#as part of the rite of passage into adulthood

[littleblackqrow]

Despite the fact that Qrow had been free of the Branwens for twenty years and despite the fact that he had no intention of ever returning there, Qrow couldn't help the pang in his chest from hearing that. Those bandits had been family at one point. A family of killers and thieves, but still. They had left their mark on Qrow, literally as well as figuratively.

"All those years you tried to get me to give up fighting the War, and you can't stand those morons anymore than I can."

"Hardly. He was born into the tribe, unlike us. He's inbred, grew up malnourished, and never had anything resembling an education. He's the very literal bottom percentile. That's the reality of the tribe now, Qrow."

"Are you starting to see the bigger picture yet?"

[drdemonprince]

It’s true that America has one of the lowest voter turnout rates in the industrialized world, with only 62% of eligible adults turning up to the polls on a good year, and about 50% on a typical one. But if we really dive into the social science data, we can see that non-voters aren’t a bunch of nihilistic commie layabouts who’d prefer to die in a bridge collapse or of an untreated listeria infection than vote for someone who isn’t Vladimir Lenin. No, if we really study it carefully, we can see that the American electoral system has a series of unique features that easily account for why we find voting more cumbersome, confusing, and unrewarding than almost any other voters in the world.

Let’s take a look at the many reasons why Americans don’t vote:

1. We Have the Most Frequent Elections of Any Country

Most other democratic countries only hold major elections once every four or five years, with the occasional local election in between. This is in sharp contrast with the U.S., where we have some smattering of primaries, regional elections, state elections, ballot measures, midterm elections, and national elections basically every single year, often multiple times per year. We have elections more frequently than any other nation in the world — but just as swallowing mountains of vitamin C tablets doesn’t guarantee better health, voting more and harder hasn’t given us more democracy.

2. We Don’t Make Election Day a Holiday

The United States also does far less than most other democracies to facilitate its voters getting to the polls. In 22 countries, voting is legally mandated, and turnout is consequently very high; most countries instead make election day a national holiday, or hold elections on weekends. The United States, in contrast, typically holds elections on weekdays, during work hours, with minimal legal protections for employees whose only option to vote is on the clock.

3. We Make Registration as Hard as Possible

From Denmark, to Sweden, to Iceland, Belgium, and Iraq, all eligible voters in most democracies are automatically registered to vote upon reaching legal adulthood. Voting is typically regarded as a rite of passage one takes part in alongside their classmates and neighbors, made part of the natural flow of the country’s bureaucratic processes.

In the United States, in contrast, voter registration is a process that the individual must seek out — or more recently, be goaded into by their doctor. Here voting is not a communal event, it’s a personal choice, and failing to make the correct choice at the correct time can be penalized. In most other countries, there are no restrictions on when a voter can register, but in much of the United States, registering too early can mean you get stricken from the voter rolls by the time the election rolls around, and registering too late means you’re barred from voting at all.

4. We Make Voters Re-Register Far Too Often

In countries like Canada, Germany, and the Netherlands, voter registration updates automatically when a person moves. In the United State, any time a person changes addresses they must go out of their way to register to vote all over again. This policy disadvantages poorer and younger voters, who move frequently because of job and schooling changes, or landlords who have decided to farm black mold colonies in their kitchens.

Even if a voter does not change their address, in the United States it’s quite common for their registrations to be removed anyway— due to name changes, marriages, data breaches, or simply because the voter rolls from the previous election year have been purged to “prevent fraud” (read: eliminate Black, brown, poor, and left-leaning members from the electorate).

5. We Limit Access to Polling Places & Mail-in Ballots

In many countries, voters can show up to any number of polling places on election day, and showing identification is not always necessary. Here in the United States, the ability to vote is typically restricted to a single polling place. Voter ID laws have been used since before the Jim Crow era to make political participation more difficult for Black, brown, and impoverished voters, as well as for those for whom English is not their first language. Early and absentee voting options are also pretty firmly restricted. About a quarter of democracies worldwide rely on mail-in ballots to make voting more accessible for everyone; here, a mail-in ballot must be requested in advance.

All of these structural barriers help explain why just over 50% of non-voters in the United States are people of color, and a majority of non-voters have been repeatedly found to be impoverished and otherwise marginalized. But these populations don’t only feel excluded from the political process on a practical level: they also report feeling completely unrepresented by the available political options.

6. We Have the Longest, Most Expensive Campaign Seasons

Americans have some of the longest campaign seasons in the world, with Presidential elections lasting about 565 days on average. For reference, the UK’s campaign season is 139 days, Mexico’s is 147, and Canada’s is just 50. We also do not have publicly funded campaigns: our politicians rely upon donors almost entirely.

Because our elections are so frequent and our campaigns are so long and expensive, many American elected officials are in a nearly constant state of fundraising and campaigning. When you take into account the time devoted to organizing rallies, meeting with donors, courting lobbyists, knocking on doors, recording advertisements, and traveling the campaign trail, most federally elected politicians spend more time trying to win their seat than actually doing their jobs.

Imagine how much work you’d get done if you had to interview for your job every day. And now imagine that the person actually paying your wage didn’t want you to do that job at all:

7. Our Elected Officials Do Very Little

Elected officials who spend the majority of their hours campaigning and courting donors don’t have much time to get work done. Nor do they have much incentive to — in practice, their role is to represent the large corporations, weapons manufacturers, Silicon Valley start-ups, and investors who pay their bills, and serve as a stopgap when the public’s demands run afoul of those groups’ interests.

Perhaps that is why, as campaign seasons have gotten longer and more expensive and income inequality has grown more stark, our elected officials have become lean-out quiet quitters of historic proportions. The 118th Congress has so far been the least productive session on record, with only 82 laws having been passed in last two years out of the over 11,000 brought to the floor.

The Biden Administration has moved at a similarly glacial pace; aside from leaping for the phone when Israel calls requesting checking account transfers every two or three weeks, the executive-in-chief has done little but fumble at student loan relief and abortion protections, and bandied about banning TikTok.

The average age of American elected officials has been on a steady rise for some time now, with the obvious senility of figures like Biden, Mitch McConnell, and the late Diane Feinstein serving as the most obvious markers of the government’s stagnancy. Carting around a confused, ailing elderly person’s body around the halls of power like a decommissioned animatronic requires a depth of indifference to human suffering that few of us outside Washington can fathom. But more than that, it reflects a desperation for both parties to cling to what sources of influence and wealth they have. These aged figures are/were reliable simps for Blackstone, General Dynamics, Disney, and AIPAC, and their loyalty is worth far more than their cognitive capacity, or legislative productivity. Their job, in a very real sense, is to not do their job, and a beating-heart cadaver can do that just fine.

You can read the rest of the list for free (or have it narrated to you on the Substack app) at drdevonprice.substack.com!

[toskarin]

what do you make of the accusation that some manga/anime/VNs only have a high school setting because that's viewed as being more marketable even if the high school parts add little to the story/characters/lore etc?

I mean to some extent that's the case, but it's also a silly exercise in what's called "overthinking it" from people who (assuming they're adults) should really know better

it's not something specific to japanese media. basically everywhere does this. it's just setting things in...

a developmental life stage that is pretty widely understood as an important rite of passage, experienced by most readers regardless of background, to the point where even being adults in a school feels like an echo of it

an experience that is relatable to teenagers, remembered by young adults, and often thought of as something older adults wish they could redo with the benefit of hindsight

a context where you can rotate a specific cast of characters through a specific cast of older characters who are understood to have a measure of power over them (read: teachers)

and maybe most crucially, the exact moment in time where someone is usually at the cusp of adulthood while still not having the right to self determination that comes with it, feeling more strongly the contradiction between the end of their childhood and the expectations of being an adult than ever before

so the actual answer is that there's so much stuff set in high school because teenagers make for easy protagonists in stories about most things. teenagers are just in situations fairly often

it turns out that people we fairly universally put in stressful rites of passage, during the stressful rite of passage stage of their lives, might end up being easy shorthand for experiencing stressful rites of passage!

[teratosfavouritesnack]

"Ishtà-kurme"

husband!orc x chubby!fem!human x husband's sons - orcish mating traditions, your first time with your husband, voyeurism, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, unprotected piv, multiple orgasms, loads of cum, cum eating, family bonding (let's call it like that lol), soft doms, your husband's sons' very first time (just to be very clear, there's NO INCEST here, his sons are not yours), slight language barrier, romantic fluff <3

Your husband needs you to take part in his sons' rite of passage to adulthood.

+12 k.

The long fabrics of your dress brush against the smooth stones on the ground as you walk at a brisk pace towards Mauhul - your Mau. You can feel butterflies stir in your belly, your heart racing in anticipation at the prospect of making love for the first time with your beloved husband. 

When he called for you, requesting your presence in his chambers, you felt it in your bones; you would finally consummate your marriage and start your new life together. You’re not sure why it didn’t happen on your wedding night, nobody even mentioned the matter before or during the ceremony. After the festivities, you and Mauhul had simply parted, retiring to your own separate quarters for the night. And you did so for the following nights as well, after spending a lot of time together, snuggling in the sunlight. You had concluded that perhaps the orcs didn’t follow the same customs of your people and so you had tried to not give it too much importance. Sooner or later you would be intimate, that much is certain, and so you went on with your life, hanging out with your husband, deepening your bond, while waiting patiently for that special moment to arrive. 

And you think that moment could very well be upon you.

Your hand shakes a little as you push the door to his chambers open. You pictured this moment in your mind so many times: your tall, buff orc lying on his bed, already fully undressed, waiting for you to join him, beckoning you over with an inviting grin on his lips…

The scene you’re presented with, however, is quite different. Your husband stands by the crackling fire, half-naked, in the company of his two sons… who are also half-naked. Loincloths made of animals pelts cover their modesty, leaving the rest fully exposed. Their mighty builds, broad shoulders, massive chests, thick arms and thighs are all in full view, making your eyes widen even further and your now tensed hand linger on the steady surface of the wooden door. Your stunned stare darts from one orc to the next, until it lands on your husband with a silent questioning look.

Mauhul's black eyes instantly light up as they meet your gaze, watching you as you hesitantly stand by the doorway. The chief orc smiles and steps away from the fire to welcome you.

"Ah, my love, come in," he says, extending his hand. His sons, Tarek and Moth - spitting images of their father - watch you as you approach, their dark eyes flitting between you and their parent with a mix of curiosity and something else that you can't quite decipher.

There's some tension in the air that makes you nervous. His sons' presence in his chambers cannot be left to chance. You can sense there's a reason they're here and for you to be here as well, with them.

"We were just discussing something important," your husband says. His movements are fluid despite his immense bulk as he walks towards you.

You try to mask your apprehension as you step closer until you're standing right in front of him. He’s so much taller than you that you have to crane your neck to meet his eyes.

"W-What… about?" you ask him hesitantly, voice trembling slightly. Your hands fiddle with the drapes of your long dress, the fine fabric creasing under the pressure of your nervous pinches. 

"Their coming of age.” His answer is simple, though it makes you uneasy. 

Mauhul watches you closely. He senses your discomfort and can see the slight tremors that run through your hands as you toy with the fabric of your dress. His large, calloused hand reaches out to cover yours, stilling your fidgeting. His touch is tender, a stark contrast to his intimidating size and looks.

"Their coming of age?" you repeat, the words heavy on your tongue. Your eyes dart to his sons, who seem to be watching you and their father with bated breath. 

"This is a significant rite of passage for them," he states, his voice soft and soothing. "They've grown strong and capable. And I, as their father, must ensure they realize the importance of the role that they're about to hold in the clan," Mauhul adds, his fingers trailing down your arm and raising goosebumps across your skin.

You swallow and blink up at him, puzzled. You're not sure what the implications of his words are or how you fit into this scenario, but you can feel the tension in the room getting heavier and heavier by the second.

Mauhul's free hand goes to rest gently on your chin, tilting it upward so you focus on his eyes, his gaze intense and almost primal.

"And as they approach adulthood, there are certain... traditions that must be observed," he says, his fingertips slowly tracing the line of your jaw, leaving tingles in their wake.

You shudder under his delicate touch, his words making your stomach turn. Your body seems to be catching up on the undertone of this conversation long before your mind.

"W-What sort of traditions?" You inquire cautiously, unsure whether or not you genuinely wish to know. 

Mauhul's nostrils flare slightly as he inhales deeply, taking in your scent - a blend of fear, excitement, and innocence that only adds to his yearning. 

"There are rituals that mark an orc's transition from young to adult," he says, his voice dropping to a rumble. "Rituals that involve you, my lovely wife. Tonight, you'll be their partner in this rite."

You blink, your eyes widening and flitting to the young orcs before returning upon him. You gaze into your husband's kind eyes, hoping to find some answers into the depths of his dark pools to the myriad of questions spinning inside your mind.

"I..." you stutter, your stomach churning. "I'm afraid I don't u-understand..."

Or perhaps you’re choosing not to understand. The more you think about it, the stranger it all sounds. What kind of partner would he require for his sons' transition from orclings to adults? How could you possibly assist them? 

Your breath hitches, your brows furrows. Surely, he doesn't mean...

Your gaze darts back and forth between him and his sons as you subconsciously back away, your mind finally catching up to what has been left unsaid.

"Mau..."

Mauhul's smile fades slightly as he senses your anxiety. He steps forward again, closing the distance between you two, his hand coming up to gently cup your chin, making you look back up at him.

"My love," he murmurs, his voice softening slightly, "This is an important rite for my sons to go through. And you... you have an important part to play in it."

His other hand comes to rest at your hip, gently pulling you closer. "Do you trust me, kisee ?"

Your wide-eyed stare searches his face, with a trace of panic in it. You swallow again, attempting to soothe the furious hammering of your heart, but with little success. The prospect of taking part in such a rite causes your body to oscillate between uneasiness and wicked trepidation.

Of course you trust your Mau, but you're confused by what's being asked of you. You also can't help but think of your unconsummated marriage. If what you assume this rite is about is actually true, does that imply you will be intimate with his sons prior to your own husband? This notion doesn't sit well with you. 

"But, Mau... W-what about us? We haven't..." Your voice trails off as you frown up at him.

A faint smile flickers across Mauhul's lips as he watches the plethora of emotions dance across your face. He can see the panic in your eyes, the trepidation, the confusion, and the trust you have in him... all mixed in a beautiful, confusing whirlwind. He leans down, brushing his lips against your ear, his breath warm and soft against your skin.

"I know, mìzaah ," he murmurs, his hand at your hip pulling you closer, his body pressing against yours, "But that will change tonight. I will claim you as my wife, completely, and my sons will be here to witness it."

You gasp sharply at his words, your body instantly warming up. Your hands reach up to tug at his long braid, your wide eyes meeting his again. Now you understand. He has been delaying your intimate union precisely for this moment, precisely for this rite.

You glance back at his sons, looking at the young orcs as if you're seeing them now for the first time. You haven't had time to build a closer connection with them yet, they're almost strangers to you and the mere idea of letting them witness your lovemaking sends your body into a frenzy.

"Will they only... watch... or...?" You express your concerns, dropping your voice so that only your spouse can hear.

Mauhul smirks, clearly aware of your body's reaction to his words and touch. He draws you in closer, his hand on your hip going around your waist and pulling you flush against him. He glances down into your eyes, his gaze glazed over with desire.

"They will watch," he declares, stooping down to whisper in your ear, his breath fanning your skin. "They'll watch as you become entirely mine. Learn from it. And then... join in."

You breathe in sharply once you hear him confirm your worries.

Your fingers dig into his braid, lightly tugging on it. Your wide eyes lock onto his face again, boring deep into his own, seeking confirmation, reassurance... guidance. 

His intense but reassuring gaze is fixed on yours, ensuring that intense connection you've become so addicted to.

"Trust me, my love," he murmurs with a deep rumble. "I will guide you through it. You have nothing to fear. And I'll be the one to claim you first. My sons will learn from me... and then they will learn from you, as you please them as well."

His sinful words send chills down your spine as they snake their way through your mind, bringing to life vivid images of the scenario they depict. However, the shivering rapidly gives way to a warmth that pools between your thighs. You can't deny the growing dampness there, or how your nipples harden against the silky fabric of your dress. 

Your heart stutters, your body trembles, and your doe eyes gaze straight into his as the words leave your lips in a shaky whisper.

"If this is what you request of me, husband..." 

Mauhul nods, his smile broadening, his eyes filled with possessive pride, delighted by your trust and devotion, moved by your willingness to please.

"It is, my love," he replies, lifting his hand to cup your face, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek. "I would never ask this of you unless it was of the utmost importance to our tribe."

He bends down and gently captures your lips in his, his hand on your hip pulling you closer. The tender but meaningful kiss has you melting on the spot and your mind spinning, your lips chasing his even as he moves away. 

"You'd honour me... and my sons with your willing participation."

Your gaze lingers on his lips, filled with increasing yearning. Your hand relaxes its grip on his hair, traveling up his torso to rest on his tattoo-covered chest.

"I'll be honored to take part in your tradition," you say softly, your eyes meeting again. "And help your sons in their coming of age."

The sight of your small palm on his chest, your eyes glazed with need, sends a rush of primal satisfaction through Mauhul's veins. His massive hand goes from your face down your neck, tracing the curve of your shoulder before resting on your lower back and pulling you close against his strong body.

"You are... perfect, mìzaah ," he murmurs, his voice a deep rumble, filled with desire and admiration. "Your trust and willingness please me greatly. And my sons... they will be grateful to you as well. They will know what it means to honour a woman... to worship a woman as she should be worshipped."

His remarks, praises, and probing hands make your body tingle, and your cheeks flush crimson with heat. A soft hum escapes your lips as your hand glides from his chest to his cheek, stroking it lovingly.

Mauhul closes his eyes for a moment, savouring the gentle gesture. When he reopens them, they are filled with a burning longing. His hand on your back squeezes, bringing you closer.

"We shall begin the ritual, then," he announces, his voice thick with lust.

He glances over his shoulder to his offspring, who are still standing by the fire, observing the two of you with ardent looks. "Come closer, sons."

Your gaze shifts to the two young orcs as he urges them closer. Your eyes rake over their forms, taking them in. It's equally odd and comforting that they resemble their father so much... Although, given your understanding of what is about to occur and their role in it, you can't help but flush in embarrassment at the sight of them.

As the lads approach, their steps slow but deliberate, Mauhul returns his gaze to you, his hand firmly spread across your hip. Your stomach flips under his possessive touch, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your belly from above the fabrics of your dress.

"Kneel, boys." he gruffly instructs.

You watch in amazement and awe as they drop obediently at your feet. Their gazes are keen and fascinated as they take in your smaller stature while towering over your frame even as they stand on their knees.

Mauhul instead moves to stand tall behind you, one arm wrapped around your waist, possessively holding you close while his free hand traces idle patterns along the curve of your thigh. Seeing you marvel at his sons then look up at him expectantly, uncertainty clear in your expressive eyes, he gives you a reassuring nod and a warm, indulgent smile. His eyes glow with pride and affection for you. You're such a delicate creature compared to his burly sons, to his burly self as well, yet here you are, ready to undertake this crucial task for his family.

