#and backing out again to a broader sense

[rhysand-vs-fenrys]

Toxic IRL: Red flags and all that jazz Toxic in Lit: What makes it fun to read

i think we as a society need to start accepting that fictional love stories need to be a bit toxic for us to go insane over them… like, sometimes you kinda need the two parties to be obsessed with each other and fucked up and willing to bring each other back from the dead instead of moving on and go to therapy i’m sorry😔

[starry-bi-sky]

I am loudly pushing the batdad agenda i am loudly pushing the— DPxDC Prompt

“Woah. You look like shit."

Granted, that’s probably not the first thing Danny should be saying to the guy that just bit the curb, but in his defense; he’s not running on 100% right now either.

The man -- tall, towering, and broader than Danny is tall -- whips around on his heel, black frayed cape flaring out impressively. Danny would've whistled in appreciation, but he takes the time instead to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood running from his nose across his cheek.

"Sorry." He blinks widely, not even flinching as the man with the horns zeroes in on him. "That was rude of me. I have a really bad brain-to-mouth filter; Sam says its what always gets me into trouble."

And she's not wrong either, per say. His smart mouth is what landed him in this situation -- with blood blossom extract running through his veins and cannibalizing the ectoplasm in his bloodstream. Thanks Vlad.

The man grunts at him; a short, curt "hm" that shouldn't make Danny smile, but he does because he's somewhat delirious and probably concussed. The man keeps some kind of distance, sinking towards the shadows of Gotham's alleyway like he dares to melt right into it.

If it's supposed to scare Danny, it doesn't work. Danny's never been afraid of the dark; he's always been able to hide himself in it. He blinks slowly at the mass of shadows.

"You look hurt." The shadows says, blurring together around the edges. Danny squints, and licks his lips to get the blood dripping down his chin off. Ugh, he hates the taste of blood.

"I am." He says, "My godfather poisoned me. M'dying." The agony of the blood blossom eating him from the inside out looped back around to numbing a while ago, so all he feels is half-awake and dazed.

"Hey," Danny stumbles forward towards the man, a bloodied hand reaching out to him. "You-- you're a hero, right? You're not attacking me; which is more than I can say for most costumed people I've met." Maybe it's a poor bar to judge someone at, but he's already established that Danny's not in his right mind.

The man makes no change in expression, but Danny realizes blearily that it's hard to tell with the shadows on his face. He stays still long enough for Danny to latch onto the cape -- stretchy, but almost soft under his fingers.

He looks up blearily into the whites of the man's eyes. "Can you help me? I don't-- I don't wanna die." Again. He doesn't wanna die again. He blinks slow and lizard-like. "I mean- I'll probably get to see mom and dad again, but I told them I'd at least try and make it to adulthood."

There's a clatter down the street, and Danny's ghost sense chills up his spine and leaves a bitter, ashy taste in his mouth. He immediately knows who it belongs to even before the deceptively gentle; "Daniel?" echoes down the way.

"Daniel? Quit your games, badger, Gotham is dangerous for children."

Danny's mouth pulls back, and blood spills against his tongue. "Please." He rasps, and grabs onto the shadow's cape with both hands. "Please. He's going to kill me. Please--"

"Daniel? Is that you?"

His lips part, dragging in air to plead with the darkness again. He doesn't need to, the whites of his eyes narrow, and the cape whirls around him before Danny can blink. Soon swaddled in shadows, the Night lifts him up, and steals him away.

[hanasnx]

MINORS DNI 18+

! ── BABY DADDY!JASON TODD who can't come around more than once or twice a year. His way of life isn't sustainable for a home, and it certainly isn't safe for a daughter. You and him decided it was best to part ways before that positive pregnancy test, and since he discovered a kid he helped make it didn't change his level of involvement. He's got a lot of eyes on him, and he can't draw attention to anything important to him.

! ── Your daughter adores him. She squeals with delight every time he visits, running full barrel towards him so he can scoop her up. Unbeknownst to her your concern with how he found you again, and how he broke in to the apartment. Apparently running and hiding is not enough when you face the Red Hood. You reluctantly greet him with a half-assed kiss on the cheek, wrapping your arm around his neck to incline him towards you. Your daughter on his hip takes full advantage of hugging you both at the same time, and pressed against your former lover makes you tight-lipped.

! ── He's dangerous for a number of reasons that span beyond what any angry enemy of his would do if they found out where he's been going. You're most afraid of what he's able to make you do the longer you're with him. Only able to hold onto your anger for so long until he melts that cold exterior and somehow convinces you to let him warm your bed again.

! ── He's got it down to a science. As soon as you give him that scathing look, he tells your daughter to run along because "Mommy and Daddy have to talk." while she thoughtfully strokes his chin with her little hand, only to nod with an audible sigh, shaking out her wild hair she won't let you brush. With a little push to her back, she scampers off to her room and he stands to his full height. "I just wanted to see her." he tells you, with that pleading tone you've fallen for countlessly because he knows you're going to say: "It's not safe." for the thousandth time.

! ── He'll tower over you, incline towards you while you scold him under your breath. A hushed argument ensues that your daughter tries to listen in on, and can only hear bits and pieces about how she's not owned, and her dad should get to see her. Stuff she doesn't understand, especially because she can't understand his lack of presence being such a complicated thing when she has no sense of object permanence. If a dad refuses to be there more, it's a problem. You want to cut Jason out completely. That's not fair, as he'll tell you, to the daughter you get to keep.

! ── It's in the way he stands next to you. He's so much taller than you, broader, and muscled. He bulks up more and more every time you see him. He doesn't use his size to intimidate you, rather takes advantage of something else. Big hands stuffed in his back pockets make his leather jacket sit on his wide shoulders exquisitely. His hair is windblown from his motorbike and just the smell of him has a dangerous Pavlov effect on you. Like your eyes want to flutter as they roll into the back of your head and lightning shoots straight down to your core, stinging at the memory of what it's like to be filled by him. The longer you're with him, the thinner your resolve becomes. It evaporates in front of you as he sweeps a hand through his hair, and his posture slacks. "C'mon." he drags out the word playfully, advancing on you. Your hand interrupts him, bracing on his firm chest to keep him from coming closer. "Can't we talk about something else? You're getting me all worked up. Missed you."

You roll your jaw, that resolve slipping. Addicted to him, you're reticent as his tongue darts out to wet his lips while he's eyeing yours. "Jay..." you murmur, and he can hear the defeat in your voice.

! ── "Lucky we got a sitter, huh?" Jason's smug voice cuts through the wet sounds of sex that fills the room. "Now I get some time with my other little girl." That sick delight causes you to reach back, weakly banging your fist against his thigh. He snickers, wolfish and husky resounding from the back of his throat. "Mommy's been missing me, huh? Can feel her clenching down on me like a fuckin' vice."

His thick cock hurts stretching you out, but you needed that pain. There's something about Jason that keeps you saying yes, and it pushed through your requirement of foreplay, unbuckling that belt in haste, comfort be damned you wanted that dick. You're on all fours and he's giving it to you from the back, just how you like it, fucking you like a dog while his hand tangles all up in your hair. He yanks you back by it, and you can't even think of what to say other than mindless pleasured babbles.

"You let me do this every time I come over. Seems like you fuck with me or something." It's true, regardless of the cruel insults you've thrown at him to get him to stay away from you, it's all because you can't say no to him. It's the reason you got pregnant, it's the reason you can't run away far enough, and it's the reason you fuck him every time he comes to visit the kid he helped make.

[enviedear]

YOU DIDN'T SEE MY VALENTINE (I SENT IT VIA PANTOMIME)

₊ ⊹ JASON TODD

🧸ྀི REQUEST | Could I request Jason Todd being jealous of Dick and reader who is slightly older and he’s harboured a crush on since his Robin days? AND jason todd/reader + jealousy

CW | jealous!jason—nothing crazy, not canon compliant but this is my tl now, some 'will they, won't they', and lots of jason being weird with feelings. 1.2k words. 🎧ྀི

in all honesty, you knew richard grayson before you ever truly knew JASON TODD. he was just a pubescent sidekick the last time you'd seen him—masked in thinly veiled anonymity. both boistful and timid, he always brought a smile out of you—teen angst and all.

but then he died. your life continued, morphing into the blissfully misunderstood present of your early twenties. heroism sits on your backburner, choosing to slow down for a career. normalcy, in a sense. and even though you've more than officially retired from your masked identity, dick grayson still remains everpresent. he offers up unrelenting friendship with ease.

normalcy has faded in recent months. reanimation of a corpse has the tendency to do that. and despite being one of the last to learn of jason's return, you were one of the first for him to turn to, to seek out. his attitude, his spirit, his mere presence—have thrown your life into a complete tailspin.

he usually stops by unannounced, often bloodied and bruised. he's gruff and pointed. no longer timid, but apathetic. far different from the young boy you remember—that scrappy, defiant, and utterly resolved mini hero. back then, you’d barely had time to catch your breath between your own assignments to make any sense of the boy glaring up at you in challenge. always like he had something to prove. his vigor had amused you then, but you couldn’t have known the weight behind it—not then.

now, it feels unavoidable. he doesn't talk about it, but he doesn't have to. it's in the way he carries his shoulders, tense and unsure. the way his once deep blue eyes have recast to a murky blend of frosted jade. he's changed, and yet you're still the one he seeks out. the thought has replayed and plagued your mind for days on end.

the kid you'd known had become something else entirely. taller, broader, with a rigid fixation toward you that feels…alarmingly familiar and unknown all at once. most times, you can't place why—that is, until he reminds you.

“dick’s taking you out again?” his voice cuts through the casual quiet of your apartment, where you’d been getting ready. the sound is rough, almost indifferent.

glancing over your shoulder, you spot jason leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and jaw tight. you never heard him come in, but he hasn't startled you. no, you expected him. you refocus on what he has asked—his question, though simple, has an unmistakable bite to it. you don't let it affect you, not now, or anymore.

at first it was hard to come to terms with the aggravation and disdain riddled within him. it spewed out so easily. now though, you understand it. no part of you enjoys it, but you love him. much more than he can seem to realize—too fractured to see through your companionship. a role reversal of utter hell.

you hesitate, brushing off the strange weight of his stare. “yeah. just dinner. catching up. he's been at work so much recently...”

you see a flicker of something unclear cross jason’s face. it’s quick—but the tension sticks, thick and heavy in the room. it's an old grudge, somehow outliving death. you suppose it makes sense—he spent years begging to patrol with the two of you, just to be firmly told no. he always got so agitated, completely annoyed. it seems he's the same, old habits die hard.

he clears his throat, still glaring severely, “right. catching up.”

there’s that bite again, sharper this time. he’s trying to be casual, but it doesn’t land.

“is something wrong?” you ask, turning to face him fully now, eyebrows raised and tone nearly exasperated.

he shrugs, but his eyes don’t meet yours. they’re focused somewhere over your shoulder. “just seems like dick’s always around, that’s all.”

you blink, surprised. “we’ve been friends for years, jason. you know that.”

“yeah, i know.” his voice is lower now, quieter. “i just…i don’t get why you still hang out with him so much.”

that gets your attention. the tension, the clipped responses—it all clicks into place. you rise, studying him. “are you… jealous?”

the moment the word leaves your mouth, you watch his posture stiffen. his eyes finally meet yours, a mix of frustration and something softer, almost vulnerable, in them.

“no.” he mutters, but it’s not convincing.

“jason.” you sigh, shaking your head. “dick is just a friend.”

“yeah, i know. so why's he’s always taking you out?” he huffs, and there it is—the frustration that had been simmering beneath the surface finally breaking through. “ever since i was a kid, he’s had your attention. i'm just...the other one.”

his words hang in the air, weighted with years of implicit beliefs. suddenly, you understand. this isn’t just about his brother. it’s about everything jason’s never said—the way he’d always felt second to someone else.

you take a step forward, close enough now that you can see the cracks in his bitter expression. and you notice the way he wants to pull back but doesn't—can’t.

“you have never been that to me, jason.” you say softly, your voice steady.

he scoffs, but there’s a flicker of disbelief in his eyes. “yeah? didn’t seem like it.”

“maybe not then, but things are different now.” you say, holding his gaze. “you’re different. we’re different. everything, is different.”

for a moment, jason doesn’t say anything. he just looks at you, really looks at you, like he’s trying to figure out if he should believe you.

“doesn’t feel like it sometimes,” he mutters, quieter now. the tension shifts, softening slightly, though, his guard remains.

you take one last step, close enough that you can reach out and touch him if you wanted to. “jason.” you say, and his name comes out softer than you mean it to. “you have my attention now. not as a kid. not as robin. as you.”

there’s a pause, a beat of silence before he finally drops his eyes. when he looks back at you, there’s a flicker of longing in them, a look almost too vulnerable for the man he's returned as.

