#unlikely stories mark v

[awearywritersworld]

men are so quick to blame the gods

ryomen sukuna x reader summary: your boyfriend is a heavy sleeper, leaving you to form an unlikely relationship with the curse occupying his body during the late hours of the night. w/c: 2.6k tags/warnings: enemies to lovers. angst/fluff. aged up!yuuji. sa is mentioned but it's pretty much just sukuna saying he doesn't condone it. heavy kissing. obvi features yuuji x reader but it's not at all the focus. cursing. sukuna calls you kitten. i'd like to think he's not too ooc in this but im probably delusional. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. no manga spoilers. a/n: am i rehabbing our handsome vicious psychopath? yes<3 loosely inspired by this post (features manga spoilers) of him being v beautiful and poetic series masterlist // masterlist

humans have always irritated the king of curses— pathetic little vermin scurrying around, utterly oblivious to their own weakness.

so it came as quite a shock to him when he awoke after over a millenia, only to find himself trapped inside the body of some teenaged brat.

nearly 7 years later and he's positive there isn't a person he despises more in the universe. not even the cocky six eyes wielder can elicit sukuna's fury the way itadori yuuji so easily does.

that's why he resolved early on to kill his vessel's pretty little girlfriend, an act he hopes might satiate his spite. he's positive nothing would devastate yuuji more.

luckily for you, life has a funny way of working.

you and yuuji are standing at an intersection in the city, the pink-haired man staring at his phone as he tries to piece together the directions to a new sushi restaurant you've been wanting to try.

when the pedestrian sign on the other side of the street blinks, you step out onto the pavement without checking for oncoming traffic.

"what the-" yuuji's confused voice fills your ears just as a rough hand wraps around your wrist, yanking you backward violently.

a car barrels through the spot you'd just been standing, the driver clearly not paying attention to the traffic signal. you look back just in time to see harsh black marks fading from your boyfriend's arm, though the rest of his body has seemingly remained unblemished.

it's an odd sensation for yuuji because he's never lost control to sukuna in such a manner. he doesn't dwell on it long though, as anger blossoms in his chest.

"do not touch her," he scolds the curse occupying his body.

a mouth appears on his cheek and scoffs. "sure. i'll just let her die next time."

"it's okay, yu," you interject before he can retaliate. "thanks, sukuna. i, uh, appreciate it."

he grumbles something incomprehensible, his mouth quickly disappearing. your boyfriend looks at you bemused, but you only shrug. the fact that yuuji had lost control to sukuna doesn't make you feel nervous or threatened. you're grateful that he kept you from being run over, albeit a bit surprised.

as you continue your walk to the the sushi restaurant, you find yourself not quite able to meet yuuji's eye because... well... you haven't exactly been forthright regarding your relationship with the king of curses.

the first night it happens, you're laying in bed eagerly finishing the final volume of a manga you've been reading. yuuji is fast asleep and has been for hours, though you're used to being the night owl in the relationship.

you keep wiping at your eyes, the cheerful ending tugging at your heartstrings and tying the story together in a beautiful way.

"can you stop with your incessant sniveling? this idiot's brain is so rarely quiet and you're ruining it."

you look over to see the eye beneath your boyfriend's is open, staring at you scornfully.

"can you fuck off?" your tone is obviously meant to mock him. "i'm finishing one of my favorite mangas and you're ruining it."

"need i remind you of your place, brat?" he sneers. "it's dreadfully wretched, crying because you don't like the ending to some stupid story."

"since you're so clearly invested, i'll have you know i'm crying because i do like it."

"..and here i thought you couldn't get any more pathetic."

your eye twitches in annoyance. "just because you're mad about being stuck in 'some idiot human's body' doesn't mean you have to go around projecting your feelings of inadequacy onto other people."

you move your hand to cover the mouth on your boyfriend's cheek before sukuna can respond, hissing out in pain just a moment later.

"oh my god, you actually bit me." you inspect the teethmarks on your palm in disbelief.

"just wait until i win control of this body— the punishment you deserve for such insolence. you'd better hope you're miles away, but even then—"

"holy shit, enough already. i'll go to sleep. enjoy your peace and quiet," you growl angrily, flipping off the lamp and turning away from him. for some reason, you still find yourself mumbling, "good night."

sukuna's eye widens before promptly closing, the silence hanging in the air heavily. it's the longest conversation he's had in years and the first casual pleasantry he's heard in a millenia. he tries to feel satisfied that he got what he wanted in the end, before returning to his quiet solitude.

over the next few months, your late nights are graced somewhat frequently by the king of curses. he mainly complains— the friends you hung out with earlier were annoying, the tv's too loud, it took yuuji twenty minutes to exorcise a curse that sukuna could have dealt with in seconds.

it doesn't bother you nearly as much anymore and he's no longer able to get under your skin like he did that first night. it seems as if he's losing his touch, or perhaps he just isn't trying as hard.

it's around one in the morning, a book resting in your lap while your boyfriend snores softly beside you. sukuna's eye pops open, peering over at the text. "you're reading homer?"

your body jerks, startled by his sudden question, but you recover soon thereafter. "yeah, were you two friends or something?"

"no, you fool," he derides. "he lived far before my time."

though you don't comment on it, you find it amusing that your sarcasm had gone over his head. "oh, you're right. how silly of me to think you had friends."

"such profound witticism. i can hardly contain myself."

you sneak a glance over to find he's narrowed his eye at you and you actually giggle. "sorry."

it doesn't dawn on you how bizarre the interaction is, but sukuna abruptly realizes that something feels different. not once before tonight had he made you laugh.

he pushes the thought from his mind. "i did, however, indulge in his works during the heian period."

"really?" you perk up. it's not often you give him your full attention. "what'd you think?"

"i suppose i liked him well enough. one of my favorite lines comes from the poem you're reading."

you motion your hand for him to continue. "well don't be shy. i'm sitting here with bated breath."

he rolls his eye, but speaks nonetheless.

"men are so quick to blame the gods— they say that we devise their misery..." you realize for the first time how gruff his voice is, the deep reverberations sending a shudder down your spine. "but they themselves, in their depravity, design grief greater than the griefs that fate assigns."

his eye flickers between each of yours before you look back to your book, fiddling with the corner of the page. you're suddenly feeling rather shy. "does that mean you think humans are even crueler than you?"

he muses over your question briefly.

"if i recounted how men would flee the villages i burned, leaving their families behind in a selfish attempt to save themselves.. who would you find more revolting?

you swallow nervously. "i.. i don't know."

"what if i told you of the men who would eagerly offer their wives and daughters to me, hoping i'd spare them.. who would you deem more wicked?"

you're so busy avoiding his gaze that you don't see the way he carefully regards you. a question you're unsure you want the answer to tumbles from your lips before you can stop it. "did you accept? the.. the husbands' offers—"

"no," he responds. "i have little interest in unwilling partners."

"oh. well that's, um, good."

he hums in response, leaving you to process everything he's told you.

"you should stop," you blurt out eventually.

"stop what?"

"being nice to me." you wouldn't normally consider discussing literature then reminiscing about the egregious stories of his past life particularly kind, but then again, it is sukuna you're speaking with. "it's weird."

he rolls his eye again. "you're hardly in any position to be giving me orders, you insufferable brat."

"see? that's much better."

"why are you crying?" his tone is even, conveying neither annoyance or concern. truthfully, he has no idea what compelled him to ask in the first place.

you don't answer, hoping he'll leave you alone. you really don't have it in you tonight, even if sukuna's been much more tolerable recently. it's been weeks since you finished reading homer's epic poem.

the moon is already setting and it's just a few days before your date at the sushi restaurant.

when you sniffle again, he calls your name. you don't register that he doesn't say brat or idiot. it's the first time he's used your actual name.

"w-what do you want?"

"i seem to recall asking you a question."

you're laying on your side, facing away from yuuji and by extension, sukuna.

"i'm not crying," you declare.

sukuna briefly wonders why he's stuck dealing with you while yuuji sleeps, but his inward 'annoyance' is half hearted. "you're an awful liar."

you exhale and turn to look at him. the only light in the room is coming from the tv, but it's enough that he can see you clearly. "sometimes.. i can't help but worry about the execution."

yuuji has told you countless times that gojo has a plan, that he won't let anything happen, but you know what the higher ups are capable of.

and while it's down right shameful, you know that much, it's not only your boyfriend you worry about these days. sukuna's become so commonplace in your life, you almost look forward to talking with him at night.

"the thought of losing yuuji... of losing.. you.. it scares me," you murmur.

your words stir up feelings he's never once experienced and it's confusing to him. "i'd have figured you'd at least be pleased to be rid of me."

"well, i-i kind of thought we were friends now," you share without thinking.

"don't flatter yourself."

he regrets the words as soon as they come out of his mouth and the guilt he feels as he watches your face fall is unbecoming of a being so powerful. you apologize meekly, shifting (too late) to hide your hurt.

he can't remember a moment in which he's hated being trapped in his vessel's god forsaken body more. he wants to reach out to you, even if the idea feels entirely foreign to him.

but he can't, so he just sighs. "if you think i'm going to let a few feebleminded sorcerers execute me and the brat, you're even more foolish than i thought."

you peer at him, the smallest smile gracing your lips when you realize that's probably as close to an apology as sukuna would ever get.

"promise?"

for fuck's sake. he feels utterly pathetic. completely deplorable. laughable, even—

"yes," he states impassively. "now go to sleep."

"okay." your smile is just a little wider as your fingertips brush the spot below his eye and above his mouth. you wonder if he can even feel it. "good night, sukuna."

"...night, brat."

less than a week after sukuna saves your life at the intersection, yuuji kisses you goodbye as he heads out to a mission. he assures you he'll be early tonight, as he only has to exorcise a semi-grade one cursed spirit in roppongi.

though things don't go quite as planned because in addition to the semi-grade, he finds himself standing before two special grades. he manages to defeat one of the special grades, but the other two leave him badly hurt, his breathing labored.

he has to beg sukuna to switch out with him. the king of curses hasn't forgotten his promise to you and he's no fool— it's clear this is an ambush by the higher ups— but he'll be damned if he wasn't going to have a little fun with the brat first.

he makes quick work of the curses, each of them going rigid with fear as soon as he appears, and it soon becomes apparent that yuuji is too weakened to take back control of his body just yet.

at last, sukuna has his long yearned for freedom and a new world at his fingertips, but there's just one problem... all he wants to do is find you.

when the lock to your apartment clicks, your eyes shift to the door, an excited grin on your face. you can't hide your shock when it isn't your boyfriend that steps inside.

you don't say anything at first, simply following his frame across the room as he approaches you. he leans against the wall a few feet away from where you're sitting on the couch, folding his arms across his chest.

"seems your concerns about the execution weren't unwarranted."

"w-what?!" you exclaim, rising to your feet and taking a step toward him. "what happened?"

he relays the story to you, emphasizing how 'unimpressive' yuuji's power was and how 'terribly simple' it was for him to finish the job his vessel couldn't.

you narrow your eyes at him, only half joking when you ask, "what are you doing here, then? shouldn't you be off pillaging tokyo or something?"

he chuckles. "such a dark mind you have. it wounds me to hear you assume the worst of me."

you bite your lip to hide your smile. "just figured it'd save time."

he closes the space between you and though you can feel the heat radiating from his body, you don't shy away from him. instead, your eyes trail over the dark lines adorning his face and chest.

he reaches up and your breath catches in your throat when the back of his fingers ghost over your neck. his nails graze your skin and a sly smirk forms on his face. "aren't you frightened? it'd be all too easy to kill a little thing like you."

"but you won't."

he can't tell if your assuredness pisses him off, but it certainly makes his heart rate pick up. his hand now occupies the space where your neck meets your shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle. "what has you so convinced?"

"well you saved me, didn't you? and.. and you kept your promise."

he hums in response and your hand seems to act of its own accord when it reaches up to rest atop his. any lingering sense of amusement is gone in an instant, the air now fraught with tension.

"so why are you here, sukuna?" you murmur.

the king of curses has never known goodness. he's wrought untold destruction and misery, his name inspiring fear even after millenia. he's a legend— a god, even— yet here you are staring up at him and he swears the look in your eyes is almost tender.

"i don't know."

"and you had the nerve to call me an awful liar."

you know you're taking a risk when you lean up and press your lips to his. he freezes for a moment before his mouth begins to move against yours tentatively. his arm stays at his side, so you grab his hand, moving it to your waist.

it's as if that flips a switch in sukuna. he backs you up against the wall somewhat roughly and you can feel him smile against your lips when you let out a squeak of surprise.

he uses the opportunity to take your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging at it before moving to your neck with the intention of leaving a trail of marks across your delicate flesh.

you know you should care, but you just can't bring yourself to tell him to stop. you're too preoccupied with the feeling. he revels in the little gasps he's pulling from your throat, in the way you grab weakly at his biceps.

"you are divine, kitten," he growls. "been waiting so long to touch you."

just as he finishes speaking, he pulls back a few inches and his body stiffens.

"damn it. not now, you stupid brat—"

the words die in his throat as the black lines begin to fade and you're met with the perplexed face of your boyfriend. he breaths out your name, clearly worried. "what.. what happened?"