"This is their chance to admire you properly," he explains quietly, leaning down to murmur in your ear, "to appreciate the beauty and delicacy of the female form... before they learn to ravish and conquer it."

His large hand trails lightly up your side, brushing the outer swell of your breast before cupping the back of your neck in a gesture that feels both protective and possessive. He draws your head back so you can meet his piercing black gaze without straining your neck. 

"They must show proper respect first and look upon you..." his gravelly voice drops to a conspiratorial purr, "...upon your pure unveiled beauty.”

You shiver at his purr and look up at your husband as if mesmerized. Your lips part but do not form words. You simply nod your head in consent, ready - as if you could ever be ready for something like this - to do whatever he asks of you. Your body suddenly grows too hot under the fabric of your dress.

With a satisfied grunt, Mauhul allows himself a moment to admire how beautifully you submit yourself to the situation - your eagerness to please him evident in every trembling breath and flustered blush painting your delicate features. Then, with a firm but gentle tug, he begins to untie the laces at the back of your gown, his fingers deftly working the knots of your bodice loose. 

"Mmh. You wore your best dress for this, kisee …" he murmurs appreciatively, his breath warm against your skin as he exposes more of your delicate flesh inch by tantalizing inch.

"Oh..." a soft gasp escapes your lips at his praise. You did choose this dress in the hopes he would take his time peeling it off of you. Your eyes flicker to your bodice coming undone and pooling at your wide hips. A red shade dusts your cheeks as you briefly glance at the two orcs kneeling before you, noting how hungrily they are drinking in the newly exposed sight, before you bashfully avert your gaze and bite down on your lip.

Mauhul chuckles deeply, amused by your modest reaction despite the situation. His rough hand slides up from your thigh to rest on the bulge of your soft belly, pressing your body closer to his towering form.

“You've got nothing to be ashamed of,” he assures you in a rumbling tone, tracing the edge of the fabric that now clings loosely to your curves. “They are honoured to witness such beauty.

“And so am I.”

With a final yank, Mauhul pulls the gown completely off your shoulders, letting it pool at your feet. You stand now before him, clad only in a simple linen shift that does little to hide the enticing curves of your body. Your breasts strain against the thin fabric, nipples hardening in the humid air of the hut.

His sons' hungry gazes drink in every detail of your exposed form, their breathing growing heavier as they marvel at the contrast of your delicate features and petite frame against the robust, muscular build of their father, standing behind you like a looming shadow.

Your instincts urge you to press your thighs together and lean back against your husband's chest, as if seeking shelter. You refrain however from draping your arms across your torso to conceal your obvious arousal, visible even from beneath the linen shift. You keep your gaze away, a bashful look engraved on your face, yet you still try to catch his boys' gazes, ashamed albeit curious about their reactions. It's strange; deep down, you actually want his sons to like you so as to please your husband, to make him proud. 

“You needn't be coy with them, my love” he purrs, grazing his tusks along the sensitive skin of your throat. “They hunger for you, just as I do.”

Turning your face toward his, Mauhul captures your lips in a searing kiss, plundering your mouth with his tongue and staking his claim for all to see. When he finally breaks away, he looks down at your flushed face with satisfaction, noting how dazedly you meet his heated gaze.

“You please me greatly,” he whispers, his hands trailing up your arms, his calloused fingers gently peeling the strands of your shift down the curve of your shoulders. “And you’re about to please me even more.”

You feel a rush of satisfaction as you hear the praise. Your hooded eyes are fixed on his dark, mesmerizing pools. A soft, fond smile blooms on your lips as you keep staring up at your spouse, as if he is the beacon you follow, while he undresses you entirely.

As the last threads of fabric fall away, exposing your full form to his hungry gaze, Mauhul lets out a low, approving rumble. The sight of your delicate skin bathed in firelight is enough to stir the beast within. His sons' eyes widen in unison, relishing the sight of your creamy, supple curves.

“Beautiful…”, he mutters reverently, his gaze roving over every inch of your exposed flesh. From the swell of your breasts, down to the soft narrowness of your waist, to the roundness of your hips and thighs – each part molded with flawless generosity.

Mauhul reaches around to cup one of your breasts, his calloused palm enveloping the soft mound. He thumbs your hardened nipple, eliciting a startled moan from your parted lips.

“And so responsive too,” he praises, his voice dripping with adoration. “Such a treasure to behold and claim.”

His sons watch, transfixed, as Mauhul continues to fondle and tease your sensitive breasts. 

Your body arches against his under his eager touch. Soft moans leave your lips in appreciation, your skin tingling all over and rising with goosebumps. Your thighs squeeze together again, this time to create friction for the ever-growing ache in your core. This is the first time your husband touches you in such an intimate way and you're already lost in the pleasure his warm, rough palm brings you. You almost forget his sons are watching and are soon to witness their father claim you as his.

Feeling your thighs clamp together, Mauhul chuckles lowly, the sound vibrating through his chest and against your ear. His grip on your breast tightens, squeezing the soft flesh firmly as he watches you react.

“So impatient, aren't we?” he teases, pinching your nipple harder, drawing another sweet moan from your plump lips. “But we mustn't rush things, my love. This will be a long night.” his growl vibrates against your skin. “I will savour you and make sure you remember this night for the rest of your days. Just as my sons and I will.”

His free hand moves lower, skimming across your soft stomach until it finds its way to the moist heat between your thighs. As his fingers delve into your slick folds, he finds your swollen clit, circling it slowly.

The moment his thick fingers meet your nub, your breath hitches sharply and your whole body jolts in pleasure, knees buckling under your weight. Your head falls back against his broad chest and your eyes flutter closed. 

A guttural groan escapes Mauhul as he feels how wet you are already. His thumb rubs your clit faster, coaxing more sounds of delight from your quivering lips. His other hand squeezes and kneads your breast, tweaking the nipple roughly between his thumb and forefinger. With your back pressed against his front, Mauhul can easily feel every little response to his touch. Your walls clench around nothing, desperate for something to fill them. He groans deeply, feeling his own desire spike at the thought of taking you, finally claiming what’s his.

“See? Such a responsive little thing you are”, he murmurs into your ear, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive lobe. “You were made for me, weren't you?”

He continues to circle your clit, applying just enough pressure to make you squirm. His other hand leaves your breast, tracing down your side before gripping onto your thigh firmly and lifting it, stretching your cunt. In this position, his touch feels even more intense, the thrills of pleasure coursing through your body are even sharper.

His sons watch, enraptured, as Mauhul's large fingers work magic on your quivering flesh.

With practised ease, he begins to rub faster, applying pressure that sends shockwaves of delight through your body. Your cries fill the air, mingling with the crackling fire and his son's heavy breathing.

"Oh, Mau-!" you whimper, writhing against his chest, hips seeking and at the same time trying to evade his greedy fingers.

Hearing his name fall so sweetly from your lips only fuels Mauhul's desire further. His movements become more purposeful, and relentless. He presses two thick digits inside your slick warmth, relishing the way you cling to him.

“You like that, do you?” he asks gruffly, curling his fingers upwards to stroke against your innermost walls.

The boys continue to watch in reverent silence, their eyes wide with fascination and barely concealed lust. Seeing their father take you so eagerly only serves to inflame their own arousal. Their erections already strain painfully against their loincloths, yearning for release.

Mauhul adds another finger, stretching your tight pussy even wider. Each thrust sends ripples of pleasure through both him and you.

You writhe against his firm body, your walls throbbing around his thick fingers stretching you out. Your hooded eyes look up, searching his gaze as you pant heavily. You can feel a hot pleasure coil in your lower belly, and your legs twitching more and more as the climax gets closer. The squelching sound his fingers produce by pumping in and out of your wet cunt drowns out every other noise.

Mauhul's eyes burn with primal hunger as he watches you lose yourself to the sensations he's creating. Your needy whimpers and the sight of your succumbing to his touch are intoxicating. Feeling your impending orgasm, Mauhul quickens his pace, driving his fingers deeper and faster. His thumb still circles your clit relentlessly, pushing you closer to the edge.

“That's it, cum for me,” he urges in a deep rumble. “Come apart on my fingers like the good little wife you are.”

He pistons his digits in and out of you rapidly, each thrust hitting that special spot inside you. Mauhul's own need is becoming unbearable, his cock throbbing painfully in his loincloth, pressing against your spine.

His words send you hurtling over the edge. Your pussy clenches tightly around his fingers as you cry out, your body spasming with the force of your orgasm. Mauhul keeps pumping, milking you for every drop of your release and you almost feel yourself faint from the overwhelming pleasure you experience. Heavy and loud pants fall from your parted lips as you sag against him, nearly dropping on the ground when your knees give out under you.

Feeling you come undone on his hand elicits a growl of satisfaction from Mauhul. He revels in the way your body trembles and in the vice-like grip of your spasming pussy around his fingers. He slows his motions, letting you ride out the aftershocks of your orgasm and holding you steady, one strong arm hooked around your middle to keep you from falling. 

As you regain some semblance of control over your limbs, Mauhul withdraws his fingers from your dripping pussy with a lewd squelch and brings them up to his mouth, where he laps at them hungrily. A low grunt escapes him at the salty-sweet flavour, fueling his desire even more.

Slowly, deliberately, he sinks to his knees behind you and pulls you close, letting you lean your whole weight on him, your ass pressed against the upper side of his chest, your arm latched around his shoulders. He prays your trembling legs open again, holding your thigh up with his forearm and allowing his sons a perfect view of your glistening sex. 

"Behold," he announces reverently, "the most precious prize. My wife’s sweet honey."

He dips his fingers in your juices again, splaying them all over his palm, then presents it to his sons’ hungry gazes, stretching his fingers to display your sticky essence.

“Why don’t you give them a little taste, hm my love?”

His free hand nudges your own and your hooded eyes flicker to his face. Your mind is still hazy after your intense release and you struggle to register his words.

Seeing your confusion, Mauhul takes your small hand in his massive one and guides it towards your soaked folds. His sons' eager eyes follow the movement, drinking in the sight of your delicate fingers coated in your own arousal.

“Let them taste you,” he explains, his voice a low rumble. “Feed them.”

With Mauhul's encouragement, you hesitantly extend your fingers towards the boys. They hungrily lean in, their tongues darting out to lick at your sticky digits. Moans of pleasure escape their lips as they savour your unique flavour.

Your chest heaves with a shuddering breath upon feeling their avid tongues swirl around your fingers. The haze in your mind is slowly fading and the realization of what is happening has you blushing all over again, especially as you notice how their eyes remain locked on yours, watching your reaction intently.

Noticing your blush, Mauhul smirks, pleased to see such a response from you. The sight of his sons worshipping your fingers like precious gems is incredibly arousing. He can't help but let out a satisfied groan, the sound vibrating against your back. He leans into your neck, whispering words meant only for your ears. 

“Enjoy this, mìzaah . This is how you deserve to be treated – to be worshiped like a goddess.” His voice is a rough purr, filled with promise and intent.

Mauhul slips his hand up to cup and squeeze your breasts, thumb brushing over your hardened nipples. Shifting a little on his knees, he gently pushes your thighs wider apart. Your folds glistening wetly, inviting and tantalizing. His gaze shifts back to his sons, still licking and sucking thirstily at your fingers.

“Do you want more?” he questions them, voice laden with promise. Their nods and hums of approval are quick to follow and you can see their pupils dilate at the inviting sight of you stretched out so open for them. They glance back at their father, seeking his confirmation before they crawl forward, almost bumping their heads against each other in their eagerness to taste your juices directly from the source.

“Careful boys, there’s enough for the both of you.” he teases with a hearty chuckle, playfully squeezing your thighs as you whimper at the contact of their greedy tongues meeting your sensitive pussy.

Mauhul’s presence is large and imposing, yet his touch remains gentle as he helps you maintain balance while the boys worship your cunt. Their tongue action intensifies, their slurping sounds echoing in the room and their excitement palpable.

Looking down at them adoringly, he speaks in an authoritative tone, “Clean her properly, make sure you get all of her precious nectar.” His eyes land back on your face and an amused grin spreads on his face. “It will make you grow even stronger.”

Your arm squeezes tighter around his neck, seeking his grounding presence as his sons make you squirm and writhe against their tongues. Your head drops against his, your cheek pressing over his own, your shallow breaths fanning his skin.

The boys listen attentively to their father's instructions, their tongues swirling and probing deeper into your slick entrance. Mauhul's laughter rumbles through him, vibrating against your ear and sending pleasant tingles down your spine.

Watching his sons work diligently on pleasuring you only fuels Mauhul's own desires further. He can't help but let his eyes roam over your curves appreciatively, taking in every quiver and gasp that leaves your lips. With deliberate slowness, he slides his hand down from your breasts to trace along the side of your hips.

"Look how beautiful you are," he murmurs huskily. "My wife… my treasure."

His touch is tender yet possessive as he runs his rough fingertips across your soft skin, outlining each curve like he’s memorizing them.

The combination of your husband’s praises and reverent touches and his sons’ eager mouths sucking and lapping at you is too much to bear. A series of ever louder mewls fall from your lips, your grip tightening on Mauhul’s neck, as you feel another overwhelming orgasm crash onto you. Your body contorts sharply and your eyes roll back as white-hot pleasure blinds you. 

"That's it, my love," he coos, his voice a soothing rumble. "Let go, let us take care of you."

The boys continue to lap at you, prolonging your bliss until you finally start to come down. As your tremors subside, they look up at their father with proud, satisfied grins, their faces smeared with your essence, their cheeks flushed and chests rising and falling rapidly due to their exertions. 

“Good pups.” Mauhul looks at them fondly before turning his attention back to you. He tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his intense, dark gaze. "Aren’t they good pups, hm?”

You're still trying to ease your breathing as your heavy-lidded eyes meet his. You barely have the force to nod your head but take a deep breath and glance lazily at his sons, wishing to praise them for how amazing they made you feel. "G-Good pups..." you manage to say in a breathless and shaky voice.

A pleased smile curls at the corners of Mauhul's mouth, delighted by your response. 

“You heard her, boys?”

The pride in Mauhul's eyes is unmistakable and so is the reverent awe in his sons’.

He gives your chin a gentle squeeze before releasing it. His gaze never wavers from yours, filled with a depth of affection and possession that sends warmth spreading through your entire being.

"Now, we show them how a true mate submits to her husband... and how a true husband worships his mate."

With a swift motion, Mauhul grabs hold of your hips firmly, and hoists himself up from the ground, bringing you up with him as well. He cradles you in his arms like a precious treasure and carries you towards the centre of the room, where the firelight casts long shadows across the ground.

"And you, my sons," he addresses the boys over his shoulder, "watch carefully and learn. This is what it means to belong to someone."

With that said, Mauhul lies you down on the furs, positioning you right in the middle. The boys watch their father with wide-eyed fascination as he eases himself down on top of you. There's an air of expectation and anticipation amongst you all – eager for whatever comes next.

Your hooded eyes are locked onto him, unwavering from his towering muscular form; they lazily roam over his bare chest, lashes drooping slowly as you breathe deeply, still trying to regain control of your pounding heart. Yet, it is difficult for you to prevent your heart from stuttering at the sight of your handsome partner and the prospect of what he is, finally, going to do to you. You melt into the warm, soft furs beneath you, your tender body still trembling from the unparalleled ecstasy you've just experienced. Your hair is scattered all around your head, and your thighs are clamped together, curling lazily on top of one other. All the while, your eyes marvel at him.

A low growl escapes from deep within Mauhul's throat as he hovers above you, his massive form casting a shadow over yours. He reaches out with one hand, tracing the delicate curve of your jawline with his calloused fingers before cupping your cheek gently.

"You are so beautiful, my love," he whispers, his voice low and husky with desire. "I could stare at you forever..."

Slowly, deliberately, he leans in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. It's a kiss filled with passion, hunger, and adoration. His tongue delves into your mouth, tangling with yours in a slow sensual dance as he explores every inch of your mouth. When he pulls away, his breath mingles with yours, and his eyes burn with a smouldering intensity.

“Feel me”, he whispers hoarsely, his hot breath sending chills down your spine. His hands gently take hold of yours, guiding them to his taut muscular chest. “I am your protector, your provider, your lover.”

Your hands reverently plane over his muscles, lingering over his heart, feeling its steady beat under your palm and his muscles flexing beneath your touch. Your eyes rake over his body, taking in his powerful physique, each mark on his skin telling a story of triumphs and failures. You bask in his warmth and the trepidant feeling buzzing within you. You're about to finally consummate your wedding with your husband, to be united with him in the most intimate and primal way. You don't even think about his sons watching you anymore, it's as if there's nobody else in the room but you and your beloved. 

You meet his gaze again. Your eyes sparkle with pure devotion. The flickering flames of the fire are reflected in your big doe eyes, looking up at him so earnestly and expectantly.

There’s no mistaking the tenderness emanating from Mauhul’s touch as he lets go of your hands and begins tracing patterns along your exposed curves - mapping out every part of your body as if he has already learnt every curve and dip by heart.

His large hands slide down your sides, then grip your waist firmly, lifting you slightly to position your buttocks on his thighs. He captures your lips in another heated kiss as he presses his hardness against your core. He grinds slowly, relishing the sweet friction and the gasp that escapes your lips.

Your body arches instinctively into his touch. You are so ready, so wet, so incredibly eager for him.

With a tug he strips off his loincloth, revealing his fully erect cock to your hungry gaze. It stands tall and thick, a golden ring sitting at the base, its rosy head dripping with pre-cum, a visible testament to his keen arousal.

Your eyes widen at the sight of it, at its veiny-mapped look and mighty size which seems to stir something within your very core, a thrill running down your spine straight to your throbbing sex. There’s a hint of apprehension now clouding your gaze too, your body tenses just thinking of his thick, lengthy cock shoving its way into your hole.

“Trust me,” he murmurs as if sensing your concern, his voice rough yet reassuring. “I would never harm you.”

You nod and bury your hands in the furs at your sides as you brace yourself for what's coming next, anticipating both pain and pleasure. But he takes hold of your hands again, holding them tight in his warm palm, settling them on your lower belly. His eyes bore deeply into yours, engulfing you with a soothing warmth that permeates your whole body.

He lifts your legs higher with his free hand, spreading them wide across his hips as he aligns himself with your slick entrance. With deliberate slowness, he pushes in – just enough to breach that tight barrier, stretching you open inch by agonizing inch until he's buried balls-deep inside you, the golden ring is cool against your hot flesh. His eyes never leave yours.

Your walls stretch to accommodate him and clench tightly around his shaft. A groan rips from deep within his throat, pleasure coursing through his veins at this first intimate connection with his wife, as he feels how snug you are around him – how perfectly you fit him.

Mauhul drinks in the sight of you, his pupils dilating at the raw emotion shining in your eyes. He feels a surge of possessiveness and protectiveness wash over him, knowing that this precious beauty belongs to him now, body and soul.