“you sure about that?” he asks, his voice quiet, like he’s afraid of the answer.

you nod, and this time, you close the distance. your hands gently tether to his crossed arms, “yeah, i’m sure.”

his muscles tense under your touch—but he doesn’t pull away. instead, his eyes fall to where your hands rest against him, something flickering there. you squeeze his arms lightly, attempting to ground him.

“jason,” you say softly, “i don’t see you the way you think i do. i never have.”

he lets out a rough breath, like he’s been holding it for ages. his gaze is still cast downward, jaw clenched. you wait, patient, giving him the space to find his words.

“i don’t know how to be around you anymore.” he admits, voice barely above a whisper. “i want to be around you, like how dick is. i just...came back wrong.”

the confession rings in your head. you almost feel the weight of it, pressing against the edges of your chest, and your heart aches for him. for the boy he was, the man he’s become, and the space in between where he feels like he’s lost himself.

“you didn’t come back wrong.” you whisper, stepping even closer.

his head tilts slightly, as if he’s processing your words, trying to let them sink in past years of self-doubt.

his hands uncross slowly, falling to his sides, but he doesn’t pull away from you. instead, his right hand reaches up, hesitant at first, before he gently cups the side of your face. fingers brushing your skin with a tenderness you hadn’t expected.

“you sure about that?” he asks again, but this time there’s no malice. less unease.

you nod, your hand coming up to cover his, your voice steady. “yeah. i’m sure, jason.”

almost timidly, he speaks again, "can you just... just tonight, stay here."

you study him as you answer, "why?"

he sighs, eyes flicking to a wall, "grayson's had years to spend with you, i haven't. c'mon, let me take you out instead." he shrugs, looking at you now, "call it making up for lost time."

you can't fight the tug in your chest, and you nod—relenting, "fine." you offer him a small smile, "where are we going?"

you don't catch what he suggests, nodding along. you're too hyperaware of the dimpled smile on his face now. two perfect reminiscent pictures of the sweet kids you used to be. only, this time you're choosing him—and you plan to continue to.

[nowoyas]

Trying to make sense of the Nanowrimo statement to the best of my abilities and fuck, man. It's hard.

It's hard because it seems to me that, first and foremost, the organization itself has forgotten the fucking point.

Nanowrimo was never about the words themselves. It was never about having fifty thousand marketable words to sell to publishing companies and then to the masses. It was a challenge, and it was hard, and it is hard, and it's supposed to be. The point is that it's hard. It's hard to sit down and carve out time and create a world and create characters and turn these things into a coherent plot with themes and emotional impact and an ending that's satisfying. It's hard to go back and make changes and edit those into something likable, something that feels worth reading. It's hard to find a beautifully-written scene in your document and have to make the decision that it's beautiful but it doesn't work in the broader context. It's fucking hard.

Writing and editing are skills. You build them and you hone them. Writing the way the challenge initially encouraged--don't listen to that voice in your head that's nitpicking every word on the page, put off the criticism for a later date, for now just let go and get your thoughts out--is even a different skill from writing in general. Some people don't particularly care about refining that skill to some end goal or another, and simply want to play. Some people sit down and try to improve and improve and improve because that is meaningful to them. Some are in a weird in-between where they don't really know what they want, and some have always liked the idea of writing and wanted a place to start. The challenge was a good place for this--sit down, put your butt in a chair, open a blank document, and by the end of the month, try to put fifty thousand words in that document.

How does it make you feel to try? Your wrists ache and you don't feel like any of the words were any good, but didn't you learn something about the process? Re-reading it, don't you think it sounds better if you swap these two sentences, if you replace this word, if you take out this comma? Maybe you didn't hit 50k words. Maybe you only wrote 10k. But isn't it cool, that you wrote ten thousand words? Doesn't it feel nice that you did something? We can try again. We can keep getting better, or just throwing ourselves into it for fun or whatever, and we can do it again and again.

I guess I don't completely know where I'm going with this post. If you've followed me or many tumblr users for any amount of time, you've probably already heard a thousand times about how generative AI hurts the environment so many of us have been so desperately trying to save, about how generative AI is again and again used to exploit big authors, little authors, up-and-coming authors, first time authors, people posting on Ao3 as a hobby, people self-publishing e-books on Amazon, traditionally published authors, and everyone in between. You've probably seen the statements from developers of these "tools", things like how being required to obtain permission for everything in the database used to train the language model would destroy the tool entirely. You've seen posts about new AI tools scraping Ao3 so they can make money off someone else's hobby and putting the legality of the site itself at risk. For an organization that used to dedicate itself to making writing more accessible for people and for creating a community of writers, Nanowrimo has spent the past several years systematically cracking that community to bits, and now, it's made an official statement claiming that the exploitation of writers in its community is okay, because otherwise, someone might find it too hard to complete a challenge that's meant to be hard to begin with.

I couldn't thank Nanowrimo enough for what it did for me when I started out. I don't know how to find community in the same way. But you can bet that I've deleted my account, and I'll be finding my own path forward without it. Thanks for the fucking memories, I guess.

[b00kdiary]

MORE BAT BOYS X PLUS SIZE READER (smut!!) PLEASE xxx

Cautious | Bat Boys

ACOTAR Bat Boys x Plus Size reader

It's just as Cassian said: the bat boys were young and dumb… and fucked females in the same room as each other. Y/N’s in for one hell of a surprise.

Warning: Mature themes (18+), swearing, fluff, and smut.

MASTERLIST - 1 and 2

PART TWO

"Rhysand" I giggled, the sound drowned out as he slammed the oak front door shut and pushed me up against it.

He pressed his lips to mine, capturing my laugh within that soft, sinful mouth of his.

I gasped, back arching against the cold wood as his tongue swept in, the faint taste of wine invading my senses. My fingers clawed up his armoured chest, scratching and admiring the lean muscle he had gained training here at Windhaven.

He caged me in, taller and broader than I had expected, especially for a male of only twenty years. But his experience with females was more than evident as he kissed me, one hand gripping the flesh at my hip while the other curved around my jaw to keep me just where he liked.

A moan slipped free as his lips plucked back from mine, an insatiable hunger in his violet gaze as he dipped his head down and began suckling wet, needy kisses against my throat. I felt his smirk against my skin at the sounds he wrenched from me.

"Rhy-Rhysand," I couldn't form proper sentences, not as he nipped and sucked against the sweetest spot at the base of my throat. He hummed absentmindedly. "We'll get caught – "

"Rhys," He corrected, voice like melted chocolate. I bit my lip as he kissed up neck and jaw, before pulling back to smirk at me.

Gods he was beautiful.

"Call me Rhys, darling," He brushed the tip of his nose against mine and my eyes fluttered. "And no one's going to catch us. My mother is at the town hall, gossiping with your mother."

I giggled again and his lip quirked at the corner. A flash of sweetness behind the charm.

Again, his lips met mine, a collision of teeth and tongues and enough need that all my protests disappeared. Washed away by the feel and taste of him, by the way, his hands now brushed up my stomach, long, ringed fingers teasing under my aching breasts.

So many noises escaped me as that hand lifted higher, and I felt a charge of power course through me as Rhys cupped my breasts in his palm, a rough sound rumbling from him as he pinched my pebbled nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

"I don't – " Words failed me again, every sentence melting into a moan as he toyed with my breasts, grinning as he did so. "I don't think this is what your mother meant when she said to make me feel welcome."

He snorted and braced a hand over my head, the other moved to tilt my chin to meet his pleased smirk. I could smell the salt and jasmine on his tan skin, could make out the few Illyrian tattoos peeking out from under his leathers.

"I disagree, darling," Again that smooth term of endearment, and the smile he gave me as my thighs clenched shut told me he knew what it did to me. "I'm doing exactly what I was told – creating long-lasting allies, a friendship to withstand centuries."

"Is this how you treat all your friends then?" I quirked a brow, desperately ignoring the way his thumb swooped back and forth at my jaw.

"Don't be jealous," His smile broadened a breathtaking sight. My lungs constricted tighter when he leaned down closer, and I felt the unmistakable imprint of his hard length against my stomach. "I'm sure I'm not the first friend you've ever made, Y/N darling."

A glint of challenge in those midnight eyes.

"Now who's jealous?" I teased and satisfaction filled me when shadows eclipsed his eyes, the hand at my jaw tightening when I rocked my hips forward to rut against him. He growled as I did it again. And again.

"You are trouble," He chuckled, and I was molten in his hands as he pressed one long, indulgent kiss against my mouth. The kind that promised a night I wouldn't easily forget. "I'll take your lack of a denial as a personal challenge, to be the best friend you've ever had – "

I opened my mouth to laugh, but then Rhys clamped a broad, calloused hand over my lips. Silencing me.

His mouth pressed against his knuckles, violet eyes warning me to stay quiet.

And then I heard it - footsteps crunched outside, a gentle patter against the stones leading to the cabin.

"Let me just grab my shawl," A light, feminine voice called out. Rhys and I weren't breathing. "The weather's turned for the worst."

My heart lurched. That was Rhysand's mother and the look in his eyes told me she would not be pleased to find him here, find me here. This was definitely not the kind of welcome she had meant.

It all happened in a blur.

One second, we stood there, pressed against each other, his hand over my mouth and knowing we were absolutely fucked. And then the next, a cloud of dark mist erupted through the room and then Rhysand had gripped my small hand in his – and winnowed us.

It was a flurry of darkness and shadows, warping and twisting our bodies as we moved through time and space. He gripped my soft body tight, hands keeping me protectively close.

And then we were in a room.

I gasped as my feet once again met solid ground, the world spinning around me, my guts coiling in tandem with it. Rhys yet against pressed a finger against my lips, and I found myself cemented to another cold, oak door.

His bedroom door likely, though I couldn't see over his towering, broad form.

I gripped his wrist, staring into those wide violet eyes and straining my ears. I froze as the front door creaked open, those soft footsteps pattering into the living room, muttering as she moved. My nails carved half-moons into his flesh, a mixture of fear and excitement taunting me as we both silently listened for his mother's steps.

I might have been crazy, might have utterly fucking insane for how my body was reacting. But with him so close, being able to feel every hard inch of him and not being able to touch him for fear of being caught... it made my core soak.

Rhys's eyes flashed down to mine, surprise and mischief in them as he caught the scent of my arousal. I felt my cheeks heat and I swear he seemed to shake with the restraint it took to keep waiting, looked as if he wanted to devour me at this moment.

But we waited. Even if it killed us.

We waited, listening in suffocating silence as Rhys's mother waded through her home, items rustling and clattering as she searched for her shawl. It might have been a few minutes or a lifetime before she sighed, finding it.

I rubbed against Rhysand's cock again as her footsteps padded toward the door, getting quieter.

And the second that door closed shut – the male snarled and then was upon me.

My back slammed into the wood behind me, hard enough that the breath knocked from my lungs. Rhysand gave me no time to get down air before his mouth clashed with mine and his tongue forced my lips and teeth apart.

He moaned into my mouth, and I felt alight as every inch of him cemented against every inch of me. My hands gripped his shoulders, exploring and feral as I touched my way along the hard, lean lines of him, desperate to just feel him.

He seemed to feel the same, his mouth tearing from mine to bite and kiss against my throat again, his face slotting into the crook of my neck and mouth teasing the already bruising flesh there. I whimpered, eyes rolling as his mouth descended lower, my dress yanked down enough for my breasts to spill free.

"Fuck," Rhys swore, his gaze pitch black. My body burned at that look.

His head dipped and his lips found purchase around one taut nipple, drawing it between his teeth and sucking. He hummed and the sound travelled through my whole body, mixing with the desperate sounds wrenching free from my parted lips.

Rhys enjoyed my breasts, smearing spit along them as he toyed from one to the other, biting and kissing and worshipping them.

It was dangerous for us to do this still. Stupid even. Knowing Rhys's mother could come back at any point, knowing my own mother would likely start looking for me soon, that if they came here, saw us, even smelt us –

"How- how did your mother not know?" I managed to choke out, fisting Rhys's midnight hair. He continued twirling his tongue around my sensitive nipple as if he hadn't heard me. "She must have smelt it – "

"Why are we talking about my mother?" Rhys groaned, lips curling into a disgruntled frown. I yanked at his hair, forcing his face back up to mine, and he sighed at the persistence in my doe eyes. "Magic – that cloud of mist? It's a little trick to make sure none can sense me, sense us."