[delicrieux]

. . . l'oeuf

˙⋆✮ summary. just another evening at henry's.

pairing. henry winter x f!reader warnings. smoking, swearing, mentioned drug use, bad aspirin use specifically, use of alcohol, +18 (p n v sex, no condom henry DOES NOT care, very minimal dirty talk), pretentiousness, an inkling of classicism, bunny™ wc. 6.9k ✧˖°.

author's note. happy october everyone ! i always wanted to write smth for the loml henry winter but i never had the patience to sit down and do it. well, now i did. this was written with prompt 1. thick, acrid smoke. feel free to rqs more for the prompty thingies! x . . . side note! the fic is named by this song since i listened to it while writing. you can draw a metaphor from it if willing

creds. hd., div.

mlist | buy me coffee ♡ྀ

it was at the start of october on that fateful senior year that you had found yourself in henry winter's illustrious townhouse. from the lacquered brazillian hardwood floorboards to the ivory plasterwork on the ceilings – every corner pertained a certain degree of finery that reflected poorly on the rest of its objects: a well-worn armchair perpetually stuck in henry’s physique and fraying at the edges, the trampled rug that snaked upstairs and held all of your secrets, the coffee table with too many wine stains. in the dim light, the dried rorschach looked like blood.

the present company consisted of six and was slowly dwindling. your dear friend francis, the only boy who had never cared to peek up your skirt in childhood tennis practice, was a moment from collapsing into himself like a weary, old star. holding a champagne coupe from which he exclusively drunk only campari, he had thrown himself over henry’s couch not unlike a discontent lead from a penny dreadful novel. his face kept twisting according to the sounds: bunny’s voice was met with pursed lips and a tightly shut eye (only one, closest to bunny’s person sat by the aforementioned coffee table), charles’ – with a look of defeated boredom, and in the odd bouts of silence and music, bliss.

you offered him a cigarette, and he barely managed to crane his neck to kiss the knuckles of a helping hand before he snatched it away and searched his pockets for a lighter.

sweet camilla sat by the fire, with her knees drawn to her chest. one black stocking was torn on the side, rippling up her calf and sneaking into her inner knee, an action bunny had noted and all had taken particular interest in. there had been a metaphor about literature resembling her glossy stockings – all that language and reference weaved into a fabric that stretched till it could no more, thus marking the end of innovation and intertextuality. a book can only fit so much, and as all of them cared for ancient greek only – a language that no one spoke, and so, could never refine past its perfect state – the topic soon waned in favor of more brandy.

bunny cowed a story about richard papen, the outsider that had joined their coterie, who was not present, as he had not been invited. he was a fine orator, had a specific sense of humor that, while not always understood, could charm an audience when fidgeted with enough. only bunny was too drunk, and his glass of whiskey kept spilling on his trousers till it left an undignified blotch crowned by cigarette ashes, which only painted him a blubbering buffoon. ‘the fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool,’ came to mind as you admired the embers dancing in the halo of his blond hair.

then, there was charles, drunk as always, who had opted to lay by camilla’s feet, the place where bunny’s drunken attempts of metaphor had landed him.

lastly, there was henry, your own personal virgil, who had not wanted you to come, but allowed it still. he looked tired from across the room, an arm thrown over the cushions of the armchair in which he sat. in his left hand he held a book, a cover and a title too out of frame for your eyes to see; amber reflected in his wiry glasses, the color of his brandy bottle (half empty) before the orange glow of the fire burned it copper. a plume of cigarette smoke curled into the ceiling from his two fingers. only he could have full concentration among the chaotic symphony in the living room.

the record spun to silence, and you quickly abated your seat on the windowsill to pad to the cabinet and change the vinyl. the collection of classics had not increased since your last visit, which was roughly a week ago, and it had not changed since henry moved out the dorms during the winter of your junior year. there were chopin’s nocturnes and etudes, beethoven’s piano sonatas, and wagner’s tristan and isolda, just to name a few. something lulling, quiet. you picked debussy and placed the needle. lilting, soft and steady, like you supposed love would feel.

instantly, you were met with bunny’s ire.

“no, no,” a wave and a body too weak to stop you. you ensured he was gifted your most sly smile, “no, woman, put on somethin’, somethin’ grand,” a larger wave, like a poorly coordinated conductor, he smacked his hand too close to francis’ head. a groan from charles, as if he had grown nauseous from watching the motions, “somethin’ for me and charlie here,”

charles tried to turn away in his discontent, yet did not manage. camilla, concerned, laid a hand on his shoulder, “should we go? i think we should head home.”

“see?” bunny’s accusing tone found you once more, “you’re scaring the guests. put on some real music. like the... the...” he trailed off, lighting another cigarette. for good luck, one could imagine, “like goddamn— listen to led zeppelin, man! the rolling stones!”

you glanced to henry and found yourself surprised. a shared look.

“no such things in our humble repertoire,” you stated.

“mile davis, at least?”

“no,”

“i don’t believe you,”

“you’re free to check for yourself.”

amidst this small argument, which was much too common when dealing with bunny, camilla had somehow managed to wrestle charles into standing on his own two feet. unstable, he leaned onto his sister, the added weight making her stagger.

“goodness, take care of charles,” bunny whined, though his complaints never amounted to more than simple sulking. you chose not to pay them much mind.

it was henry that helped, carefully balancing his book on the armrest and coming to take charles from camilla’s embrace.

“should i drive you home?” he asked.

camilla shook her head, en route to retrieve her red scarf and new coat, “no, no, we’ll call a taxi.”

it was always mildly fascinating watching the two interact. camilla, never able to meet his gaze directly and for too long, and henry, who only ever extended wordless aid without prompt or reason to her only. what had she done to earn such favor was beyond you – beyond everyone, perhaps – but you were certain you weren’t the only one that saw this careful act of piety and kindness.

you observed them shuffle out after moments on the telephone, camilla’s hand ghosting henry’s arm, or grazing the bend of his elbow, and only when they disappeared past the large door to wait for the taxi did you look away.

loving henry winter was a sisyphean task, unworthy of the effort which it required. you thought yourself too smart for it, and thus, never cared to entertain the notion, not even when he kissed you.

you caught bunny staring at you: not scrutinizing, not calculating – simply staring. a curious leer that often fell on you after some semblance of mirth had worn down. almost shy, somewhat longing.

“this richard of yours,” you began, helping yourself to henry’s lucky strike. out of all the brands that you had smoked, this was the most bitter and always left a tart taste in the back of your throat. you craved it, “papen, was it?”

“yup,” bunny mumbled into his glass.

“and how is he?” your gaze jumped from him to francis.

“poor,” bunny said.

“californian,” francis tacked on.

“but he pretends he isn’t,” bunny continued.

“californian?” your brows rose. the smell, the taste – too powerful, almost choking.

“no, no,” bunny shook his head, disoriented for a moment, “rich. pretends to be rich. see, i didn’t tell you this, but,” and he reached for henry’s cigarettes, too, even if his own pack laid abandoned, two-three left untouched. he did this, at times, this odd mimicry: you smoked, he smoked what you did, you drank, he drank what you did, you decided a getaway to italy was your dream destination for a week and later learned he had haggled henry into buying tickets for the two of them, “but i, you know me: never judge a book by its cover, i say. invited him to dinner. the usual place, the one on-”

“god,” francis winced, and if he could move, surely he’d flee, “stop talking.”

“the lady asked, am i to deny her now? i thought he wouldn’t show, but he does, doesn’t he? with a goddamned tweed jacket, like i wouldn’t notice,” he hiccupped mid-explanation, the liquor long congealed into his system, “and, you know, me, i know people. i know people. i see them for what they are, and i knew he was a no good cheat from a mile away, but hey,” a straight spine, a bit proud, “i think to myself, you know what, old man, i’m gonna give this guy a chance. pop’s always-”

“aspirin,” francis interjected, this time directed at you, “bring me some, would you, juliet?”

you snorted, “a moment,”

“thank you, desdemona. you’re a midsummer night’s dream,”

“she’s from othello,”

“my point stands.”

you sauntered off into henry’s kitchen and scoured his cupboards for painkillers. the layout of this place you knew too well – perhaps, even, if you closed your eyes, you could discern each obstacle and map it in front of your eyes with the grace and certainty of a guidebook. you did just that.

behind you, a sudden coldness pierced through the humidity and a door shut harshly. the influx of fresh air was a brief slap to the face.

it’s been silent for a while now.

“what are you doing?” henry’s voice, not close, yet not too far. always observing at a distance, since closeness was never his intention. henry winter. what a fitting name.

“looking for aspirin.”

the tick of an unseen clock.

“top drawer,” there was no urgency; something you didn’t understand was what made him hurry to answer, “i hid them there. bunny keeps stealing my entire cabinet.”

your eyes fluttered open, “my, my. what a snitch,”

“don’t give him the aspirin,”

“it’s for francis,”

“very well.”

an impasse. you closed the cabinet and thought against bringing water with you, knowing it’s unneeded.

“may i?” henry asked, and when you turned to look at him, he was as always – unbreakable, unmovable. expectant, perhaps, his heavy gaze a familiar pressure upon your cheekbones, the curve of your jaw, your swollen mouth (from biting, not being kissed).

“they’re yours,” you said easily, turning the cap and spilling a few into the bed of your palm as he approached, “here.”

to make matters harder, there’s but a foot of space between the two of you. the smallest separation, every part of him and every part of you entangled into one odd constellation. an immensity of motion before him and an immensity of energy after.

“water?”

“whiskey.”

“is it also hidden?”

“no.”

so you retrieved him a glass, and then the bottle, and lastly you poured the amount enough to swallow in one gulp. when he took and drank, and you watched his adam’s apple bob, you wondered, briefly and hazily, was your act in any way similar to camilla’s. a star that constantly drew him into her orbit.

“you didn’t leave,” he uttered quietly, tired eyes flicking to the maw of the kitchen opening. down the foyer, the firelight danced. bunny’s voice rose in a toast, no doubt to shake francis out of his stupor.

“i did,” you said, a slow smile curling, “what you see before you is a specter. the delirious imaginings of an impoverished mind.”

“ridiculous,” the quirk of his eyebrows: mock-offended.

“amusing,” the narrow of your eyes: contagious, “was everything my spirit foretold the same as you saw it unfold?”

weariness. you looked for it and found it easy enough. his fingers flexed, his tongue went behind his teeth. the cogs turned. for all his genius, henry was too susceptible to fable and entirely too superstitious. he could ward himself off it well, yet when his inhibitions were down, there was a hint of something else, a spark of pious faith in the impossible, what not might come next. he kept looking at you for an extended moment, until the corner of his mouth, minutely, drew up into a not-quite-smile.

“hermia!” came francis’ voice from the other room, “i’m dying.”

henry said nothing.

you expected bunny drunkenly swinging an almost empty bottle around to try and cheer up francis (it rarely worked, unless it was wine), and yet, he wasn’t there. the living room felt very big, somehow, devoid of him and the makings of his gullible heart.

“and where is bun?” you questioned, almost scolding.

“bathroom,” francis succeeded sitting up, yet only just.

you heard henry curse under his breath. he disappeared, and soon you heard the continents of a stomach emptying down the hall and henry’s monotone behind a closed door.

“time to end this sabbath, me thinks,” you said. francis took the pills with a fresh glass of campari, nose scrunching from the taste.

“d’you think henry could drive me home?” francis asked.

“do you trust him with your life?”

“do you think he’d let me die?”

“depends,”

“no. i’ll cab it,”

“wise decision.”

henry returned, seemingly exhausted from his small adventure. no one followed after.

“bun?” you asked again, which seemed to displease him. he only shook his head. passed out, then. unfortunate, yet expected. if bunny could somehow gain authority over all of henry’s things – even the minute ones, the ones that don’t matter and exist in the peripherals without henry’s notice – he would. it was the same reason francis once insisted that bunny had been in love with you.

the incident occurred during your first year of college in early november. a rather somber and chilly day with leaves sticking to wet asphalt and stone walls amidst the rainy season. a monday. bunny had broken his ankle and complained terribly about it, and henry, who had become his caretaker, was sick of it and instead abhorred him. by accident and complete mischance, the handling of bunny corcoran had fallen onto your graceful shoulders, and in a single day – full of obsolete complaints and impulsive questions – the theorized affection was born.

if there was a way in which bunny’s countenance had changed in your presence, it was lost on you, for your attention, at the time, was solely pilfered by charles. he was, back then, the most handsome of the greek class, and oddly enough, the only one pleasant, thus you sought his favor. but charles never returned your fondness, no matter how minuscule it could be, and he never gave the impression of fleeting interest. only sometimes, when he thought you would not catch him, he would stare at you for a bit too long. you never got to figure out what he had thought in those moments.

instead, you figured yourself an actor – a pretty one at that – and decided to ignore this indelicate sort of charm and pursue a new mark. there were many, of course, plenty of faces to consider, yet the outcome was always the same. as it were, they were all terribly boring and reminded you greatly of the peers you’ve encountered in private schools, the self-proclaimed intellectuals of the new age that had too much time and too much heartbreak on their hands. good looks aside, not the slightest hint of culture nor comprehension, just money and nothing to show for it.

and then there was henry, of course, so quintessentially different that his existence, still, was hard to define. something outside the realm of you. something above or beyond, or perhaps below – always somewhere you could not reach. there was an irrecoverable arrogance to him and in his aloof demeanor. an inviolable space that never invited others.

yes, there had to be some appeal to the strangeness of him, yet never could you put your finger on what exactly it was. at least, not immediately. at first sight, though, there were more poetic reasons to it – of the tragic and of the divine kind, yet that was no truth but some novel-born whim, a pointless obsession, some meager infatuation. an involuntary fetish. he had not wanted you, which only made it so that you wanted him in turn. it wasn’t an ugly thing – it simply was.

he must’ve known. henry always seemed to possess the knowledge of things you had never dared to question or to think twice of. or, perhaps, maybe not: but, despite your inability to identify the cause of it, there was a certain change to your disposition upon entering his shared room. one, maybe, akin to the sudden fear brought by dark enclosed spaces, though a bit more subtle and complex.

it was, ironically, a winter’s night.

when you phoned the same taxi and requested it’s return, francis spoke in a hazy murmur, sluggishly trying to shrug on the coat you brought him, “god, i really need a cigarette.”

“hm?”

“do you see mine anywhere?”

a rueful search, hands grabbing the scattered glass and hardbound that littered the surface of the coffee table. a valiant attempt to move the couch cushions and dip fingers into the cracks.

“no,”

“well, fuck me,”

henry offered his, but francis refused. the living room lit up in that thick, acrid smoke anyway.

the foyer echoed with your footsteps. outside the townhouse, rain had started again. a few drops at first, tapping the windows, before quickly it grew and gained weight. soon, it was battering against the glass.

with your scarf in your hands you suddenly found yourself unsure what to do with it. the taxi was coming and it was time to go home and plead to a higher power for reprieve from the headache you knew would cripple you in the morning. perhaps, an afternoon tomorrow to mull around, dazed. yet there was no respite in any of that. you realized, then, with this abrupt trepidation, that the cause of your discomfort, or the cause that exacerbated it, was within this confided space. a chasm-deep disquiet, like an open mouth of a ravine, dark and shadowy, or the pull of a tide at sea, which was, as they say, irresistible to even the most levelheaded.

somewhat uneasily, you lingered by the coat hanger, and when francis ambled over, tripping over his own two feet, he downed the rest of his campari and shoved the glass into your useless hands. then, he kissed your cheek, quick and wet, before ripping the door open and shoving it closed behind you, hence halting your escape.

the house was deafened, and your palms itched. the overwhelming urge to twiddle with your scarf became unbearable, or it was because a pair of eyes bore into you from the depths of the room. the closest thing you’ve ever considered to a tangible aura: the smell of ozone and rain water and tobacco.

“don’t suppose he’s waiting in the rain, is he?” you said.

“no, i don’t think he is.”

it didn’t make sense, none of what happened afterward – the decision to face him instead of making off into the chilling night. your arms crossed in a quiet and peculiar motion, clutching the coupe a bit too tight.

“whiskey?” henry offered, and you felt like the silly ingénue in some high-brow noir thriller donning all that cashmere by the door, “or bourbon.”

“fine.”

a crease of his eyebrow – the sole indication of surprise. your jacket found its rightful place on the rack along with that dreaded scarf. hesitance was unfamiliar to you, as you had not known it growing up – neither a sense of propriety nor a loss of footing. the dandy act had been adopted and perfected to such a degree that to relinquish the mask itself was oddly relieving, the discomfort born merely by knowing that francis was aware of your unusual situation and the upcoming events that would take place once the theater was done. there was a brief thought to how henry might’ve perceived you then. perhaps the removal of a layer of pretense might’ve intrigued him, if anything.

you remained at a slight distance and watched him traverse his domain, stepping around the askew items left behind by bunny and a bottle of gin haphazardly upended by charles, warm by the fire. there was an anomalous sort of patience to him. the silence was an abrasion. so often, you found yourself chattering to fill the void, even with other men who took the shape of strangers.