Your body is shaken by faint tremors, your muscles tense, your walls throbbing around his unmoving length. Your locked eyes say everything about your connection, and the way he's gazing down at you, holding your hands and pulsating within your walls makes you feel so utterly... loved.

He holds still for a longer moment, savouring the incredible feeling of being completely enveloped by your warmth and tightness. His heavy lids briefly drift closed as he revels in the blissful sensations, letting out a low, rumbling moan.

A few beats pass, and then with a guttural grunt, he begins to move, withdrawing almost completely before plunging back into your welcoming heat. He sets a slow, deep rhythm, relishing each stroke as he fills you again and again, his heavy balls slapping against your ass with a lewd sound.

His gaze never departs from your own, drinking in the play of emotions dancing across your face – the initial tension giving way to relaxation, to acceptance, to growing pleasure. He can feel you responding to him, your inner muscles rippling around his shaft, urging him deeper.

"You are truly mine now," he growls, punctuating each word with a powerful stroke. His hand tightens on yours as he picks up speed, driving into you with increasing urgency, chasing the blissful release you both crave. “And I am yours. Completely.”

Shivers of pleasure consume every cell in your body as he thrusts in and out of you at the most tantalizing and blissful speed. You can feel his length sink deep into you under your palms resting on your lower belly, where his hand keeps them still as if aiming to make you feel even more connected to him. "Mauhul, ohh... gods-" you whimper breathlessly, your eyes crossing slightly as the pressure in your stomach mounts.

The sound of your sweet cries spurs him on and he increases his tempo, pounding into you with relentless fervour, driven by primal urges and a deep need to claim you thoroughly. His hips slam against yours with each powerful thrust, the force sending jolts of pleasure radiating outward from your joining point.

He can tell you're nearing your peak, your moans turning to breathy cries of ecstasy, your hips bucking against his to meet each of his powerful thrusts. His strong arms wrap around your smaller frame, dwarfing you, and making you arch against his body. He leans down, capturing one of your nipples in his hot mouth, sucking hard on your sensitive button as he continues to plunge into you with unyielding force, setting a relentless pace designed to drive you wild with pleasure. 

The dual stimulation sends shockwaves through you, intensifying the throbbing contractions of your pussy around his cock. Your hands reach out to grab onto something, finding his thick biceps. His muscles flex and ripple beneath your fingers as he drives into you with abandon, the rhythmic slap of flesh on flesh filling the air. 

His dark eyes lock onto yours, watching intently as tears well up in your eyes due to the overwhelming sensations. Pride, satisfaction, and adoration mingle together in his penetrating gaze.

“Come for me, mìzaah ,” he urges, his voice husky with desire. “Let me feel you squeeze my cock as you come undone.” He rocks into you harder, faster, seeking that perfect spot inside you to send you over the edge.

His lips leave your nipple to trail searing kisses along your jawline, nipping and sucking at the tender skin there as his cock drills relentlessly into your slick folds. He reaches down with one large hand to press firmly against your clit, rubbing the swollen bud in time with his thrusts, intent on throwing you over the edge into a shattering climax.

And he does push you to the brink of madness, sending your body convulsing against him, with cries of ecstasy tumbling out of your parted lips. Your walls clench tighter around him, milking his throbbing shaft, drawing him closer to his own peak.

He revels in the sensation of total possession, feeling you unravel beneath him. His grip tightens on your curves, dragging you along the slippery fur bed as he seeks out every last drop of pleasure from your coupling.

With a savage roar, he tightens his arms around you and buries himself to the hilt, his shaft pulsing as he erupts inside you, flooding your womb with his hot seed. Wave after wave of intense pleasure crashes over him, his vision blurring as he loses himself in the all-consuming bliss of your joining. For long moments, he remains buried deep, savouring the aftershocks and the feeling of your still-clenching warmth around him, while you’re lost in a haze of ecstasy.

You’re still panting heavily, feeling thoroughly spent as your hooded eyes slowly regain focus, landing on your husband, taking in his dishevelled state, his sweaty skin, his long black braid draped over his shoulder, his blissful expression... and you feel your lips curl up into a lazy but content smile.

As the waves of pleasure recede, leaving behind a sense of profound satisfaction he pulls out slowly, allowing his spent length to slide free from your clenching walls with a wet pop. The sight of his cum dripping down your thighs and tainting the furs elicits a primal satisfaction from him, a grin spreading across his features.

“Mmh, ùmah (mine),” he coos racously, brushing a calloused thumb over your slick folds, smearing his seed over your soft skin and pushing it back inside your walls. He draws lazy circles around your clit, teasing it gently until you flinch away in protest, still too sensitive to touch.

His eyes roam hungrily over your flushed skin, the sheen of sweat glistening on every curve and valley. His fingertips proudly trace over the mark he's left on your breast with his tusks, as though claiming ownership of your body once more. His fingers then trail back downwards, following the gentle slope of your stomach until reaching the apex of your thighs. He gives your mound a playful smack, chuckling deeply when you squeal in surprise.

His laughter is rich and full, echoing off the stone walls of his chamber as he teases you mercilessly with gentle slaps and pokes, enjoying the way you squirm and writhe beneath his touch, and the lazy breathless giggles that escape your lips. He leans down, planting a series of hot, open-mouthed kisses along your lower belly and inner thigh. Reaching the apex of your legs, he parts your folds with his thumbs, exposing your sensitive pink flesh to the humid air of the room. His nose brushes against your sex, inhaling deeply the intoxicating scent of your arousal mixed with his own essence. 

"Mmm, you smell like spring," he growls appreciatively, before he moves lower on the furs, spreading your thighs wide with his massive hands. His tongue darts out, flicking across your wetness in a slow swipe, tasting your juices mingled with his own.

“And you taste like victory,” he declares, dipping his head further between your legs to feast upon your sweetness. Each lick is drawn out, each suckle meant to draw forth another whimper of delight from your quivering form.

His onslaught on your still sensitive bundle of nerves has you wriggling and trashing on the furs, soft strained whimpers falling from your mouth, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging meekly on it. But suddenly you freeze, your heavy eyes landing on the two figures kneeling just a few feet away from you. His sons. How could you forget that you had an audience? They have been watching you coupling as part of their rite! Lost as you were to pleasure you didn't pay them any mind. But now, all at once, your husband's words rush back into your mind, bursting through the fog that has been numbing it. "My sons will learn from me... and then they will learn from you, as you please them as well." Your cheeks flush crimson again at the realization, and they only get hotter when you notice the massive bulges under their loincloths and the way their bodies tremble as if they're about to explode.

Mauhul feels you tense up and follows your startled gaze to where his sons kneel nearby. A low rumble emanates from his chest, somewhere between amusement and paternal pride at the sight of them, so aroused and fascinated by the act of mating. He knows they're learning valuable lessons today, about the power of desire, the thrill of conquest, and the depths of passion that can exist between husband and wife.

“Ah, look at them,” he says, his deep voice laced with mirth. “Look how much they enjoyed watching us. They've learned much about how to please their future mates.”

He shifts, laying beside you, propping himself up on an elbow to look down at your form sprawled languidly on the furs. His rough fingers trace the curve of your hip gently before resting on your plump belly, feeling it rise and fall with each ragged breath you take.

With a nod, he gestures for his boys to come closer, his voice low and commanding. “Approach, lads. Come to claim your new status.”

You watch in both apprehension and trepidation as his sons scramble forward eagerly, their cocks straining against their loincloths as they reach your side. The youngest, Moth, looks a tad more composed, although his breathing is uneven and quick, betraying his internal turmoil. Beside him, Torak appears visibly shaken; beads of perspiration trickling down his forehead, his normally resolute countenance displaying palpable trepidation. Yet both share the common hunger, the craving to experience such carnal intimacy like their father just has, guided by instinct and nature's demands. None move into action, waiting for their father to give them instructions.

Mauhul watches his sons approach, noting the mix of excitement and nervousness etched on their faces. He feels a surge of pride seeing them so eager to claim their place as adults, to follow in his footsteps and assume their roles as warriors and protectors and fathers.

He leans down, pressing a kiss on your shoulder, before sitting up straighter and addressing his offspring.

"Torak, first," he simply states while directing his attention to his eldest son. His tone exudes authority, demanding utter compliance, to which the firstborn responds by taking a tentative step forward, his large hands fumbling with the leather ties that hold his loincloth in place. The material drops away easily, revealing his throbbing cock, fully erect and pulsating with unspent lust. 

Your sight settles on his veiny meat, and you linger there for a moment. It's not nearly as large or long as his father's, but it bends slightly upward, giving it a wicked look that makes your walls flutter.

Mauhul glances at you, your face showing signs of nervousness mingled with lustful curiosity – the perfect mix for this particular scenario. There’s something intensely satisfying about watching his family unite like this, bonding through tradition.

“Show her what you’ve learned,” his voice booms through the room, filled with pride and expectation.

Torak’s hands tremble slightly as he reaches out to cup one of your breasts. His touch is tentative at first, unsure, but quickly gains confidence under his father's approving gaze and your soft hums. He leans down, taking a hardened nipple into his mouth, sucking gently while his hand continues to knead the other breast.

Watching his eldest son attend to you stirs something primal within Mauhul, a surge of possessiveness mixed with satisfaction. He leans back on his heels, allowing Torak space to explore and learn while keeping a protective eye on the proceedings.

A smirk plays on his lips as he watches the young orc's tentative touches blossom into confident caresses, spurred on by your moans and the way you arch your back, offering yourself further to his son’s attentions.

You bite onto your bottom lip to muffle your moans as you feel the young orc’s hand travel along your stomach and slide between your thighs. Your lashes flutter and your head cranes slightly to the side to search your husband’s gaze. One of your hands reaches out as well, seeking contact with him. Your fingers find his thigh, resting near your head, and dig slightly into his tight flesh.

Mauhul meets your gaze, his eyes burning with intensity as he allows you to ground yourself through the touch. He covers your hand with his own, holding it firmly against his thigh, the contact a reminder of your connection amidst the sea of new sensations washing over you. His other palm comes up to brush stray hair from your sweat-dampened brow, tucking them behind your ear tenderly.

His voice is a low rasp when he speaks, meant only for your ears. "That's it, kisee . Let yourself feel everything. Remember, my sons are learning from you too - teach them well."

The praise sends a shiver down your spine, his words igniting a fresh wave of arousal but also a deep sense of responsibility. You think you realize now how important this moment is. How meaningful your role is in this rite. And so you brush aside the lingering awkwardness you feel towards this unorthodox orcish tradition, releasing your inhibitions to try and take on the duty your husband has bestowed on you.

Your free hand moves down towards Torak’s head to gently stroke his long dark hair tied in decorative braids, your fingers weaving carefully in his loose roots.

“You’re doing good, Torak.” you praise him softly, a gentle smile tugging at your lips. "Don't be afraid to touch me as you wish." Your stomach flutters when you see the young orc look up at you in a mix of shock and awe, then the instant glint of confidence that flashes across his eyes before he lets his fingers brush against your wet folds and rub around your entrance. His eyes are locked onto yours to gauge your reactions. You moan and nod at him in approval, your hands tightening their relative hold on Torak's hair and your husband's palm. 

Mauhul's grip on your hand also tightens reflexively as he watches his eldest son gain courage from your encouragement. Pride swells in his chest, not just for Torak's growing boldness, but for your poise and grace in guiding his son. You embrace your role as a mentor with a natural instinct that takes his breath away.

The sight of Torak's fingers disappearing into your slick heat sets Mauhul's blood aflame, but as much as he longs to join you and stake his claim once more, he knows he has to wait. This is his sons’ moment and he won’t rob them of it. Instead, he leans in close to your ear, his hot breath fanning across your neck as he murmurs, "Such a good mate you are. My precious little wife… helping my sons become Shakran’z. "

Your heart leaps at his words, your languid gaze flickering up to briefly meet his eyes before you lock it onto his firstborn’s expectant look once more. Your fingers curl around the end of his braid, gently pulling on it. Your attention seems to spur him on, leading him to push his thick fingers inside your already thoroughly stretched and naturally lubed entrance. He’s still slightly hesitant in his actions, but you smile at him and roll your hips against his hand, to reassure him that he’s on the right path. “Yes, like that, Torak. Curl your fingers…”

Mauhul delights in the spectacle before him: you, the precious gem of his tribe, deflowering his young in service of mating traditions, but with all the grace and love of someone who genuinely cares for those they guide. It ignites a fire within him unlike anything else.

"That's it, Torak," his voice breaks through the silent haze of lust that fills the hut, gruff yet filled with paternal pride. "Please your mate before you claim them."

His father's words further encourage Torak to be more confident in his actions. His fingers curl and start to slide in and out of you, teasing that spongy area inside of you that has you instantly moaning in pleasure. His other hand moves to your lower belly, positioning his thumb over your clitoris just like he has seen his father do earlier. The pad of his thumb draws uneven circles on your swollen nub, managing to elicit shivers to run through your body.

Your head falls back on the furs, your body writhing and arching under his ministrations. Your palm tightens on Mauhul's hand and he squeezes it back as he watches intently, drinking in every detail of your shared intimacy. The flush spreading across your cheeks, the way your breasts rise and fall rapidly with each moan escaping your lips, the sway of your hips matching Torak's rhythm.

"Good boy," he praises Torak, his voice rough with need. "Make sure she’s ready for you... Make her cum..."

A whimper falls from your lips as Torak quickens his movements, wanting to take you over the edge just as his father said. Your hips buck against his hand, your eyes squeeze shut as you feel that pressure growing in your lower belly all over again.

"Yes... Oh... Yes..." you encourage him, cradling his braid in your shaky fingers until you can't take it anymore and start to convulse in pleasure, a muted scream falling from your parted lips.

You don't have time to recover, however, because feeling your walls clench around his fingers has sent Torak's hunger to the roof. His instincts kick in, overpowering his lack of experience. His eagerness to finally claim his maturity is so deep and ardent that he grabs his cock and pushes it inside you while you're still spasming.

"Oh! Gods!!" you cry out, eyes widening in shock and landing on Torak's hips just as they start to move back and forth with an erratic and disjointed pace that makes your whole body shake and jiggle.

With a low growl, Mauhul witnesses as his eldest plunges into you. Watching as his progeny claims you with his throbbing cock brings forth memories that burn bright within his chest - his own rite of passage decades ago, the impatience of youth, the yearning, the awake of his primal instincts, the overwhelming sensation of completeness, the deep-seated need fulfilled. Your pleasure-laden screams fill the air, mixing with his son’s huffs, setting off an echo of past bliss inside him.

“Easy now,” he growls soothingly through clenched teeth, giving his son a pointed look, to which Torak immediately responds by steadying his thrusts, even if only barely. Since the start of the rite, he’s felt his length throb maddeningly, an ache which only worsened as he watched his father claim his wife. And now that he is finally inside you, he can't hold back any longer. His grunts become louder, his eyes squeeze closed and his warm palms grab onto your hips as he plunges deeper inside you, seeking his first release. Release that comes quickly and overwhelmingly, with hips bucking erratically against yours as his hot seed fills your channel. 

Your stunned gaze flashes towards your husband, searching his face, silently questioning if his son was supposed to cum inside you. The proud look etched onto Mauhul's face is enough to convince you that Torak's did exactly what was expected of him. You feel his palm squeeze yours as he cups his son’s jaw, drawing his hooded eyes on him.

"Let it be known," he declares in a loud, clear voice which echoes through the room, "That Torak, my firstborn, has finally become a Shakran .”

The sound of Torak’s shallow breaths mingling with the crackling of the fire and the gazes of the three orcs so full of intensity and pride creates an atmosphere that is both raw and sacred. You don’t even dare to breathe as you lie there on the furs, your mind spinning and walls twitching around Torak’s softening cock as you stare at the scene in awe. Your wonder only intensifies as you catch your husband dipping a sharpened bone in a pot of ink and puncturing his son’s skin with it, skillfully etching a marking onto his chest. You’re not sure what the intricate lines mean but you’ve seen identical marks on your husband’s chest and you can definitely tell how significant they are. Torak’s passive reaction to the puncturing is also worthy of notice; he maintains his attention on his father and keeps his muscles from twitching despite the droplets of purplish blood rolling down his thick green skin.

Once the marking is completed, Mauhul gives his son a final proud nod. You can feel his seed leaking out of your walls, as well as the humid air meeting your wet folds, as Torak slowly detaches from you, but not before smiling down at you and whispering, "Raak ut, ishtà-kurme."

You've been with the clan long enough to grow familiar with the way the orcs express their gratitude, although perhaps not long enough to understand what the term 'kurme' means. Now, however, there is no time to dwell on translations because, while one son has completed his rite, another has yet to go through the passage. And so, everyone's attention is drawn to the youngest, who has been patiently waiting, in reverent silence, for his turn.

As soon as Torak pulls away from you, leaving behind a trail of your combined fluids, Moth steps closer to take his place between your legs.

Leaning back on his heels, his large hand finding your hair, Mauhul allows his eyes to roam over the youngest orc. He’s not particularly large like Torak, but he carries a strength in himself, an aura of determination. The same determination that was in Mauhul when he became an adult, years ago. Even you can notice the uncanny resemblance between the two now that Moth is so close. Both of his boys resemble your spouse in more ways than one, but the youngest exudes the same calmness and tenderness that Mauhul has. The way his palm reaches for your face to gently wipe a stray tear from your cheek - a tear you had no idea you shed - and his kind eyes smile down at you as if he's the one supposed to reassure you only serve to reinforce your impressions.

You’re so lost in his dark eyes, marvelling at just how much his gaze resembles that of your beloved Mauhul that you barely manage to catch a glimpse of brownish freckles scattered across his throbbing length before he rubs its head along your slit and gently but firmly pushes inside, eliciting a soft gasp out of your lips. He feels larger than his sibling as he stretches your walls. The wet sound of flesh slapping against flesh soon fills the room again as Moth picks up the tempo, his pace much more controlled and steadier than Torak’s. One would almost think this was not his first time, although watching his father first and his brother second must have given him enough visual clues to know what to do. Soft whimpers fall from your lips as your body is rocked by his thrusts, your heavy-lidded eyes unwavering from the youngest's face.

“Strong, steady strokes,” Mauhul advises softly, his voice carrying an air of approval. He feels a surge of pride swell in his chest seeing how Moth seems to have taken in everything, moving with such control and purpose. It reminds him of himself, years ago, determined to make the most of this rite, eager to prove his worth. He runs a comforting hand over your sweat-drenched hair, noting the exhaustion etched on your face but also the satisfaction shining in your eyes.

Moth nods, acknowledging his father's words without breaking the rhythm. Yet, it's clear that he needs no prompting, every thrust a deliberate caress designed to elicit moans both from you and him. His hands cup the soft mounds of your breasts, thumbs teasing your hardened nipples, adding to the rousing sensation. Each stroke sends a jolt of pleasure coursing through your body, causing your walls to clench tighter around him. 

“...You're doing well, my son.” Mauhul praises him, his massive hand slides possessively over your stomach, feeling the tremors beneath his palm as you respond to Moth's attention.

