using the other hand, he gently pulls them apart and leaves three open-mouthed kisses: one on your inner thigh, one on another, and then a final one at the top of your mound. The heat from his nostrils make you full body shiver; suddenly, being the only one completely bare is slightly bothering you. 

“Do not cover yourself. I want to see you,” his hand finds your cunt again, a long finger pushing into you ever so slowly, “…want to hear those sweet sounds again.” 

A soft sigh leaves your lips as you watch his digit push further into you, the drag of a knuckle against your slick walls aiding in the pleasure. You can’t help but to wince at the intrusion, because shit, this was a lot more than what you were used to—using your fingers, that is. 

You also suppose penetration would be off the table considering humans and Na’vi were never meant to mate, but it doesn’t prevent you from fantasizing about it anyway. How big was it? Did he touch himself? Use his hands and picture yours? 

The thought of him hunching over, rubbing one out, all slick with sweat and pre has your head all dizzy. Your mouth is practically salivating at the mental image you’ve conjured up in your head of him fucking your face, but you know it would never fit. There really are evil forces conspiring against you…

Neteyam’s finger reaching the hilt brings you back down to reality. A forceful thrust that coaxes you to gasp sharply and grab his forearm. After patiently waiting for you to adjust to his size, he begins to move. He sets a steady rhythm, pulling out slowly, then pushing back into you with the same velocity. 

Eventually, his movements become less hesitated, and more calculated. Instead of steady and slow, he begins increasing the pace of his thrusts, then graduates from speed to incorporating force. 

Every delve of his finger, every deliberate drag and prod has fire pooling in the depths of your belly. Squelches and whimpers ricochet off of the metal walls, and fuck, his dick won’t stop twitching. 

It’s grown considerably harder in these past few minutes, and all from just hearing you vocalize your pleasure. When the stretch stops feeling like a stretch, and starts feeling like a ‘give me more’, that’s when you encourage him to add another. And of course, he indulges you. 

The same time he pushes another finger in, is the same time he starts rubbing himself. He’s not even really aware of it at first, it’s mindless. He’s just so entranced by you, and the sounds you’re making, the things you’re saying, the way your cunt’s sucking in his fingers—

Fuck. He just finished all over himself. He doesn’t let that deter him though, keeps fingering you through his post-orgasm, taking care of you until you come undone on his fingers. 

And the sight is amazing, he can’t stop gawking at the way your hole flutters around him, and the nectar-like liquid that drips down the length of his fingers and onto the bed. He wants to taste it. 

“Can I taste you?” he asks. You’re in such a daze that the question doesn’t even register, suddenly too preoccupied with breathing like you’ve forgotten how to. 

“Huh? Wha—ohhhh.” His tongue licks a long stripe up your slit. He concentrates the tip at the bottom, lapping at the essence that leaks from there, and then circles back to your puffy bud. Experimentally, he prods it with his fingers, rubbing it in tantalizingly slow circles. 

The combination of his tongue and his fingers almost feel overwhelming, you feel like a puppet on a marionette with the way he’s maneuvering your legs around for better access. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was a starved man. 

His mouth is slick with drool, and his hands are pressing down so firmly onto your thighs, that you’re sure a handprint will be there for you to discover in the morning. His tongue feels so good on you, so nasty. 

The picture is obscene, unlike anything you’ve ever witnessed before. But the thing that’s really getting to you are the sounds he’s making. Grunts and groans, expletives and mumbles. ‘So good’, ‘perfect’, ‘beautiful’…it has your head spinning and your fists gripping for the sheets beneath you. 

There’s a knot in your abdomen pulled taut like a string of twine. You can feel it twisting and pulling, ready to come undone at the drop of a pin. The more he works on your slit, the more the temperature rises in the shack. 

Was the room always spinning? Did your body always run this hot? It feels like you’ve been thrown into a furnace, and the only source of coolness is the wetness that his tongue provides. 

“‘M gonna, mmf, ’s too much!” you jab at his hand in an attempt to push him away. He’s relentless though, still sucking harshly, and teasing, ramming his thick fingers up against your gummy walls. 

It feels different than when you touch yourself, more intense. Like something’s sitting heavy on your bladder. Then, snap. The string in your abdomen unravels, bringing forth a flood of ecstasy. 

“’Teyam!” you sob, back arching to the ceiling. When he pulls his fingers out, a stream of clear liquid seeps from your cunt. He’s awestruck, staring in admiration as your sweat kissed chest rises and falls rhythmically. 

“Look, your legs are shaking,” he points, biting down a laugh, “why are they shaking?” 