“there’s quite a storm brewing,” you said, only to be met with more silence. when your words simpered, the feeling they left was inexplicably ominous. ‘all that is transitory is but a symbol,’ yet only a bad poet would dare to draw a soliloquy from henry’s figure by the flames.

thus, you sat down on the couch, still warm from francis, and held up the beloved champagne coupe. henry’s hand did not tremble as it poured, but your fingers quivered when his attention fell onto you.

“is it good?”

you never felt the alcohol, only the burning in the back of your throat.

“very,”

he found himself beside you, not too close. the distance was not unlike orpheus’ journey, or so it appeared in the dim firelight – the familiar pangs of the unwilling, the sudden, selfish urge of wanting to see him in his entirety, his visage unhindered

“may i?” you asked, meaning, of course, his cigarette. he acquiesced easily. the only telltale of his everlasting unbothered mien: his focus had, and always seemed to be, too acute. it was enough to unnerve anyone. flattering, perhaps, if only you could tell what he was thinking, but you never could.

in your lap, the half-empty coupe. you left a smudge of your lipstick on the cigarette butt. henry inhaled. it was not unlike a kiss.

“francis mentioned you didn’t want to see me,” you said.

“i didn’t,” he responded.

“a lie, was it then?”

“you assume to know?”

“yes.”

another drag. smoke parted his mouth, slow as molasses and heavy as clouds.

“you’ve changed,” you said.

conversation with henry had always been difficult, before and after your frequent follies in the dark. if you did speak, it was never about one another, or anything that resided past skin and bone, nestled somewhere in the marrow, only felt. in instances where you did find common ground it was only ever art – literature, specifically, and when he was in a good mood, painting. henry only had one fascination and refused to entertain others; here lied his fatal flaw. thus, in a crowd of three and more, you could exchange remarks that would seem and sound important but held no real meaning.

“what sort of change have you noticed?” henry murmured. the lighting cast shadows. his hands twitched.

you were not sure, as you remembered him in much more detail and color. here, ashen-faced and obscured, all you saw was the ghost of his image, as though he had grown morose in a way that a single season could not alter. the greek class had often suffered for the aesthetic – self-imposed punishments of grandeur and excess that to everyone outside their circle seemed quite ridiculous, along with their dark clothes and mysterious miens and enigmatic jokes. some said they were haunted or blessed, but none envied them. alas.

troubled is the closest you could find, though if you were to voice it, he might take you for a child. it was never good to seek out his vulnerability. he would say you could never find it, and, inevitably, it would end up being the truth. henry wasn’t good at love. no one of were.

you shrugged, “you’ve become quiet.”

“am i, now?”

“more so than you’ve been,”

“perhaps you’ve just gotten better at listening,”

“unlikely,”

henry cocked his head. his hand, once again, twitched and there was an urge to reach out and grasp his fingers – some sort of absolution or at least a consolation for something neither one of you might’ve cared to mention. never did the man in front of you appear unsure, yet somehow, despite his best effort to the contrary, you felt a similar trepidation of an undefined thing.

henry was impossible to read. not just a mystery, but undeciphered in ways so beyond the mundane. over the years, you had collected enough clues to form a humble dictionary, yet much of what was missing could only be determined through his own misfortune and complacency – things which would, then, by nature and by fate, stray into your arms.

it did not matter, not entirely, at least. you did not love henry, but you thought that camilla did, and he, in turn, her. once you exhausted your inspection, perhaps you would pass that glossary to her, though you doubted that she would ever find any use for it.

“well,” henry said, “i suppose that’s to be expected. anything else?”

“would you enjoy a dissection?”

henry hummed, perhaps in agreement or curiosity, but it was very possible that he thought you foolish.

“no need,” he said, “yours is transparent.”

“really?” you countered, “they never are. people, i mean.”

“who are you thinking of?”

your mind drifted to bunny, likely curled on the cold tiles of the bathroom. with the first few buttons of his shirt popped and tie loosened, there was the picture of one not withering away but merely on the incline of a steep and lonely hill. all quiet in the dark of a windowless room from which he couldn’t even turn his head and see the stars.

it felt as though he would wake soon and interrupt. his presence always breached spaces he did not occupy, and the anticipation of his arrival always lingered in the air, unspoken but palpable. perhaps bunny would always exist in the shadowy corner-room between you and henry, because, if what francis said was true, henry was the first to know of it and had you, still.

you wondered if he regretted it, if he felt like brutus sticking the first knife into caesar’s rib, closest to the heart. you considered asking: in that moment, the urge felt insurmountable. instead, you said, “a little bit of everyone.”

inclined, you caught his gaze. an abysmal color and a disorienting shade, as deep and gloomy as the woods surrounding mount cataract.

“and me?”

“of course,” you smiled and slid a bit closer, “it’s not like you to ask. have you become sentimental?”

“not exactly,” his eyes moved to his hands. then, the flecks in the fireplace, the piles on the floor, “i’ve been thinking.”

“care to elaborate?”

“no,” he said. you understood his need for privacy, and a small part of you could appreciate his effort, or maybe, rather, that you got something of an answer at all. he did, occasionally, tend to disappear in thought. he remained, despite his reluctance, sitting with you. this, in a way, spoke more to you than the words that could never leave his mouth.

“this weather makes a body wistful,” you told him, “and the greek have always liked their tragedies.”

he clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth before lighting another cigarette, “what do you know of greek?”

always the same argument. always the same contradiction. your attraction was tempestuous, and so, it should have surprised you neither the sudden bite or the wicked sense of amusement.

“all that any student would, naturally,”

“so, nothing,”

“i suppose,” you would not admit, for he would win, “henry,”

something in his posture betrayed him, but it was not his eyes, nor his tone, “yes?”

you were close then, much closer than you were moments ago. his lips thinned in a brittle, noncommittal line and his eyes drooped – more of a warning than anything.

“are you going to kiss me?” you asked.

he wanted to, he must’ve, for it had been the only sensible action – you always pressed for what would hurt least. to drown and swallow poison. it was a favorite, and, for some reason, one he allowed, like an agreement reached. to your knowledge, he only ever let himself indulge in you.

henry only leaned in, which was enough for you. his mouth, a second, not any less tantalizing than the first. and you had kissed him with a brazen softness, enough that his hands snaked to grasp the back of your neck. another hit. the smoke and ash settled deep in your lungs. you had pushed it out in a groan when he dropped his hands to your thighs, pressing hard and confident as he had on those nights when you found each other too lonely. the ache he created was wonderful.

you grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled it until it untucked. he swallowed and whispered in a language you were familiar with but couldn’t speak, and lifted your skirt.

you kept the cigarette between your teeth as he mouthed down your jaw and neck. his finger traced the skin at the back of your knee and that tickling spot right below your ribs. goosebumps rose and followed his touch. he nipped at the crook of your neck and dragged you onto his lap.

“you are dressed far too heavily, and terribly,” you heard him say, and when his lips found the shell of your ear, you could not stifle the shiver. the whole room felt claustrophobic, hot and steamy, like the aftermath of a scalding bath. your breaths grew labored. you closed your eyes against it and clawed into his arm.

henry said, again, this time more slowly and with a dull emphasis, “terribly.”

“how dare you insult my taste,”

“would you allow for a remediation of my sins?”

“luckily, i’m in an agreeable mood.”

henry’s own sigh was long and somewhat labored, as though a great pressure had been taken off him. and his hands flexed, moving up and down your back. a rare instance, to find him restless. you could admire this in private.

the press of lips to your neck. the collarbone, jutting sharp in the firelight.

there was the urge, sudden and quite novel, to caress his face, cup his cheek, graze the edge of the scar of the eye that’s colder than its twin, that shrouds you in a mist. such an act was outlawed, naturally, thus, the opportunity came and went, carried away on a drafting wind of smoke. an irredeemable misfortune, and you flicked the cigarette into your abandoned coupe.

“are you comfortable?” the gentle cadence of his voice sent a wave through the warmest depths of your abdomen.

“yes.”

henry, having brushed away your stockings, stroked at the insides of your thighs. there was a light feeling in your head, an almost dizzying sway. a subtle rocking, like boats at port, from where the two of you were perched. his digits dug into the firm meat. beneath his hands, a stretch of burning skin and sinew. muscle clenched and quivered, “terribly inconvenient, by the way.”

“how do you mean?”

“all the layers,” he muttered.

“good,”

“never good,”

and then, suddenly: “are you wet?”

“if you touched me properly, you could tell,”

henry ignored your response. his hand climbed upward, and found a place between the gusset and the middle seam, rubbing, testing.

“recently,” you said, “i’ve become fascinated with joseph cornell.”

“you’re stalling,” henry informed you without inflection, slipping a finger through the damp center. a harsh noise of pleasure left you when his tongue slid between your lips. one, then two, circling and sinking with the utmost delicacy.

“why? are you not curious to hear what i think of his boxes?” you managed, halfway.

another stroke. his thumb rubbing, slow and considerate, in the spot that makes your toes curl, tight and demanding. when his eyes opened and found yours, it was almost comical – his fingers in you, mouth and mind on a completely different path, yet the connection was there all the same. even more so, while trying to be detached, fumbling over buttons and laces.

“no,”

“you might learn something,”

he quirked a brow, “you truly wish to waste time talking?”

“aren’t you?”

“i am taking an assessment of your willingness to submit,”

“are you certain it’s not the other way around?”

henry rarely responded with malice; each action was carefully devised and, in conjunction, quite merciless. in this case, he dropped his hand from the vee of your legs and tugged at his shirt collar. the emptiness was startling, as was the feeling of tension that coiled tightly in your gut. then, he grabbed his drink and sipped from the sparkling glass. petty revenge, something he always assured was beneath him.

sensing defeat, you decided to placate him. after a dramatic roll of your eyes, you slipped onto the ground and knelt.

“henry,” you began, and reached for the fly of his pants. the outline of his cock was obvious beneath the smooth fabric, thick and promising, “home ruler,” in one instance of drunken curiosity, the lot of you agonized the meaning of your names, that perhaps they, somehow, unknowingly dictated your fate, “unwilling to shed his crown. is the head not heavy? most kings lost theirs, you know.”

“flattery doesn’t suit you.”

“folly, then,” you replied, dragging the flat of your palm across his groin and taking pleasure in the strained hiss, “are you going to let me do as i please?”

“i think that is,” at the peak of his inhale, you reached into his trousers and curled your fingers around his stiff cock, “quite apparent.”

you grinned, lazy but triumphant, thumbing the blunt ridge. smudging the dribble of white at the leaking head and reveling in his restrained reactions: the minute tremors, the twitch of his jaw, a gasp caught in his throat. you would have kissed him, again. his face might’ve twitched, something uncontrollable that would’ve given away his longing, if only he hadn’t pushed it down.

with a slow pump, your hand traveled. the size was admirable, familiar, nearly to the point of nostalgia. henry had touched more parts of your body than some of the lovers you took as an earnest attempt for passion. you had begged him once, half-gone, half-wild with what you thought was need and impatience, to only fuck you – without his clever mouth and his careful hands, but he hadn’t said yes, no, had only grabbed your jaw and pressed a sucking kiss to the soft and sensitive skin beneath your ear. a promise, almost. and in a way, it had been.

“you remember?”

henry’s voice snapped you to attention, and when you looked up, his expression matched his darkened eyes, intense. something flared hot and needy in you, and with it, the desire to be open and dripping for him. he curled a hand in the small hairs on the back of your neck, stroking the skin there and, even briefly, allowed himself an indulgence in the pleasure he could get from a single touch, and rocked his hips.

“vividly,” you told him.

the flames, behind you, cast him entirely in silhouette, and his shadow projected forward and rose tall, stretched. a ruler, indeed.

his chest moved slow and purposefully, and when he released your hair, the lack of contact felt like a shock to the system. his hand closed around your forearm, “come here.”

the tone, hoarse and hushed and so quietly demanding, startled you, and you stood up so quickly that your head spun. henry placed his hands on your hips, steadying, ushering you back to where you belonged.

“just there.”

legs, parted, framing his waist. fabric, bunched between your thighs. breathing, slowed. a firm, calming weight, pinning you down. the firelight glinted in his eyes.

“henry,” you called. and the only thing to signal his movement was a bob of his adam’s apple. the cufflinks of his sleeves swayed and flickered. he hummed, neither affirmation nor disagreement and entered you with a grunt.

more. skin flushed. eyes crinkled and tightened. more. nails curled and scrabbled for purchase.

there, your name on his lips. it was disorienting – not so much a cry, or a whisper, but something between the two. henry always spoke carefully, as though each word should carry the most weight, so each syllable, in turn, he would construct and cut, meticulous and mathematical. but here, breathless and wanting, they rolled out in a steady litany, never faltering.

all fire and scorching, the pitch of it high and needy. to thrust and bruise, the idea fizzed bright and brilliant at the apex of your spine. with each snap of his hips, a part of him carved a piece of you out, and each ragged noise shook loose a piece of your skin. it would fit him perfectly. then he would slide right into those hollow spaces that swelled and throbbed, expanding beyond tolerance. in moments like these, you loved him – his body, his touch, his face, everything that could not be articulated.

“please,” you begged him, trying to curl around the ache, “i want-”

“i know, i know,” he murmured, with a tilt of his head. his hair, you noticed, had lost its immaculate shape, wild and frazzled by your fingers. your heart swelled and contracted: you wanted to do it again, over and over until his whole countenance resembled nothing more than that of a ravaged man. your power, the only thing you had over him. henry closed his eyes.

“spread your legs a little wider,”

a moan slipped when his tongue flicked and curled against the side of your neck, wet and sloppy. the sweet roll of his hips, his fingers pulling at the buttons of your attire and squeezing the fleshy swell of your buttocks. it was always too much.

you licked your lip, shaking when his teeth gently pinched. and, for a moment, the smell of pine permeated the room. as though it were his own sweat and the heady musk of his natural scent, and not a waning bottle of cologne.

“hold onto me,” henry whispered and allowed for nothing more, driving the movement out of your hands. the tempo spiraled upward. at the center, the tension was building. there was a moment of vertigo.

and it was easy enough, as things had always been between the two of you, to ignore the disjointed voices in the back of your mind. how when you two first kissed, it’d been without grace. how the rain fell, trickled, all around you, drowning the dryness in your throat. how the next day, he asked if you would regret what you’d done. and here, now, a different but striking feeling: the warm haze brought on by alcohol, his palms were hot, slick with sweat, his belt digging into you.

henry grunted and swore to a god neither of you had put much faith in. the flush on his cheeks was impossible not to reach out and touch, his eyebrow scarred with the same sort of smooth texture and fading red, his lashes, long and fine, flickering against the high edge of his cheekbones. i love you, you wanted to tell him, but the high struck you ruthlessly, turning you to liquid.

in the aftermath of this brief paradise, you shared a look.

“i still despise this weather,” you said.

henry’s mouth quirked. and what had been the impulsive dalliances of two desperate people became, once more, two lonely creatures with enough distance between to fill one of henry’s beloved epics. the quiet, in the wake of catharsis, was rather terrifying, and the clatter outside – the rain, the wind, and the cold – almost accusatory. he offered you a cigarette.

you took it without thank you and let him light it.