Your eyes meet the dark pools of your husband's, and even through the haze, the exhaustion, and yet another orgasm brewing in your belly, you find yourself smiling up at him, searching for his touch with your smaller hand, his name falling from your lips in a hushed plea.

The sound of his name rolling off your tongue causes something to stir deep within Mauhul. A warmth spreads across his chest, mingling with pride and love, a blend that makes his heart throb painfully. “My beautiful kisem… ” he murmurs, leaning down to capture your lips in a tender kiss. Meanwhile, the rhythm between you and Moth grows more frantic, your hips rolling lazily to meet each of his powerful thrusts. Your body moves of its own accord, responding naturally to the sensations flooding through you. You're teetering on the edge once again, the pressure building in your core threatening to burst forth at any moment.

Moth’s fingers meet your swollen bundle of nerves, interrupting the kiss by eliciting a loud whimper from your lips. Your hooded eyes meet Moth’s again, his gaze locked onto your face, eager to capture your every reaction, ready to change his actions accordingly.

You only have the force to rest your free hand upon his - the one still squeezing your breast - and nod meekly in approval before you drop your head back, resting it on your husband’s thigh. Every nerve of your body is awake and on fire, your muscles tensing, your thighs twitching at every stroke of his cock and flick of his finger against your clit, your face contorting in pleasure as one more orgasm rapidly approaches.

Mauhul’s hand caresses your hair, providing a grounding presence amidst the storm of sensations overwhelming you. The sight of you losing yourself to pleasure over and over again is intoxicating, he’s already grown addicted to it and he can't wait to witness it every day from this moment forward.

Moth seems to sense your impending climax, his movements becoming erratic as he chases after his own. His strokes grow shorter and more insistent, his fingers rubbing tight circles around your sensitive nub. With a final, deep thrust and a low grunt, he buries himself to the hilt inside you, holding still as he unleashes ropes of cum into your channel. He doesn’t stop pleasuring you though, even as he reaches his first release. Only a few moments later your back arches and a strangled cry tears from your throat as ecstasy crashes over you in waves.

Mauhul watches in awe as you shatter apart, your entire body trembling and writhing against his and his son’s. Pride swells in his chest at the sight of his youngest son bringing his wife to such heights of pleasure. He leans down to scoop you into his arms, cradling you against his broad chest. "You did wonderfully, my love," he praises softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, his tusks grazing your sweaty skin. 

His gaze shifts to Moth, who is withdrawing from your quivering body, a satisfied smirk playing about his lips. "It seems my young warrior has inherited his father's prowess in the art of lovemaking." he announces with a smug, then looks at Torak and adds, “Both of my young warriors. You have made me very proud.”

His look then turns solemn once more as he fixes his dark eyes on his youngest son and declares: “Let it be known that Moth, my secondborn, has finally become a Shakran .” And just as he did for Torak before, he grabs the bone from the floor, dips it in the pot of ink and brings it to his son’s heaving chest. Mauhul presses his other palm on his skin and looks at him with affection and reassurance as his son’s body gradually eases its tremors. Only then does he start to mark his skin with the same intricate lines as earlier. Even through your droopy lids, you can’t help but reverently watch as your husband’s hand makes quick work of the tattoo. Your tired eyes rake over the young orc’s skin, rising to his face. He’s calm even now, a perfect picture of serenity, which deeply amazes you. He too, just like his brother has done before, moves his gaze back to you and smiles as he whispers the same orcish words with a devotion that makes your still racing heart miss a beat. You cling to your husband’s side as you nod at his son, acknowledging his words despite not fully understanding their meaning, already thinking of inquiring about them to Mauhul later.

With the completion of the ritual, Mauhul sets the bone aside and pulls you closer, his embrace enveloping you completely. As he rests his chin atop your head, his voice booms out, filling the room with a mix of pride and love.

“You've earned your rightful place among our adults,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “Today, you became true Shakran’z - protectors, providers, and lovers. May these marks serve as a reminder of your role in our tribe. When the time comes, you’ll carry on our line of truebloods by providing your seed to the clan’s zàgartha but you will also take wives and repopulate our tribe with strong warriors, children of the bond you will build with your drùda’z.”

Mauhul's gaze drifts to you, looking exhausted but content in his embrace. He brushes a strand of sweat-dampened hair from your forehead, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone.

“Tomorrow we will celebrate. Now… you may go.” he dismisses his sons in a whisper, without taking his eyes away from you. 

He wraps his massive arms around your tiny frame protectively, holding you close against him. The warmth emanating from his large body envelops you in its cocoon-like embrace as he cradles you. 

You struggle to keep your eyes open, feeling too spent, drained of all your forces after the physically straining rite you've taken part in, your body still buzzing from the intense series of orgasms you've just experienced. Your sweaty forehead rests on his chest, your frame sagged against his muscular torso. 

"Mau?" you meekly call out for him. Your droopy eyes lock onto his, your fingers lazily drawing patterns on his broad chest. You wait for him to hum back before speaking again. 

"Your sons have called me… 'kurme'," you point out, curiosity twinkling in your tired eyes. "What does that mean?" 

A deep, rumbling chuckle escapes Mauhul's chest, resonating through your frame pressed against him. He looks down at you adoringly, his expression softening at the adorable sight you present - so exhausted yet curious like a mouse. His broad hand strokes slowly down your back in soothing circles as he responds.

“That is the orcish word for mother,” he explains in hushed tones, his dark eyes beaming down at you. “However, they have not simply called you mother but ‘ishtà-kurme’. Guiding mother. The mother who lights the path.” His thumb draws idle figures on your bare shoulder. The gentle motion seems to ease your strained, tender body.

“In our culture,” he starts again, his deep voice growing serious. “It's a term of utmost reverence and devotion. To a Shakran orc, the ishtà-kurme is someone held dear and sacred. They have shown you immense respect by calling you that, my love. They will hold you in high regard for their whole lives for what you have done for them today… and for all the things they will learn from you in the days ahead.”

Slowly he lifts his hand, cradling your delicate face gently within the expanse of his huge, calloused palm. He lowers his roughened lips against yours, capturing them in a tender kiss, conveying a wealth of emotion that words cannot match. “You became their yazàkurme , chosen mother, the moment I took you as my kisem… ”, he pauses as a fond smile curls up his lips, his black eyes sparkling as they reflect the warm glow of the fire. “My kisee -” he coos affectionately in a softer tone, making your stomach flutter. “My wife. And one day you’ll be kurme to our children.”

You sigh, feeling your heart swell with love. “Those are a lot of names…” you quip back with a soft huff of a chuckle, your tired eyes crinkling in both amusement and affection as they gaze lovingly up at him.

With a hearty laugh, Mauhul’s deep voice fills the room, echoing off the stone walls. His laughter fades into a soft hum as he gazes down at you, his eyes sparkling with undisguised adoration.

“Indeed, many names for one little human,” he muses aloud, a touch of pride evident in his voice. “But each one holds its weight in significance. For us orcs, titles matter. They define bonds, roles, and responsibilities.”

He releases your face, allowing his roughened hand to slide down your neck, coming to rest on the swell of your breast, just above your heart.

“You lost your name when you left your village to join us,” he whispers solemnly, his eyes flickering to his hand as his fingers splay over your soft flesh, feeling your heartbeat under his palm. “So we shall give you many, in return.” His eyes meet yours again, a genuine and fond smile blooming on his lips, one that causes your heart to stutter under his palm. “But one will always stand above all. And that is mìzaher. My mìzaah, that's what you are. My life companion, my only love.”

Your palm comes to rest on his cheek, softly cradling his face as you gaze deeply into his eyes, a faint veil of emotion blurring your vision as you return his adoring smile. You're physically drained, still a tad unsure of what has just occurred and what it all means for you, but one thing is certain: the overwhelming feeling of being loved, treasured, and protected that envelops you fully now as you rest in your beloved husband's arms. You wish for this feeling to last forever. 

Mauhul leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment as he savours the gentle caress. When he opens them again, they shine with a depth of emotion you have rarely seen in another being - pure, unadulterated love.

"You need rest, mìzaah, and a bath," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates against your palm. His eyes crinkle in amusement as he adds: "I can gift you more names tomorrow."

He shifts, carefully scooping you into his arms without breaking eye contact. Your legs wrap instinctively around his waist as he stands, cradling you against his broad chest. 

“You can close your eyes. I’ll take good care of you.”

🪷. You can leave me a tip on ko-fi if you want to support me ♡

a.n.: any kind of feedback is highly appreciated! Let me know what you think pls 🥺

[slytherinshua]

FLYING BICYCLES AND LOVESTRUCK MAGIC

genre. fluff. kiki's delivery service au-ish. a lil mutual pining. warnings. reader is basically kiki and sohee is basically tombo lol. some psychic magic mentioned. it's mostly just them being whipped for each other. osono cameo cause she's mvp fr. pairing. sohee x witch!reader. wc. 2.5k. a/n. the riize brainrot is SO REAL. idk why i felt sohee would fit the role of tombo so perfectly hes just sooo 💔💔 i love him guys 🥹

Sohee was 97.62436% sure that he was going crazy when he first saw you flying on a broomstick through the city. Of course, the other 2.37564% that had gone completely insane was fascinated, excited, and probably (definitely) head over heels in love.

He lived in a small town. One where the word went around like a whirlwind as soon as anyone new moved in. It was the most exciting thing that could happen for the residents there, especially when the newcomer happened to be a very pretty girl from a rich city. 

Most people would move out of the town when they reached 20 or so to discover themselves. Yet they always seemed to find their way back when they were a bit more settled. It was a rite of passage— a route to adulthood that almost everyone assumed the youth of the town would take. Sohee liked his town, though, and didn’t feel any need to move away. He had already discovered himself enough to know what he wanted to do with his life. 

There were exciting things to do that he doubted he would be able to do anywhere else. Visiting the town’s grandpa that ran the old antique shop, getting free candy from the young lady who ran the candy store after the old owner had passed away, seeing every new addition to the art gallery from the aspiring painters and sculptors in town. And, his favourite activity: investigating the old junk yard for spare parts to make his newest models.

Sohee liked to call himself an inventor. It felt spiffy and official. He showed off every new creation he pieced together with rusted tools and even rustier bits of metal like it was the next world-changing invention. He could spend hours in his dad’s old workshop working with nuts and bolts, seeing what the pieces could make once they came together.

He had been determined to make a flying vehicle for years now. After finding a beautiful old wind turbine in the junkyard when he was 14, he had started planning mock-ups for a bicycle. He would attach the turbine in front of it so that when you pedalled, the turbine spinned. The hope was that with enough inertia, you could eventually lift off the ground with it. He was skeptical that it would actually work, though.

He hadn’t officially talked to you yet. You had been in town for a couple days now, staying with the couple that ran the local bakery. Sohee thought you were absolutely beautiful from the moment he first saw you. He had been riding his bicycle past the bakery on his way to the carpenters to pick up some tools. One glance at you through the window had him abruptly pushing on the brakes, eyes going wide.

Maybe it was a bit of an exaggeration, but you looked like an angel. Or a goddess. Or a fairy. Sohee couldn’t decide which one, but he knew that you were the most stunning person he had ever seen. Since that day, he kept running into you in town, but his own nervousness had stopped him from talking to you properly. He had held a few conversations; enough to know your name and age, but clearly not enough to know that you could fly through the air.

Now, he was staring wide-eyed at the clouds, watching you soar just beneath them so effortlessly. He craned his head to watch you as long as he could before you disappeared behind the clock tower.

“Woah…” He whispered, jaw dropped in an awestruck expression. 

“She’s quite the girl, isn’t she?” 

Sohee turned to the side, nodding in agreement with what Osono, the bakery lady, had said.

“She’s amazing. Do you know how she does it?” He asked with a grin.

“Haven’t you heard by now, Sohee? She’s a witch! She chose our town to do her witch training.” Osono explained.

“That’s incredible! I didn’t even know witches actually existed! Do you know what she’s training in?!” Sohee felt like his brain was spinning at a speed incomprehensible to mankind. He kept thinking of more and more questions about you. He’d never seen anyone quite like you before, and the more he learned, the more intrigued he became.

“She said she’s still figuring it out— but she’s interested in love readings. For now, she’s using her flying skills to help me and the town. She’s an excellent delivery girl!” Osono beamed.

“Love readings…?” Sohee pondered the idea on his way back home. The next day, he found himself at the town’s library, scanning through the small section on magic and witches with more focus than he had put to almost anything.

//

“Miss witch, I’d like to get a love reading!” He announced happily, swinging open the door to the bakery where you were seated at the counter, seconds away from falling asleep due to the lack of customers. You jerked up at the sound of Sohee, immediately knowing that it was him from his playful nickname for you— miss witch.

“Really!? You want one!?” You jumped up from your seat and rushed around the counter to be face to face with him. Sohee had become your first friend in town. After he had seen you fly that day, he discovered the key to talking to you without being awkward. You could fly and he wanted to fly. There was a perfect common interest.

You loved talking to Sohee. He was infinitely more interesting than the kids back at your old home, most of which were stuck up and rude. Sohee was bright and kind and full of imagination and dreams and inspiration. He never got bored of you talking about being a witch, and you never got bored of hearing about his new inventions. You had never clicked so well with someone before.

There was also the fact that he was the prettiest boy you’d ever seen. But that was… less important. You had a bad habit of crushing on boys without it ever going anywhere. You were determined not to repeat that disaster a sixth time.

“It would be my great honour to be your very first customer.” Sohee said dramatically, making you giggle with excitement. 

“Well, then, dear client, shall we go to my witch lair? I can’t perform the reading anywhere else.” You responded, matching his dramatics perfectly. He grinned and nodded and you grabbed his wrist to lead him upstairs.

“It’s a bit messy— give me a second!” You rushed around your small attic space that Osono had been so kind to let you stay in for free. You hurriedly put away the food that you had gotten for breakfast and shoved some odd trinkets under your bed so that they were hidden. Sohee just watched, his heart racing. He really needed to get that under control.

“Where’s my witching supplies- Aha! Here it is!” You held up a small purple box, bejewelled with gold ornaments. It looked ancient and rusty— exactly the type of artifact that Sohee loved.

You set down a thin blanket on the wooden floor before taking out the little baubles and setting them in the middle of the fabric. Sohee sat on one end, and you on the other. 

“Alright, mister… I have a series of questions, but for this to work, you must answer them completely honestly. If you lie even once, the whole thing will be messed up!” You had put on your mother’s joke witches had for fun. The sight made Sohee laugh, especially when you deepened your voice to sound old as you explained how things would work.

“I got it. I’ll tell only the truth.” Sohee promised.

“Once you answer all the questions, I’ll flip over this blank card. If everything works out, the name of the person you love the most will slowly appear before your eyes! Now… Are you ready?” You quirked an eyebrow, staring seriously at him even though on the inside you were about to burst with excitement. It was your dream to open your own love reading business. You just weren’t completely sure if you were good enough at it yet.

Sohee nodded eagerly, a mix of excitement and nervousness stewing inside of him. He wasn’t sure exactly what to expect, so he carefully followed along with what you did to make sure he didn’t mess anything up. You closed your eyes and he followed suit.

The questions you asked started out simple, without Sohee needing to deliberate before delivering the honest answer to you. But as they went on, they got more complex and more personal. Sohee had never doubted your abilities as a witch, but he hadn’t expected you to be able to see right through him.

“Last question…”

“Mhm?” Sohee could feel his stomach twist in nervousness, but he breathed steadily to try to calm his nerves.

“Do you believe yourself to be in love with someone at this current moment?” 

Sohee swallowed slowly, his mouth and throat feeling parched all of a sudden. He took his time to think through it, though the answer was almost painfully obvious. He had never been more in love in his entire life.

“Yes.” He finally answered with certainty, a slight burden lifting off his chest. It was almost as if he was confessing to you in a way— and though he didn’t say it directly, it still eased some of his anxiety. He opened his eyes hesitantly after answering to see your face scrunched in concentration.

“No way-” You opened your eyes as well, frowning in confusion and looking up to Sohee with a questioning gaze. “By any chance are you…?” 

“Huh?” Sohee blinked, confused at your actions. You shook your head quickly and stared down at the blank card.

“Are you ready?” 

“Yeah.” 

The air felt a little tense as you slowly flipped over the black card. You held your hand over it for a few seconds, shielding it from Sohee’s curious view. You lifted your hand carefully once you were sure it had worked and watched as the name slowly appeared on the card.

You sat in frozen shock once you read the name on the card, struggling to process what you had seen. Your name was displayed on the card, clearer than ever. There was no way that anyone could possibly mistake it or misread it, but you just couldn’t believe it.

“It- we- we must’ve messed it up somehow! There’s no way that’s- It must’ve got me confused, right!?” Sohee spluttered helplessly, his entire face a bright shade of red. Somehow in his calculations, he didn’t expect for the card to expose him that horrendously, right in front of you as well.

“I don’t think we did it wrong, though… Everything felt… right.” You said quietly. “Do you… like me?” You could barely get the words to come out of your throat. 

There were some parts of your magic that you still needed time to trust completely. Flying had always been easy in that aspect; you either flew or you didn’t. But when it came to love readings, you wondered how likely it was that your magic had gotten messed up. You liked to be whimsical and believe that your love readings could be completely accurate, but your confidence had never been as low as in this moment. 

However nervous you were feeling, it was a thousand times worse for Sohee. You had a small inkling of hope— hope that he would say yes. But for Sohee, he could only think of the possible rejection. Or the even worse possibility that this would tear apart your friendship.

“Yes…?” Sohee whispered out to you. You had never heard him this nervous or quiet before.

“Really? Are you sure?” You asked again, this time with a little more voice and hope surging in you. Sohee must have picked up on the hopeful tone, as he answered yes again, this time with more certainty. 

“Then the reading wasn’t wrong?! You actually like me?” Your hand clasped over your mouth before you could ramble anymore in your state of disbelief. 

“What about you? I mean… you probably don’t, right? But maybe…?” Sohee couldn’t help but be hopeful for your response, but he held himself back from being too expectant on the response he was dreaming for. 

“Do I like you back?! Of course I do- It wasn’t obvious before now?” You stuttered in disbelief.

“I mean- I hoped you did, but I couldn’t be sure.” Sohee clarified. The tension in the room had completely dissipated by now, and your smiles were slowly coming back as the reality settled in. 

“I’ve liked you since I moved here, I think. Didn’t you ever question why we kept running into each other before we became friends?” 

“No? I just thought it was a lucky coincidence.” Sohee admitted with a laugh.

“It was because whenever I spotted you biking around town, I’d land in a street nearby and pretend like I was always walking that way just to cross paths with you!” You corrected stubbornly. Now that it was clear that the feelings were mutual, you wanted him to know the effort that you went through to get closer to him.

“I also started going past the bakery on my way home. It added an extra 5 minutes to my route, but it was worth it to see you working through the glass window.” He scratched the back of his neck shyly, mirroring your smile when your eyes brightened at hearing his confession. 