I hummed in understanding, opening my mouth to ask another question. But then his hand curved down my stomach and my breath hitched as he slowly pulled my dress higher, exposing my legs to the cold air. I shivered as his hand traced my bare skin, closer and closer to where I needed him.

"Did that placate your curiosity?" He teased, fingers trailing in and out, until my core was clenched with need.

"Don't be an ass," I scowled, hips shifting, trying to force some contact. But Rhys just smiled, drawing faint circles at the apex of my thigh. "We nearly got caught, I'm being cautious – "

"Cautious? Is that what it was?" He arched a thick brow at me, and my back curved when he ran the pad of his thumb over the front of my panties, feeling the dampness there. "Do you always get this wet when cautious?"

Any smart retort I had died on my lips as Rhys pressed his thumb against my clit and began slowly rubbing circles over the thin cloth. I moaned, and his grin was victorious, his dark gaze half-shielded by the strands of his hair tousled forward.

He seemed no longer in the mood to tease me, and I was glad for it as I dragged his mouth back to mine. A grumble of approval from him as he lazily rubbed at my clit, his mouth moving just as lazily against mine.

"Rhys," I pleaded, hips grinding down against his palm needing more friction. And he obliged me, no, he more than obliged me.

I watched as this half-Illyrian, half-High Fae male, the next High Lord of the Night Court, possibly the most powerful High Lord to ever be, dropped to his knees before me.

He looked up at me through thick, dark lashes, that mischief and desire in his eyes enough to make me climax alone. But then he lifted my soft thigh and hooked it over one broad shoulder and growled as he pushed my dress back and revealed my white underthings, a wet spot painfully obvious in the centre.

The wooden door handle dug into my spine, but I couldn't do anything but lean against it, my chest rising and falling in waves as I stared down at him before me.

His low position exposed the Fae light in the room, and it glistened over his tan skin and feral smile as he brushed his thumb over the thin material again. I bit my lip hard enough to bleed as he slipped a finger under the material and tugged it to the side.

"Cauldron," Rhys groaned, a low, appreciative noise as he eyed my exposed, wet core. "Look at you."

My cheeks heated, a mixture of arousal and embarrassment, suddenly feeling very exposed. Rhys kissed my inner thigh, playfully nipping at the flesh there, forever able to calm any raging emotions within me.

My nails cracked against the wall as his soft lips trailed higher, closer and closer to my centre. I couldn't contain my breathless moan when his mouth met that forbidden spot, and he dragged a slow, deliberate lick up my core.

"Rhys," I could barely hear my voice over the pounding in my heart. Could barely hear it over the soft, sensual growl Rhysand emitted at the first taste of me.

And as if that taste was better than he could imagine, he went back in for another. And then another. And another. Until he was licking and suckling his tongue back and forth against my sore clit, wrenching sounds that were unmistakably lewd.

"Careful, darling," Rhys chuckled, pulling back from between my legs just far enough for me to see his dilated pupils and the wetness coating his smile. "If you moan any louder, we'll definitely get caught."

I didn't have the chance to respond before Rhys plucked my clit between his lips again, all thoughts eddying from my mind as pleasure knitted through my core, painfully tight. My head thudded back against the door, my hips grinding down against Rhys's tongue, chasing that familiar high.

My fingers laced through his hair and Rhys hummed as I tugged at the strands, my body acting of its own accord, now riding his face, riding his tongue. I felt something tauten within me, and my legs began to shake as my climax approached faster and faster.

"Rhys," I gasped, back bowing. "Rhys, I – "

"I know, I know," He purred, the vibration running through me. "Just let go, darling."

He flicked his tongue hard and fast, and my mouth parted in a desperate cry as my release slammed into me, knocking the air from my lungs. My body stilled, thighs closing around his head instinctively, and I was near sobbing his name as I fell apart.

Rhys kept going through it. Held me like he wished to make this moment last an eternity.

The stars exploding across my vision dimmed, fading as I sagged back against the door.

I giggled, half-gasping as I pushed at his head, my body writhing as I forced his mouth off me. Rhys laughed, low and sultry, before eventually relenting, plucking back and licking the moisture from his lips.

I peered down at him, sweating and dizzy. The male was a sight for sore eyes, grinning up at me, as he watched me catch my breath.

“That wasn’t very cautious of you, darling,” Rhys smirked, stars twinkling in his eyes. “It’s a miracle no one heard you.”

I bit my lip, laughing as I stared down at the male, my orgasm fogging every sense and making it impossible to retort anything nearly witty enough back.

“Oh, you were heard,” A rough voice drawled the words. Yet Rhysand’s mouth didn’t move. “It’s a good thing we’re so good at keeping secrets, eh Rhys?”

My heart stopped as I lifted my head, following that smug voice.

And saw two Illyrian males before us.

Watching us. Watching me.

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

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Taking requests for all SJM men x plus size reader!

PART TWO

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[moodymisty]

Author's note: Funny Guilliman snippet. Guilliman/Fem!Reader implied, Tokophobia warning maybe, @lemon-russ enjoy

Guilliman often found himself preferring the feeling of writing on the rough surface of parchment than anything else, dipping his pen in fresh ink to finish his sentence. He nearly fumbles it, grumbling to himself. The pen he manages to catch, but his slight shifting causes him to wince and wait for noise.

Cradled in the elbow nook of his right arm his own child lets out a soft murmer, just barely disturbed but not enough to wake. They shift just slightly, wiggling in the warm blanket and continuing to suck on their thumb.

Guilliman could barely contain the sigh of relief.

This is the first time he has taken care of his child without you close by to help him; He isn't entirely confident he could soothe them if they woke up. The nervousness is, unfamiliar to him- though he can't help the fear of this new unknown.

But you desperately need the break, and Guilliman knows he can only cower in fear of his own child for so long. He can no longer use the excuse of their tiny size in comparison to his own hands to hide his broader fear of failure.

Shifting in their little blue blanket and resuming their nap, Guilliman resumes his work, but a feeling on the back of his neck causes his eyes to glance upward and to his left.

Decimius Felix is looking down at Guilliman's lap with an odd expression, brow furrowed as if... Confused. Guilliman turns his head to meet the astartes face on.

"It is a baby, Decimius. Are you familiar with the concept?"

The Tetrarch reels backwards as if hurt, his armor plates clicking against each other.

He then gets a bit irritated at his Primarch clearly poking fun at him, his nose wrinkling just a tad. His men are still quite shocked by his sense of humor, a trait Guilliman sometimes enjoys messing with.

"Yes, my primarch. It is just,"

Guilliman is well aware that his relationship with you had shocked his legion. They were unfamiliar with why he would even consider such a thing. His child had been an even greater surprise; Even months later, they are still confused. Many of his captains had vocalized their displeasure with him for bowing to baser things, though this displeasure he preferred over the Eclessiarcy's obsession over his believed holy child.

His chapter's standoffishness has started to fade a bit, but disapproval still lingers within all of his command, apart from Calgar.

He reminds himself to thank the Chapter Master for his personable attitude in spite of everything before Felix speaks up again.

"Will they just keep sleeping?"

Guilliman has to resist the urge to smile. It's such a painfully innocent question. One that he had thought as well, at one point.

"Until they're hungry, yes."

Guilliman can see the shift in Felix's lips, like he has another thing he wants to say, and Guilliman prays that he won't ask what happens then. He would rather throw himself out of the airlock and let the cold vacuum whisk him away into the grand unknown then explain to one of his men why he would need to get you for that process.

Thankfully however he doesn't say anything more, and simply hums, looking at the infant a moment longer. Not that there's much to see; They're swaddled up in the thick blanket to the shoulder, only a pudgy face with a thin wafting of light blonde hair is visible.

You had laughed hysterically the moment the hair started to grow in; They had gotten blessed with Guilliman's bright blonde hair, and around the same time their real eye color had come in; In which they'd inherited yours.

There, lets brush all the hair down just like that. Now you have silly little bangs just like your father- Right Robu?

He glances down at them again and smiles. He's never felt happier, prouder, than he is now. And to think it's because of something so simple.

He wonders if Tarasha and Konor felt the same, when they held him as a child.

"When will they need to eat?"

Guilliman has a gathering of his men scheduled for a bit from now, and he assumes Felix is prodding him due to wondering about a potential conflict of time.

"Soon."

Guilliman's hand drifts to the bottom of the page, eyes on the tip of his pen rather than the vaguely perturbed expression of his Tetrarch.

"...What do they e-"

Guilliman's hand suddenly jolts and the inked pen skids across the parchment, ruining his signature and making a rough scratching noise that surprises even himself. He doesn't need to look in Felix's direction to know he's a bit surprised.

"This conversation is over. Go ask that question to the serfs if you need an answer desperately."

[beanbagstab]

Short Sonamy IDW Fanfic thingy:

Introspection/ Realization of feelings / Slight Angst/Sonic centric

Sonic would never admit it, but he has been in love with Amy practically since the moment he had laid eyes on her- though he hadn’t realized that until recently.

He didn’t understand Amy or the way she made him feel. At first, he just thought all girls were like that, weird beings who stir you up inside with their feminine charm but no. After he grew older, met more people- more girls- he realized these feelings only emerged around Amy. After he sorted all that out he decided it was best to avoid her (and these weird feelings) whenever he could. 

After all, he already knew what romance was like. Boy meets girl, they hit it off, girl asks boy for dates and marriage, boy proposes, they marry and move into the suburbs where they watch over their two kids before boy heads off to his 9 to 5 and girl stays back to cook dinner, they grow old, retire, die, and get buried in some nearby graveyard without traveling or adventures or fighting world destroying enemies. 

As far as he was concerned, if Amy had her way, they’d be on a one-way road to a dead-end life. And Sonic hated the Idea of that more than anything. 

So when Amy suddenly grabbed him by his hands and declared she never wanted him to change and wouldn’t want to force him to stay at HQ, he felt something swell within his chest. He stared at her dumbfounded. Huh? Did he hear that right? Was this really Amy, the same girl who would chase him down for miles begging him to marry her?  Before he could get a word out another thought crossed his mind. Had she just said ‘I love you’ to his face? She had said it so casually he had almost missed it. 

He didn’t know what to say to her. Sonic couldn’t speak so freely about his emotions the way Amy seemed able to, so he opted to reciprocate in his own- less direct way. 

He backed up slightly, scratching his nose and turning his head to hide the smile that was creeping up his face. “ You know, you could come with me if you wanted.”

He had offered the same preposition to Tails not too long ago yet, when asking Amy there was an air of awkwardness to it. He was unpracticed when it came to the matters of his heart so expressing these desires felt foreign on his selfless tongue. 

He won’t deny he was a bit upset when she declined, but that was quickly replaced with warmth as he saw the determination in her eyes. She had a job to do that not even Sonic the Hedgehog could pull her away from. To him, it was as if she was saying, ‘I won’t be tied down to you either.’ And the thought of that set his heart ablaze. 

Amy had Sonic’s heart tied around her finger-not that he would ever tell her that but with the way she acted around him, Sonic was sure that some way somehow, she already knew. 

.

.

.

Sonic caught himself sneaking glances at Amy far more often than he’d be comfortable admitting but could you blame him? He hadn’t seen any of his friends for 6 months and Amy was one of his closest. He figured that must be all it was. He missed his friends dearly while he was gone so it makes sense he was feeling a bit mushy. 

But then again, it seemed to be only around Amy did he feel this strongly. 

When she spoke, he found himself hanging onto the last word she said. When she looked at him, he felt himself bask in her attention. And when they were alone, an increasingly rare scenario given the busy nature of HQ, he covetted the intimate way she relaxed in his presence. 

She was so tense as the leader of the resistance and the restoration. He couldn’t recall a time he’d seen the ever-cheery Amy Rose so restrained and subdued. He didn’t like it one bit.

Eye bags and a caffeine addiction didn’t suit her. At least not the her he knew half a year ago. 

He tried not to think about it but, a lot of his friends seemed different; a little wiser, shoulders a bit broader, and a lot more tired. And Amy seemed the most different of them all. He noticed a distinct lack of hugs and dreamy lovey dovey rants. The best way he could put it would be that she seemed more… mature? At least, she was acting in a way a child might believe a mature adult might act. 

Sonic couldn’t help but feel as if she was putting up some kind of act for everyone. Like, she needed to change for people to take her seriously. But could he blame her? No one really took her seriously before- not until she took out her hammer at least. But momentary fear and respect are not the same thing.

Still, he hated seeing her in such a state. A rose deserved to be basking in the sun and swaying in the wind, not withering away in front of a dozen buzzing monitors.  

So he made it a point to invite her out on missions whenever she could afford herself to be stolen away. 