“should i drive you home?” he offered, voice raspy. his shirt had wrinkles and his collar sat funny. the skin beneath was pink, and there was the barest mark where you had sunk your teeth or dug a nail too hard. you bit the end of the filter, watching the flame waver before rising into ash.

“you’re drunk,” it felt necessary to remind him, though it never stopped him.

“do you want me to drive you home?” he asked again. a long pull and a thin veil of smoke.

“yes,” you said, “i’ll go wake bunny.”

“no,”

“no?”

“stop it.”

“stop what?”

“speaking of him,”

“has he done something?”

silence.

“henry?”

“leave it,” he said, but his tone was tight.

“alright. i’ll get my coat, then,”

“of course,” he murmured, standing slowly. you shouldn’t have seen him put his hand against the wall to steady himself, as though any drunken spell had fled, and with it, his equilibrium. the movement was both conscious and contrived, a fact of necessity, and not like the rest of him, braced by his surroundings and firm in stature. a self-constructed illusion, designed to project a set of attributes meant to create the atmosphere of authority. he embodied it well, but he was still, stripped of the mythos, simply human.

you watched him settle and raise his head with a gentle exhale. a mere lift of his shoulders, and he resembled a man in control, content, satisfied – everything henry was, and yet, within the façade, you could see the truth of his discomfort, recently, and without fault, brought upon by an uttered name.

in the upcoming months, you would understand and wonder if there was something you could have done or said to warn him of a future that was inevitable. no matter how many nights you had spent distressing over this question, the answer would always make itself obvious.

there was nothing you could have ever done.

thank you for reading !

[bl00dlight]

A Song of Shadow & Flame

CANON Dark! Aemond Targaryen x OC niece Targaryen. | SERIES

Warning; future chapters will include:

Graphic Violence, XXX content, Targcest, Spoilers, Canon depravity, death and war, troubling being afoot, menacing, mischief making, genocide, murder, blood, guts, dragons etc.

Word Count ~ 2k+

Index

i ●ii ● iii ● iv ● v ● vi● vii ● viii ●ix ● x ● xi ● xii ● xiii ● xiv ● xv

Prelude ~

Princess Visenya Velaryon, had always been cited as a fair & bold creature. Born in 111AC, a smile that gleamed with mischief adorned her face, marking her most like her mother Rhaenyra. She was, indeed, the picture of a Valyrian Princess, the picture of her mother – with wide eyes and demure glances which hid the current of cunning beneath. She was a but harmless thing, playful at best, impish at worse; at least so far as her grandsire King Viserys thought. Proclaimed as the Laenor Velaryon’s only daughter – the Princess did not inherit her father’s deeper skin or the ringed seafoam shaded locks of Velaryon women. Visenya in fact, did not possess many of House Velaryon' traits, both of the body and mind she seemed of true Targaryen stock, and it was but her mother Rhaenyra who knew, the young princess indeed was just that. Visenya’s impish glares and taunts were alike to that of The Rouge Prince, and to the common Lord or Lady of the court, one might think she inherited such a trait from her mother’s uncle. However, other more insidious rumours deemed Visenya a bastard of Prince Daemon’s, conceived by her mother unknowingly, right before she had wed Ser Leanor. Such rumours would be deemed, most truthful.

i - 'Old Wounds'

123 AC ~

The Princess Visenya, having but defying her mothers’ orders found her way to the Dragonpits alone, once more. She snuck through the winding caverns the soft glow of firelight shading the stone walls, her crimson dress dragging along the volcanic sand below. It was a soothing place, she thought, the warmth of the air… the smell of dragonfire which would linger upon one’s flesh, the gentle growls, and mummers of stirring Dragons. A place in which only a Targaryen might feel at ease. However, it was not the mummers of waking dragons which echoed through the caves in which Visenya heard. Her head peaked, her brow furrowing in confusion as she heard stifled sobs. Wrathful sobs.

She walked with caution, following the solemn sound until she stumbled upon him. The silver haired boy with his knees to his chest, his fists tightly scrunched. She stopped, taking in the sight, a most startling one for the Princess. Aemond.

It was only but a few hours ago that she had heard of her half-brother’s marvellous prank, allying with their eldest Uncle, Prince Aegon; to give Prince Aemond a pig instead of a dragon, to lure and taunt him just to see his face fall from glee to humiliation. Visenya had coiled with hearty laughter as her brother’s recounted the story, she longed to have been there, to see the propitious Prince Aemond faulter. However, her joy was shortly curtailed as Aemond had stumbled upon the scene, the imprint of his stern furrow upon hearing Visenya’s laughter still within her mind. Indeed, the sight she saw before her now, was unlike his affectedly stern façade – it was weak, crumbling, hurt.

The young Princess approached him softly, her face washed with a slight uncertainty.

“Aemond?” Her voice echoed quietly.

Aemond lifted his chin. A thin veil of tears dampened his lashes, his eyes red, bloodshot, and heavy with sorrow. In response, the prince simply glanced down, his expression sullen.

"I’ve no interested in your gloating." He said.

The silver haired girl raised an eyebrow. Her mouth curved upwards in a bemused smirk. "Why would I gloat? It was a rather clever prank. Regardless, it was not I who did it."

The prince’s fists clenched. His knuckles turning white as he looked up at her, his grey eyes glaring. "Yet you snickered all the same, you all laughed at my expense! I cannot forget what you all did to me, how you all..." His voice trailed off, his gaze falling to his fists. When he looked back at her, there were fresh dampness under his cheeks as his expression turn bitter.

“Leave. I should not like you reporting back to your brothers the details of my misery.” His voice a low warning.

“I had no intention to.” Visenya raised her brow, her arms folded. As she looked upon the prince she couldn’t help feeling a flicker of pity, his gaze so bitter… so wrathful. She sighed, coming down to sit beside him.

“It was a mere jest. Do not tear yourself to bits over it. Your thoughts are far harsher than the truth of it.” Her attempt at sympathy making her cringe.

“You know nothing of my thoughts!” Aemond snapped.

The air settled between them for a moment, the silence brutal as she looked to him, her hand hesitantly placing itself on his shoulder. Aemond snapped his head, his eyes narrowing as he brushed her hand away.

“I do not need your pity.” His tone curt.

The princess rose, scoffing as she extended her hand to him below. “Get up.” She spoke promptly.

His face coiled with both refusal and confusion. “What?” He snapped.

“I said, get up. If you do not need my pity, so be it. But I cannot stand to listen to your whining any longer. Come, I am visiting Silverwing, and you shall be my torch bearer.” She smiled mischievously, her hand lifting him up, then walking to another torch mounted on the stone walls, using it’s flame to set hers alight.

Visenya walked back, forcing the rough trunk of wood into his hand. “No- “His voice grating as she then shoved her hand upon his mouth. His eyes wide with shock as she crooned into his face.

“Enough of your sulking. Come. You wish for a Dragon, no? Then you ought to learn how to tend to one.”

She pulled him with her, further into the dark caverns of the Dragonpit until they came to Silverwing’s lair. “Silverwing, māzigon naejot nyke.” Visenya cooed.  Silverwing, come to me.

The sudden shake of the earth bellow accompanied the grumbling of the large beast, her silver scales gleaming by the flickering torch light. Visenya turned, glancing at Aemond, his eyes like moons boring into her dragon.

She watched as he stepped back, his neck tilting upwards, the breeze hitting his silver hair. A smug smile came to Visenya’s lips as she turned to Aemond. His face was still set in stone, his gaze hardening as he watched the great beast. "So," the princess prompted, "Are you going to pet her? Or shall you remain sulking?”

Aemond's lips parted, he was about to make a snide remark before sighing. "Of course not." He walked closer to the dragon, standing a few feet away from her. The beast was enormous, the sheer size of her body dominating the wide cave, her lithe yet robust frame looming over the two young Targaryen’s. Silverwing's grey head looked down at him, her eyes narrowing. The prince had not stopped to wonder how the dragon would react. Aemond grumbled under his breath, then took a hesitant step forward. He looked at the dragon, its shining silver scales glinting in the dim light, his breathing hitched. The Prince could not help his anxiety, he had never been so close to a dragon before… never felt its hot breath warm his skin. He moved closer, swallowing a ball in his throat.

Aemond had taken another step forward when Silverwing's body rattled with warning, her low growls causing his steps to falter, his hand tightening on the base of the torch. He would not allow himself to look away, he would not show fear, nor would he retreat. The torch cast a long shadow upon the cave walls, Silverwing’s breath rapidly increasing as he moved closer, her nostrils flaring with each exhale. The dragon's eyes did not stray from the young prince, studying his every movement as Visenya let out a soft chuckle, revelling in his rattled stance.

"She shall not bite you." An amused smirk curled upon her lips. "Silverwing, māzigon." she cooed. The dragon's head turned, her eyes focusing on the princess before she did so.

"There, you see?" Visenya asked, she looked over to him, a small part of her finding the utmost enjoyment in the nervous expression he wore. The dragon raised her chin, letting out a soft whisp of hot air from her nostrils.

Visenya’s amusement brought no pleasure to Aemond, his expression taut, his neck tilting up to look at the dragon approaching him. The dragon halted, lowering its head almost appearing as though it were sneering at the young prince. Aemond stilled, taking one step back as Silverwing’s jaw neared him. Visenya’s eyes wide with an intrigue as she watched her dragon interact with her uncle. Silverwing was indeed, sizing him out. Aemond’s chest rose, and with that he stepped back once more, folding his arm as though he were unimpressed with the beast’s size. Silverwing giving out a soft huff as she moved, her large head nudging against Visenya.

“She was Queen Alysanne’s dragon.” Aemond spoke matter-of-factly.

“You know of her histories?” The princess raised her brow.

“Unlike you, I have decidedly taken an interest in our House’s legacy. It apart of our duty.” Aemond replied, firmly.

Visenya scoffed, turning as she sauntered towards him, her arms folded as a smug smile appeared upon her lips. “I am far too busy actually flying and tending to my dragon to have time to reading of other Targaryen’s doing the same.” Her voice haughty.

“I have yet to see you do such a thing.” He furrowed his brow in disbelief.

Aemond watched as Visenya placed a gentle hand upon Silverwing, whispering a soft farewell before they exited her lair, the princess spoke smugly, “Yes, well I do not expect you to pay much attention to my doings. Regardless, I am already rather adapt, Daemon said I did not need a saddle so-“

“Daemon?” Aemond raised his brow, and Visenya shrugged, nonchalantly about the fact. “Yes.”

The young prince furrowed his brow in deep disapproval, his stern demeanour returning as he stopped, Visenya turning as he spoke.

“Uncle should know better than to allow such a thing.” He barked. Visenya stepped forward scoffing. “So? Those bloody Maesters- “

Aemond stepped closer, his voice overlapping hers. “Those Maesters are doing their duty in making sure you are equipped to ride properly. You ought not to be going on saddleless joyrides with Uncle Daemon.” The Prince stared sharply, unyielding.

“Are you to tell on me?” The princess gritted her teeth.

A disenfranchised look came to Aemond’s face, he spoke more like a father scolding his daughter than a boy of her own age “Daemon is not fit to minding you. You are a Princess of the Relam, if anything were to happen-“

Princess Visenya’s eyes widened in both panic and fury, she could not have the precious time she spent with her father ruined by Aemond’s incessant need to dob. “But nothing did happen! If you dare speak a word of this I shall tell my brothers that I had caught you sobbing and sulking in the Dragonpits all by yourself… like a helpless, pathetic babe whining for its mother.” She interrupted.

“Do not dare.” He sneered, his gaze lowering.

“Swear you shall not tell.” Her voice raised, stern. Silence fell between the two as their gazes pierced into each other, they stood opposed in the darkened space. “Swear it.” Her tone sharp.

He said nothing, the silence lingered as he felt his strength faulter. “Fine.”

The two Targaryen’s did not speak again as they walked up out from the Pit’s entrance. Visenya’s eyes expanding in a deep trepidation as she was met with the folded arms of her mother, Rhaneyra’s face stern. “It may please you to know that you’ve had every guard and servant forced to abandon their duties so they may search for you.” Rhaneyra’s voice echoed at the carven entrance, her head tilted downwards as she gazed into the calculatedly soft eyes of her daughter.

“I had told you where I wished to go.” Visenya lowered her gaze in sweet self-admittance as her mother shook her head.

Rhaenyra spoke firmly to remind the young Princess her mother was indeed, well aware of her charmed tongue, often used to evade trouble. "And I had told you no more leisure trips to the Dragonpits without an escort.” Rhaneyra’s doubled down as the young Princess protested. “But mother- “

Rhaneyra’s tone softens as she steps forward, placing a hand upon her daughter's shoulder. “Visenya, I worry for you.”

Visenya turned her head, gesturing to the seemly meek Aemond which stood behind her “But I was not alone. Prince Aemond had accompanied me.” Visenya gave the young prince a narrowing gaze, subliminally signalling for him to nod; he did. The future Queen could not help but tilt her head, a small warmth in her chest as finally, it seemed there may be hope for some level of kinship between her own and Alicent’s children.

Rhaenyra regained focused once more, her voice almost lenient, “Aemond is but a year your prior and the King’s young son no less, tis not his duty to protect you. And while I am glad of the peace the two of you have forged...” Rhaenyra sighed softly, and shook her head a little, clearly unimpressed. “I will not have my only daughter risking her life to get to the Dragonpits, without a proper escort. The streets are most unpredictable, my girl.” She shuddered.

“I did not take the streets.” Visenya protested, a small smile upon her face as though the news would be pleasing to her.

Rhaenyra frowned, stepping forward to Aemond as her concern reignited as she gazed at them both, “You took the passages?" She leaned towards her daughter, her voice hushed so that her half-brother would not hear. "I ought to have the mind to bar you in your chambers until the moon turns!” Rhaneyra's tone hardened once more.

Visenya looked down, her gaze ruminating on the floor as her mother’s tone grew stern, there was a pause; she felt embarrassment coil within her, why must mother do this in front of him, she thought. Rhaenyra sighed as she noted her daughter’s meek demeanour she let her frustration dissipate, she did not dare scold her own child in front of her half-brother.  Aemond noticed the tension ease between them, he remained still, his arms held behind his back as he watched Visenya. Satisfaction bloomed within him; he’d never seen her so… passive.  

Rhaenyra yielded, her tone softening, “You must take an escort, sweet girl. I’ve little desire to strip you of your freedoms, so do not force me to do so.” Visenya looked up, her pale violet eyes meeting those of her mother, Rhaenyra placed a gentle hand upon her daughter’s head, stroking her silver hair.

Visenya gave a small and conceded, “Yes, mother…”

As the moment came to an end, Rhaneyra’s gaze came to the young green prince before her, Alicent’s son… her father’s son… her younger brother.

Aemond shuffled under his sister’s gaze, they had hardly ever spoken all he knew was that she bore bastards, that she was the King’s favoured child. Rhaenyra spoke again, clearing her throat. “Come, the both of you. I fear the Queen, has sent for your whereabouts, Aemond.”