“So… what now?” You questioned suddenly after a prolonged silence of both of you trying to stare at the other while simultaneously trying your best not to look obvious.

“Would you go out with me?” Sohee asked excitedly. “Oh shoot- I should’ve gotten flowers first. Wait here- I’ll be quick!” He stammered, rushing out of the room before you could stop him. He was gone only long enough for you to giggle in delight while you cleaned up the supplies you had laid out. Your witching skills had come in handy in the best of ways.

He was out of breath by the time he burst open the door again, but his eyes had never glimmered any brighter. He held a bouquet of pink and white roses, a little squished on one side from the rush he had been in. 

“You know you didn’t have to go buy these…” You bit back a smile, taking the pretty flowers from his hands.

“My mom always said the best way to charm a lady was with flowers.” He panted and grinned at you cheekily when you shot him a look. You smiled as you sniffed the sweet scent of the roses. Sohee was about to say something else, but you pulled him into a tight hug before he could start, the unexpected gesture knocking all words he had into another dimension.

“I really like you, Sohee.” You whispered, your smile twinkling as you rested your head on his shoulder. 

He took a second to get over the shock of you hugging him before he was wrapping his arms around your frame as well, mumbling back, “Me too.”

↳ riize taglist: @eternalgyu,, @kangtaehyunzzz,, @weird-bookworm,, @haecien

[teyamskxawng]

Rite of Passage

Lo'ak Sully x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

The rundown: You and Lo'ak mutually agree to paint each other for your coming of age ceremony. Although you're both growing older, some things never change.

Warnings: language, Reader and Lo'ak being painfully oblivious, Reader swearing up and down that she hates Lo’ak’s hands but she really loves them, just lots of fluff and stupidity, characters are aged up

WC: 5.5k

A/N: This was my attempt at writing a light-hearted lil fic that I don’t feel obligated to stretch out into a series. It's basically word vomit idrk how I feel about it, but anyways!! Another one for the Lo’ak lovers (me) lol <333

The highly anticipated season had finally come around once again—the annual, collective moment in which the entire Omaticaya clan came together to celebrate the time-honored induction of their youth into the world of adulthood. Over the course of several grueling months, the young Na'vi had been put through their paces, overcoming demanding rites of passage and thus earning their coveted standing within the tribe.

The lively and uproarious ceremony was more than just a celebration. It signified a crucial stepping stone in the journey toward becoming accomplished members of the Na'vi society. And this year, Lo’ak found himself among those transitioning from childhood into adulthood, moving one step closer to joining the ranks of his higher-ups.

He’d finally be treated like an adult, he’d finally get to exercise free will outside of his parents' strict and demanding orders. He’d get to celebrate with all of his warrior friends and probably consume way more drinks than he should, but that was all part of the adventure. He’d be a free man, and he couldn’t fucking wait. 

But as thrilling as the entire experience was panning out to be, there was this nagging sensation at the back of his mind—something that clouded his thoughts like a veil of unease.

It was customary for each young Na’vi to be adorned with intricate body paint before attending the celebration—a powerful symbol that represented their transformation from childhood into adulthood. It was akin to casting off one’s previous life and stepping into a new, mature version of themselves.

Each unique design would act as a shroud, allowing the individual to leave behind their former innocence and emerge reborn, strong and prepared for all of life’s challenges.

While most of his peers had already secured mentors, close friends, or even lovers to skillfully adorn their bodies with intricately painted designs for the ceremony weeks before its commencement, Lo’ak had nothing. Despite all his accomplishments thus far, he’d yet to find someone to help him present himself in a manner conducive to the age-old tradition. Which was a big problem.

Lo’ak had been struggling with the idea of asking you to paint him for the upcoming ceremony for weeks on end. It was something that weighed heavily on his mind, but he just couldn’t figure out how to approach such a delicate yet meaningful conversation with you. Embarrassingly, he found himself losing sleep over it all, tossing and turning in his hammock, replaying scenarios in his head, trying to find the right words that didn't seem to exist.

You and Lo’ak shared practically every experience and milestone throughout your lives together. You went through the same rites of passage as Lo’ak to be welcomed into the tribe as warriors. Given your close bond, it was natural that Lo’ak would want to be the one to paint you for the ceremony as well. Unfortunately, just as with asking you, he stumbled when it came to bringing up the actual topic. It was going beyond the casual interaction of friends—this was a formal event, steeped in tradition and significance. The whole situation left him feeling overwhelmed with stress and anxiety. 

But still, Lo’ak understood the weight of the tradition: it was all about deep connections and honoring those who had played an essential role in your life. Last year, he recalled watching Kiri as she painted Neteyam for his coming-of-age ceremony. As per tradition, this year Neteyam painted Kiri, a symbol of their familial bond and reciprocal support. It made sense, but at the same time, there went two of his potential options. Tuk was way too young to know what she was doing, and it’d just be straight-up embarrassing to have to ask either of his parents to do it for him. That would defeat the purpose of the entire ceremony; he was supposed to be an adult now, no longer reliant on his parents.

There was no doubt in Lo’ak’s mind that you’d be the perfect partner for the adornment process. You weren’t just a passing acquaintance; you were one of Lo’ak’s closest friends. Your friendship was strong enough to withstand the toughest storms. But still, Lo'ak couldn't shake the feeling that asking to paint each other would somehow cross a line between friendship and something much more intimate. It’d be embarrassing. And what if you had chosen someone else already? What if it was some other guy? Lo’ak’s stomach dropped at the thought.

And now, as the day of the ceremony had arrived, Lo’ak found that he still hadn’t mustered up the courage to ask you about the painting ritual. His anxiety mounted as time slipped through his fingers like sand. He was so screwed.

As you approached the Sully family’s tent, the faint sound of metal slicing through the air caught your attention. A knot of unease tightened in your chest as you hesitantly pulled back the tent’s entrance, revealing Lo’ak sitting alone in the dimly lit space. He was cross-legged on the ground, wholly engrossed in spinning his dagger in circles on the floor, his quick fingers directing its every move. As used to his stupidly reckless behavior as you were from years of friendship, your eyes still narrowed at the sight. You swore he was two seconds away from slicing his finger off and bleeding out right there in front of you before the ceremony even began.

So much for his adulthood.

Lo’ak’s ears twitched, and his trance-like concentration suddenly broke as he sensed your presence, his focused expression softening as he turned his gaze to meet yours. Momentarily distracted from his dagger, he rose to greet you, meeting your eyes with a look of genuine confusion.

Lo’ak eyed you up and down before stating matter-of-factly, “You’re not painted for the ceremony yet?” He didn’t phrase it like a question—more like an observation. And that was a little unfair, because it wasn’t like he was dressed in his body paint either.

Feeling a tad defensive, you retorted, “Neither are you,” as you made your way deeper into the heart of the tent. As much as his words had sparked annoyance in you, a secret wave of relief washed over you as you realized that Lo’ak wasn’t ready for the ceremony either. That could mean good news: maybe he hadn’t found a partner for the painting ritual yet.

There was still hope.

For days, you’d been meaning to ask Lo’ak about the whole rite of passage painting thing, but every time an opportunity presented itself, you’d back out like a little bitch. You honestly didn’t even know why you hesitated. It shouldn’t have been difficult to approach him about it. Lo’ak had always been your closest friend—you’d trained together, learned to tame your ikran together, and even completed your Uniltaron one after the other. There was no doubt in your mind that he’d agree to be your partner for the significant culmination of everything you’d accomplished together. It was just that the entire ordeal of getting someone—a good friend or otherwise—to meticulously rub paint all over your body felt so… affectionate. You and Lo’ak weren’t affectionate. Just thinking about it made you feel like there was a cascade of woodsprites flurrying around in your stomach.

You shook your head, trying to get rid of those persistent thoughts, when Lo’ak’s voice invaded your musings.

“Yeah, I don’t know who’s gonna paint me. Haven’t had time to ask anyone yet,” he said nonchalantly while reaching down to retrieve and re-stow his dagger.

He was avoiding eye contact, his yellow eyes aimlessly darting around the tent. You found it hard not to roll your eyes at him because it was so obvious he was lying about being too busy. You’d literally just caught him goofing around with an entire weapon moments ago. However, it didn’t really come as a shock that Lo’ak hadn’t approached anyone about it yet. Social graces weren’t his strong suit, and mustering up the courage to ask anyone to play such a role in his rite of passage couldn’t have been easy for him.

But still. Either way, you made up your mind; it was clear that things needed to move forward somehow. Regardless of the situation and awkward challenges it presented, you couldn’t sit idly by anymore; both of you were running out of time, and it’d be stupid to continue dancing around the matter at hand.

Resolutely, you decided it was best just to be upfront about it and get the whole thing settled once and for all—for both of your sakes and for the sake of friendship. Maybe it wouldn’t be as awkward as it seemed.

“Okay. I’ll do you, and then you can do me,” you blurted out, the words tumbling from your lips without any real finesse. It was as if the sooner you could get those words out, the sooner you could escape the oncoming wave of embarrassment threatening to wash over you.

However, Lo’ak’s reaction caught you off guard.

His eyes widened in surprise and his eyebrows shot upward as he averted his gaze from yours. He couldn’t seem to look at you, his attention inexplicably drawn to an unremarkable spot on the ground near your feet. You scrunched your face up in confusion as you tried to make sense of his bizarre reaction. It wasn’t until you gave yourself a moment to process and then reprocess the words that had spilled from your lips, that you realized how they might have sounded to Lo’ak’s stupid teenage boy brain.

Trying to push away your own mortification and distract the both of you from the burning color that you were sure was spreading across your face, you acted on instinct, reaching over and smacking Lo’ak upside the back of his head. It was a necessary move to kill the dreadful silence that engulfed the tent.

“Ow! The fuck?” Lo’ak screeched, nursing the spot where you struck him as if he had genuinely been injured. He had always been overly dramatic.

“Just sit down,” you told him, trying your best to maintain a casual demeanor.

Despite the twinge of awkwardness still lingering in the air between both of you, you firmly gripped Lo’ak’s arm and pulled him back down into a sitting position on the floor. With Lo’ak seated and somewhat calmer now—even if he was still rubbing at the supposed wound on his head—you made your way deeper into the tent to rummage for the supplies needed for the body paint.

Jake and Neytiri were always well-prepared, making sure they had an ample supply of materials for when the time came to don their traditional war paint. Thanks to the countless hours you spent with the Sully children, navigating their tent was like second nature to you, and locating the necessary items was a breeze.

With a mortar and pestle full of bright white pigment in one hand and a bowl of water in the other, you re-approached Lo’ak, who was sitting patiently, waiting for your return. As you stood there, you studied Lo’ak’s face and allowed your gaze to wander down his frame, trying to visualize the patterns and symbols that’d complement his warrior spirit. Eventually, feeling inspired, you took your place in front of him.

Making yourself comfortable, you positioned yourself on your knees, making use of the extra bit of height, before you reached for the mortar and pestle and meticulously ground the white pigment into a fine powder. You drizzled in a small amount of water to create a smooth paste that would soon adorn Lo’ak’s face and body.

As you mixed the paste, your thoughts began to wander. Despite your focus on the task at hand, you couldn’t ignore Lo’ak’s piercing gaze. It seemed to bore right through you.

It still baffled you just how much Lo’ak had grown in such a short amount of time—it seemed almost sudden. For as long as you could remember, you and Lo’ak had been virtually the same height. There was even a brief period during your early childhood when you stood a bit taller than him, and you never let him forget it, teasing him about it every chance you got. But now? Things were so different.

It was like Lo’ak had shot up overnight. Not only was he growing taller by the day, but he was growing stronger as well. There was no denying the obvious changes in his physique. And it wasn’t like you were trying to notice the changes. It was impossible not to see the way his arms had filled out, the way his shoulders had broadened, the way in which even the slightest movement would cause the muscles in his stomach to ripple.

Just like they were at that very moment, as Lo’ak nervously shifted under your intense scrutiny, self-consciously crossing his arms over his chest.

Right, because you were definitely staring at him. You mentally chided yourself for letting your focus wander so far off course.

Swallowing hard, you turned your focus back to the task at hand. As you stirred the paint, pouring all your effort into getting the consistency just right, you tried to ignore the fact that the once-casual atmosphere between you and Lo’ak was now laced with an undeniable undercurrent of tension.

Out of nowhere, Lo’ak abruptly asked, “Is it gonna be cold?” His question caught your attention, and in a way, you were grateful for the sudden interruption. Your mind had been racing with thoughts of how you’d manage to paint any area below Lo’ak’s shoulders. But you decided to cross that bridge when you reached it.

“You tell me,” you quipped in response, placing the mortar filled with paint on the ground beside you. You dipped each of the fingers on your left hand into the paint, discovering that it was indeed really cold. You did the same with your right hand before lifting both sets of paint-covered fingers toward Lo’ak’s waiting face, wondering how the hell you were supposed to begin.

Truthfully, you hadn’t come up with any elaborate painting patterns or designs in preparation for the moment, which was somewhat concerning. The entire ceremony was meant to be personal and special, something that required contemplation and reflection for at least a few days before actually starting the painting process. Yet there you were, just 30 minutes away from the start of the ceremony, and not a single thought in your brain.

Despite your lack of planning, Lo’ak was calmly sitting right in front of you with his full trust placed squarely in your hands. So, without any further hesitation or delay, you decided to just dive in and let inspiration (and the trust of Eywa) guide your hands.

Taking a deep breath, you gently pressed your fingers to the edges of Lo’ak’s eyebrows before slowly trailing them across his forehead and then swooping them down along the bridge of his nose. You tried very hard not to laugh at the way Lo’ak flinched from the sensation of the cold paint touching his skin.

Momentarily, you took a step back to assess your progress and decided that it didn’t look half bad. The realization fueled your enthusiasm enough to continue painting. Coating your fingers in the paint once more, you continued to glide them confidently over the smooth contours of Lo’ak’s cheeks in swift strokes.

As you neared completion, you observed that all that remained unpainted on his face were his lips. They looked strangely bare. You weren’t really sure whether they were supposed to be painted or not. But the idea of touching Lo’ak’s lips, even just with your fingers, caused your heart to pound erratically within your chest. It was so bad that you were contemplating just backing out and moving on to the next part.

But just when you were about to give up and move on, unintentionally, your eyes met Lo’ak’s. It seemed as though he was reading your mind; he knew exactly what you were thinking as he studied you intently. There was no turning back; he had already noticed your hesitation.

Trying to maintain focus on the art and not let yourself become overwhelmed by how close you were seated across from Lo’ak proved challenging. You could practically feel the soft warmth of his exhaled breaths as they caressed your face. It made your spine tingle and caused goosebumps to rise across your arms.

“Close your mouth,” you ordered firmly, hoping to alleviate some of the tension in the air. He obeyed, immediately pressing his lips together with exaggerated swiftness. With a soft smile, you slowly raised both of your hands to his mouth. You gently placed two painted fingers on his mouth and traced them down his lips. From there, your fingers continued their journey along the curve of his jawline.

Taking another dip in the paint, you allowed your gaze to wander across the entirety of Lo’ak’s unpainted body. With your internal pep talk in place, you decided to just dive in. Maybe if you did it casually enough, everything would be fine. You softly nudged Lo’ak’s crossed arms apart with the backs of your hands. Your fingertips began their descent from the sides of his neck and moved deliberately across the broad expanse of his shoulders.

Silently reassuring yourself that it was nothing more than your overactive imagination when Lo’ak ever-so-slightly shivered under your touch, you diligently tried to make things move along as quickly as possible. Dipping your fingers into the paint once more, you adorned his shoulders with bold, white swirls that seemed to dance and move on their own.

Gradually moving further along his muscular form, you traced delicate lines that wrapped around each sculpted bulge of his biceps and along the contours of his forearms.

As your focus moved even lower, you took note of your favorite part of his body: Lo’ak’s uniquely impressive four-fingered hands. Upon reaching each digit one at a time, you spread long white lines down their length with seemingly natural precision. You let your instincts take over as you continued to create patterns and shapes on his skin, fully immersed in the fluidity of your motions.

You decided to save his chest for the very end, knowing just how awkward that part of the process was going to be—and truth be told, you really wanted to delay the moment for as long as possible. The silence within the tent was almost deafening, and you couldn’t help but send a silent prayer to Eywa, hoping with all your might that your hands would remain steady and not betray your mounting anxiety.

Dipping your fingers into the paint once more, you hesitantly approached Lo’ak’s chest. You were doing everything in your power to avoid making eye contact and ignore how tense his entire body was. Taking a deep breath in an attempt to steady your nerves, you quickly drew a series of intricate loops across each of his pectorals and then traced symmetrical lines down the center of his chest. Those lines continued, gracefully curving around the sides of his ribcage.

With every passing moment, it felt like the two of you were collectively holding your breath, neither wanting to break the fragile bubble of silence that had formed around you. 

Concerned for both your well-being and your sanity, you decided it’d be best to wrap up that part of the painting process as quickly as possible. It wasn’t until then that you finally allowed yourself to exhale. You exchanged an awkward glance with Lo’ak, silently affirming the palpable tension surrounding you.

“Okay. I’m done,” you announced, gently sliding the container of paint toward Lo’ak. You dipped your fingers into the nearby bowl of water, absentmindedly scrubbing away traces of the drying paint, which turned the water a cloudy shade of white. Your words acted like an instant wake-up call, abruptly jolting Lo’ak back to reality from his trance.

His focus had been so intense while you painted patterns across his chest that he inadvertently stopped breathing altogether. The sudden, sharp inhale that followed the sound of your voice served as evidence of that fact. That realization was enough to make you lose your own composure—just a tad.

You made a half-assed attempt at suppressing the grin that threatened to break past your lips, so you weren’t really surprised when Lo’ak extended his arm and slowly began to tug the bowl of paint toward him with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

The seemingly innocent yet still very suspicious act instantly put you on high alert. All you could do was watch in horror as Lo’ak suddenly immersed his entire hand into the paint. Your eyes widened in fear as he slowly lifted his paint-covered hand and began to edge closer to you, moving the dripping monstrosity in the direction of your face.

“Wait. Lo’ak, wait!” you warned, frantically shaking your head in an attempt to dissuade him from what you already knew would be an outrageously idiotic plan.

A glob of paint dripped from his saturated hand onto the floor between the two of you. You warily watched its continued pooling descent, leaving a bright splatter of paint on the ground that Neytiri would definitely kill you both for making.

“Just trust me, y/n,” Lo’ak insisted, the stupid grin on his face somehow both charming and alarming at the same time. It was more of the latter. You absolutely didn’t trust him.

“Lo’ak. Don’t you dare...” you began, your voice wavering and your ears flattening against your skull in weary anticipation.

But Lo’ak was undeterred by your protests. They only motivated him further. Barely giving you enough time to shut your eyes and mouth, he guided his entire paint-coated hand onto your face. The combination of the cold paint and the warmth from his hand sent shivers down your spine. Instinctively, you pressed your hands on the ground beside you, every fiber of your being screaming for you to get up and run. Far, far away from him.