And that's what their mission to the mines should’ve been. Just an easy excuse to take his crush out of that stuffy office. 

But one thing led to another and the next thing he knew, he couldn’t even offer a shoulder for her to lean on.

.

.

.

If Amy seemed depressed before the metal virus, she was down right miserable now. But honestly, he wasn’t doing much better himself. He could barely sleep and needed to be on the move constantly, lest the virus spread further and further through his exhausted body. 

Before he was infected, he never noticed how often the two would exchange little touches. From the shoulder holds he would offer in consolation, to lingering touch in the place their fingers overlapped for just a few seconds too long when he needed to pass something to her.

There had just been too many close calls where he had reached out to hold her before he caught himself and quickly pulled back in embarrassment. He wanted to be close to her so bad he was absentmindedly putting the entire operation at risk. 

After he realized that, he decided it was best he kept his distance.

Best for Amy, best for the resistance, and best for his heart. 

[hoshigray]

Can you write a choso x reader, where the reader is a switch and choso is one as well? But the concept is they are both fighting for dominance, until someone yields? 😇😇😇

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: pfft, this is lowkey funny but cool

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Choso x switch! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - implied relationship - prone bone + amazon positions - kissing - pet names (baby, darling, honey, sweetie) - multiple orgasms - .

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.1k

What do you get when you put two switches in a room?

“—Ohooo, fuhuuck, Chosooo!”

“Hnnm! Yeah, you like that, baby?” 

Well, let’s look and find out shall we? 

You and your boyfriend are both switches — that’s a fact known to both of you. Whether either you or him are dom-leaning or sub-leaning depends on the day and mood. There have been days at the beginning of your relationship when you’d both lie on the bed, sitting naked and looking into each other and thinking…Well, who’s making the first move?

Not to say that you both being switches is a bad thing. Oh, no; quite the opposite. You both wouldn’t have it any other way, the dynamic keeps you both on your toes, and the sex is as amazing as ever! Don’t believe it? Observe.

You lay flat on your stomach, your legs caged between Choso’s as he drills his cock from behind. You moan with every thrust, his pelvis smacking your ass so that the skin makes a vulgar sound, and you chew your lips as the curve of his dick scrapes your walls to the point of unimaginable pleasure. 

“Hooohshiit, yesss, right thereee…!” Your brows furrow as he goes at a slow pace, the sensation of his length being pulled out and pushed into your entrance has you twitching onto him. Fuck, it felt so good! “Ohh yess, more…faster, go faster!”

He kisses your nape as his hips continue the slow cadence, and you squeeze at the sensual feel of his pillowy lips on your sweaty skin. He speaks to your ear, “What was that, sweetie? Tell me what you want?”

“Mmmm…Give me more, faster..!”

He chuckles. “Ask again.” Your smile grows broader.

“Pleaseee, go faster; I wanna cum…!”

“You gotta tell me why, princess,” The black-haired man nibbles on the helix of your ear, earning a sob leaving your puffy lips. “And who are you talking to.”

Oh, you loved it when his dominant side corrects you, unable to contain your devilish snicker; he sounds so hot. “Please, Chos—Ohhh!” He sneaks a harsh rut into your cunt, you shriek as he blows on your ear. “Fuck…Please go faster for me, honey; I’m so close, wanna wring you out...Nnaah!” 

“Good job,” you can hear the smirk on his lips, enough to throw you off when he suddenly pounds you with an erratic rhythm.

You howl out loud. The noises you make fly out with every thrust of his shaft, and your head pounds harder with every precise jab to your sensitive, velvety texture. Yes, yessss!! And he doesn’t stop when your climb comes crashing down with your crescendo having you grip the sheets.

Holy shit — the way your walls clamp onto his long member as he stirs your guts is utterly dangerous. Your eyes meet the roof of your head with his tip grazing your hyperacute walls and slurred “thank you”s leave your mouth in a haze when he removes himself from your messy wetness.

“There you go, princess,” he kisses your nape again, loving the way you shudder beneath him. “You feel like helping me out here?”

The fog in your brain clears on command, and you peer to him. “Thought you’d never ask.” 

You swiftly switch positions without Choso’s knowledge, surprising the man by maneuvering him onto his back. Wide brown eyes observe you pick his legs up and bend them towards him, his erect cock standing tall before you grasp onto it. Then, you lead the tip to your entrance, your boyfriend hitching his breath at the contact and purring with the insertion. 

“Fuuck,” Choso bites his lip, watching and sensing you take in his shaft inch by inch, almost choking on his saliva when you grind your hips down his base. God, you knew how to drive him crazy. And the way you were looking at him with such a sweet yet sexy smile had the heat on his face flourish to his ears. 

“Oh, don’t look away, Chocho darling,” you use the nickname that makes the shade of his cheeks grow pinker. “How else will I know if I’m making you feel good or not, hmm?” 

He chortles, “You always know how to make me feel good…Ahhh!” Choso throws his head back once you start rocking your hips, your hands hold his ankles to keep his legs lifted, propelling your waist in an up-and-down motion that has you both moaning a storm. 

This position was always one of your favorites; as much as you enjoy being roughed and dominated over, you could never get tired of taking the reins once in a while, particularly when your boyfriend is groaning and wailing at your movement, riding his shaft as your ass smacks onto his balls; it makes the shiver crawl up your spine. And you can tell he’s enjoying it, too. 

“Oh, Chosoo~,” you draw out his name while you give him his legs to hold, bending further to have your face closer to his. “You’re moaning like crazy, why don’t you tell me how good you feel?”

“—Hnngh, gaah!” Oh, poor Choso, his raven brows screwed together with his mouth agape, and he hisses at the voluntary clench of the walls of your slit. “Hoolyshit, baby, you’re makin’ my mind go crazy…Keep rocking like th—Ahh!”

“Oh yeah? You like it when I go like this?” Quick bounces on his pelvis have Choso humming so cutely for your ears. “No? How about this?” Your hips then go slow yet harsh, slamming your ass down to his aching balls and grinding your hips that have him cry out your name.

“Ohh, fuck! Y/n, princess, sto—Mmmph!” Jesus Christ, you’re clamping onto him with such a grip as if you want him to lose his control. 

And that’s precisely what you want. “Gonna cum, honey?” You kiss his forehead, “Don’t hold back; I wanna hear you cry for me—Eeeee!!”

Before you could process it, Choso had flipped you to your back without your awareness. You shriek at your man putting his cock back inside you while placing your legs on his shoulders. And when his hips go at a sporadic beat, your eyes roll up with a head thrown back at the accurate jabs of his dick. 

“Ohhoo! Nngh!! W-Wait, this isn’t fair!” The snap of his hips instantly counters your complaints, the new position and Choso’s added weight caging you into submission.  “It was my turn…Mmm!” But your protests fall on deaf ears, the black-headed man pounding into you so rashly that you can barely keep your screams to yourself. Because, goddamn, it felt too fucking good!

You and Choso being switches isn’t a bad thing. Sure, it can be hard to pick which side to stay on. But, for the most part, it’s one hell of a fun ride!

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ✩ dividers by @/benkeibear.

[starrystevie]

rating: mature; 18+ only | cross posted on ao3 here

"truth or dare?"

steve's looking at eddie expectantly while he waits for his answer, his eyes wide and cheeks pushed up from the grin pulling at his lips. he's shirtless from past dares and eddie's trying hard to not look at the hair covering his chest, to not look at the way his scars have faded into a pretty dusty pink, to not look at the flexed muscles in his arm from where it's slung over the back of the couch and he's definitely not looking at the way the movement pulls his pec up.

they aren't high enough for this, not drunk enough for it either, but he feels intoxicated. maybe that's just what being around steve harrington at 2am does to him. it makes him stupid.

"...truth?"

steve's grin grows wide enough to challenge even the cheshire cat and eddie knows that truth was the wrong choice. see? stupid.

the hand on the back of the couch tightens and eddie can feel the way it pulls the cushion under his back, the fabric creasing against his shoulder blade. steve's leaning in a tiny bit closer, same wild grin on his face, and eddie feels himself stop breathing. he tries to remain calm, tries to keep an even expression on his face, but when steve harrington is in his presence, it's harder than it seems.

"okay... truth," steve's close enough that eddie can see the specks of green in his eyes and he tries to focus on that instead of how he can almost feel breaths that aren't his own on his lips.

"what's your biggest turn on?"

whatever breath eddie attempts to suck in gets stuck in his throat and turns into a cough forcing steve to pull away cackling. he isn't in eddie's face anymore but he can still feel him, can still sense the barely there exhale on his face, can still only see steve green behind his eyelids.

"what the fuck, dude?!" is all he can get out. his palms are sweaty so he rubs them furiously over his jeans, scowling at his fingers when they get stuck in the small rips.

steve is laughing at the other end of the couch but his arm is still settled over the back of it, creating the most delicious tension on his chest. he looks broad like this, broader than eddie's really ever seen him. and with his hand across the couch and his legs opened just slightly and his bare chest on display and his bright white teeth glinting in the dim moonlight he looks-

he's hot.

he looks like the old steve, all cock-sure and suave, like he knows he can get absolutely whatever he wants. it does eddie's head in. is he what steve wants? is he why steve looks like he could jump on anything and everything that came his way? is he why steve thought he could ask him about his turn ons as easy as if he was asking about the weather?

"i don't have-"

"oh bullshit," steve says with a flick of his free hand. "everyone has one, man. what gets you all hot and bothered?"

eddie tilts his head up with a scoff. "why do you want to know?"

"consider it your average every day bonding." he says it like it's obvious, like all guys do when they sit around and play sleepover games like they're kids again is talk about what they like in bed.

but eddie's drunk on steve in 2am moonlight and can't help himself for giving him everything.

"i like dirty talk."

he'd always give steve everything.

steve's grin shifts into something borderline feral that has eddie vibrating under his skin. he moves his hips and settles back into the arm of the couch, leveling eddie with his gaze. his eyes are heavy when they look at him and eddie feels glued to the spot.

"oh yeah?" steve's inflection sounds exactly like what eddie craves for and he's afraid that he's shown all his cards already if steve was able to pick up on it that fast. "like what?"

he rolls his eyes if only so that he can take them away from watching steve's muscles contorting as he shifts on the couch. it's not hard to get eddie in the mood, that's the embarrassing thing. his limited experience before he learned about alternate dimensions and things living under hawkins didn't exactly help his case. he didn't exactly have guys throwing themselves at him as a social pariah covered in still healing scars, either.

so steve looking at him with those eyes and that grin and without a shirt for god's sake? not helpful.

"i don't know, i just-" his mind supplies images that gets his cock stirring. a certain king of hawkins under him or on top of him or right behind him whispering things in his ear that he had never really thought about before.

"-i just like hearing the effect i have on them, i guess."

and then without warning steve is moving. he's up on his hands and knees and is leaning into eddie's personal space again, his face close enough to eddie's that he can see that damn green in his eyes again.

there's still a bit of space between then but not nearly enough that eddie isn't effected by it. steve's pinkie is brushing his thigh and his cock that was already interested just thinking about the sounds steve could make is stirring even more awake under his gaze.

"you like hearing you're doing good?" steve questions. eddie sighs. "you like all the moans and stuff?"

all eddie can do is nod, afraid that if he speaks that he'll do something embarrassing like say he wants to pull whatever sound out of steve that he'd let him. suddenly, steve's pulling away minutely to get his mouth close to eddie's ear, breath coming out in puffs against his skin.

"oh fuck," steve huffs out, voice pitched high and dainty. feminine. "oh, oh eddie, it's so good."

eddie grips his hands onto his knees like they're the only thing keeping here on planet earth as steve moans in his ear. his cock is starting to grow, whatever blood that was left in his head heading south fast and it's leaving him dizzy. from up close, he's sure steve can see what he's doing if he was to look down. he's wearing sweatpants that don't exactly hide anything, after all.

the sounds steve are making are all light and pretty like he's going off of his own experience and eddie has the fleeting thought that it's what girls sound like under him. that some girl has been pressing up close to steve's chest and had her pretty pink lips up close to his ear as he fucked her into the mattress. but oh, if eddie had the courage he'd tell him. tell him that he doesn't want to hear some girl, some stranger.

he wants to hear steve.

"you gonna take care of that?" steve's voice is back to somewhat normal, a bit raspy and deep, and it floods through eddie's veins like molten lava. he doesn't remember closing his eyes but he peels them open and turns his head to look at steve. he follows his gaze and sees that they're both looking at how turned on eddie is. he doesn't have enough blood left in his cheeks to blush but he would if he could.