With that, the three Targaryen's took to exit the Dragonpits, not another word was uttered.

○ii○

[godidontevenknowwhat]

Lessons of life

Tonowari x Metkayina!Reader (Sequel to Missed Lessons)

A/N: Listen I know I said Missed Lessons was my Magnum Opus but I'm starting to think that writing for Tonowari in general might be my Magnum Opus, also if you saw me accidentally post this unfinished then no you didn't. Also not that anyone asked but Obstacles by Syd Matters and Look at you by Screaming Trees are Tonowari and Reader's songs in my head. Also also the smut is very little of this fic so if you're here for smut without plot this is not for you. And in case you haven't noticed my fics are never beta read so just act like any mistakes aren't there.

Synopsis: 35 cycles, almost 36, of being Tonowari's closest friend was enough to ensure a familiarity with everything in his life. The walls of his Marui, weaved by hand by his grandfather's father contained intricate patterns that you could trace in the sand from memory. The permanent markings covering his body, each with a story you knew from start to finish although it was rare the story didn't involve you in some capacity. The way people looked at him since becoming Olo'eyktan. Before your heat came, before Tonowari laid you in the sand and made you his.. you never would have believed that familiarity would ever fade. The walls of his Marui are now the walls of yours as well, the pattern's swirls seemingly different to how they were in your childhood. His newest marking, familiar? Yes, a marking to show your mating with a matching one adorning your own body but still, it looked out of place in its freshness amongst the faded and settled ones you had seen for many cycles. The way people looked at him, at Tonowari, your Tonowari.. they now looked at you the same way. His mate, the woman carrying his child.

Fic includes: NSFW so MDNI, pregnancy, mentions of childbirth (mostly talk of pushing, contractions etc and then mentions of the baby coming into the world but nothing graphic), pregnant sex, fingering, squirting because I can't write smut without it, p in v, reader on top because she is quite far along, themes of insecurity from Tonowari and Reader (Tonowari's insecurity of being leader that I totally made up and Reader's insecurity of her relationship with Tonowari), hints of a strained relationship between Ao'nung and Reader, hints of Jake and Reader being besties because it felt right in my heart, a little surprise at the end 🤭, 3.6k overall

Tagging: @torukmaktoskxawng @itchaboi-itchyboy @xylianasblog @pandoraslxna @eywaite @neteyamsyawntu @shadowmoonlight0604 @name-saken @anxious7sami @oakbuggy

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Contraction. Deep breath. Hold. Push.

Sweat beads on your forehead and covers your body in a thin sheen. The morning sun beats down on you and despite your position in the cool rippling water you are burning from exertion. 

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Contraction. Deep breath. Hold. Push.

Every noise around you seems muffled, as if you have your hands over your ears to block them out. You don’t hear the Tsahik finishing her blessings from Eywa, you don’t hear the encouraging words of your clan from the water’s edge or the rumbling echoes of clicks and bellows from the Tulkun in the deep water. Even your own cries are dampened in your ears as your blood pounds.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Contraction. Deep breath. Hold. Push.

Hands land on your shoulders and you jolt out of the daze of your own mind. Your eyes lift from where they were focussed on the lapping waves against your round belly. Meeting Tonowari's eyes you can’t hold back the sob that rips from your throat, the pain was unlike any you had ever experienced. It was a consuming pain, running through every nerve of your body. You try to distract yourself with the way the morning sun hits his eyes, their beautiful blue hue sparkling with specks of turquoise and deep cerulean. 

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Contraction. Deep breath. Hold. Push.

Tonowari moves his hands to your face, cupping your tear-dampened cheeks in the palms of his large hands. You see his lips moving as he asks you about making the bond with him and despite the pain running through you, you shake your head at the suggestion not wanting your mate to be forced to experience the same pain you are. A conscious part of your brain, not consumed by the pain, is overly aware of the eyes on you both and it aches at the thought of making your mate experience pain so openly in front of the clan.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Contraction. Deep breath. Hold. Push.

Keeping a hold of your face, Tonowari reaches for his kuru and presents it to you, accepting your choice but giving you the option to change your mind if you need to. You stare into the eyes of your mate, his action washing away any negative thoughts your nagging insecurity might have washed to the front of your brain and you nod numbly, accepting his offer.

Tonowari presses his forehead to your own as he connects your kuru with his, the little pink swirling tendrils tying together and connecting you both through mind, body and soul. Eyes clenching shut he embraces your pain as if it's his own, sharing the pain of bringing your beautiful baby into the world. 

Images pass behind your eyes in a way that you imagine is similar to what Tsyeyk Suli had called a ‘moo-vee’ one day while discussing his life before his consciousness transfer through Eywa. Memories and feelings so deeply embedded that they can only be brought forward through such a profound connection. Tonowari’s eyes water, whether from your pain now being shared with him or from the onslaught of memories detailing your life together through every twist and turn, you can’t be sure.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Contraction. Deep breath. Hold. Push.

🌿

“Tonowari” 

He remembers the low baritone of his father’s voice vibrating in his ears which lowered in shame at his tone. He’d been caught daydreaming instead of paying attention to his father's words once again. Words of his future, how his father was aging and Tonowari would soon have to lead the clan. 

Pressure, pressure was what it was. A pressure filled promise of a future set in stone that he would never be able to shake, even if it’s all that his adolescent brain wanted.

A deep sigh made him turn to his father, the look on his face making his stomach turn, a look of disappointment that he would one day be just as masterful at dealing out to his own children albeit not without a simmer of shame.

“You may go, your little friend is waiting for you”

Ears shooting up with surprise, his wide eyes looked at his father. He didn’t understand the position he was in back then, not like he does now. If he could go back he always said he would take it easier on his dad, let up on him a bit for being so uptight. 

He remembers running from his Marui, running to you where you were waiting for him in the afternoon sun. Your hair was loose that day, unbraided and unstyled with a rogueness that was uniquely yours. You smiled at him, bright and beautiful as you told him about a place you wanted to take him.

An outcrop, one you had to swim to from the other side of the island where Awa’latlu rested. A place that would hold significance in your lives throughout cycles and cycles. The place where you would create new life to add to yours.

🌿

“Skxawng!”

You remember the offended look that Tonowari shoots at you, your hands weaving a delicate shining shell into his songcord with practiced perfection. 

The dark ink of his newest permanent marking is shocking against his skin, covered in a layer of healing salve from the Tsahik. 

He was banned from the water, not allowed to get the marking wet or soak it for the next few days so he’s stuck making up his excess time by attending duties with you, annoying you through your daily tasks.

You didn’t realise at the time that Tonowari was happier by your side, watching you work on various duties, than he was in the water with the weight of being the Eykyu (Leader) of the tarpongu (hunting party). 

You didn’t realise at the time that Tonowari was a different person with you.

🌿

“Tonowari”

He remembers the shake in your voice, the quiver of your bottom lip as you stared up at him and the tears gathering on your lash line that threatened to spill over. 

You were standing off to the side of him and his group of friends who were sitting around a fire. They were talking about something stupid, laughing and smiling. He was relaxed, as much as he could be while knowing he was about to become the Olo’eyktan. 

These friends would soon grow to look at him differently, look at him as their leader and not the boy they grew up with but you.. you never looked at him as anything other than himself.

Laughter roused from the group as Tonowari practically sprinted to your side to check on you. He can’t recall why you were crying, why you needed him but he remembers the panic that spread through him when he saw your tears finally spill over and dampen your cheeks.

He didn’t realise at the time that your tears finally spilled not from what had actually gotten you so worked up but from the guilt of pulling him away from his other friends, from making them laugh at him because of you.

🌿

“Skxawng” 

You remember calling Tonowari that as he shifted once more from the feeling of your hands on his body. At the time you were annoyed. Your hands were aching from grinding up iridescent shells to make the unique paint in front of you and no part of your mind would have thought that your best friend of 21 cycles was being so inconsiderately mobile because the feeling of your hands on his body was meaningful to him in any other way than just painting him for his ceremony. 

The swirls you painted were purposefully reminiscent of the weaving swirls throughout his Marui, a place you had spent a majority of your childhood together in, and the paint you had made for this momentous occasion was dazzling. Fit for the Olo’eyktan to be that was sitting before you. 

Fit for your best friend.

🌿

“Tonowari!”

He remembers the cheers of excitement from the clan around him, a grin spreading across his own face to match the ones he could see in the crowd as the Tsahik announced him the new Olo’eyktan in the presence and blessing of the Great Mother.

The weight of the ceremonial cape on his shoulders was a fitting physical representation of the metaphorical weight he had worn for cycles before becoming clan leader and that he would continue to wear cycles on from now.

He remembers pressing his forehead to the Tsahik’s in a respectful display before doing the same with his father, who for the first time in his lifetime seemed to be just that. Not Olo’eyktan now, not a leader or a role model but his father.

He turned to face the crowd, eyes meeting yours from a distance and he allowed himself to look at you, really looking at you.

He remembers a shock going through him at how beautiful you were, light shining on you as if Eywa herself had parted the clouds to let it highlight you amongst the rest of the clan.

He wondered at the time when you’d become so beautiful, when he’d become immune to noticing it. Wondered when your hair had grown from the choppy little cut you ran around with as a teenager to the carefully braided and styled way you were now wearing it. Wondered when you had grown into your body, when you’d developed into a woman with enticing softness and eye catching curves.

He was whisked away before he could speak to you, taken to the side by his mother and father. Shown off to the parents of the Tsakarem, Ronal, someone who he'd always known as Tonowari but was now having to get to know all over again as Olo’eyktan.

🌿

“Thank the Great Mother he doesn’t look like you, Skxawng..”

You remember the embarrassing shake of your voice as you held Ao’nung in your arms, Tonowari’s first born, so small and sweet. Looking so much like his mother Ronal. You wondered in that moment if he’d grow up to possess the same fierceness as his mother, the same bite in his words and bone chilling scowl that she shot at those who angered her.

You didn’t realise at the time looking down at his small, content face that he'd one day turn his mother's fierceness towards you. Throwing out sharp words just to hurt you, questioning you and accusing you of trying to replace his mother when he found out about the life you and his father had created.

🌿

“Tonowari”

He remembers the whisper of your voice behind him as he looked over the Suli family from the Omatikaya. The way your eyes met his own sent a shiver down his spine. It had been cycles at that point since you had called him by his name, a friendship once as strong as the waves of the ocean beyond the reef now settled like gentle ripples.

Your eyes sent him back to his childhood, to a time where you could speak without saying anything, to a time where he was closest to you.

He didn’t realise at that moment how much he really loved you, how much he had loved you his whole life. How the love he had for you was strong enough to cripple him, make him drop to his knees in front of the clan and scream it until his voice was rendered hoarse. 

He remembers your eyes flicking to Tsyeyk and how he looked at you, pleading. Your eyes took in the children surrounding Neytiri and Tsyeyk, full of warmth and kindness you had gained over many cycles before they shot to his own once again. Without words he knew what you were saying to him and he agreed.

Despite facing away from you to address the clan he could hear the grin in your voice as you spoke to the Suli family and it took the strength of a leader that he had become more used to possessing to hide his own grin at the sound.

🌿

“Ma’Yawntu”

He remembers calling you that for the first time not even a full cycle ago. His hands were on your shoulders as he begged you to look at him and calm down.

You had both returned from your outcrop, your mixed scents and day long disappearance a dead giveaway to what had taken place. 

The Tsahik had approached you both to confirm that you had mated before Eywa and before you had time to truly grasp what this all meant there was an announcement to the Metkayina of their Olo’eyktan taking a new mate. Your mind had finally cleared from your heat only to be bombarded by the reaction of your clan.

He remembers you nodding through the words of the clan, accepting offers from the finest performers of Tā moko (permanent marking/tattooing) to design your Moko Kauae (tattoo on lips and chin of women) to represent your new status amongst the Metkayina. Remembers the Tsahik announcing that there would be a handfasting ceremony in the village wharenui (village meeting hall). 

He remembers your breathing starting to pick up, your eyes shifting amongst the many smiling faces before you as you excused yourself and practically ran to your Marui. Practically ran from him.

He approached you a while later, only delayed by having to speak with the Tsahik, finding your curled up form shaking on your bed roll. He remembers gripping onto you and begging you to listen to him. 

He remembers the look of relief that flashed across your face as he called you his love and he vowed in that moment, privately and to himself, that he’d never let you go for another moment without knowing well and true how much he loved you.

🌿

“Ma’Tonowari”

You remember the first time it slipped it, the first time you called him yours in front of someone else. 

Your hand was clenched around his own large, rough hand and looking back you’re surprised at the lack of reaction he had to your bone-breaking grip. 

You’d received Tā moko before, different permanent markings covering your body in different positions and locations but your Moko Kauae was giving you more trouble than you had hoped. The Tsahik had warned you before-hand that your pregnancy might make your body more sensitive to stimulation, painful or pleasurable.

You had no time to be embarrassed, no time to overthink about what the others in the Tā moko whare (Permanent Marking/Tattoo building) may think of your exclamation because, before any of that could happen, Tonowari pressed a kiss against the back of the hand that was squeezing the life out of his own. Grounding you instantly and keeping your brain with him rather than with anyone else. 

His eyes trailed the marking being placed onto your skin, a matching Tā moko throbbing on his chest directly above his heart to show his dedication and love for you that he’d experienced for years, finally immortalised on his body.

🌿

“Ma’Tsmuke!”

He remembers the squeal of excitement in your voice as you did your best to make your way to the water quickly, your heavy stomach making your pace more underwhelming than it was in your head. 

You’d joined him on a Tsurak as he guided you both to where the Metkayina’s spirit brother’s and sister's were gathered.

He remembers speaking with his Tulkun, his brother. Telling him the tale of your mating and the baby in your belly that was his for you to bear. Remembers watching you swim with your sister, the water taking your weight and making your movements smoother once more. 

You had waved him over, presented him in front of your spirit sister in a way that made him flush. He had attributed your gushing words about his strength and how much you loved him to your pregnancy making you more emotional than usual.

He didn’t know at the time that your spirit sister was the only one you felt truly comfortable expressing your pure emotions to other than him. Didn’t know that through the polite smiles and nods at the members of the Metkayina that congratulated you both was a crippling insecurity that used its ugly voice to drag you down. 

🌿

“Ma’Yawntu..”

You remember the tired edge to his voice as he entered your Marui for the night. The puffiness of the bags under his eyes almost brought tears to your own as he sat beside you on your shared bed roll. 

The day had been long, the tarpongu (hunting party) returning almost empty-handed due to an unexpected Akula in the hunting area and Tonowari blamed himself for every lost fish from the catch and every injury that dotted the bodies of the hunters.

Your own day had been strenuous but nothing could compare to the strength of Tonowari’s ability to blame himself for clan matters. 

You remember offering him your kuru, silently telling him you wanted to share his worries and pain while sharing your love and reassurance.