“Oh my god, shut up!” you feign offense, pushing him backwards with a chuckle. He pretends to be wounded, rubbing his back dramatically, ‘oohing’ and ‘owing’ as he does so. When you finally sit up, your eyes naturally fall to his loincloth, a wet ringlet contrasting starkly against the beige textile. 

“Hey…” your voice is hesitant, but teetering on the edge of curiosity, “Can I try something?” 

The boy silently nods his approval, shifting his position on the ground when you amble over to him. A look of confusion molds onto his face following the events that involve you plopping down onto his lap and laying him down. He goes to speak but you interrupt him. 

“Your turn, right? Can’t put it in, but…I can still make you feel good,” you say, tugging on the piece of fabric that separates your sex from his. Eagerly, he removes it for you and lets the item fall haphazardly to the ground. 

It’s big, so big—and pretty too. A beautiful blue hue that matches the rest of his body, paired along with a blushing teal tip that’s oozing pre. You want to know what he tastes like on your tongue…

“So pretty.”

Heat rises to his cheeks, and his tail takes an aquiline form, quivering in rapid movements. His usual, over-confident disposition was slowly dissipating under your intense gaze, and you reveled in it by mocking his bashfulness. 

“Awe, the little kitty’s shy,” you mock, tickling his side. 

“Stop it, I don’t look like those Earth things,” he laughs, pushing your hand away, but to no avail. You continue to dodge his attempts to stop you, tickling him here and there until he accidentally bucks and pulls you down against him. Embarrassingly, you let a whine fall from your lips…still too sensitive down there, you guess. 

There’s a shit-eating grin plastered on his face now, you hate it. “Who’s making noises like a kitty now, huh?” With this, he takes the liberty to do it again, pressing you down hard against his length. 

The feeling of your bare cunt against him is electrifying, probably (definitely) not better than him being inside you, but the next best thing. This was supposed to be your thanks to him. But now he’s taken full charge—maneuvering you back and forth, gripping and kneading—it’s cruel.  

For someone who’s never mated with anyone in his life, he’s sure moving you around like he has. His hands are all over you—thighs, hips, waist, breasts, it’s almost overwhelming. Every touch, addled with the buck of hips, brings forth a new sensation that is better than the last. You think this would be a good way to go out, right on his cock. One last hurrah before the morbid inevitable. 

“You f-feel so good, (your name),” his voice is breathy, “r-really good.” Neteyam’s grip on your arms is vice, partly because he can feel his climax approaching, but mostly because he can tell you’re growing tired. 

Swiftly, he changes your positions to where you’re laying on your back and he’s crouching over you. The tip of his head smoothes over your folds when he pushes up, and before he draws back, you can see just about where his dick would rest if he were inside of you. 

“I’d be all the way up here,” he presses down just beneath your breastbone, “you’re so tiny.” It sounds so dirty, but you know ultimately he’s just making an observation—regardless, the comment has your stomach churning in excitement. 

The both of you watch in fascination as he sheathes himself up and over your cunt, moaning in unison when the tip of his mushroomy head catches against your bud. Euphoric, he thinks. He never imagined that something could feel this good, let alone without connecting bonds. 

Still sensitive from earlier, it doesn’t take too long for you to reach your peak. Neteyam knows that your arrhythmic breathing is a tell-tale sign, and he helps you get there by cooing words of encouragement. 

He goes back and forth between ’I got you’s and ‘it’s okay’s, leaving trails of kisses down your body in his wake. The second you finish, you’re pulling him down onto you tight. Moaning and whining into his ear, whispering those same words of encouragement that he whispered to you prior.

“So good, ‘Teyam,” you claw at his back, “keep going, want you to feel good too.” And he does. Unrelenting in his attack against your sex, he comes with a few more pistons. 

You eagerly welcome him into your arms when he drops from exhaustion, and hold him there until your erratic breaths synchronize. The both of you are disgustingly sweaty and sticky, but even so, you feel at peace. 

You bask in the tranquil quietness of the night, just staring at each other. Soft caresses and soothing hums. Then, Neteyam speaks. 

“On this fateful night, two hearts danced…” he whispers, grabbing your hand to hold it over his heart. 

“What does this mean?” you smile at him. He ponders over it and then explains. 

“My songcord…I want to tell this story,” he starts, “the night when two hearts became one.” 

A crystal droplet cascades down your face, “that sounds beautiful.”

© arachine 2022

[rqbossman]

Is TMAGP having a hiatus or something? Because it's friday and ep 21 still hasn't come out yet.

Yes.

Protocol will have a short hiatus every 10 episodes with a longer one between seasons that has bonus content in it. This is to avoid production crunch for the team whilst also giving our other show Neon Inkwell the care and attention it needs.

Afraid I am not in charge of such announcements any more so can't speak to when and where it has been said.