"steve, that's wei-"

a hand wrapping over his knee stops him mid sentence. "not weird. do it. i want you to."

eddie gulps even though his throat feels drier than it's ever been. steve's fingers tighten and he jerks his chin up to urge him on and fuck, he knew he'd always give steve whatever he wanted.

"can you just," eddie sucks a breath in through his teeth as he drops his hand to his waistband, fingers teasing under the fabric. "sound like you, please?"

the silence feels palpable. he can feel every place that his clothes are touching him, every place that steve is touching him, every place his breath has fallen on him that evening. he has half a mind to take it back and tell him he was joking, to pretend like he's some girl again and eddie could get off on that, too. he could at least try, especially if it was steve.

but then- "eddie, fuck."

steve's mouth is close to his ear again, lips ghosting over the shell of his ear as he groans into it. his voice is pitched deep but it's definitely undeniably steve. he shifts onto his knees so he can drape his arm behind eddie once more. not touching, but there and as eddie's hand slips under the fabric to grip at his cock, they both let out a sigh.

"yeah, there you go. gonna touch yourself for me, hmm?"

"shit," eddie groans out as his hand trails over his weeping cock. he brings his thumb up to gather a bit of the precome that's dribbled out of the top and rubs it between his fingers before gliding them down his length. steve's panting these little sounds into his ear that mirror eddie's own moans. when he sighs, steve sighs, when he whines, steve whines.

it's like he's touching himself to get steve off, too, and isn't that something to think about? them laying side by side with each other's dicks in their hands, stroking just how the other likes to get them off. he'd watch steve's face, speed up when his eyes open and slow down when he's close. he'd buck his hips into steve's steady grip, swallow the moans he pulls out of him so they echo through his body. it'd be heaven on a mattress or hardwood floor or ratty couch in a ratty trailer.

"got me all hard in my jeans, eddie." steve breathes out and eddie can't see is he's lying or not but it sounds true and eddie briefly wonders if steve should go into porn with those acting skills. "the way you look with your hand in your pants, jesus, it's a sin. all flushed and hot and, god-"

if steve keeps it up, eddie is going to be done way faster than he wants to be. his hand speeds up when steve lets out a particularly loud moan in his ear and then there's a brush of denim against his arm and wow, steve was in fact not lying. his hips keep jumping up to get pressure against eddie's forearm and the long line of steve's cock is teasing him.

"steve," he whines out, "are you..."

"of course i am," he laughs against eddie's ear before sneaking a tiny kiss to his temple. "you're so fucking hot, dude. been wanting to do this for too long. too long, oh my god."

his hand that was on eddie thigh moves up to unbutton his pants and slides under his own waistband and eddie takes a moment to slow his strokes as he looks up at steve. he looks like a greek god in grungy trailer lighting, chest shimmering with sweat and puffing with heavy breaths. he's grinning down at eddie and he feels like he could float away.

"think i'm hot, stevie?" he says on a shuddering breath as he hits a spot on his cock that he immediately goes to find again. steve smirks before his eyes roll back as he gets a hand on his own dick.

"so hot, so fucking-"

he's cut off by a moan and eddie sends up a silent thank you to the universe that they have the trailer to themselves for the next few days because eddie needs to pull more of those out of him. he needs steve on his back and on his cock and in his mouth and on his fingers and every which way he'll let him have him if it means he gets to hear more of that.

"gonna get my mouth on you soon enough, gotta know what you taste like. gonna get you down my fucking throat..."

steve's brought his mouth back down to eddie's ear and is grunting like he's running the race of a lifetime while he tells eddie what he wants to do him. says truths of his own outside of the now forgotten game, secrets laced with some of the most romantic things eddie's ever been told. tells him how pretty he is, how good he is, how he's imagining eddie's fingers on his cock and on his skin and how he's close, close, close.

knowing he's effecting steve this much, knowing he has this hold on him that he thought was one sided, knowing that he's racing through steve's veins like he's racing through eddie's, it's too much.

"i'm... fuck- i'm gonna," eddie's hand speeds up and the hand on the back of the couch comes up to tangle in his hair. there's a pressure pulling him back until he's looking at the ceiling for a second until all he can see is steve and the flecks of green he's come to love.

"it's okay, i've got you, come on. let me just-"

their first kiss is shared on a ratty couch in a ratty trailer with their hands in their pants and come covering their fingers. eddie's mouth is open enough that he's moaning into steve's and the hand on the back of his head is twitching while he comes. they pull apart enough that eddie can hear what they sound like as they work through their orgasms together, can hear what steve sounds like as he works himself down.

he's going to get that on a record someday, he tells himself. it'll go platinum.

and just as quick as it started, it's over. only this time steve's snuggling up next to him and using his clean hand to stroke over the exposed skin on eddie's stomach instead of returning to the opposite end of the couch. their chests are heaving as they try and regain their composure and it feels like bliss until steve laughs.

it's like an ice bucket being poured over him and he wishes he didn't love hearing steve so much because he's afraid that the laugh will haunt his memories for ages to come. steve must feel him freeze up because the hand on his stomach circles around his waist and pulls him even closer so he can nuzzle his face into eddie's chest. it starts to settle the nerves that had wound themselves around his insides.

"i don't know if you could tell," he starts, voice muffled against eddie's flannel. "but i've been wanting to do that, this, for ages."

eddie snorts. "you've wanted to make me jizz in my pants for ages? really? low standards even for you."

steve snorts out a laugh in return. "no, you idiot. i've wanted to be able to do this for ages."

he tilts his head up and places a featherlight kiss to eddie's lips. it's soft, it's sweet, it's the opposite of everything that happened not two minutes prior. eddie feels a smile tugging at his mouth and pulls back to see steve smiling, too.

"does this mean..."

there's no words, no definition that eddie can put to the events of the night that don't sound silly or juvenile. but then he sees steve settle back down, pressing a kiss to right over his heart before laying his head down where it was.

"... that we're doing that again? absolutely. just maybe in a bed next time."

and maybe they don't need a label. maybe all they need is laying on a couch with come cooling in their pants and echoes of what just happened bouncing off the trailer walls. maybe all they need is a promise of later sealed with a kiss and their heartbeats in synch.

and maybe, just maybe, they'll play truth or dare again.

[theblueflower05]

Crawling Back to You

(Part Two of First Love/Late Spring)

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

Word Count: 8k+

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

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

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

Series Masterlist(all parts can be found here)

Previous< First Love/Late Spring

Next>: Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea

Secret's that I’ve held in my heart

Are harder to hide then I thought.

Maybe I just wanna be yours- Artic Monkeys

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

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

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

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

Warrior.

Brother of the people.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, the younger man gathers his courage.

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

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

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

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

Neteyam is nodding “Yes sir, of course”

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

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

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

He had never been one to be fickle about responsibility.

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

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

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

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

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

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

Only one person.

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

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

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

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

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

He just has to find you first.

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

“Neteyam!” It’s Tuk.

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

He’s greeted by his family-

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

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

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

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

“I don't have time for this-”

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

He doesn't like her tone.

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

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

“What happened?”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

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

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

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

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

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

She explains the meaning of the Lei’s.

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

He doesn’t feel that way now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kiri, what do I do?”

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

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

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

“We fix this”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

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

Bonfires roar, their flames tall and burning bright.

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

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

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

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

And yet, Neteyam is on edge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The last obstacle is the hardest.

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

At every turn you evade him.

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

You’re hauntingly beautiful in the firelight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jake pulls his son close.

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

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

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

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

Eyes set unyieldingly on the prize.

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

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

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

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

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

He wishes he could let you be,

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

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

“I don’t think-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s not sure that is the case anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

So he presses on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You already said that”

“Please, look at me”

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

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

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

“Please-” He’s all but begging, yet

you avoid his touch again and it feels like blades.

Your shrill warning hiss rings in his ears.

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

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

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

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

A tear rolls down the swell of your cheek.

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

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

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

“Neteyam-”

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

Have mercy on him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He needs.

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

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

His control, he realizes as he crowds you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you ok-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing is close enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s only one way to ensure that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Devotion in a way that makes him lightheaded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You push on his chest. Gentle yet demanding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s how you smell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I should be asking you that”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tasting yourself on his spit.

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are a vision.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait-”

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

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

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Huh.

It looks like she had nothing to worry about.

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

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

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

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

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

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

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[casscainmainly]

Gender/Sexuality in Batgirl (2000): Part 2

@dailycass-cain asked some great questions on my other post, which I'm gonna answer here to the best of my ability. Also if you're reading this, I love your blog, your reading list is how I got into Cass in the first place!!!

This post covers issue #50 onwards (end of Horrocks into Gabrych's run).

World's Okayest Father

I'll start with Cass' warped thoughts on Bruce, which occurs in issue #50. Cass has just gotten fired, but chooses to go out anyway and Bruce confronts her. The issue opens with a flashback:

Cass and David Cain spar, Cain slaps her, she kisses him, and they continue to fight. Here, the kiss represents intimacy, something which Cain (judging by his disgusted facial expression) dislikes and represses. Cass, however, clearly wants intimacy with her father - this isn't romantic, rather a desire (as I said in my other post) to be wanted/needed/loved.

Back in present day, Cass and Bruce start fighting and this happens:

In the context of the opening flashback, her attempt to kiss him is a broader desire for intimacy, rather than a romantic desire. Importantly, both here and above the intimacy is mingled with violence - Cass struggles to distinguish between the intimacy of a fight and the intimacy of a familial relationship.

Just including this here because I love these two so much and this is the SECOND time she beats him up. As I mentioned before, Dick seems to represent patriarchy to Cass, so her beating him up here is another repudiation of typical feminine roles. This is exemplified by her costume: not her usual more androgynous full-face mask, but not Barbara's Batgirl either. She's beginning to sort out how she feels about her gender without conforming to feminine standards.

Then these iconic scenes. Here, she explicitly distinguishes between positive intimacy ("he never let me touch him... hold him...") and negative intimacy ("just fighting... and hurting..."). This is a major development from both the flashback and her attempt to kiss Bruce earlier. Just as Conner was essential to Cass separating romance from friendship, Bruce is essential to Cass understanding the difference between romance and familial love, between violence and tenderness. So while Cass' attempts to kiss Bruce is a little weird, it makes sense in the context of Cass figuring out the intricacies of relationships.

Bruce asks her where her loyalty lies: him, David Cain, or Barbara. Remembering the Soul panel (where Cass hallucinated Bruce telling her to stop being sexual and Babs telling her to go out and date boys), Bruce and David Cain represent sexual/gendered repression, while Barbara represents traditional femininity. By passing over them in favour of the gender-neutral Bat symbol, Cass is sort of asserting her new understanding of her gender, one that rebels against Bruce's disapproval and Babs' conventionality.

The Poison Ivy Parable

So I did just skip the Poison Ivy arc in my last post, but dailycass-cain is completely right in that it's integral to Cass' understanding of gender and sexuality.

Cass is a lot more assertive with her gender in this arc. She puts on a dress, quotes gendered reality TV ("you bet your cutie patootie, baby!") and says the above when a man expresses interest in her. Unlike her initial feelings about Conner's advances, she's more comfortable with being perceived as a woman, and doesn't let Bruce scold her. She's messing with him here - her sexuality isn't under his control anymore.

Poison Ivy makes a garden that lowers inhibitions, and Cass nearly kisses this guy named Chris (the designer of the garden). However, Cass snaps out of it to go to "work," defeating Poison Ivy.

Cass' choice to "work" instead of kissing Chris could be read as a repression of her sexuality once again, but I think it's different. Cass doesn't get told to stop kissing him; she makes the choice herself. Bruce alludes to this by saying "looks like you've got things under control" (emphasis added). Cass' sexuality and gender have been controlled for so long, whether by David Cain, Bruce, Babs, drugs like Soul, or gardens like Poison Ivy's. By breaking free of the garden's effects, Cass asserts control over her body.

The Stephanie Brown Story

As mentioned in Part 1, Stephanie essentially kickstarted Cass' desire to understand her gender/sexuality. However, she 'dies' in War Games, leaving Cass devastated. There's a noticeable difference in how assertive she was in her gender in the Poison Ivy arc, and her attitude at the beginning of Gabrych's run:

She questions whether she is "the fairy godmother" or "Prince Charming," a feminine or a masculine role. Following from Horrocks' run, she's aware there's options beyond these prescriptive roles ("is this a.... whole new story?"). But unlike Cass' certainty in the Poison Ivy arc, she frames these thoughts now in questions. Stephanie's death seems to have shaken some core part of herself.