You didn’t realise at that moment Tonowari was convinced you were the most incredibly beautiful thing he had ever seen. Hand outstretched presenting your kuru to him like a gift, large concerned eyes gazing at him with a sea full of love swimming inside them and belly swollen with his child.

🌿

“M-Ma’Wari..”

He remembers the desperate whimper trembling from your lips as he rolled your overly sensitive clit between his fingers, bullying another orgasm out of you that made your eyes roll back in your head and your legs shake.

It had started when you had complained about your appearance, something stupid about the swell of your pregnant stomach and full breasts that Tonowari had taken personal offense to.

Two of his thick fingers collect the slick drooling from your puffy cunt and teasingly circle your entrance before sinking inside you deep enough to brush against your g-spot on their first thrust. 

He remembers your hands desperately searching for something to grip on to, one settling in his hair where it gripped hard enough to sting his scalp and the other clenching your bed roll into a fist. His lips trailed from your sweat slick neck, heavily marked by his nips and sucks to your full breasts, latching you your tender nipple and twirling his tongue around it in a practiced motion that made your voice weak every time.

Your pussy clenched around his fingers as you begged for a break before you released a heavy squirt, your orgasm dragged out by his insistent press against your clit. 

He had given you room to breathe while he admired the wet spot you left on the bed roll because of him, your swollen cunt twitching with overstimulation and your body trembling from his actions.

Your pregnancy had subdued you slightly, made you a little more pliable and submissive just like the heat that got you pregnant in the first place had but it didn’t subdue you enough to stop you from sending Tonowari back with a shove until his back met the bed roll.

“Skxawng”

You both remembered the roll of his eyes, the smiles on your faces as you sank down on him, holding yourself up with whatever effort you could muster as you took his cock. The stretch was still a pleasurable burn despite the amount of times he had split you open on him during your pregnancy.

Tonowari stared up at you like you were Eywa herself above him, the evening sun lighting you from behind and creating a beautiful image, one he’d remember forever. 

“N-nga yawne lu oer”

You had beaten him to saying it again.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Contraction. Deep breath. Hold. Push.

A relieved sob rips out of your throat at your final push and you very nearly collapse into the arms of your mate who stands before you, eyes no longer focussing solely on you but also on the beautiful baby that your body had made for you both.

One of his large hands stays supporting you at the waist while the other reaches into the water, helping the sweet little life reach the surface for their first breath. Tears of happiness form in his eyes at the sight of his beautiful baby taking their first big gulp of air.

The Tsahik works quickly to remove the shawl placed around you from your shoulders, a shawl that all of the members of the clan had a form of contribution to, whether through harvesting materials or weaving. Wrapping the baby into the shawl, a metaphorical hug from the clan embracing them as your own arms embrace them in the loving hold of their mother. 

Meeting Tonowari's eyes you pass him your precious baby, the life you made together and you can’t hold back your grin at the way his arms make the baby look even smaller than they feel in your own. 

Looking to the edge of the water, your clan surrounds you and for the first time since mating with Tonowari you don’t question your position. 

Eyes meeting Ao’nung’s you can see the apology and pride for you in his own before he can even consider saying anything out loud. You send him a relaxed smile in understanding, the exchange going unnoticed by everyone except the two of you.

“Have you prepared a name to announce to the clan?” 

The Tsahik’s words send your brain on the search once more and when your eyes land upon Tsyeyk Suli standing amongst your clan, your brother's and sister’s, his mate and children by his side but missing a member, you know that your decision is made.

Tonowari raises his arms above his head, cradling your brand new baby in his hands as gently as he’s ever held anything before. The sound of excitement runs through the members of the clan who can see their Olo’eyktan’s new baby.

The low baritone of Tonowari's voice rings out, loud enough for the clan, the Tulkun and even Eywa herself to hear as he announces the name of your son.

“Neteyam!”

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Vice surrenders

I'm on tour with my new novel The Bezzle! Catch me TONIGHT in LA with Adam Conover at Vroman's, then on MONDAY in Seattle with Neal Stephenson, then Portland, Phoenix and more!

Vice died the way it lived: being suckered in by smarter predators, even as it trained its own predatory instincts on those more credulous than its own supremely gullible leadership. RIP, we hardly knew ye.

For those of you who don't know, Vice was a Canadian media success story. It was founded by a motley clique of hipsters, one of whom – founder of the Proud Boys – has since grown to be one of the world's great fascism influencers. Another perfected the art of getting young people to work "for exposure" even as he built a massive, highly lucrative media empire on their free labor:

https://www.canadaland.com/podcast/vice-oral-history/

Eventually, Vice transitioned to a string of progressively worsening corporate owners, each more dishonest, predatory – and gullible – than the last. The company was one of the most enthusiastic marks for Facebook's infamous "pivot to video" – in which Mark Zuckerberg destroyed half the media industry by tricking them into thinking that the public was clamoring for video content, based on fraudulent viewing numbers:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pivot_to_video

Vice went all-in on video, spending hundreds of millions to finance Zuckerberg's doomed attempt to conquer Youtube. But unlike other the rubes who got zucked, Vice found greater fools to scam, convincing giant, slow-moving meidia companies that the best way to get in on the Next Big Thing was to shower them with vast sums of string-free money:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Viceland_(Canadian_TV_channel)

And yet, at every turn, through a succession of increasingly incompetent owners who bought the stumbling, declining Vice at fire-sale prices and then proceeded to hack away at the wages and tools its journalists depended on while paying executives salaries so high that they beggared the imagination, Vice's reporters continued to turn out stellar material.

This went on literally until the last moment. The memorial posted by 404 Media rounds up a selection of major stories Vice's beleaguered, precarious writers produced even as Vice's vulture capitalist leadership were pulling the rug out from under them:

https://www.404media.co/behind-the-blog-vices-legacy-and-the-idea-that-the-internet-is-forever/

True to form, those private equity scumbags locked all those workers out of the company's CMS without notice – and then forgot to lock down the podcasting back-end. That allowed a group of Vice veterans – Matthew Gault, Emily Lipstein, Anna Merlan, Tim Marchman and Mack Lamoureux – to gather for a totally unauthorized, tell-all session that they pushed out on an official Vice channel:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TKT4OtDEJRA

It's a hell of a listen. Not only do these Vice veterans have lots of fascinating history to recount, but they also describe the conditions under which those blockbuster stories of Vice's final days were produced. As the "visionary leaders" of the company paid themselves millions, they halted payments to key suppliers, from Lexisnexis to the interview transcription service the writers depended on. Writers paid out of pocket to search PACER court records.

Not only did Vice's reporters do incredible work under terrible and worsening circumstances, but the Vice writers who got out ahead of the total collapse are also doing incredible work. 404 Media is a writer-owned investigative news publisher founded by four Vice escapees – Samantha Cole, Jason Koebler, Emanuel Maiberg and Joseph Cox, which is both producing incredible work and sustaining the writers who founded it:

https://www.404media.co/

All of which leads to an inescapable conclusion: whatever problems Vice had, they didn't include "writers don't do productive work" and also didn't include "that work isn't economically viable*. Whatever problems Vice had, they weren't problems with Vice's workers – it was a problem with Vice's bosses.

Which makes Vice's final, ignominious punishment at the hands of those bosses even more brutal, stupid and inexcusable. According to the leaked memos emanating from the company's investors and their millionaire C-suite toadies, the business's new strategy is abandoning their website in order to publish on social media.

This is…I mean, this,..

This is…

Wow.

I mean, wow.

The thing is, the social media business model is a giant rug-pull. They're not even bothering to hide their playbook anymore. For social media, the game is to encourage media companies to become reliant on third parties to reach their audiences. Once that reliance is established, the companies turn down – or even halt – the ability of those media companies to reach their audience altogether. Then, they charge the media companies to reach their audiences:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/06/save-news-we-need-end-end-web

Now, this wasn't always quite so obvious. Back when Vice was falling for Facebook's "pivot to video," it wasn't completely obvious that the long con was to take your audience hostage and ransom them back to you. But deliberately organizing your business to be reliant on social media barons today? It's like trusting your money to Sam Bankman-Fried…in 2024.

If there was ever a moment when the obvious, catastrophic, imminent risk of trusting Big Tech intermediaries to sit between you and your customers or audience, it was now. This is not the moment to be "social first." This is the moment for POSSE (Post Own Site, Share Everywhere), a strategy that sees social media as a strategy for bringing readers to channels that you control:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/19/now-we-are-two/#two-much-posse

Predicting that a social media platform will rug the media companies that depend on it today doesn't take a Sun Tzu – as cunning strategies go, the hamfisted tactics of FB, Twitter and Tiktok make gambits like "Lucy and the football" look like von Clausewitz.

The most bonkers part of this strategy is that it's coming from private equity bosses, who laud themselves as the great strategists of the 21st century, whose claim on so much of our global capital and resources is derived from their brilliant insight, which allows them to buy "distressed assets" like Vice, "restructure" them to find "efficiencies" and sell them on.

The reality is that PE goons – like other financiers – are basically herding animals. Everyone's hit on the tactic of buying up beloved media companies – from the 150-year-old Popular Science to modern publications like CNet – and then filling them with spammy garbage in the hopes that Google will fail to notice and continue to award them pride-of-place on search results pages:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/21/im-feeling-unlucky/#not-up-to-the-task

The fact that these billionaire brain-geniuses can't figure out how to "turn around" a site whose workers a) produce brilliant, popular, successful work; and b) depart to found successful firms that commercialize that work tells you everything about their ability to spot "a good business opportunity."

PE – like other mafiosi – only have one business-plan, the "bust out," where you invade a business that produces useful things, force them to pay your chosen suppliers sky-high fees for things they don't need, extract massive fees for your "management" and then walk away from the collapse:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/02/plunderers/#farben

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/24/anti-posse/#when-you-absolutely-positively-dont-give-a-solitary-single-fuck

[dailycass-cain]

2023 was another big stepping stone with Cass. The character was featured in A LOT of stuff this year amongst a few negative antics.

But unlike prior years the good really outweighed the bad. BY A LOT.

So let's take a look back one final time #CAINAISSANCE2023...

The year started STRONG with the release of Batgirls #14 aka the BEST solo story that involved the character this year.

I've gone in LENGTH on how AMAZING this tale was. If you haven't read it DO SO. You don't need any context but to just take in the masterpiece given.

Writers Becky Cloonan and Michael Conrad gave artist Jonathan Case just this canvas of an issue to tell AN EPIC mostly silent issue.

If there's a tale Batgirls will be remembered for it'll BE THIS ISSUE.

I've lost count to just taking in the gorgeous art Case delivers here and just letting the actions and emotions tell the tale.

The only regret is well no full payoff to what is fully learned within this issue.

It just hits EVERY mark and is something any Cass fan CRAVED, but never got in Batgirl Vol. 1. Batgirls #14 was a worthy issue that should be talked about amongst fans of Cass for quite some time.

February gave us Cass's grand entrance to Ram V's Detective Comics run (#1069) and what an entrance it was! Literally, I can't let it go of how AMAZING it was.

And the run itself? It just keeps delivering as THE Batman book out currently.

It's a slow burn and when the run lays the payoffs IT HITS THOSE PAYOFFS. The series just ended an exceptional bi-weekly event that featured Cass and well, I'm extremely curious where this run goes with the character.

If anything, I just want MOAR from Ram V or a smaller secondary story involving Cass. But given the various characters he's been rotating and given next year is 2024 (more on that later) I'm keeping my fingers crossed for ALL OF THIS.

This run does work in trade but I digress you'd be missing the GORGEOUS covers this series has been shelling out. If anything BUY the single issues and read the run this way until you get to the present.

Or reread them like I've been doing. 😋

The early half of 2023 marked Cass's surprise return to an actual role in mega crossovers. She took part in the final issue of Batman vs. Robin being one of the random factors to stall the possessed Batman until ALL of DC's magical users came to cast it out of him.

The weakest of the crossovers the character was involved in I have to say was Gotham War. It was a nothing burger that made me swear off the Chip Zdarsky run of Batman completely.

Honestly, I feel more rewarded reading Tec more. Unless Chip pulls off a miracle turnaround in 2024.

But I digress Zdarsky was only half of the problems with the other being Tini Howard and yeah, if you were a Bat Family member who wasn't Jason Todd (how did that mini turn out to be more entertaining then the ENTIRE event?!)?

This story SUUUUUUUUCKED. Quite possibly the worst Batman event story since War Games/Crimes for me.

Sadly, the most disappointing stories I'd have to say are on equal ground in Beast World and Knight Terrors. As there was interesting concepts with Cass involving them, and both stories just go NOWHERE.

I feel more so robbed with Knight Terrors as the design for Cass within it went hard. It's just that you give us THIS design and tease us with this little nugget and give us NOTHING?

COME ON!

Beast World was a whole nothing burger as well, save the pretty art and a full confirmation that Cass's old NML is now canonically her defacto one again.

Even if we had it mentioned earlier last year and again in the best crossover event involving Cass...

WHICH WAS IN LAZARUS PLANET: DARK FATE #1. It gave us Alyssa Wong returning for a THIRD time to write Cass and they were joined by Haining on art which introduced us to the world of Xanthe.

That in itself led to a spinoff mini-series that had Cass in it with SPIRIT WORLD. It did more with the new character Xanthe and laid out their origins and powerset nicely while also laying some seeds for MAYBE future Cass stories.

Again, I feel like a repeating record on how GOOD this series was. Like, I can't wait for the trade next year to take it all in again. But besides the creative team delivering it gave us Dustin Nguyen AND Marcio Takara drawing Cass again OFFICIALLY AS BATGIRL!!

Even when this series ended, I STILL WANT MOAR!! Like what memories did Cass lose? What the heck happened with Spirit World twisting her memories of Batgirl Vol. 1 #72?! How will Xanthe be with the Jade Court?

SO MANY QUESTIONS!!

Something else that left me with MANY questions was DCeased universe as even though the story ended back in April.

I still crave more starring Cass, because let's face it STEPH/TALIA DESERVE CLOSURE!! Cass could be the gateway to that.

Doing so would tie up the final loose ends as well. Let's see how Rose is raising her kid with Jason. Silent Olsen. Harley/Ivy. Ollie/Dinah. Jim Gordon.

But I digress. It gives us more Cazzam. We need more Cazzam.

But an alternate universe Cass just didn't pop up there we had a Cass show up in various other comics. Knights of Steel which also had me hankering for MOAR and Harley Quinn & the Legion of Bats.

I know some didn't like it, but me? I think it was LEAPS and BOUNDS better than what we got in the actual season of HQ.

Let us never talk about that season again…

Now something we SHOULD talk about more is the first actual appearance of Cass in a DC ANIMATED MOVIE!! Yes, Kai Li Cain from Batman: The Doom that Came to Gotham.

I was blown away at the extended role they gave the character in the film (to the, "Oh right Tim is here and alive." role in the books).

Kai Li voiced perfectly by Tati Gabrielle gave a balance of innocence and reason with the batshit craziness this film throws at us.

Like, I really REALLY want a sequel. Just to see what she'd do now given full access to Bruce's fortune? Will she follow his path? I mean yeah we want steampunk Bat!

Speaking of which artists we need designs for this stat still!