However, Lo’ak wasn’t about to let that happen so easily. Somehow anticipating your attempt to recoil away from him, he brought up his other hand to secure the back of your head, making sure that you weren’t going anywhere. You sputtered loudly at the sensation of being literally smothered, and of course, nothing on Pandora could’ve stopped Lo’ak from laughing uproariously at your suffering.

“Stop moving! You’re gonna ruin it,” Lo’ak tried to sternly warn you while unsuccessfully stifling his laughter. He clearly found it all very amusing.

You couldn’t fucking breathe. You tried to communicate as much to Lo’ak, but you were sure your words sounded like nothing more than a strangled garble of sounds.

Eventually, Lo’ak seemed to take pity on you and lifted his paint-covered hand away from your face. You instantly gasped for air, finally unencumbered by his prolonged attempt at suffocating you to death. However, your relief was short-lived as you tasted the bitter, acrid flavor of paint on your tongue.

“You got it in my mouth, dumbass!” You complained with a groan, making sure not to swallow anything. Your disdainful tone only seemed to delight Lo’ak further.

“No one told you to eat it,” Lo’ak retorted with a dismissive snort. He was walking that thin line between playful banter and genuine ire. You could seriously kill him.

You narrowed your eyes at the little shit in front of you and desperately tried to rid yourself of the unpleasant taste by frantically licking at your arm. You probably looked completely unhinged, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care. Lo’ak made a face at your display, crinkling his nose in disgust.

Left with no other option, you did what any sane person who was minutes away from being welcomed into adulthood would do—stick your now paint-covered and saliva-slicked arm out toward Lo’ak’s incredulous face. His shock and horror at the development were priceless.

Lo’ak barely had time to react as you swiftly thrust your arm toward him, but his lightning-fast reflexes won out in the end. Always one step ahead, Lo’ak knew you and all of your little tricks too well. It was like he could read your mind. In the blink of an eye, he was already crossing half of the tent in a mad dash. He backed away from you with his hands raised defensively in front of him, like someone facing an untamed beast.

“Chill…we don’t have to do this,” Lo’ak cautiously pleaded with a slow shake of his head, his tone dripping in a mix of seriousness and amusement.

But you were undeterred. “Yes we do,” you deadpanned determinedly and slowly continued advancing on Lo’ak, coercing him to move toward the back of the tent. Your eyes never left his, maintaining a fierce stare as the situation continued to escalate.

Without warning, you lunged at him like a predator going for its prey, stretching your arm out in eager anticipation. It was so close—just inches away from Lo’ak’s face—but he was quick to react once more. He grabbed hold of your biceps with an iron grip, effectively stopping you in your tracks. You couldn’t help but hiss at him in frustration, feeling utterly defeated by the massive strength disparity between the two of you.

Lo’ak’s eyes locked onto yours for a split second before focusing on another target: your mouth. His expression changed from one of caution to sheer amusement as he caught sight of something peculiar—and apparently hilarious—about the sight.

His grin stretched ear to ear, nearly swallowing his entire face, as he blurted out, “Oh shit. Your entire tongue is white!”

His words hit you like a ton of bricks, and your eyes immediately widened with alarm. Because it definitely couldn’t be safe to consume paint. There could’ve been poison coursing through your veins at that very moment, making every passing second one closer to your tragic demise, all thanks to Lo’ak and his stupid hand. 

But despite your mounting panic, Lo'ak remained utterly unfazed. He obviously found the situation amusing, as evidenced by the way he wasn’t even trying to suppress his unbridled laughter.

“One night,” you vowed through gritted teeth, “I swear I’m going to sneak into your tent and cut every single braid off of your head in your sleep.” The more you thought about it, the more serious the idea became in your mind.

Lo’ak merely tilted his head, and an annoyingly attractive grin stretched across his face. “Oh, yeah?” He taunted, vehemently nodding his head along with what he knew was just another one of your faux threats. “And then what are you gonna do?”

As he spoke, Lo’ak tightened his grip on your arms—a bittersweet reminder that he was well aware you weren’t going to do shit to him in his sleep.

You eyed the unpainted underside of Lo’ak’s forearm, which rested directly in front of your face, and a childishly impulsive urge overwhelmed you. Without giving it much thought, you leaned in and licked a long, wet, white stripe along the length of his arm. The unexpected action elicited a shrieked “Bro!” from Lo’ak, who could only blink at the sight of your tongue, still pressed to his now-slobbery arm, in disbelief. You reveled in his reaction to your sudden move, despite how immature it might’ve been. He deserved it, and you had no regrets.

However, as fate would have it, the impromptu moment coincided precisely with the return of the entire Sully family to their home as they prepared for the upcoming ceremony. Jake and Neytiri led the way in, followed closely by Neteyam, Kiri, and Tuk. All of them. The five family members entered the tent one by one, each grinding to a halt as they caught sight of you and Lo’ak’s odd exchange in the far corner.

A few beats passed as everyone’s eyes darted back and forth between you two. The silence was palpable, and the tension continued to rise like an invisible fog that filled every corner of the tent. It finally dawned on you that it'd probably be a good idea to remove your tongue from Lo’ak’s arm.

Taking matters into your own hands—or, more accurately, your tongue—you gingerly began to distance yourself from Lo’ak. You took a cautious step sideways, followed by another one, making sure there was a healthy amount of space between you both. You hoped that would somewhat defuse the situation while also giving off the impression that nothing out of the ordinary had transpired—though it was clear you weren’t fooling anyone present.

The awkwardness still hung heavily in the air as each second felt like an eternity passing by. You could only imagine what thoughts and judgments must be running through everyone’s minds.

The silence in the tent was so profound that you could probably make out the gentle sound of a leaf falling from a tree outside if you really tried. The quiet was unsettling. It made your fingers itch. You found yourself tucking your hair behind your ears, trying to find some purpose for your idle hands instead of having them dangle awkwardly at your sides.

Opposite you, Kiri tried to conceal her knowing grin behind one of her hands. As to what she knew that you didn’t, you were utterly clueless. Regardless, you couldn’t help but feel unnerved by her expression. Similarly, Neteyam chewing on the inside of his cheek in an uncharacteristic effort to maintain his composure did little to alleviate your discomfort.

It wasn’t long before Tuk broke the silence with a question, curiosity twinkling in her eyes. “Is that a handprint on your face?” she innocently asked, pointing a tiny finger at what was definitely a handprint on your face.

Five sets of curious yellow eyes darted back and forth between your face, Lo’ak’s conspicuously stained white hand, and the matching white handprint wrapped entirely around your arm. Feeling their collective gaze upon you, you decided that you weren’t even going to try to talk your way out of the situation. “Yeah. It is.”

Without missing a beat, Neytiri swiftly turned her attention towards her youngest son as she hissed out his name: “Lo’ak.”

And thank Eywa for that. At least somebody had your back.

Lo’ak’s voice tended to reach an almost comical high-pitched tone whenever he was aware that he had done something wrong, and this occasion proved to be no exception. He glanced over at you with equal parts guilt and defensiveness in his wide eyes.

“It looks cool, though!” He insisted, trying to justify his actions. He waved his hand close to your face, as if the gesture held the power to magnify his point and erase any doubt you might have had. You squinted at the offending white hand hovering in front of your face before hastily swatting it away as if it were an annoying little bug.

Lo’ak grinned in delight at your visibly pissed-off demeanor, which only seemed to fuel his determination to get under your skin. He appeared to forget all about the looming presence of his entire family as he defiantly stuck his hand back in front of your face. And you were not about to let that happen again. You were probably going to have nightmares about his hand. Pivoting toward Lo’ak, you shoved him away from you, probably a little harder than necessary, judging by the way he stumbled a few steps to the side from the force of it all. But he was laughing as he re-straightened, not at all deterred by your outward hostility.

It was mostly feigned, anyway.

Neytiri watched the exchange between you two with amused exasperation, her eyes twinkling despite her best efforts to remain stern. She let out a soft ‘tsk’ as she shook her head, unable to fully suppress the tiny smile that crept onto her face. She reached down to gently grasp Tuk’s hand before leading the child further into the tent.

“Jesus,” Jake muttered as he pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly struggling to maintain what little patience he had left. Jake would always throw that foreign word around whenever you and Lo’ak were together, but you still had no idea what it actually meant. “Just—finish up, alright?” He threw an exasperated look toward you and Lo’ak. “No more shenanigans. We’re leaving in ten.”

“Yes sir,” Lo’ak mumbled, his expression a mixture of mischief and feigned seriousness. He waited until Jake and the rest of his family were out of earshot before turning back to you.

“It looks cool,” he said again, his face breaking into a genuine, broad smile as he stepped back to take in the masterpiece he had just created. He couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the intricate design of his handprint that adorned your face. Giving himself a little nod of satisfaction, he crouched down to pick up the paint once more, eager to continue where he had left off.

You couldn’t see your own face, of course. But secretly, you had to agree that it probably did look kind of cool. You’d never openly admit that to him, though. There was no need to inflate his ego any further. Still, deep down, you knew you'd be proudly sporting your best friend's four-fingered handprint at the coming-of-age ceremony that evening. To you, it symbolized the unbreakable bond you both shared.

From his seated position on the floor, Lo’ak’s eyes rose to your face, a single brow raising in amused confusion at your idle form. Dismissing his reaction with a shake of your head, you couldn't prevent the warm smile from stretching across your lips as you settled back down in front of Lo'ak.

end

[herinsectreflection]

But You're Just A Girl (Helpless)

The test that Buffy undergoes in this episode – in which she is stripped of her powers, locked inside a house, and forced to fight a mentally unstable vampire – is named in the script as The Cruciamentum. Giles describes it as “an archaic exercise in cruelty”, and it’s difficult to think of a description that could be more accurate.

The word Cruciamentum is an invented declension that roughly translates from Latin as “result of torture”. Quentin Travers – making his first appearance here as the Head of the Watcher’s Council – defends the practice as a necessary rite of passage, meant to make a Slayer stronger, but this reasoning falls apart under scrutiny The scenario is so heavily weighted against the Slayer, robbing her not only of her powers but the knowledge that she is being robbed at all, that it makes more sense to view the Cruciamentum not as a test, but as a method of control, designed to kill off Slayers that reach adulthood and so gain more independence from the Council. At the very least, it demonstrates the Council’s control over the Slayer, holding the implicit threat of taking away her powers again over her head for the rest of her life. As is the case with many unjust systems, the cruelty is the point.

The Cruciamentum is the Council’s most clear and obvious cruelty, but it is not by any means their only one. Cruelty is their origin story, as we see in Get It Done how they forcibly created the first Slayer through metaphorical rape. It is baked into the central idea of One Girl In All The World – a system which relies on the deaths of an infinite chain of young women. Its current setup, with one Watcher in the field and apparently dozens sitting safely away in England, leads to an inevitable cruelty of indifference that Giles calls out in this episode. There are cruelties of incompetence – failing to alert the field about the firing of Gwendolyn Post, sending the underqualified Wesley to Sunnydale. But perhaps their most impactful cruelty is also their most subtle. It came the moment that Buffy Summers, sitting outside her school in 1997, was called to be a Slayer. This act not only changed Buffy’s life, but caused an irreparable crack in her psyche. It splits her perceived self into two component parts – The Girl and The Slayer – twin selves that she spends seven seasons trying to reconcile.

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[daftpatience]

Can I make a digitsona mayhaps 👉 👈

for sure!!

i'll clarify some deets for folks that might be interested:

digit isn't technically an open species in the traditional sense (he's sort of special being my shop mascot and all) but i don't mind either fanart or fansonas!

it's sort of basic courtesy rules - don't go selling merch of your digitsona or like make some award winning epic fantasy comic with them or something lol. aside from that go nuts!

design wise i do have some rules in my head for when i make other digit characters BUT since again they're not an open species in the traditional sense i don't care if you follow them or not! i'll put them here just in case anyone wants to use them or learn more digit lore!

creatures in digit's species are mimic/parasitic aliens! their appearance is affected by the genetic info their mom collected to produce them. (like those salamanders that steal other salamanders' genes) they're able to change shape and size, but they have a comfortable resting form that they default back to. this form can be affected by the environment they're in to help them adapt. they can live for thousands of years!

• the "helmet" is a must-have, but can be any colour and have any kind of "ears" or none at all. it is technically a removable part, but it is rare for these creatures to take them off as it's sort of symbiotic with them and necessary for them to communicate with one another and survive in space. it morphs along with them when they change shape or size. they're tasked with producing this part of their body as a rite of passage into adulthood! an adult without one is like a hermit crab without a shell (vulnerable and scared!)

digit's helmet-less appearance as an adult is a secret >:)

• most of them have wings and some sort of tail but these can vary in shape and appearance a lot. more or fewer limbs is also common! the tail/helmet/wings are able to change colour and sometimes do based on mood! generally the body is leucistic (lacking pigment). most of them have fur.

• adults generally sit at around housecat size, but much smaller and bigger ones exist! there's a superstition that one as big as the moon is out there somewhere.

• their eyes/face can look like anything - see tamagotchi for inspiration. (digit's family may look like the standard for the species but they're just similar to each other!)

• they can be named anything (doesn't have to end in -git, this is the naming convention for digit's relatives!) generally i stick to cute and short names ^u^

digit (and later pigit) came to earth to make friends and eat food, and ended up deciding to try and grant the wishes of people they meet! being a parasitic species it's in their nature to get attached to other creatures (although in this case it's emotionally) and they try really hard to cheer people up. (imagine a magical girl sidekick animal that was sort of unhelpful and stupid. thats digit)

[lwjsbedtime]

I keep thinking about this awkward Dragonji situation where Foxxian baby traps himself, and it makes me laugh so here it is.

For the sake of my brain goblins, dragons are born from eggs in this AU and have a custom of laying them as a sort of courtship offer to compatible mates. HOWEVER, in practice this usually only happens after an engagement has been arranged between families (and if you really want to be proper, after the wedding ceremony).

Dragon families make a big fuss about new eggs, to the point where it's more expected to try for one on the wedding night, rather than, uh...the usual stuff. A newly wed dragon's room will be filled with the supplies to make a nice, warm nest, the air filled with soothing incense designed to relax a fertile dragon's muscles - everything conductive for laying! It's a very important, very private, very sacred part of draconic nature, and as such is treated with incomparable respect. It's seen as a rite of passage that marks the beginning of adulthood for those with the ability to brood.

Only those closest to the dragon may be present for the laying, and sometimes not even they will be allowed to participate, if the one nesting deems it too awkward for them to entertain guests.

So of course, Dragonji becomes livid when - on the third day of the Jiang disciples being in CR - Foxxian manages to fluster him so badly that he spontaneously lays an egg. Right. In. The. Middle. Of. A. Walkway.

No wooing, no bride price, not even an ounce of privacy or concern for his dignity. That...shameless little fox has him birthing his firstborn on the same path his uncle strolls along to digest his lunch!

At first, he thinks he can hide what's happened by squeezing his thighs together. He cannot. The egg ricochets down the leg of his pants, out onto the path, before it bounces across the grass, merrily as anything. He can see Foxxian out of the corner of his eye watching it as it arcs through the air.

It's the most mortifying moment of his life. He can feel a qi deviation coming on. This will literally be the end of him - physically and otherwise. The situation's only saving grace is that no one else saw him lay his egg on the side of the road like some trollop - only WWX.

Foxxian, blissfully unaware of the reproductive habits of dragons, thinks Dragonji has been sneaking food around to eat between classes. He takes this as a sign that LWJ is secretly a fellow Rule Breaker. Obviously, this makes them best friends.

Wwx: See Lan Zhan? I keep telling everyone this place doesn't offer enough food. How am I meant to sustain myself on vegetables? If we can't have meat, why not at least offer eggs? We're growing boys! We need the nutrients!

Lwj, meanwhile: Does he… Does he want to eat my baby?! 

LWJ will not stand for such disrespect from the fath- from the...annoying witness of this egg debacle. He stomps over to collect his egg, shooting a scathing glare at WWX before storming off in a huff. 

Wwx: 🤨 Did I say something? I wasn't going to steal the egg! It's yours! You eat it!

----

After a good while of sulking (wondering why WWX wants to eat their LWJ's child) LWJ drags himself to his uncle's quarters to notify him of what occurred. As much as he'd rather keep his shame to himself, he needs his elders' advice.

Only a small percentage of the dragon population is capable of laying eggs, and those who can tend to have very few come to term. The Lan have therefore made a point of ensuring each one is tested for viability, and treated with care. 

Of course, the laying of a new egg is usually cause for celebration, preceded by a long engagement and a wedding night. Occasionally an unmated dragon manages to brood by themselves, but they're soon betrothed in order to create a healthy environment for their egg's upbringing. It's all very structured and proper. LWJ knows that he will be seen as a disappointment for laying an egg so recklessly; that he will be expected to now wed - quickly.

LWJ doesn't want to get married. He selfishly hopes the egg isn't viable, so he can pretend this whole humiliating fiasco never happened.

It is.

Lan Qiren informs him in no uncertain terms that it must be fertilised - soon. Of course - as LWJ expected - for such a thing to occur outside of marriage would be unthinkable for a son of the main line. A child must have two parents to nurture their development, after all, even if neither of them particularly care for one another. It's everything Dragonji feared.

LQR delivers a list of potential husband candidates for his nephew. LWJ finds a reason to refuse each one. None of them are fit to raise his children. Certainly none could ever convince him to lay another egg for them. Least of all NMJ. Really, what was Uncle thinking?! He's one of xiongzhang's dearest friends! That would be like wedding a particularly opinionated cousin - legal, but personally repellent. And he'd have to tolerate NHS for the rest of his life!

He quickly strikes another name from the list. Best not to linger too long on his uncle's reasoning - if he gives the man any leeway, he'll soon find himself married to someone truly insipid, like Su Minshan.

Meanwhile, LQR calls his eldest nephew to his study to discuss Very Important Sect Business.

Lqr: Why is Wangji so picky? I thought he liked NMJ?

Lxc: …Uncle, I also like NMJ. It does not mean I'd like to marry NMJ. Those are…different feelings entirely. 

Lqr: 😡 You haven't laid any eggs willy-nilly, child. Your brother has. Surely he would prefer to raise his offspring with someone close to him; someone of similar values.

Lan Xichen hums in consideration.

Lxc: What about the person who caused him to lay it?

Lqr: The who? 🙈

Lxc: 😮‍💨 WWX, Uncle. The Jiang head disciple.

Lqr: The who? 🙉

Lxc: I've been told he's a mischief maker, and follows Wangji around like a lovesick babe?

Lqr: 🙊 The wh- What do you mean lovesick? If that brat even thinks about touching WJ's egg, I'll- 😡

As Lan Qiren continues his rant, WWX is in the midst of breaking into the Jingshi. He's noticed, of late, that LWJ is evading him (more than usual). He's also noticed the little pouch he's started carrying around his neck - one with an egg nestled in it.