This section is very reminiscent of Cass' conversation with Stephanie that started the whole journey, except here Cass is comparing herself to Tim. Interestingly, where in the original conversation Cass says she's never had a "kiss," not specifying the gender of who she'd kiss, here Cass sticks to heterosexuality: "I've never even had a... boyfriend". There's a sense of regression, of having to start her journey all over again:

In many ways Cass' grief over Stephanie's death forces her to re-evaluate her thoughts on love, gender, and agency.

Eventually, Cass nearly drowns and hallucinates Stephanie in the water. This is the antithesis of the Soul hallucinations: where the imagined people there (which interestingly did not include Spoiler) harassed her with patriarchal demands, Stephanie is encouraging and kind. She tells Cass to do "what you taught me to do;" Cass taught Stephanie to fight, but Stephanie taught Cass the value of female relationships, to fight for a life worth living.

Right after this scene, Cass goes to Brenda's café, begins looking for her mother, and reaches out to the female police officer. Stephanie kickstarts another round of self-development for Cass, this time in the direction of forging female relationships for herself.

Connection

Throughout the rest of Gabrych's run, Cass forms connections with Brenda, Onyx, and Zero, as dailycass-cain mentions. Brenda seems to be a surrogate Stephanie and Barbara - she's sort of a parental figure, feeding Cass and giving advice, but she's also a friend, inviting Cass to parties. We get this iconic outfit:

It's somewhat gendered (with the skirt and the shirt), but it's distinctive and different from the normal dress she wore at the end of Horrocks' run. She's learning to express herself more, and because Brenda is less parental than Babs, she doesn't have the same need to make Cass 'normal'.

Zero is honestly a bit weird, in this analysis as well as in the story itself. I think it's part of Cass finding connections with civilians in Blud, and I actually don't think it's similar to Conner. With Conner, it was very rushed; with Zero, there's clear build-up, and Cass genuinely seems to enjoy herself.

Cass and Zero kiss, and Cass thinks "my skin feels... alive. Where his arms were. His lips." Was it love? Probably not, but it was a cute moment for Cass, and I think she enjoyed the excitement/novelty more than anything (in that case it is similar to Kon).

This leads into Cass' thoughts about her conception, and whether David Cain and Shiva were in love. There's a neat flip here - where in Horrocks' run Cass was puzzled about her own feelings, here she's questioning other people's. She's definitely grown in her capacity to understand herself and her gender:

She now has the language to identity herself ("a girl") and the way it makes her feel ("awful"). In contrast to her initial confrontation with the male gaze (Conner), she's more secure, beating people up and leaving the bar (sharp contrast to being stuck on that vacation boat).

There's other stuff besides this, like the brief encounter with Rose, the make-up with Babs, Onyx, Shiva etc. but I'll end it here. Again, there's a lot more to be explored but honestly Gabrych had more stuff than I initially though.

Hope this answered at least part of your questions dailycass-cain, and thank you for ALL you've done for the Cass Cain community!!

[freckliedan]

if they're both out, then why bother hiding their relationship / stuff like sharing a room and going on couple holidays? surely all of their fans know that they're together so i don't get the point of buying a home with 2 bedrooms and having a fake apartments? sorry very confused very casual fan here

hi!!! i am always so happy to share information, so ty for asking me about it! i'm going to take these questions piece by piece ^_^

if they're out why bother hiding: most of the examples of them taking serious steps to hide their relationship are from before they came out! they have been together since 2009, but dan wasn't even out to his family until 2019, shortly before he came out publicly.

why not come out sooner than that? i'll try to be brief and avoid rehashing dan's entire coming out video (which is worth watching). several reasons: he was severely bullied from early childhood onward for being gay—from before he even had the chance to consider if he was actually gay. his dad was homophobic to the point dan seems to have removed him from his life completely, & he was raised by religious grandparents so unsure of the reception there.

and significantly: he and phil were outed by a youtube glitch that leaked an extremely personal video in 2011 that leaked again on a broader scale about a year later. being outed was a part of the bullying dan had experienced so this was retraumatizing but on a bigger scale.

they had had SOME level of plausable deniability regarding their relationship before the leak, but hadn't been very actively closeting themselves before that point? and then the leak happened around when they were blowing up in popularity/around when youtube was becoming a viable career, so they were already grappling with sudden fame & a lot of other things happening in their lives at the time.

dan was 20 and phil was 24 the first time that video leaked; they were 21 and 25 and living in an apartment they couldn't afford on their own hoping the bbc would hire them (they did) the second time it did. it makes sense that they came down hard & firmly closeted themselves, especially dan, especially with what he's shared of his personal experiences.

2012-13 was the peak closet, but by 2015 they were already being more open—that's the first couple's trip they went on again after active closeting started. they've just become more and more open from there, but the peak closet era was so definitive that the public perception of them as not a couple WILL NOT SHIFT until they directly express that they are a couple.

they ARE out to fans as a couple, and imo have been since before they came out individually. they've said things along the lines of "we know you know" multiple times.

why not be definitive about their relationship status when they came out? it would've overshadowed them coming out as individuals and they didn't want that. it will be MASSIVE news when they hard launch their relationship. they went ambiguous with it on purpose in 2019 and succeeded.

so. to circle back to your questions.

why bother hiding their relationship? they haven't really since coming out. they've been living freely and being open about that in whatever ways are comfortable to them. they took some time out of the public eye for a while and i'm glad they got to have that so they could explore what happiness looks like without feeling the need to perform. but it was also something that was intentionally temporary!

at this point in time when they call each other friends or roommates etc they're fully doing a bit. like. it's funny! and it's funny at our expense which makes it even funnier—it's their turn to put us through some shit, you know? & the joke is more on people who AREN'T familiar with them than anyone else at this point. it's nice being in on things with them.

why hide sharing a bedroom? they haven't really since moving into their forever home! they have a bedroom and a guest room and there's a murphy bed in phil's filming space/personal office.

phil at some point made a comment that the murphy bed is for if they have two guests over at the same time—something that will only really read as "they share a bedroom" to people keeping track of rooms in their house.

i don't think that they share a bed they sleep in 100% of the time. which is like, normal and healthy? being able to sleep in a different bed when you want/need is NICE i've known so many people who keep seperate rooms in committed relationships and if i was rich enough i'd love having two bedrooms with beds in them in my relationship. even if we'd mostly sleep in the same place.

i also think having multiple beds means dan and phil can have freak sex in one and be lazy about clean up bc they have other beds so that's. a plus for them too.

but like. yeah. i think it's less that they're hiding that they share a bedroom and more that they share a bedroom but have better boundaries with their audience at this point—there stopped being video liveshows after they came out and they'd stopped doing liveshows from their actual bedroom when they moved in to the separate apartment situation.

+ the separate apartment situation was ONLY ever meant to be short term, & was a solution to the situation before that, when every room was in videos and it permanently felt like they were living in sets.

why hide couple holidays? they haven't since before coming out! they also go on a lot of double dates.

no sorries on the confusion and thank you for the chance to infodump!

[lokis-army-77]

OK, so I know I *could* write this, but my WIPs are ridiculous, and you wrote Demon Eddie so well that he lives rent free in my head.

I was thinking Incubis Eddie, where reader thinks shes just having very horny dreams with this thing, and then he visits her when he thinks she's asleep but she's not...

Feel free to add your own flavours, or ignore this horny thot entirely up to you babe x

Hunger

Incubus!Eddie Munson x fem reader

Word Count: 2k

A demon awaits you in your room when you arrive home from a night out.

Warning: 18 +. multiple orgasms, some licking (f reviving), fingering (vaginal and anal), CNC?, some hair pulling, blood.

And thank you to @lofaewrites for beta reading 💗

Masterlist

He had started showing up in the dark corners of your room only a month ago. It was after you had watched some horror movie with a friend and instead of being afraid like every normal person in the theater, you were turned on. 

In the dreams you had of him, you weren't scared either even when he came into the light and bared his two rows of needle-sharp teeth, even when his horns made him appear taller and the wings stretching from his bare back made him look broader. 

Each night he visited you was another wonderful exploration of your wants and desires. You couldn't get enough of him and when you woke only to find that the pleasure and the pain had all been a dream, you sulked to yourself as you missed the feel of those long, clawed fingers scratching at your skin.

You had come home way later than you usually would on a weeknight. Only coming through your front door at around three in the morning. A long-time friend of yours had gotten married and the reception had gone on longer than you would have liked. The bride and groom had left at around twelve but the party raged on without them. You called it quits when the ache in your feet could no longer be ignored and instead of conversation, all you could do was yawn. 

Trudging through your front door you kick your shoes off and throw your bag onto the table in the entryway. You’re exhausted and all you want is to go to bed.

As you walk through your house, everything seems normal, until you flip the lights on in your bedroom. You freeze when you see it. A dark mass by the head of your bed bent over and pulling at the clumped-up sheets. 

The creature whips around, its hair falling into its face as it growled. Its wings spread out to make itself look bigger and it bared its rows of sharp teeth.  You take a step back, fear gripping onto you. But then, as you look at the strange form, you are met with a familiar feeling. This wasn’t a strange creature, no it was what visited you in your dreams. 

Confusion fell over you then. He was just a dream. He wasn’t real so why were you seeing him in your room? You don’t remember falling asleep anywhere. Shaking your head, you pinch your arm, thinking it might wake you up like it does in the movies but all you feel is the sharp pain it brings to your forearm. 

Cautiously, you take a step forward, hands out, showing the creature you didn’t intend to do anything rash. “Hello,” you speak softly. His eyes slit as he stares at you. “Uh.. what are you doing here?” You ask. He had never really talked to you in your dreams before but it didn't hurt to try. 

“You aren’t supposed to be awake.” He answers, voice deep. 

 You take a deep breath. "What do you mean?" you ask.

He stares at you for a moment before he speaks again. "You know what I mean."

When he steps toward you, you step back, only to run into the door. Where there should have been a sense of dread, there was only a spark. A tingling sensation coiling up inside of you the closer he came.  

He reaches out his hand, claw-like nails giving him a more sinister look, and brushes back the strands of your hair that had fallen out of the updo you had been wearing for the wedding. You shiver when you feel his nails tickle your skin.  

You can feel your heart beating faster as he shuffles closer to you, his larch body towering over yours. A gasp leaves you when he unexpectedly grabs you and hoists you over his shoulder. 

“What are you doing?” Your voice wavers as he walks you over to the bed and throws you down. Your body bounces at the force and once you settle, you try to back away from him. 

He huffs, frustrated. “You aren’t this much of a hassle when you’re sleeping.” He takes hold of your ankle and drags you back down the bed. You try to wriggle free, but he is too strong. He grabs the other ankle and pulls you towards him, trapping you between his body and the mattress. He presses his body against yours, his hands roaming over you. 

You can’t help the flood of arousal that washes over you as you struggle against him. He’s smirking like this is a game to him and it’s only making you more flustered. 

Leaning down, his lips press into yours and his tongue slips inside your mouth. It’s forked, just like in your dreams, but now, with what little he’s said, you wonder if they were really dreams at all. 

The kiss is fierce, full of strong emotions and wandering hands. He tugs on your dress and you can hear the fabric beginning to tear. You try to pull away and to stop him but he’s so much stronger than you. 

You feel the needle-sharp tips of his teeth nip you, drawing blood from your bottom lip. He laps it up, humming at the metallic taste. Your fingers drag lines over his back and sides as you fall deeper into the feral, primal instincts now controlling you. 

His hardened length can be felt pressing into your thigh as he ruts into you. His kisses are rough and desperate, and you can feel his heart racing against yours as he pulls you closer. He whispers in your ear, "Let me take what I need and I will let you sleep.” 

You’re nodding before you can stop yourself. The growing need for him is too much to resist now. 

The creature hums, satisfied at your submission. Soon, your dress is finally ripped off of you, along with your undergarments. You are left completely bare to him, nipples pebbling in the cool air of your room and thighs snapping shut at being so exposed. 

A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest and he’s quick to open your legs up. Long, deft fingers trail down your exposed skin, goosebumps coming up in their wake. He takes his time, coaxing you into a more relaxed state with gentle caresses and warm lips sucking marks into your skin.

“Ah.” A moan leaves you when you feel him bite at your collarbone. Tiny pinpricks that draw the smallest amount of blood. His tongue laved over the wound and he let out a groan. 

His hand finally reaches between your legs and you let out a cry of relief when his thumb rubs over your clit. His other hand moves up to cup your breast, his fingers teasing your nipple. His mouth moves over your neck and he whispers in your ear, “You are so sensitive.” His fingers slid through the wetness faster over your clit. 

Your hips move in tandem with his hand, bucking and writhing. He lets you take what you need.  His fingers move faster still as you begin to moan and gasp. His other hand moves down to your hip and grips as your body jerks with each wave of pleasure. “Fuck-” you breathe. You can feel the all-too-familiar sensation pushing you closer and closer to the edge. 