It just adds that anchor where you want to see more of this universe and the characters that inhabit it. I mean that's the sign of a REALLY good Elseworlds. Where you want more and sometimes you get just that.

But with all this good came the sad, and that was the canceling of Batgirls. I know many were against the series (especially after #7-8), but the series found its footing with #9 and ran into something I hope more positively can be talked about it.

It's true failing wasn't the creators behind the series, more just elements outside that just slotted it's end (Batgirl movie getting canned making #7-8 more wasteful), Evil Oracle #4 aka the pitch, and just being something it couldn't be).

I'm grateful for each and every creator who worked on this book because it was a GIFT that I'll always be appreciative of.

I'll say it again, THANK YOU TO ALL! 🙏

And its spirit lived on in the Nightwing back up a few months ago. It was something that was TRULY needed after the garbage fire that was Gotham War. It gave us this Cass/Dick sibling stuff and GIVE ME MOAR!!!

Unlike the past where we'd be done, DC brought us back up giving us the current BIRDS OF PREY ongoing which has Cass in it.

Really the series is a revelation of giving us things I always wanted that I'd never thought we get. Cass with Dinah? CHECK.

Cass meeting Big Barda and the two having a bond? HELLS YEAH CHECK! Anytime that bond grows I squee even more.

Just give writer Kelly Thompson ALL the time and ideas she has to churn this out to the proper conclusion she has envisioned. Just give me fifty-plus issues of her, Leonardo Romero, and Jordie Bellaire.

Finally of course there was Batman: Wayne Family Adventures which gave us THREE banger Cass stories. One where she and Steph are a MENANCE (as they should), Cass scaring the crapbaskets out of EVERYONE and of course...

Season 2 gave us A LOT of things I wanted in general (her interacting with Damian) and just showing the world why I really really love this character. Why I talk about her daily.

Really as 2023 closes and 2024 is about to begin... Well, it's the character's TWENTIETH-FIFTH ANNIVERSARY. 25 years of kicking ass and ripping our hearts out.

It's been a journey for sure.

really REALLY hope DC honors this anniversary and continues to mend the bridges burned all those years ago.

Give us that Omnibus. Give us a mini or SOMETHING to celebrate this character. If not, I'll take whatever Ram V and Thompson give us.

#CAINAISSANCE2023 may be over, but #CAINAISSANCE2024 will be the most important year yet.

25 YEARS OF CASS!! LET THE CELEBRATION BEGIN ON JANUARY 1st!

[axelsagewrites]

Hey Sage! If you're taking requests, could i get a Dom! Daemon x poc wife reader, where they have a great relationship, but for some reason (maybe she just wants to tease him) reader is acting like a brat (maybe..she answers him rudely in front of Viserys or Otto) and Daem punishes her. With some spanking, shocking, degradation, marking, aftercare and whatever else you want, please?

Daemon Targaryen*In Charge

Pairing: Daemon x f!reader

Summary: reader decides to act out and Daemon reminds her who's really in charge (kinky sex occurs)

Word count: 3164

Warnings: Teasing, under table stuff, m receiving oral, hair pulling, p in v sex, nipple play, spanking, degradation, marking/hickeys, bratting, begging etc very kink sex smut 18+ (i think thats all)

A/N at end

Masterlist Here

High Valyrian translations Avy jorrāelan - I love you ñuha qēlos – my star Riñītsos – little girl

When you first arrived in Westeros the court was wary of you to say the least. It was rare enough for them to have the Dornish visit but you had travelled by ship with some of your family and allies from the far depths of Essos. It was all in aid to start trade relations with the silver hair dragon riders across the sea. When you’d first heard of these violet eyed silver haired people holding the dragon’s captive you had imagined them as sickly monsters lurching in the background. Daemon Targaryen was anything but a slimy beast.

Otto Hightower however was another story. To say you weren’t fond of him was an understatement. But during your supposedly temporary stay you managed to bite your tongue. Somehow. It helped that you were able to stare across the great table at Daemon. His long silver hair flowed down his back like the water falls back home. You had expected the lilac eyes to be unsettling but instead their violet hues just drew you in.

Unlike your companions you did not conceal your stares. While others cleared their throats and turned their eyes when Daemon looked lazily at them you stared back, the corners of your lips twitching. It was a silent flirtation, a competition even.

It was one of Daemons favourite things about you. There was a challenge in your eye, the same look caraxes used to give him. “Would you like to see my dragon?” he whispered in your ear, his chest pressed into your back as you both waited to exist the bustling council meeting.

“Only if I get to ride it,” you whispered back, the smirk evident in your voice. This was going to be fun he thought.

When the trade deals were almost over another question arose. What’s to stop one of you from backing out? What was the collateral? How could we trust these foreign friends? “Might I suggest,” Daemon drawled, his voice instantly hushing the bickering between the sides. “a marriage pact? It’s how we usually do these things after all,” he said, eyes flickering over to you.

The Westeros men were all content with the idea however your uncle had other thoughts, “We do not sell our women,” he spat across the table.

“Let’s hear him out uncle,” you whispered to the man, “After all if it’s how the Targaryen’s do it who knows? It might be a halfway decent idea,” you said, eyes glued on Daemon.

It didn’t take long for the decision to be made or for the match to be suggested. When your family rode east you stood to wave them off by Daemons side. It was the first any of them had seen of you both the last three days since you entered your new chambers after your wedding night.

While Daemon made for an excellent husband, showering you with gifts, passionate in the chambers, praising each of your features and keeping up with your wit, the other Westeros men left little to be desired. You knew it would take time to adjust to the new ways, but you hadn’t expected the rules to be so mind numbing.

Daemon was supposedly a rebel among these men but yet even he abodes by rules. Do this do that say this like this not this then otherwise you might as well have tried to eat his baby. Honestly none of the protocol made any sense. You had been in Westeros for a year now and everything with Daemon was perfect; apart from one little thing. You had the audacity to view yourself as an equal. Daemon insisted he valued your opinion and took it deeply to heart, but the other lords were beginning to take issue with your bold opinions. 

Despite not wanting to hear your opinions you were still required to attend all council meetings as an ambassador. During one particularly long drawn out one where all the lords did was rattle off their idiotic ideas you began to zone out. Your mind wandered till it landed on the idea of your husband bending you over this table right now. The way his hands would feel as they-

“Are you alright my lady?” Otto Hightower interrupted right before the good part of your fantasy. You looked up, head tilted before nodding and assuring him everything was fine, “I know our talks can be a little bit…out of your area my lady,” he apologised with that stupid fucking grin.

Daemon shot him a deadly glare, “Thank you my lord,” you said with a sicky sweet smile as you placed your hand on Daemons leg. “Perhaps you could explain it for me,” your hand began to move up his thigh beneath the table as you spoke.

“Of course, my lady,” The Hightower smirked as he over explained a simple known fact, all while your hand crept further up Daemons leg. He was used to you trying to push your luck so was doing his best not to react but when your hand suddenly squeezed his crotch he swallowed thickly as his hand shot out to hold your wrist under the table.

Luckily for you no one had noticed. Yet. You squeezed his balls lightly over the fabric of his trousers as Otto drowned on now in deep discussions with Viserys. Daemon tried to move your hand, but it only made your grip tighten. If you hadn’t felt him harden in your hand you might’ve felt bad.

“What say you brother?” Viserys turned to a wordless Daemon who did his best to stutter out his objections. It was the first time Viserys had ever seen him at a lost for a words. You removed your hand silently, placing it back in your lap with a slight smirk as Daemon was finally able to speak properly.

Viserys had the lords vote on the issue. Daemon of course rejected the idea; Otto insisted it was the right choice. It wasn’t. however, 2 of the lords sided with him for some idiotic reason but the other two with Daemon. “You haven’t voted sweet sister,” Viserys said, causing all eyes to turn on you. during your marriage your new brother tried to be sweet and kind though it often came off as clunky and bumbling.

You glanced at Daemon who was glaring down at you when he saw the way your lips dragged up into a slight smirk, “Lord Hightower did make a very interesting proposal,”

“An idiotic proposal,” he cut you off, glaring at the smirking lord across the table, “We both know it will backfire,”

“Do we?” you asked, eyes only on Daemon who glowered down at you.

“We do,”

Your eyes stayed locked, his filled with the fire of a dragon while yours glinted with excitement. The rest of the room was tense as you drew out the moment before turning to Viserys, “I agree with Daemon,” you finally said.

Viserys let out a sigh of relief and nodded, “Okay good well the matter is settled…” he began to drone on when you suddenly felt Daemons fingertips digging into the flesh of your thigh. This was not going to be a short night.

“Care to explain what that little display was all about?” Daemon all but yelled after slamming the door to your chamber shut.

You ignored his yells as you sauntered over to sit at your vanity to remove your jewellery, “What display?” you asked, smirk lingering in your voice as you took out your earrings.

Daemon looked up, letting out a brief dark chuckle before marching over to you, “You know exactly what I mean riñītsos,” his hand shot out to grab your jaw harshly, forcing you to look up at him with a glare, “Are you that much of a whore you wanted me to fuck you in front of those old cunts?”

You took a moment to pause and stare into those rage filled lilac eyes, “Yes,” you finally replied, a smirk still etched on your lips, “It’s all I could think about,” you said, your hands going to his hips, pulling him to stand between your legs, “Fucking me dumb while they all watched,” your fingertips began to run along the edge of his trousers waist line, “I think I’d quite like that,”

“You think so?” Daemon asked, gripping your jaw tighter, “Wanna know what I think?”

“Not really,” you said, trying to pull his arm away but with no success.

Daemon grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand off his arm and pulling you to your feet, “I think I need to teach you are not such a brat,” He said, letting go of your wrist, pushing your head back before releasing you making you stumble back into the table, “Get on the bed,” he said but you didn’t move. Daemons eyes narrowed, “Now,”

“Or what?” you asked, unfazed by the wild stare in his eyes.

He all but growled as he paced over to you, grabbing your hair and forcing you to your knees, “Who said you were in charge?” he asked, and you couldn’t help but wince as his fingers tangled in your locks.

“I did,” you said with a grimace as your knees finally hit the floor, Daemons hand forcing you to look up at him.

Daemon laughed quietly to himself, “You really are a silly little whore then, aren’t you? A little whore who needs to learn” he said as his hands worked his laces, “Remember the word?” he asked as he was almost freed from his trousers, you nodded repeating the safe word you had decided on early into marriage.

When his cock sprang free of his trousers it was already hard and its tip an angry red, precum already coating the tip, “Open,” he said but you refused. That was till Daemon slapped your face causing you to gasp and your mouth to open. He quickly grabbed your face, shoving his thumb in your mouth to keep it open. “Im going to ruin this pretty little mouth of yours,” he said as he began to try pull your mouth open.

Finally, you caved, opening your mouth fully for him, your tongue waiting for his cock, “Look at you,” he said in a tone that made you think all was finally forgiven, for a moment. You gagged lightly when he thrust his cock into your mouth, the salty taste of his precum on your tongue, “Such a pretty little whore,” he said as he began to fuck your face.

You looked up at Daemon through watery lashes as you tried not to gag from his persistent pace. His face had contorted from anger to pleasure as his eyes scrunched shut and groans fell from his lips. His thrusts continued until you tapped his thigh, your throat unable to keep up with his pace any longer.

Daemon pulled out, a trail of saliva and precum dripping from his cock and around your mouth, “Not such a brat now is you,” he said as he moved his hand from your hair to your jaw, cupping it lightly as you regained your breath. “Still think you’re in charge?” he asked and all you could do was shake your head not as you gazed up at him. “Good,” he smirked, “Now strip,” Daemon said stepping back.

You shakily climbed to your feet, your knees aching from the hard floors. Your hands slowly began to work on the laces of your dress. Daemon was tapping his foot quicker the longer it took. Once the dress was lost you pushed it of your shoulders allowing it to pool around your feet, your shift coming off with it. your nipples hardened as the cold chamber air washed over them.

Daemon stepped closer, his hands trailing up your thighs to your hips, squeezing your waist before caressing your breasts, “What are you?” he asked as his fingers trailed gently over your nipples.

“A whore,” you said, gasping when he suddenly squeezed your sensitive buds, “Your whore,” you half moaned as he began to roll the buds between his fingers.

“That’s right,” Daemon said, his hands falling away making you whine, “Now be a good whore and get on the bed, like I told you too,” he said as he began to pull his own clothes off.

You nodded, quickly crossing the room to lay on the soft furs of your bed when you heard Daemon began to tut. You watched his slender frame as he sauntered across the room, his abs toned from his adventures, he truly looked like a dragon as he circled his prey. “I never said lay down,” he corrected. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and you went to ask him what he meant but Daemon cut you off, “Hands and knees. Now,”

“But my knees hurt- “

“Im sorry,” Daemon said as he stood at the edge of the bed staring down at where you sat naked on the bed, “Did I fucking ask?”

You whined dramatically as you moved to your hands and knees, Daemon remaining quiet as you did. “Happy?” you asked sarcastically as you lay your cheek against the furs, your ass on display.

Daemon didn’t reply as he moved to kneel behind you, his hands rubbing your ass. His fingers squeezed your hips as Daemon took in the sight. you figured you had gotten off lightly so far but a harsh slap to your left cheek made you gasp. “That’s for not paying attention in council today,” he said, his hand rubbing the area to sooth the red mark.

Another slap rang across the room, “That’s for under the table,” another, “for your little display,” Daemon continued to list off your sins, leaving another slap with each crime he read off. Your ass was stinging by the end of his list, a bright red mark on your cheek.

Daemons hands moved from your ass to your hips, gripping them tightly before one of his hands moved to your shoulder to pull your back against his chest, “Have you learned your lesson?” he whispered, his breath fanning your ear.

“Yes,” you said quietly. One of his hands moved back to one of your sensitive buds while the other went between your legs. “I’ll be good,” You moaned as his fingers began to circle your clit.

“I don’t believe you,” Daemon purred as you felt his hard cock pressing into your ass, “I’m not done with you yet sweet riñītsos,”

Your soft pleads fell on deaf ears as Daemon let go of your sweet spots to shove you into the furs. Within seconds he had grabbed you by your hips to flip you on your back, his fingertips digging into your flesh. Daemons eyes roamed your body, and you took the opportunity to scan his; how his toned chest heaved, the wildness in his eyes, and how his painfully hard his cock looked.

Daemon crawled over your frame, your legs instantly wrapping around his hips as he lined his tip up with your entrance, “You want me to fuck you?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper. He chuckled when all you did was nod, “If you want me to fuck that pretty little hole of yours, you’re going to have to beg better than that,”

“Please,” you whined, your hands moving to hold onto his muscular shoulders, “I need you please just fuck me already I’ll be good I promise,” your whining intensifying as he began to rub his tip up and down your folds, “I’m sorry okay please just fu-fuck,” your begging was interrupted by Daemons sudden thrust, his cock hitting deep inside.

“You’ll be sorry alright,” he grunted between thrusts as he set a relentless pace. His lips feel against the skin of your neck, sucking dark spots into your sensitive skin, “Who do you belong to?” he asked as he moved to your collarbone.