From the distinctive speckle pattern, he's been able to discern it's the same egg every day. So, not a snack, despite the very snack-like sensations the sight of it stirs within his little fox belly. He thinks it might be Significant in some way, but he also doesn't particularly care - LWJ never pays attention to him anymore, and it's all that dumb egg's fault! 

WWX has decided the egg needs to go. He's going to eat it. 😡😡

After ascertaining no stray LWJs remain inside the cottage, he slides open the door, steps in, and begins to snoop.

It doesn't take long to uncover the egg, laying snuggled up amongst LWJ's blankets. His stomach boils hot with jealousy. That's his spot! If LWJ paid attention to him instead of the egg, he could be sleeping in that pile of blankets! Don't ask him why he'd want to do that - he doesn't know. 

Annoyed, WWX snaps the egg up between his clawed fingertips. He licks his lips. He can't help the way the stupid egg makes him drool - and it is a truly stupid egg! Not slightly pretty at all! (But WWX is forgiving. He'll eat any kind of egg. He is a fox after all.)

WWX channels a small spark of qi into the egg, hoping to boil it to perfection before gobbling it up in one go. 

The egg starts to crack. 

WWX quirks a brow. He wasn't expecting that at all. Did he underestimate his strength? Is he scrambling his eggy by mistake? He passes a smaller, tamer amount of energy into the egg.

The egg cracks some more.

WWX contemplates scarfing his snack down as-is, but something tells him not to. This strange feeling in his gut… He's never eaten a glowing egg before, but it looks like it might give him indigestion. Besides, he feels...oddly protective of it, considering how annoyed he is about its existence.

While WWX navigates his inner turmoil, the egg's shell shatters. A blinding light floods the room. WWX hisses in shock, dropping the egg's remains to the ground. 

A moment later, the remains move. Something rams into his boot.

He stares down at it.

A little noodle blinks up at him. It lets out a small, shrill chirp. Foxxian's eyes widen. 

Oh no. 

Oh no, the egg turned into a dragon! He almost ate a dragon! WWX feels ill. He retches a little and the noodle copies him, shrieking happily into the air.

Hastily, he picks the noodle up. If anyone hears a baby screaming, they'll come in and find him! Here! In LWJ's room, totally not attempting to eat one of the Lans' young!

WWX gently rocks the baby in his arms, hoping to soothe it.

Wwx: Hush little eggy. Babies are meant to be quiet, you know.

Eggy: 💬🗯️🗯️🗯️

WWX shushes the noodle again, holding it tightly. He was so sure he could gaslight the little dragon, too. Turns out noodle babies are smart - they know children exist to yell.

Now he understands why LWJ was so focused on it. He must have been babysitting for a relative, concerned they'd miss their eggy's Very LOUD birth. Then the eggy would drive the entirety of CR insane with their cries! It's all very much against the rules.

He sighs. Poor LWJ. WWX doesn't think he would handle this situation very well. He doesn't even like it when WWX talks slightly above normal volume. How on earth would he deal with a baby dragon? Especially when baby dragons apparently sound very much like screaming fox kits... Who knew?

WWX thinks for a moment, bouncing the newborn noodle in his arms. The best course of action, he decides, is to leave LWJ's home and pretend he knows nothing about the baby. At all. The egg was obviously due soon, anyway. As soon as someone hears the crying, they'll certainly come to collect the little screamer.

The noodle lets out a contented sigh, its eyes fluttering shut as WWX rocks it. Soon, a soft purring can be heard from its throat. WWX was not aware dragons could purr. Does LWJ purr? Can WWX make him purr?

He shakes his head to clear it. He simply cannot stay. If LWJ ever found out WWX tried to eat a dragon youngling out of spite, he'd never speak to him again.

He places the now-quiet noodle back on the bed, and turns to leave. As he walks away, he feels something constrict around his calf. WWX glances down to see the baby noodle has wrapped itself around his leg. It opens its little snout and lets out a cute hiss. WWX steadfastly refuses to melt. He needs to leave! Not coo over the thought of a whole batch of baby dragons slithering around in a group. 

Where would he even get a whole bunch of baby noodles from? Who would put him in charge of them? Silly Foxxian!

Gently, he coaxes the noodle off his leg. It latches onto his wrist. He pulls it off his wrist. It whines and slithers around the length of his index finger.

WWX's having a really bad time. Why are little noodles so hard to leave? He feels like crying. 😭

Suddenly, the door to the house slides open. WWX's heart rate picks up.

It's LWJ.

LWJ is looking at him with wide, shocked eyes. WWX has clearly lingered too long. He's been caught noodle-fingered!

Wwx: It's not what you think!

Lwj: It's not.

Lwj (internally): weiyingbabydaddyweiyingbabydaddyweiyingbabydaddyweiyin-

WWX holds up the finger with the noodle on it.

Wwx: I was not trying to eat this noodle!

Eggy: 🗯️🗯️🗯️

Lwj: ...

Lwj (internally): -gbabydaddy... Why does he keep trying to eat our children?!

Lwj: Why do you keep trying to eat our children?

Wwx: ...Our what?

Lwj: The dragon in your hands. Eggs only hatch when fertilised with their father's qi.

Wwx: 😳 ...Okay, that one's on me, but our what?

Lwj: WY, you caused me to lay that egg. It is our egg.

WWX looks at the noodle. He looks to LWJ. He looks back to the noodle. He recalls.

WWX stands inhumanly still, horrified.

Wwx (whispered): I tried to eat our child...

Eggy: 🗯️🗯️🗯️

He holds his little noodle close.

Wwx: No, no, Eggy. Father will protect you forever.

Eggy: 🗯️🗯️🗯️

(The noodle is getting a little impatient. It wants to go to its other parent, but WWX isn't carrying it, and it's so smol. It cannot reach its baba. 😭)

The noodle nips WWX on the finger. He flinches. It shrieks in his face, glowering.

WWX melts.

Wwx: 😻 Aw, just as grumpy as your mother. Just as pretty too! 💖

Lwj: ...

Lwj (internally): 😳🗯️🗯️🗯️🗯️🗯️🗯️🗯️🗯️🗯️

Lwj: ...We are not calling our child 'Eggy'.

WWX saunters close enough for the noodle to fling itself up on LWJ's chest. (At last! Egg Parent is soft and warm!) He grins.

Wwx: Why not? It's cute.

Lwj: ...I will fight you.

WWX nudges him playfully.

Wwx: Come on. You can name the next one~

LWJ's eyes widen.

Lwj: The next-?! Shameless!

WWX bursts into laughter.

Wwx: You're the one who gave birth to our child in public. Do you really have the face to call me that?

LWJ glowers at him, much like the noodle had, causing WWX to break into a greater fit of hysterics.

Lwj (muttered): See if I ever let you touch my eggs again...

Wwx: Huh?

Lwj: I said 🗯️🗯️🗯️

WWX is both blown away and intrigued by the interesting noises Lan er gongzi can make when he's not hellbent on being quiet...

He smiles slowly, confident he'll have time to investigate the matter on a much more intimate level later. After all, LWJ and he have an Eggy to raise! He's sure he can wear his little dragon down with his fox charms eventually.

A perfect future in sight, WWX scritches under Eggy's chin fondly.

Wwx: What a good boy. Daddy would never eat you.

Lwj: 😳😳

Lwj: ...Do not spoil him.

WWX grins. He reaches out to scritch under LWJ's chin, as well.

Wwx: LZ is also a good boy. ...Daddy promises to eat you vigorously, whenever you want. 😏

Lwj: 🥺😡Wei Ying!!!

----

LQR suffers immensely upon marrying that hooligan fox into his family.

He suffers significantly less when covered in babies.

----

Wangxian go on to hatch eleven siblings for Eggy (A-Yuan) in quick succession, making a neat dozen. It's the largest number of noodles any dragon has ever birthed in written history.

----

After the birth of their third child, LWJ publishes a thesis on the benefits of pre-fertilising eggs before they're laid, by integrating mammalian conception techniques into brooding.

His brother can't look him in the eye for at least a year after (about as long as it takes for the pre-fertilised egg to come out fully boiled). There are some things LXC truly...did not need to know about his brother's body (more specifically, how it reacts to the body of his BIL).

Much as with his uncle, the baby noodles ease his suffering.

----

A-Yuan's parents manage to embarrass him very much without permanently scarring him. He looks back on his childhood fondly.

He also decides to never lay a single egg in his entire life (nor have one laid for him). His parents accept this stance wholeheartedly. To dissuade LQR from pestering their baby boy, Wangxian get to work on creating another noodle.

----

The dragons go from a near-endangered species to populous over the course of a century, at which point Wangxian decide to take a break from baby making to travel the rest of the world.

Uncle Qiren is most upset about this sudden deviation from new babies for him. He cries into the mane of his youngest niece (who is just slightly too big to be a lapnoodle).

He gets over the disappointment eventually.

----

They all live happily, and live well.

----

BONUS:

Lan disciples upon seeing LWJ with an egg: Wow, who would have thought LWJ was such a loose slut?

Guest disciples upon seeing LWJ with an egg: ...Weird. Is it a cultivation thing?

WWX in the exact same situation: The egg. 😡 Has. 😡 MY. 😡 Attention. 🤬🤬 I wILl EaT iT!!!

----

Additional thought: LWJ wanted his mother to be there with him to witness the laying of his first egg, stroking his hair and speaking soft words into his ear. He got the fast food experience of birth instead.

----

I don't care what anyone says. This is my masterpiece.

I'm going to order some takeout now because I can't stop thinking about egg noodles. 🍜 (I don't know who needs to hear this, but you also deserve some noodles today. Go get them. Do it. As a treat.)

[homunculus-argument]

In the Earliest Draft Fantasy Book I meant to write in the standard fantasy races with my own twist on them, though eventually I realised that the humans’ story was interesting enough on its own to not try to shoehorn whole different species and their own cultures into it. But one of the features it had was that only humans are actually sexually dimorphic. Elves are all androgynously slender, and though they’re beautiful, their beauty is uncanny and eerie - to human eyes, they almost resemble remarkably tall children. They’re not actually immortal, but simply retain many features that humans consider youthful and childlike into adulthood. Their lifespan is actually only slightly longer than that of modern humans, living into their 90s and sometimes past 100, but from the perspective of humans who make it to 70 if they’re lucky, an elvish lifespan is literally generations.

 I didn’t go much into dwarves, but their physical gender distinctions are very subtle, and there are vast cultural differences among dwarven people about how individuals express it. The details of gendered clothing are also too subtle for an untrained human eye to pick out - such as the shapes and designs of belt buckles, braiding of beards and angles of the cut of one’s boots - and in certain dwarven cultures, the idea does not exist at all. Their languages or dialects have no gendered pronouns, and asking an individual which role they play in reproduction is considered an extremely rude and invasive question.

Orcs do not have a concept of paternity, they have mating seasons during which young and childless orcs feel the urge to go wander into distant lands and the fact that they happen to meet other orcs of different clans and mate is considered an unimportant part of this rite of passage. Orc clans are matrilinear to whatever extent they care about bloodlines at all, and the fact that most clans tend to be matriarchal isn’t due to any idea that female orcs would somehow be better leaders - the females are simply slightly physically larger, and statistically more likely to gain the upper hand in the “who’s-calling-the-shots-around-here” brawls that establish who leads the clan.

The only detail in which this ever became relevant in the actual book draft was how they perceive the human habit of constantly being at war and seeking to expand their territory - the people of the other races can’t really tell human men and women apart very well, either, and come to the conclusion that every adult human woman that they see (having visible breasts) must be currently nursing. Of course they are constantly harking after new land to farm, if they're constantly reproducing.

[cheecats]

For the Divers, all of them seem to have scars on their necks, is that a marker to show they're part of the Divers or is it just for a fun design to represent gills?

Good eye! Yes, all of them have four scars on either side of their neck (eight in total) to represent gills. Captain Otodus marks each of them once they're approx. 12-18 months old and has them bathe the fresh wounds in salt water as a rite of passage into adulthood within the family. If the member flinches at all during the process, the ceremony is held off for a moon... which is fine, but the Divers tend to pick at each other for showing weakness. So, you can look forward to a month of enduring your sibling's on your ass for flinching for a second 😔

[tsunflowers]

ok, I'm done with femdom island here's two more things that happened in it

the guy gets put in solitary confinement for not wanting to have sex with a teenage girl as part of her rite of passage into adulthood but later he realizes that he was wrong and he does have sex with her

the thing he considers to be "the final debasement" that makes him realize rape is bad is being on the receiving end of anal sex with another man

this book is so dumb bc the author clearly does understand the ways that societal misogyny is easy for men to ignore bc it benefits them but it harms women deeply. but she doesn't know how to make any interesting commentary by turning that on its head. like when the teen tries to fuck him he's appalled bc he sees her as a child and he's not a pedo. but if you wanted to say something about society you could make his reaction be more about the shock he feels that his intentions towards her were purely platonic but she had been seeing him as a sex object the whole time, and maybe that would make him reflect on how he viewed women as sex objects before coming to femdom island. then the thing where anal is more upsetting to him than anything else is crazy bc like why did you even write a society where women are in charge if you think that only a man can put another man in his place

ahhh that's why the worldbuilding is so bad

what's the antidote?! fucking teenage girls?!

this book at least passed the bar of allowing trans women into the female supremacist society but then immediately tripped and ate shit by having the only trans woman also be the only woman we see enact physical violence and also saying trans women have to live on the fringes of the society for years before they get to count as women

this book sucks tbh. there's someone from the sydney morning herald quoted comparing it to le guin and I think they should be fired for saying that. DONT read "the fortress" by sa jones

[wuhuha]

Wand, Scepter and Staff system

An lore entry in my WOA art series aka Wu's Oc Academy. Were I take all my OCs and try fitting/reimagine them all existing in the same made up fantasy setting.

In the magical world, every witch or wizard begins their journey with a wand, a small, personal instrument of magic. Wands are an essential tool for channelling and focusing the owners inherent magical energy, and they are shaped with care and attention to the individual’s magical affinity, personality, and potential.

As the wielder grows in power, their wand undergoes a natural transformation, evolving into a scepter, and later, for the most powerful and ancient of spellcasters, into a staff. This progression is not simply a matter of physical transformation but a reflection of the witch's/wizards's mastery over their craft and the strength of their magical will.

Wands:

A simple wand is the first magical tool a witch or wizard acquires, typically given to them at a young age, often as a rite of passage or initiation into the world of magic.

Once the caster learns their wands name, often by whispers from the spirits, the wand starts personalizing as a reflection of the owners affinity for a particular element, magic style, or personality.

While wands are effective for minor and simple spells, they are typically insufficient for larger, more complex magic. As the witch’s/wizard's magical ability matures, so too does the bond between them and their wand, and in time, their wand begins to show signs of growth and transformation.

Scepters:

As ones magical skill and personal growth deepen, their wand gradually evolves into a scepter. This transition typically occurs after the indivdual has proven themselves capable of more advanced and complex forms of magic. A scepter is usually longer than a wand.

The shift from wand to scepter marks the caster's emerging authority amongst the spirits, both in their mastery of magic and their ability to influence the magical world around them. They allow for the casting of powerful and complex spells. Scepters often become a symbol of authority among magical communities. When a one wields a scepter, they are seen as a figure of wisdom, strength, and mastery. It's excepted to reach this stage in their adulthood and as the scepter becomes more attuned to the witch’s abilities, its design will reflect their growth.

Staffs:

For the most powerful and ancient witches and wizards, the scepter eventually becomes a staff, a symbol of ultimate power and magical dominance. The transformation from scepter to staff is a rare and momentous event. A staff is typically taller than a scepter, sometimes standing taller than the owner themselves.

The staff is no longer just a focus for magic, it is a channel for the caster's very soul, amplifying their connection to the forces of nature, the universe, and the spiritual realm. As the witch reaches this stage, their staff becomes a living extension of themselves. Staffs are not only magical instruments, they are part of the witch’s identity.

The evolution of the wand into the scepter, and then the staff, is a sacred journey that reflects the witch's growth in power, understanding, and wisdom.

(Yes it's heavly inspired by the Zanpakutō from the series Bleach.) Also I made a quick divider to break the wall of text, hope it helps.

[black-suns-rim]

Ethereal Star AU - Lore

Some of the lore of this AU is based off the lore that was provided in "the art of sky" art book (which wasn't much, but I'm still taking it and going with it)

Story Lore

For many centuries beyond count, the soul flames (also known as embers) and the people of the sky kingdom lived harmoniously together. The people worshiped the sacred flames and made temples of light dedicated to their ancestral flames. These temples guided the sacred flames into the holy place where all would be cleansed and sent back out into the world as a clean and pure blank slate. This balance of death and rebirth was held as a holy ritual for many centuries...

It was foretold by an oracle that a child would rise up from the four sacred elemental trials and unite the scattered territories and realms, ruling over them as their king who would bring new technologies beyond imagination. But the oracle didn't forsee what the king would become until it was too late... Before the rise of the king, though, the oracle built a vault of knowledge to safe keep all knowledge so it wouldn't be lost to time.

The last prophecy the oracle foretold before the cataclysm was that children born of the sacrificed soul flame would come down from the stars and return the kingdom from the darkness it fell into, but the oracle never saw when that would happen...

Culture Lore

The elemental trials are a ritualistic rite of passage for adulthood. Each trial represents life's obstacles and what needs to be learned/overcome. One week of the ritual is dedicated to learning the trials. Half a week is spent going through the trials, while the other half are celebrations and ceremonies. Two weeks in total are spent for this ritual. Regardless if one "fails" a trial or completes all four (which is extremely rare), there is a spiritual "death" and "rebirth" that happens. The Overseer (prophecy guide) aids in this spiritual rebirth through a process only he can preform due to how delicate it is.

Prepubescent children are referred to as “young embers,” while teens are referred to as “young flames.” Adults who are not related to teens or children often refer to them with these titles to be formal. An informal way to refer to children and teens is just by calling them kids, or children. Guardians/caretakers of children/teens that aren’t theirs will sometimes call them “my young ember” or “my young flame”

Though there are feminine and masculine aspects in their culture, gender itself isn’t made a big part of their culture. Pronouns in their culture are based on appearance rather than their biological sex. If appearance is confusing or unclear, neutral pronouns are used.

Prophets, realm leader (Elders), oracles, shaman, priests and priestesses are highly respected in their culture. Oracles and shaman have the highest respect out of all the titles due to their abilities and enlightened nature.

Magic is only taught to the gifted and naturally inclined. Those with magic abilities become either prophets, oracles, shaman, priests or priestesses. Realm leaders usually fall into one of those categories. Magic users

The people worship soul flames and the mega constellation, known as the “Mega Bird,” believed to be their creator and Goddess. Soul flames are believed to be the living essence of their world. Souls of the once living and future souls of those not yet born. A soul flame is believed to be in every living thing. Soul flames are also referred to as “embers” or “light.”

Respect is a huge part of their culture. Those who are older than one’s self, they are shown respect even if they don’t deserve it. Honor is also a huge part of their culture, especially with warriors and protectors.