“That’s it. Give it to me.” He whispers into your ear as your back arches and your toes curl.  

Your breath hitches as your body tenses. Your voice breaks and you cry out in pleasure as you reach your peak. His grip tightens as you collapse onto the bed. 

The creature moans into your neck and he keeps rubbing his fingers into you, slowly moving them down from your clit to circle around your soaking-wet entrance. You whimper in his strong grip. 

“Please,” you gasp. He doesn’t stop, he pushes two of his fingers into you, pulling a wail from your lungs. You are clamping down around him, cunt practically sucking his fingers. 

There are squelching sounds coming from the fluid motion of his fingers roughly bounding into you. Your pleas and moans accompany the sounds and it’s like music to the creature's ears.   

He fingers you with abandon, pushing and pulling with force and speed. Your orgasm builds with each thrust of his fingers, your pleasure becoming more intense with each passing second. Your body goes rigid in his hold and as you cum for a second time. 

“No more,” you mumble, spent and exhausted. 

You hear him chuckle, “I’m not done with you, pet.” 

When his fingers leave your used cunt, a whine leaves you at the loss and you feel yourself clamping down around nothing. He is turning you onto your stomach before you know it. Your head is buried in the sheets and your body lies like a board. 

With closed eyes, you can only assume what he is doing behind you as you feel his body atop your own. Thick fingers push apart the fat of your ass to expose you. The tickle of his hair as he leans down to lick a thick stripe from your pussy to the tight ring of your ass makes you twitch, a small bit of exhausted laughter pushing through you. 

He pulls back and you can feel his thumb toying with your ass, circling and pushing in just slightly. He has moved to his legs are on either side of your closed thighs. You can feel the hardness of his cock resting along the seam of where your legs meet. He’s hot and leaking pre-cum. 

Wiggling your hips, you encourage him to keep going. He then guides his cock closer, pressing the tip through the sticky wetness and into your waiting pussy. 

You moan into the bed at the stretch, hands gripping the sheets. He’s so big that he makes you feel so full without being completely inside you. 

He keeps pushing into you, grunting and hissing at the feel of your cunt spasming around him. Once he is fully sheathed inside you he begins to piston his hips. In and out in and out. He’s fucking you at a brutal pace. Giving you pleasure but also taking what he wants from you. 

His thumb is still circling your ass but as he keeps going, he finally pushes past your tight rim. You cry out into the open air of your bedroom. His thumb is thick and stretches you open where you have never been stretched before. 

“Fuck, yes.” You mumble into the sheets below. 

He grins. “You like that pet? Like when I use this pretty ass?”

You nod, hair tangling under your face as you do. “Yes, yes, yes.” It's the only word you can get out of your mouth. 

Listening to your words he begins to thrust his thumb in and out of you at the same unwaveringly fast pace that his hips have set. 

You can’t help the guttural groan you let out. It’s all becoming too much. So many sensations are filling your body, some familiar and others new. The strings of your orgasm have been pulled taut and are slowly breaking one by one. Your fists clench and your legs spasm. The creature reaches to your head and pulls on your hair at the base of your neck. Your head is forced up and with a half cry half moan, you cum around him as he releases thick stream after thick stream into you. 

As he keeps himself buried within you, he leans down and bites at your ear before speaking. “I may have to visit you when you are awake again, pet. You take me so well.” 

He pulls out and moves away, fast and unexpectedly, leaving you to drop, spent, and used on the bed. You turn slowly to look for him but your eyes find him nowhere in your room. It was empty, he had vanished into thin air. 

Soon he will return, hunger no longer sated by the sexual energy that you have given him tonight.  

[rosemaze-reveries]

Hello! I found your blog and love the writing

Here’s sit with me while I tell you my favorite idea 💡

✨So the hunters (all if possible) come back to the manor after a long match of smelling sweat and blood upon walking towards their shred room with reader they catch a scent of their lovers perfume- mind going a mile a minute with the idea of their lover being in they arms and just melting from the stress of the day ✨

Thoughts 💭

ANON. anon...... this is the kind of scenario that makes me CRAZY uegh.. when their judgment's clouded by bloodlust but inhaling your scent brings them back to their senses >>> 🤒 let me be your lighthouse home etc etc. sign me UP.

for some blurbs, this turned into a broader "hunter comes straight to you after a rough match" without the perfume bit. kind of misunderstood the assignment but either way, here's this!

🌪️✂️👘🏳️🏴🦌🐍🪞🎻🔩🐟🕯️

🌪️ Ithaqua brings an air of gloom with him into your bedroom. Driven by nothing but a searing want for you, he skips over any pleasantries to tear off his mask and shove you onto the ground. A bed of wind tries to break your fall, but his impatience gets the better of him; he pins you to the floor with such force that he disrupts his own gale from cushioning your way down. Not that you care in the moment. You’ve been waiting to have him in your arms all day. He leaves a scattering of love bites and wet kisses up your neck.

✂️ Jack has one particular tune that he hums after his worst matches. Months of living together have left you all too familiar with it. His song begins from the foot of the staircase and steadily crisps itself to your ears as he draws nearer. Afraid of the state you might find him in, you rush outside to meet him at the top of the banister. He pauses with one foot on the next step. “Curious,” he says, greeting you with a cordial smile. “It’s not often a little mouse stands in my path—not on purpose.” His blouse is soaked a shade of reddish brown, and no amount of easy banter can hide the weariness in his eye. “Well, you’ve saved me the trouble. I was on my way to ravage you next.”

👘 Michiko drags her nails along the walls of the corridor, leaving a dull streak of blood behind. She doesn’t make a sound when she slips inside your room, practised in her delicate step; you don’t even feel the dip in the mattress before she has her shoulders arched over you. Eyeing you tenderly, she rolls a warm thumb over your cheekbone. “I’m home,” she murmurs. “Your sweet scent led the way again.” She realizes she left a smear of red on your skin, and her hand jerks away, startled by the reminder of what she had been doing just minutes ago.

🏳️ Bi’an’s arms wind around the small of your back, drawing you into his chest for a slow, tender embrace. It’s the first thing he does after returning to the manor: falling straight into your arms. As his lips trail down your forehead, peppering soft kisses in their path, you wrap your arms around his neck to bring him closer. A whisper escapes you about how out of the blue this is, and in response he brings a kiss to the corner of your eye, prompting them to flutter shut. “Let me have you, just for a little while…” Those sweet kisses he’s so good at descend your neck, growing rougher the lower he goes.

🏴 Wujiu’s arms wind around your stomach, pressing his chest flush against your back. He hasn’t uttered a word since returning from his match, aside from a tepid “Nothing worth mentioning” when asked about his day. This sudden affection takes you by surprise. You try to turn your head to face him but he catches your chin, steering your gaze back to the wall. “Don’t look at me.” Whatever is clouding his mind today is better left alone, you realize. You lay your hands on top of his, squeezing them, encouraging him to let your presence blot out everything on his mind. Warm breath fans your collarbone as he nuzzles into your neck, drinking in your scent.

🦌 Bane doesn’t like to discuss his matches. It makes no difference whether they are quick or slow, a win or a lose, they always weigh on him the same way. He sits on the edge of the bed lost in thought. You decide to break the tension first by greeting him with a hug from behind, your chin hooking over his shoulder. Bane isn’t big on physical affection. But after a while he cups a tender hand to your temple, palm taking up the entirety of your face, and presses you gently into him.

🐍 Yidhra might be the hunter most detached from the nightmares of the manor games. They provide nothing but leisure for her, and she’s never felt particularly passionate about them, win or lose. Her followers are the ones who give her the most trouble. When they resist her will, her consciousness splinters apart, some days leaving her too weak to herd them back again. These are typically the days she comes for you. You aren’t sure when she enters your room, but sometimes you catch glimpses of her tail in your peripheral, never to be seen when you’re looking on purpose. Her voice floats in the back of your mind: Mine, mine, mine, mine… There is nothing that binds you to her, yet you’re the only one who never resists her.

🪞 Mary barges into the room clumsily for someone of her poise. She struggles to prop herself against the door, muddy skirt stiff in awkward folds. “My mind is a mess,” she exclaims, voice clear but breathless at the same time. “Where are you? Come settle me.” The second she spots you, she sulks over to toss her arms around your neck, finding a seat in your lap. Clearly she isn’t concerned about observing her usual decorum today. Her dress is heavy and splotched with muck you don’t care to identify, but you don’t mind holding her as the burdens of the day ease off her shoulders.

🎻 Antonio’s fingers instinctively travel to the liquor cart by the window. He hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights, but feeling around to find nothing but an empty platter gives him pause. One resigned cluck of his tongue later, you feel tendrils of hair coil around your waist and wrists. They pluck you up from your side of the bed and present you in front of him as if you’re nothing more than a doll. “Not a drop to console me?” he complains, knowing you’ve hidden his bottles again. Then his head tilts slightly, taking in your scent. You can practically see detention’s fiery glow return to his eyes. “No, perhaps you are right—there is something more intoxicating for me here.”

🔩 Percy - “Hm...” He’s scrutinizing you with such intensity that you wonder if something’s on your face. He leans over to take an exaggerated whiff of you, and your heart sinks in offense. You have half a mind to tell him you showered just that morning, so it’s probably not you — besides, he’s the one who’s been tangoing with carcasses all day — but Percy keeps a thoughtful look about him. “You smell full of life,” he muses. “That fragrance you wear, it was popular back in the day. Transports me to the city again.” He would know better than you; you just found this perfume in the trunk of a dusty old room. When he comes closer, clasping either hand around your face, you let him lose himself in the nostalgia. Moments like these are all you have to keep yourselves sane in the manor.

🐟 Grace’s mouth is pulled into a taut frown when she flings open the door. You can see a slight quiver in her lip if you squint. Her harpoon clatters on the ground and she drops onto your bed, braid falling out, face buried in a pillow. There’s little you can do except rub a soothing hand in circles on her back. When she peeks over her arm with a gentle plea in her eyes, you wonder if she’s asking for a deeper massage—but you don’t get the chance to ask before her hand latches onto your forearm, tugging you down to lie with her.

🕯️ Philippe settles for a glass of brandy and his bundle of sketches. He’s resting on the chaise by the foot of the bed, not his work desk where he’d usually be. Rather than drafting new ideas he’s simply thumbing through the old ones, mechanically, breaking from his cycle only for a sip of his glass. It’s like your lover’s been replaced by a puppet. You feel unnerved enough to intervene: stripping him first of his glass, his sketches, then his monocle, you tip him back onto the cushion. You expect him to complain about having to get back to work, but he doesn’t protest. Tonight is for him, you decide. As his dark hair sprawls out beneath him, you straddle his thighs, and his hand reaches up to cup your cheek. “I’m terribly jealous of this magic of yours,” he murmurs, faint lilt in his voice. “It’s always you who brings me back from the stars.”

[raayllum]

Rayla as Callum's Deepest Truth - what does that mean? :: Or Truth in S6

Season six of The Dragon Prince talks a lot about truth.

It's a sentiment at least mentioned in almost every episode, and in a show featuring secrets, unreliable narrators, and characters routinely keeping information from or divulging information to one another, it's an accordingly complicated concept for both the characters and the show's broader narrative.

Thereby, we're going to start with the most straight forward associations in the season, beginning with Callum's plot line in 6x06 and the scene itself, and then work backwards through the various other aspects that contribute to both initial and more layered readings of the concept that we can extrapolate from other aspects / relationships the season explores through truth.

Let's begin.

Truth as Light and Love

The first and simplest readings of Rayla as Callum's Truth is that she is Light ("How do I find this light?" / "the one deep truth so bright it can fill the darkness") and Love. This isn't really a stretch, given that seeing and embracing Star Rayla causes a bright light to shine literally in canon, and successfully fill the hole in Callum's spirit with light and purify him of darkness. This also pulls on the most straight forward associations from Rayla and light in prior seasons.

We see this reflected in Janai and Amaya's blessing of the sun at their wedding—a request for "love and light"—and in their discussions with one another in 6x02. Amaya assures her that Janai can still fix what is broken for her people (put a pin that idea of broken + fixing for later) so long as she doesn't try to do it alone. Janai affirms this through her understanding of "The King with 1000 Eyes" story, stating that much like in the tale's pair of lovers, Amaya is also:

While this doesn't necessitate the idea of Truth as being romantic love for an individual, this line is one of the biggest reasons going into 6x06 that I thought maybe Rayla would end up being his Deepest Truth. This is also partially because they refer back to the idea of light and fixing, directly stating that "there is a way to fix it" through the star-light ritual, and we see this idea again with Rayla in 6x09 with Runaan.

Rayla was always set up to be Callum's alternative path in opposition to Aaravos as well (though again, we'll get to that specific path motif more later) through the framing of light. It's unsurprising then that in opposition to both metaphorical and literal darkness

we get Rayla and his love for her being a literal light.

These are the most straight forward, positive sides of Truth that we see, and the ones I think (mostly) that 6x06 plays most overtly, though there are others as well that we'll get to in a second. This is also the most straightforward the series has been about 'darkness = bad' and 'light = good' as well, even if there are always exceptions to every rule (which we'll get to later as well).

Light and love and Rayla can fix what is broken. She can save you. She can restore you. Her, and your love for her, leads you out of the darkness. Mends you. Makes you whole again.

That's some powerful stuff, especially as a basic surface level reading. (For a less than surface level one with this similar theme of broken and fixing, you can read this meta regarding Leola and Rayla.)

With that under our belts, I want to take this basis of "the Truth (Rayla) as love and light" to explore how it leads naturally into the final Rayla and Callum scene of the episode, featuring

Truth as Clarity

We've gone over light, and we'll go over purpose, but for now I want to talk about the idea of truth as clarity. To have clarity is to have a better sense of the reality of things, a founded understanding of a situation or person. The Celestial elves seek clarity through the "true light of the heavens." The clarity Callum receives in realizing and finding that Rayla is his one truth causes him to finally take the next step and begin their relationship fully again by kissing her, and by confessing his love to her.

Clarity is also derived from the basis of knowing, however—"Hold to what you've always known [...] the answer in your heart is clear / I am near, my love is here"—of knowing that is the truth. Of seeing clearly, of seeing someone, truly for who they are and loving them.

RAYLA: Why didn't you tell me? CALLUM: Cause I know you, Rayla. If I'd told you, you would've refused to go, because you never do anything for yourself.

He loves her because he knows her ("That's what makes her a hero. That's what makes her Rayla" / "She's not 'the elf'. She's Rayla") and he knows her because he loves her, because he understands her ("And I understand why you couldn't tell me") through love. His trial and Truth gave him the clarity to express it, and the purpose to do so in many ways. It's also a positive grasp of purpose, since Viren ("I have power, purpose, and I intend to use both of them") and Aaravos ("I chose to live, and my life took on new purpose") become dark, twisted, and self destructive. Loving each other makes Callum and Rayla mutually better, and it's something both are finally able to whole heartedly embrace. To love is simply to know this.

Between this, and Viren's whole assessment that "The path of freedom is the path of truth," what could possibly be bad potentially about Rayla being Callum's one Truth, or the truth in general? Well...

Truth as A Weapon / a Burden

I actually wrote a meta all about this theme in Arc 2 for season 4 and season 5 before S6 called "Knowledge as a Burden" that I recommend reading if you haven't already. However, it's not necessary as this section is about how the Truth or 'Knowledge' can be a burden and a weapon depending on what the truth is, and how the information is presented. And this eventually does make its way back to the more positive outcome of Rayla being Callum's truth, so we'll circle our way back around.

With all that in mind, let's start with the most obvious. In 6x06, "Moment of Truth," both Callum and Viren wrestle with the results of previous actions due to dark magic. In one timeline, Callum learns the truth about the pearl and spirals into self-despair; in the other, ultimately canon timeline, this truth is withheld from him, allowing him to maintain the courage and strength he needs to go through the star-light ritual ceremony. By withholding the truth, he's given clarity, light, and purpose, which we went over in the previous section.

Alternatively, Viren's arc in this episode leans more heavily onto the concept that giving Soren the letter would be shifting a burden to his son.

Are you providing clarity, light, and purpose, or are you shifting a burden to someone who needs all their strength?

Both these plot lines ultimately end in different ways. By sharing the truth, Callum and Rayla reconcile, and by withholding the truth, Viren spares his son more pain, and they don't ultimately reconcile. I'll definitely talk about Viren and Soren's arc together in S6 someday in a proper meta, so I don't want to touch on it too much here, but it is noteworthy because it reaffirms the concept in this season that sometimes, knowing the truth can make things worse, not better, and cause more pain, not less.

We see this in how Callum's dark magic use weighs on him heavily in 6x03, leading to an argument between him and Rayla, and that learning he did dark magic causes Rayla to respond differently to his request to kill him; whereas before she steadfastly refused, here she agrees because she can see the risk and concerns are more prominent. This doesn't of course make their bond better (although it doesn't worsen it, either), but their literal ship does catch on fire and sink when she demands that he sacrifice her, and promises to sacrifice him, so... It's not good, either, even if it's ultimately good that Callum shared it with her for his own sake.

Where we see the Truth most weaponized in the season, however, in moving away from 'the truth as light' is with Aaravos himself.

AARAVOS: Good, good. You've played your part well. Before you perish, would you like a reward, a small mercy perhaps? The mercy of truth. The answer to the mystery that has haunted you for a thousand years. What happened to your beloved mate that disappeared? SOL REGEM: Tell me, betrayer. What became of Aithne Solaire? AARAVOS: I should warn you, sometimes the line between mercy and cruelty can be thin. [...] It was you. You killed her. Go on, breathe deep. I know you can smell the truth from a lie, and this is a deep, dark truth. In your fury, you buried her alive.

This is, of course, a move Aaravos used before ("Arrogant, just like your grandmother. Would you like to know the truth of her fate before you meet yours? I swallowed her") with Khessa back in season three. This is also something he utilizes as a manipulation tactic with others, knowing the importance of withholding the truth until it is beneficial for you to reveal it ("Careful, if you tell the truth you will lose her") and Aaravos' own belief that "[he] never lies" which Claudia reaffirms in 6x01: "Aaravos wasn't lying."

Of course, just because something is true according to him and his worldview or vantage point doesn't mean that it is deeply, objectively true, but that's another matter.

What matters here for the sake of this meta is that the truth isn't always good. The truth can be withheld to protect others (2x03, 6x06), to protect yourself (although sometimes misguided), and to manipulate and control other people (Viren orchestrating the war in S2 and S3, Aaravos routinely, etc). The "mercy of truth" is sometimes not mercy at all, but cruelty, showcased in Aaravos revealing something he knew would devastate and harm an already dying dragon/enemy.

The truth can be cruel. The truth can be deep and dark, too, not just light and lifting burdens. Knowledge can be an terrible burden. The truth can be awful.

So can love.

So can your path.

Truth as a Path (Freedom)

VIREN: Despite all this, I am changed. I woke up feeling free for the first time in a very long time. I know I have led my sweet, brilliant daughter down the wrong path. I have led you by the hand and I have led you by my example. Perhaps now if I walk the path of freedom, you will find your path someday, too. CLAUDIA: What do you mean 'path of freedom'? VIREN: The path of freedom is the path of truth. I must face my truth... in Katolis.

The path motif was something touched on sparingly in the first three seasons, largely in response to actual, literal paths the characters were taking. However, beginning more overtly in season four and bolstered by season five, Arc 2 has steadily turned it into one of the most consistent motifs that runs throughout season six. What is created, then, is a set of binary paths. There is the Path of Freedom—moving away from the Cycle and a narrative of strength, away from trying to replicate or get back to the past and moving towards the future instead, away from Aaravos and dark magic—and the 'wrong, dark' Path of Fate that moves in opposition to it.

This is most directly stated in Viren's final dream with his past self:

PRESENT VIREN: The path of fate is already chosen. Every step I took, I took because I had to. YOUNG VIREN: No. That can't be true. No matter where you are on the path, no matter what you've done before, every step forward is a choice. I am free, and so are you.

reaffirmed in Viren's decision at the end of 5x09:

VIREN: No. I won't do it. I finally see the truth. I find myself here at these horrifying crossroads because I have followed a dark path. And worst of all, I have led my beloved daughter done this path. No more dark magic! Never again! I am done with it — and I am done with you!

and in Callum's conversation with Rayla in 4x07:

CALLUM: What if I'm on a path of darkness? RAYLA: Then take a different path, dummy!

All of this was just some of the set up that has routinely put Rayla and Aaravos in direct opposition of each other for Callum's fate. There are framing things like her and the mirror being two very overt paths stretching out before Callum when she comes back, and Rayla being what pulls his attention away from the mirror, but 4x07 made it in The Text by having her represent and literally remind Callum he always has choices: "No one can control you or make your choices for you" (which is partially pressed on in his assessment in "I didn't have a choice" in 6x03, but again: meta for another day). Rayla always represented freedom (his wings, agency) and light (all previous framing) and she still does so in being his Truth. Rayla is his Light, reminder of his freedom, and brings all those things into being his Truth; it is a beautiful culmination (for now) of Callum's choice to move away from dark magic and Aaravos' control by literally embracing his love for Rayla and all she represents in his life. (And yeah you've probably already noticed the snag here, but I'm gonna get to that in a sec.)

This connection between Truth and Path is affirmed in Terry's talk with Claudia in 6x04, in which they discuss:

CLAUDIA: Maybe I should be walking a different path, too. But Aaravos helped us. He followed through on everything he said he was going to do to save my Dad, and I promised to help free him. So should I quit dark magic? Please, Terry, tell me what to do. TERRY: Claudia, I can't. Only you can see your own deep truth. Only you can decide the path you're going to walk. You won't be alone. [...] But you have to choose the way. What do you need to find your truth?

So on top of being Light and Love, and Rayla being Callum's One Truth equalling the Path of Freedom, Rayla is just Callum's chosen Path. He chooses the Path of light, love, freedom — all good things through the embodiment of her and their relationship, much the way Callum has been her guiding star in pulling her away from her dark and self-destructive paths (going after Viren) and making measured choices (coming back in 4x09, realizing she can't/shouldn't separate Lain and Tiadrin, etc).

Okay great, awesome! Sounds like Callum has done what he needs to do, he's rid himself of the taint of dark magic and Aaravos' control by proxy. His love for Rayla got him through it. She's his path. She's his truth.

What could possibly be wrong with that?

The Truth is Everything

After season four aired, I wrote a meta about how Aaravos (Fate) and Rayla (Freedom) represented Callum's two paths going forward into S5 and beyond. Much of what was in that meta has already been touched on here, given that S6 evolved this dichotomy and this motif in largely the ways I thought it ultimately would.

However, in that past meta, I also posited that these two paths would ultimately not be as separate as they might appear, and would converge. Part of this was because S4 emphasized the importance of not treating dualities as binaries, but in reconciling them ("Now you're back. That's kind of good, and it's kind of bad" / "How can I have that and the life I want with you? [...] Just have two cakes" / "We have to hold pain and love in our hearts at the same time"). Specifically, that Rayla would be what leads Callum into getting closer to Aaravos and playing into his clutches, which 5x08, 6x03—and indeed the upped stakes for dark magic use ("if you ever use it again, the darkness and corruption will overwhelm you") coming off 6x06—feel like natural steps forward.

Because while the light, and Truth, and Rayla, is usually a Good Thing in Callum's life, as Soren points out, it isn't always.

After all, Callum only did dark magic—both times—because of Rayla.

CALLUM: I did one spell. One. I had to, to save my friends. (5x08)

CALLUM: I did it for you! Finnegrin was going to kill you. I didn't have a choice, because... I would do anything for you. (6x03)

His love for Rayla has already been his path to darkness and Aaravos just as much as it's been his path out of darkness to light and freedom away from Aaravos. Aaravos has both dark and light; so does Rayla as a literal Moonshadow elf, and her dual swords, and her juxtaposition of immense mercy and obsessive violence. He is "destined to play into [Aaravos'] hands," with Aaravos' scheme for Callum still clearly ongoing, given that Aaravos is out and the cube is still in play.

They also wouldn't 1) bring up the possession related promise and 2) have Rayla actually agree to it and then 3) have her affirm that Runaan taught her to never break her promises all in the same season if it wasn't going to come back into play, and the only way Aaravos can possess Callum again is if he does dark magic again. (I'll do a separate meta sometime after this regarding how S6 evolves the possession plotline in about every episode Callum and Rayla are mutually in, later, too.)

Just as Rayla was the reason Callum ever did dark magic or successfully got the cube in the first place, she will almost surely, inevitably, be the reason he does dark magic — breaking his promise, and opening up room for her to break her own.

RAYLA: Listen to me. If you ever have to choose between me or the greater good, do the right thing. Make the sacrifice.

Callum will choose Rayla every time, whether that leads to saving or destroying himself.

She is His Path, singular—the path of fate and free will, to light and to darkness, to destruction and salvation. The various dualities in their relationship will all be reconciled and brought to complete fruition.

And that's everything.