[allthebrazilianpolitics]

Dam project threatens Indigenous rituals, hunting areas, and even gravesites in the Tenharim Marmelos Indigenous Land

InfoAmazonia and BdF visited the territory to understand the views of the indigenous people about the construction

Once a year, dozens of indigenous people from the Tenharim Marmelos Indigenous Land (IL), in the municipalities of Humaitá and Manicoré, Amazonas state, leave their villages on an expedition towards the southern end of their territory, where the headwaters of the Branco, Preto and Marmelos rivers are located. 

The group spends up to 20 days in the forest and returns with game and fish that provide food for all participants of the Mbotawa festival, held in July. The celebration gathers the population of the eleven villages in the territory, as well as guests from other indigenous groups of the Kawahiva branch.

Up to 500 people take part in the festival to experience, together, the rites of the Tenharim – weddings; the ritual of young women, which marks young Indigenous women’s passage into adulthood; and the ritual of the dead, in which the memory of the deceased is revered.

“When we organize this party, we involve the entire territory. Women, children, young people and the elderly. It is a time for older people to pass on traditional knowledge, our culture and traditions to youth,” explains Daiane Tenharim, head of the Tenharim Morõgwitá Indigenous People Association (Apitem).

The expedition goes to the most preserved part of the territory, which the Indigenous people call “the market.” They do not hunt or fish in that area during the year, precisely to have a “stock” to which they can resort for the July festival. The area has been inhabited by the Tenharim since before they had contact with non-indigenous people. It is the site of the ancient village Aeguera, after which a stream connected to the Preto River is named.

Being an area of virgin forest, isolated indigenous groups also circulate there, recognized as Kawahiva relatives by the Tenharim. They are identified by the National Foundation of Indigenous Peoples (FUNAI) as the Kaidjuwa isolated group, but their registration has not yet been confirmed by the General Coordination of Isolated and Newly Contacted Indians (CGIIRC), a FUNAI branch. That is what effectively guarantees the measures to protect their circulation area, since confirmation suspends all economic activities as well as contact with non-Indigenous people by restricting use of the area.  

It is also in that area that the construction of the Tabajara Dam is planned, a 37-square mile (97-sq. km) reservoir in Machadinho d’Oeste, Rondônia state. The project has been under discussion for 17 years and, as revealed by InfoAmazonia and Brasil de Fato, it should reach nine Indigenous lands (ILs), including isolated peoples. The Tenharim Marmelos is the closest IL to the project.

Continue reading.

[eywaseclipse]

Safe in Your Arms*

Characters: Original character Metkayina Makani, Tonowari 

Synopsis: It’s been a year since Tonowari’s mate Ronal died in the battle of the sky people’s return. With life slowly going back to normal he somehow opens up to the idea of finding love again, with you. (Ronal is killed off in this, but she was never pregnant because I’m not a monster!)

Warnings: Smut. Heavy yummy smut. So no minors and 18+ content 

Word count: 3k

The days that were once filled with only anguish and darkness, suddenly started to dissipate. The light beyond the horizon now shone bright again, the pain in his heart slowly lifting. Tonowari swore he would never love again, not after what the sky people took from him. His mate Ronal, was murdered in the battle against the Metkayina and RDA. His Tsahík, his soulmate, gone. A year after this tragedy he knew that in order to properly lead his clan, he must begin searching for his new mate. But why was he filled with such guilt? You saw your leader every day, eyes heavy with sadness, body tense with internal turmoil, but he still carried himself with such grace and poise, a true leader for you and your people. Tonowari and you shared a close kinship due to Ronal’s and yours friendship since childhood. Your respect for him was great, but you couldn’t deny your physical attraction to this strong warrior. He was undeniably gorgeous. Strong thighs for swimming, his core muscular for long breath holds and balance. His eyes glimmering blue like ocean water, hands strong of a true warrior. A part of you prayed he would find love again, for his sake, your people’s sake. 

You were close with Ronal during you childhood and adolescence. You trained among your people passing all of your rites of passage making your way into adulthood earning your tattoo markings. But you preferred to be one with nature. She had you apprentice her up until her death, almost like she predicted it, you thought to yourself. To Tonowari’s surprise you never mated with anyone. Much too engulfed in your practice of healing, and being with your spirit sister embracing nature more than being around people. He knew you were just as skilled with a spear as the next hunter, but would never boast out of humble kindness. Part of what he admired most about your gentle nature. Perhaps you were the one who could fix his broken heart. 

You were in your marui this morning, gathering all of your collected shells to make your new outfit. Carefully weaving together the beautiful abalone into your green fabric, humming a song your parents would sing to you when you were little. Your loincloth was already finished. Adorned in black and blue seaweed, pearls, sea glass, and beads. You worked hard to match the top and bottom to hopefully seek a mate. Being in your 20th rotation it’s a little odd you’re still unmated, although your people do not question your decision. The docile respectful nature you possess for one another allows the space for all to thrive. As you continue threading the material and humming, your hips begin to sway to the melody. Your body moving on its own accord, fluid like the ocean’s movements. Unbeknownst to you Tonowari came to your hut ask you for a salve he knew you had for Anoung getting lightly injured in a hunt, but he can’t seem to announce his arrival just yet. His eyes are glued to your trim waist and wide hips, your tail flicking with happiness. Your voice smooth as honey to him. His cheeks and ears are hot. His loincloth begins to tighten. He tries to fight the urge to stop himself, but instead lets his eyes trail down to your ass first. 

He coughs abruptly, announcing his presence, causing you to yelp in surprise. You whip your head around to see your visitor, blue eyes meeting his. “Oh Tonowari, you spooked me!” You say lightly with a smile bowing your head to your leader. “I apologize Makani, you seemed to be in quite the trance.” He chuckled breathlessly. He hoped you had not noticed his flustered state. “I came to see if you had some of the kelp salve in here, I will find it useful for Aonung and his hunting party wounds.” Your eyes kept contact with his for a second more, then began to scan your medicinal shelf. Your delicate hands find the salve and bring it over to your leader. “I hope he’s not too wounded, I can assist in anyway that I can.” With a soft smile that melts his heart, he feels your hand brush ever so slightly against his much bigger ones. “No, he must learn his lesson to know better than to show off for his friends. He will be fine.” He assures you. You nod in agreement. His eyes making way to your halfway sewn top. “Your shells, they’re beautiful. What lovely fabric” He says blushing. “Thank you, ‘Wari, it’s for the hunting festival tomorrow night, it’s almost finished.” You politely respond, flattered by his compliment. “I’m sure you’ll find that you are the one that’s worth celebrating in attire like that Syulang flower.” You gasp at his daring words. Suddenly feeling your own cheeks heat, and heart pounding you’re left speechless. The air becoming thick with tension. A whole year’s worth of stolen glances, soft touches, yearning, and unspoken feelings finally breaking to the surface. Both of you staring at one another in silence you decide to speak. “I was hoping that adorning such material, I might finally have a chance at finding my mate.” You speak shyly testing the waters. You see him take a deep breath, almost jealousy, “Any man would be a fool not to.” He puffs out his chest. “Maybe I’m just waiting for him to choose me.” Both of you closing the space between each other. Chest to chest, you feel his heart thumping loudly against your chest, breath fanning your face. “He already has Ma’Makani.” You press your foreheads against one another, embracing this moment of revelation and deep intimacy. An unspoken bond between the two of you tracing back years only platonically. Until now. What feels like minutes passing, he slowly lifts his forehead from yours, his tail swings with excitement. Putting the salve down his giant hands find their way to your small face, lightly tracing your skin. The gentle demeanor of this hulking man, is enough for your knees to buckle. Not a single mean bone in his body, despite him being a mighty ferocious warrior. You both slowly close the space between your face, lips ghosting each other letting your bodies talk for you. Your breath in sync with his. His lips so soft against yours, you practically melt into him. He feels you kissing him back, sneaking his tongue into your mouth causing you to moan deliciously. He feels your reaction, sticking his tongue further in your mouth. The undeniable heat growing between your legs becoming too much to ignore. You rut your hips into his seeking relief. He senses your desperation and chuckles. “What is it little one? What do you need?” “You, I need you. All of you. Right now.” Your chest now heaving with tension, your untouched body on fire with just his kiss alone. He smells your arousal, making his loincloth tighten with his own. “Oh, Syulang flower, you’ve had me, this whole time. I’ve been a fool not to see it, but now I know what I must not lose. You are the light I have found my way to after great sorrow. Always there for me when I did not appreciate your presence. You have healed the hole in my heart in ways I cannot explain. If you will have me as well.” Your eyes begin to water with pure love and adoration for the man in front of you. “Oh my love, please do not shed tears.” He says softly wiping the tears streaming down your face. You lightly chuckle, “only happy tears Ma’Tonowari. I feel only happiness.” 

He gasps at you returning the intimate gesture. Feeling his arousal and lust for you he cannot wait any longer. He scoops you up, causing you to squeal. He brings you over to your sleeping mat, gently laying you down. Facing each other, he slowly kisses you once again this time filled with desperation. Your teeth clank against each other, tongues battling for dominance you moan into his mouth loudly. This sends his primal urges into overdrive. Now mounting you, a low growl escapes his chest. You gasp at his sheer strength, rubbing your thighs together as wetness between your legs grows. “Princess, can I taste your beautiful nectar? You smell divine.” He practically purrs into your face. “Yes!” You respond with equal desperation. He kisses your mouth one last time, slowly trailing his lips from your neck, collarbone, and stomach leaving wet marks on your blue skin. He gently unties the knots of your loincloth, while you lift up your hips for easy removal your body moving on its own accord. You feel a surge of confidence course through your spine spreading your legs as wide as they can go. His eyes barely blue now, with pupils blown with complete and utter primal desire. “Oh my beautiful princess, I am going to devour you.” He says chest heaving with his own excitement. He bends down eye level to your glistening pussy, he swears it’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. Rubbing his nose against your thigh, taking in your sweet scent, you bring your hands into his hair gripping for support. Sweet soft kisses are placed on your soft skin, the anticipation killing you as your breathing becomes heavier. You feel your pussy throbbing with anticipation. “My love, please, I can’t take it anymore!” You scream desperately. He chuckles darkly at your desperation, finally shoving his hot tongue into your silky walls, sending shocks of pure electricity through your entire body. Immediately bucking into his face, you feel him French kissing your puffy lips, like a man completely starved. Your eyes roll back, moaning loudly into the air. Causing a surge of confidence in him. He pulls your body even closer, pressing his nose into your swollen bud completely engrossed by your delicious nectar. You feel a fire within your belly start to form, a sensation you’ve never experienced before. He sucks hard, gulping you up, slurping on your sweet juices. His tongue fucking your pussy deliciously, as your orgasm approaches quickly. “Tonowari, I think! I-Oh!” You feel your body begin to writhe on its own accord. “Go ahead my love, let go.” He says moaning into your legs. Your body shakes with extreme pleasure as you grip his braids for dear life, screaming with ultimate satisfaction. Your chest heaving, and breaths deeply panting as you come down from your climax. You feel Tonowari sucking all your nectar moaning and sucking his fingers dry. 

Instead of allowing yourself a minute from your orgasm, you pounce on your mate. The sight of seeing him enjoying himself giving you pleasure strikes your core with mouth watering primal desire. Your hips find their way to his thighs, finding friction on the thick muscles. Your soaking wet pussy grinding against the warrior’s rip cord strong thigh, his eyes blown with hunger seeing you ride his thighs shamelessly. You bring your hand to the back of his head and slam your lips into his, moaning into him immediately. His loincloth is so tight it begins to feel uncomfortable. You sense his tense stature, and stop grinding. Your eyes find their way down to the huge bulge in his loincloth, a smile forming on your face. “Tonowari, let me please you now my Tìyawn love. I need to make you feel good.” Whispering in his ear. Your eyes hooded with lust, and hands begin to make their way to his loincloth. He sits back watching how desperate you are for him, causing him to sweat with excitement. “As you wish my darling.” He says practically breathless. 

Your fingers work hastily, untying his strings, his hips lifting up to help you take the material off. His rock hard cock slaps against his stomach loudly, with a wet mark on his skin from pre cum. The sight of his huge cock, sends your brain into a frenzy, your mouth begins to water. The strong girth of his cock, leading to a swollen big mushroom tip dark blue from arousal. He stands at 16 inches. His cock is practically throbbing from your stare alone. “Let me taste you, love.” You say misty eyed. He leans back on the pile of pillows allowing you easier access. You crawl towards him like a predator stalking its prey, blue eyes barely visible from your lust. His chest is heaving with desire. “Anything for you princess.” He says letting his lust speak for him now. You finally bring your head down to the swollen glistening tip, slowly bringing your mouth around it, trying not to overwhelm him. He immediately lets a groan leave his lips from the contact, his eyes closing from pleasure. You sense it’s okay to keep moving, so you bring your mouth down the rest of his length. His swollen cock now hitting the back of your throat deliciously. Your head begins to bob up and down, finding a good rhythm for your small mouth taking his large length. You feel his big hands lightly grab your hair, holding for support as he’s transcended in utter bliss. You hear his mewls and whimpers allowing the confidence to flow through you, swirling your tongue around his length, then sucking hard. The grip on your head suddenly tightens as he squeals out rutting his hips into your face. “Ah! My petal, I will not last if you keep this up.” His chest heaving, refraining from cumming down your throat right there. “Then I better not keep you from waiting, my king. I am ready.” You take your mouth off his length, seeing him whine at the loss your lips. You bring your body slowly up to his again, with his hands cupping your face bringing you into a passionate wet kiss, tongue making its way in your mouth hot, and sloppy. Your body straddling his, both of you desperate for each other whining into his mouth. You know he will wait as long as you with his gentle nature. You finally bring your hand back to your braided kuru and hold it in front of you. His trance suddenly broken, “My love, if we do this, we will be mated before Eywa. I will not pressure you into anything you feel you’re not ready for.” His big blue eyes bore into your soul. You lightheartedly laugh at his manners. “Oh Ma’Tonowari, I have been ready since that day you came back from the reef with the war party with that bag of shells you gave me so I could weave them into making a new outfit. You always think of others before yourself. I have been madly in love with you for much some time now.” You take his breath away with your confession, a man of tough resolve suddenly weak in his damn knees from the woman in front of him. He never thought his heart would feel whole again, his days spent with longing and sorrow. Until you found your way into his daily routines, softly floating your way into his heart. 

Tears now brimming in his eyes, fall down his cheeks slowly trailing his skin. You’re there to wipe them away lovingly. Your tender touch so soft he could collapse with adoration. “Now look who’s crying my darling.” You say in a whisper, now kissing his cheeks where his tears fell. He closes his eyes wondering how he had gotten so lucky to be given another chance at love in this lifetime. You’re so patient with him, allowing him to feel all his emotions breathing into your neck as you caress his braids delicately. “Makani, I have found the missing piece to my broken heart, you’ve mended me when I didn’t have the strength to mend myself. I am yours eternally my love.” He brings his thumb to your lips, lightly tracing them. Bringing your mouths together feeling the fire burn once more, igniting the lust back into the room, you swirl your tongue against his whimpering into him with delight. Your hips begin to move against his again, seeking the friction once again. His length begins to harden again, immediately seeking the sensation of your body. He senses your desperation, and brings his kuru to the front of you, taking yours in your own hand. Slowly bringing the dancing tendrils to each other as they weave their way into unity. You both gasp at the impact, pupils dilated from the bond. Breath in sync with each other, your eyes boring into his soul, feeling the complete love and adoration he truly possesses for you. Your emotions transferred to him, drowning in the devotion you have for him, your warmth, your fondness. You both bring your foreheads to each other, relishing in this feeling. Embracing the intimate bond of Tsaheylu. 

He feels your lust building in your chest, barely holding it together, as you feel his arousal seeping into your soul. Your slick now dripping onto his thighs with anticipation as he brings your body over his length, strong hands on your waist. You slowly drop down guided by him, sinking onto his throbbing cock. Breath hitched with the sensation of you and him at once. All air leaves your lungs as you bottom out, with his full length inside of you. You whimper at the feeling of being completely full. “Take your time love.” Your mate coos into your ear. He sends a shiver down your spine igniting a delicious reaction. You roll your hips against his, his pelvis now rubbing against your clit. Your head thrown back with pleasure at such an impact. “Tonowari, please move, you do not need to worry about being gentle with me. I can handle it!” Your words barely making any sense as he bucks his hips into yours. The sound of skin slapping against each other. “As you wish my darling.” He breathlessly shoots out. Feeling the speed of his hips against yours, your belly burns with the fire approaching your second orgasm. You ride him with fluid movements like a crashing wave, him bringing his body to meet yours, sensing he is still holding back so he doesn’t hurt you. “Fuck me hard ‘Wari, I can feel that you want to, just let go!” He growls finally allowing his primal urges to take over his senses. Your body now flipped over onto your back harshly. Landing with a thud your legs are spread open by his strong arms. You moan at his sudden assertive demeanor. You completely submit to him. His mate.

He brings your thighs to wrap onto his hips, leaning over you. Bringing his cock to your entrance, slamming into you. The motion now completely rampant, losing the rhythm. You feel him approaching his climax as well. His pelvis slamming into your swollen bud, the sounds of your soaking wet pussy squelching at his contact. “Ah! Yes baby!” Your head thrown back in compete utter ecstasy. He brings his mouth to yours, tongue assaulting yours. “You’re taking me so well buttercup” He shouts in pleasure. He fucks you like a man starved, allowing all primal instincts to take over his body. Now slamming ferociously into your body, with your back arched at a sensual angle, driving him to suck your nipples harshly. “Ah!” Your scream in pleasure mixed with pain. He tears the material covering your breasts like a mad man, throwing it to the side. Now taking a hand to the other breast squeezing it. Your pussy clenches down on his cock, feeling your orgasm approaching quickly. The overwhelming stimulation clouding your brain with only pleasure. He removes his hand from your nipple, and brings his hand to your clit feeling how close you are. He knows he won’t last any longer with your whimpers escaping into the air. The final motion of flicking to your swollen bud sending you over the edge, the fire in your womb reaching its climax. Your pussy clenching him harshly, screaming with pleasure as your orgasm rips through your entire body. Following suit he moans into the air as his own orgasm crashes down, spilling his warm seed into your womb. The bond creating waves of ecstasy sharing your pleasure with each other, almost overwhelming. “Fuck! Princess!” He screams as his hips rut into yours with the last of his seed being completely milked from your silky walls. He falls onto your chest, careful not to smother you. Breathing heavy, bodies damp with sweat. You bring your hands to caress his back, delicate fingers rubbing his skin adoringly. His heart swells with love and adoration for his mate. The bond sending his love for you, to you. Moments have passed while the two of you embrace each other. “My Muntxate wife, you complete me.” He sighs into your bosom. “Oh my darling, I am yours forever.” You kiss his head, both of you slowly falling into a peaceful slumber as a mated pair. Who would’ve thought a mighty warrior such as him, would be given the chance to find love within this lifetime yet again. 

Hope everyone enjoyed! Tonowari just gives me big teddy bear energy he’s so bbygirl.