“You,” you moaned as the headboard began to bang against the stone wall, loud creaks sounding through the room, “I’m yours,”

Daemon lent up to look at the series of dark purple marks on your skin, “Mine,” he growled, his hand moving to hold your throat, “My fucking whore,” he said as his hand slipped between your body to rub circles onto your clit which only made your moans increase as a knot began to build in your stomach, “Such a needy little thing,” he grunted, “so desperate for my cock,”

The knot in your stomach tightened as Daemon sped up his pace till his thrust began to hit a certain spot that made shivers go down your spine, your body tightening around his cock. “Please,” you whined as your orgasm threatened to spill over you.

“What’s that?” Daemon asked, “You wanna cum? You think you deserve to cum around my cock?”

“Yes,” your whine echoed through the room, “Please,”

Daemon lent down, placing a harsh kiss to your lips, “Do it then,” he whispered, his forehead pressed to yours.

His words sent tingles down your skin and soon the familiar feeling washed over your body. “Fuck,” he whispered as he felt you tighten around him. Daemon lent up and moved both his hands to your hips, lifting them up and holding them tightly before he lost control and fucked you mercilessly, chasing his own release. It didn’t take him long to spill inside you, squeezing his eyes shut as he came before almost collapsing beside you.

A few moments of silence past as you both regained your breaths, “Are you okay?” Daemon asked, panting as he turned to look at you. his eyes were soft, and a timid smile painted his lips.

“Uh huh,” you nodded yes, still staring at the ceiling seeing stars from crashing so hard.

Daemon rolled onto his side, brushing the hair out of your face, “You’re perfect, you know that right?” he asked, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead, “Let me clean you up,”

“Wait,” you stopped him, holding his wrist gently, “Just lay with me, for a moment,”

“Of course, ñuha qēlos,” My star, he whispered, placing another kiss to your skin, “Whatever you want. Shall I call someone to draw you a bath?”

You nodded lightly as you shuffled into his arms, “Only if you join me,”

“Of course, I will,” Daemon said as his fingers gently stroked your cheek, “Whatever you want,”

You both allowed yourself to get lost in the silence as Daemon continued to press gentle kisses and light strokes to your cheeks. After a few moments you turned to him, “Are you okay?”

“Never better riñītsos,” he whispered back, “I’ll be back in one moment, let me up and I’ll organise that bath,” You allowed him to stand but then suddenly grabbed his wrist, “Are you okay?” Daemon asked, crouching beside you and stroking your hair.

“Avy jorrāelan,” you whispered.

Daemon lent over, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips before standing again, “I love you too sweet girl,”

taglist: @clairacassidy @fan-goddess

A/N: okay so i dissapeared for a lot longer than intended lol. i got really bad writers block but im gonna try push thro it bc i do enjoy doing this stuff so this is a reminder to check in with yourself occasionally to try avoid burning out or doing too much at one time

[askinkiskarma]

Illicit Affairs | Chapter VIII: My Tears Ricochet

Pairing: Neteyam x Human/Avatar!Reader

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter IX Chapter X

Synopsis: All secrets are revealed and both you and Neteyam have to live with the consequences of your actions.

Warnings: pure angst, mentions of death, mental illness, addiction, self-injury, limited mentions of Y/N, did i mention angst, angst and more angst?

Word Count: 10,3k words (the first couple chapters were 3k, how did we get here??!)

A/N: This chapter killed me a little inside. I cried multiple times writing it, so I guess fair warning. I wanted really badly to build strong, round characters who had flaws and strengths and strong reasoning for acting a certain way/doing certain things. I wanted to write this story from both character's perspective, so it is clear that in life, each person will think they are right, that their reasoning was the correct one, when in reality, we are all a little right and a little wrong in everything we do, and it is always worth trying to see things from the other's perspective. We are coming towards the end of this first series, so I hope you enjoy this chapter and the rest of this journey. As always, thank you so much for everyone who engaged with it, I loved reading ALL of your comments and replies, they really make my day.

(Also, I feel like I am playing my own little game of "how many Taylor Swift and OG Avatar lyrics/quotes/references I can reasonably fit in a story without it being obnoxious" and I can't tell if I'm winning or not.)

I didn't have it in myself to go with grace Cause when I'd fight, you used to tell me I was brave And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake? Cursing my name, wishing I stayed Look at how my tears ricochet

You registered the girl asking you if you were alright, but you couldn’t see in front of you, the entire room spinning like the inside of a mirrorball. You felt your body rise from where it was sat next to Neteyam’s, and shakily made your way out. Neteyam’s mate. Neteyam’s mate was next to you, asking you if you need help. It all got too much, and you lunged your body forwards and threw up on the ground next to your tent. You were panting, trying to somehow get a grasp on your mind and push the hurt aside, enough so you can see and hear the world around you.

“I’m fine. Thank you.” you manage to blurt out weakly.

You heard more commotion, and faintly made out Jake’s voice and his arm on your shoulder, trying to bring you back to them.

“Neteyam, what the hell happened?”

You didn’t hear Neteyam speak. He was quiet and you were glad. You didn’t want to hear his voice, not now, and not for the rest of your life.

The world came back to focus eventually, and you spit aggressively trying to get rid of the taste of acid in your mouth. You removed Jake’s hand from your back, and left. The thought of speaking or even looking at any of them was too much to bear. You ran, harder than you ever had before, back to where you just came from, the Ikran nest in the village. You immediately recognised your own, beautiful, gold and white, pure, unlike the rest of this world. Neyn (light colours, shades of white)… fitting name, you thought. You made the tsaheylu quickly, and without a second thought, took off.

FIVE STAGES OF GRIEF STAGE III: DEPRESSION

You had no thoughts as you flew above the forest and made your way towards the general direction of the Hallelujah mountains. You realised you didn’t know where you were going, you didn’t know how you were going to find your way back, but it didn’t matter. Were you even going to ever return? There were no tears, no sadness, just emptiness. The pieces of your heart broke so finely they turned into dust, blown away in the wind of the night. Eventually you found the mountains, easy enough to spot, even in the darkness, the fluorescent flora marking the territory with an easy-to-see glow. You flew like this, for enough time that your lungs were running out of breath and your skin felt battered by the wind, but you kept going. You felt so free, so weightless. There was a calmness to your thoughts that you haven’t felt in years, probably since your mother died.

You saw a distant mountain that looked brighter than the others, and you made your way to it and were amazed to find a little cave in it, bright and colourful, a little piece of heaven on a planet that was heaven in and of itself. Neyn landed softly on the edge of the mountain and you dismounted effortlessly and approached her head, giving her pets on her neck, to which she cooed gently. She was the only friend you had, you realise. You were all alone.

“Neteyam, what happened?”

Neteyam was dragged in the tent by his dad, who was fuming. No matter what feelings his dad was feeling, they couldn’t compare to Neteyam’s anguish and terror. Why the hell was she there? She just had to wait another couple of hours and this would have never happened.

“She was patching my wound up when Tiongli came in the tent, announcing to the world she is my mate. Said mother told her about my injury.”

“Don’t you dare blame this on your mother, boy.” the Sully patriarch’s nose was flared, eyes looking at him intensely with anger and disappointment. Neteyam’s eyes filled with tears, and he felt his heart hurting so much like the gash was there instead of his arm.

“I was going to tell her tonight, dad. After dinner. I was going to tell her everything, and I was going to ask her to be my mate. I was going to come to you both and ask you to undo the engagement. I understand that a year and a half ago I gave up on her, I did it for a reason, I thought there was no future for us, and that we were hurting each other. But things have changed. She has changed. She’s going to be one of the people soon and I want her to be mine.”

“Neteyam, you can’t undo the engagement. You have known Tiongli your whole life, her family’s been expecting this since you were both young. You gave your word before Eywa, son.”

“I love her, dad. Do you understand that? I have loved her all of my life. It killed me having to leave, it killed me knowing there was no future, because she was human. But she’s not just human anymore. I was willing to go through with this for the sake of the village, for the sake of the family and the future, but if there is any chance I can have the love of my life by my side, instead, I will cling on to it for dear life. Mother was betrothed to uncle Tsu’tey, and she gave that up for you. It was done before Eywa, and she didn’t care. Because she loved you and she knew that was enough. She gave up being Tsahik, her birth right, so she can have you. I will not give up on her, dad. Mother wouldn’t have given up on you.”

“I have to find her. I have to make this right.”

You were sprawled on your back, feeling goosebumps form along your limbs from the cold grass. You were staring at the sky, noticing the bright stars you now knew were actually bright death sentences, each of them beautiful and devastating. Will you even still be alive when they come? Will everything you have gone through these few months matter? Will everything you have gone through in this life matter? All the pain, and the hurt, and the grief, just so you can die at 18 from a virus. The universe was cruel, you thought. It was a fitting end, though. Meaningless and daft, like your entire life was. Born on a planet you were not made to be able to survive on, your real planet a long-forsaken dream you will never experience for yourself, surrounded by nature that could kill you in an instant. Alone, never fitting anywhere, orphaned by human diseases: cancer and greed. Left to fend for yourself when you were just ten, learning to navigate a life that only seemed to want to clobber you to the ground whenever you thought you finally could stand up again.

There was no light at the end of the tunnel, not anymore. You wanted to fight for something, for the chance at life, or at retribution, or at love. You were dying and Neteyam killed whatever hope remained in you. They all did. Norm, Max, Jake, Neytiri, Lo’ak, Kiri, Spider, all accomplices, all aware, all willing to lie to your face for weeks with no remorse. You thought you were good at spotting liars, now you just knew how little you knew about everything.

The pain in your soul mirrored the one in your body, as you felt the morphine wearing off and your human body struggling to keep the mind steady for the link. You had to bear it, because this pain was more manageable than the one you knew waited for you in your human form, when you would be alone in a dark room with only your nightmares to keep you company.

With a sigh and a peer up at the sky, you hoped whatever comes after death was better than the hell you’ve lived in the majority of this life.

Neteyam waited the whole night in your tent, waited for you to come back, becoming increasingly worried as the hours passed and you didn’t show. He wanted to go and look for you, but knew that as soon as you got on your ikran, the chances of finding you were thin. He would go to the lab as soon as dawn broke, but for now, he was praying that you would just burst through the tent opening so he can talk you down.

He fucked up, badly. He cringed at the thought of how much he seemed to not be able to get anything right when it comes to you. Everything he did or didn’t do ended up hurting you more, the only thing he didn’t want, the only thing in the world he continuously tried to avoid.

He was consoled by the fact that he would have a lifetime to make it up to you. He will not give up trying, no matter how long, no matter how hard, he was determined to win you back and keep you, forever.

As you made it back to your human body in the early hours of the morning, you regretted waiting so long, as your body was in indescribable agony, the likes with which you didn’t know was possible for the human body to ever experience. Your heart was beating a mile a minute, you were sweating bullets and every bone and muscle in your body throbbed with enough intensity to make it almost impossible for you to get up from the pod. Everyone must be asleep at this hour, you thought. You had to make it to your bed, you had to get at least a couple of hours of rest if you were going to live to see another day. As if you were taking the Iknimaya again, you made your way form the lab to the medical ward and injected another dose of the morphine in your system. There was no going back now, you were too far down the rabbit hole to stop and why put yourself through more unnecessary pain when this will all be over in a few days anyway?

You crashed in your room for a few hours and quickly made your way back to the pod before anyone else was there to talk to. You started the linkpod by yourself and got in without hesitation.

Waking up in your Avatar body was a strange experience, as you were still in the Hallelujah mountains where you fell asleep last night. Neyn did not leave you, you noted, and she was peacefully resting next to you, cooing softly in her sleep.

“Hey, beautiful girl. Time to go back. It would be useful if you knew the way.” you pet her gently, trying not to disturb her. She woke up and pushed her snoot in your chest, and you felt it swell for this animal that you had an unbreakable bond with; you were grateful you had done the Iknimaya and at least gained a life companion from that horrible day.

As suspected, Neyn knew where to take you, and in about an hour you made it back to the village. You dreaded it, dreaded the inevitable interaction, but you knew you had to go back at some point and inform them of your whereabouts.

It was still early, so the village wasn’t quite bustling with energy yet. You quietly made it back to your tent, which you found empty. You grabbed your bow and arrows, knife and gun and a couple extra magazines. You didn’t know if you were going to be back. As you were making your way out, your head bumped into a large, muscular chest.

Fuck.

“Where the hell were you all night, kid? None of us slept a wink last night worrying.”

“Out.”

“What the hell do you mean out? Out where? You leave without telling, you don’t come back the whole night, do you have a fucking death wish?”

You laughed at the irony of his words. He caught your arm as you were walking away and pulled you back forcefully so you can face him.

“You are not going anywhere.”

“Let go.” Jake raised a brow at your words. He was not used to being spoken this way, you realise.

“How long?”

His grasp on you loosened, and his gaze softened when you peered up at him through eyelashes to which tears clung.

“How long has this been going on?”

“Kid…”

“How fucking long, Jake?”

He let go of your arm at your curse, which had never been directed at him before.

“Watch your tone, kid.”

“You made me feel like shit for learning to shoot guns without you. It made you feel bad, right? Knowing I purposefully left you out of something you could have been useful at, something we could have bonded over? I hurt you, by pushing you and Neytiri away for so many years, and I am sorry for that, but you have never, in your life, tried to understand me. So you gave me shit about something you didn’t understand, and I hurt so much inside at the thought of all I gave away by my reluctance to trust, to love, to let people in. So I changed. I let you in. I was here, everyday, acting like a perfect little daughter for you, the daughter I knew you wanted. Strong, capable, skilled. I let Neytiri in. I started calling her mum in my dreams, and although the guilt for my own mother gnawed at my insides silently, I was also relived, to finally have a family again, or for the first time.

You made me love you and break down these carefully constructed walls so you can be comfortable and sleep well at night for not breaking your promise my mum, and then you fucking stabbed me in the back.

I trusted you, Jake. You fucking lied to my face for months. Every time I asked where Neteyam was at dinners and you told me he was practicing, every day you plotted to get me out of the village as early morning as humanly possible and get me back after everyone else was fast asleep, I knew it in my heart you were lying, but you were all so good at it, I thought I was going crazy. But no, it was all a carefully planned ruse to not find out you made me come here and be part of the people just to watch the man I love belong to someone else without even a chance to decide for myself how to feel about it.”

The fight brought out the rest of the Sully family out of their tent, and they were all watching you now, concern and sadness displayed across their beautiful faces.

“You all lied to me. Looked me in the fucking eyes and lied to me, every day, multiple times a day. You were supposed to be my family.

The humans are coming. I will be here. I will stand and fight, you know I will. I will be your little soldier, and be who you made me into.

But I want to make this perfectly clear. As far as I am concerned, you and I, we are done. I am done.” You looked at every Sully one last time, and left.

You were no longer delightfully numb, but burning with anger and earth-shattering sorrow as you stalked away from the village, leaving everything behind. Your eyes were blurry with endless tears, mourning this life and this family that you managed to gain and lose within the span of a few weeks, reeling from the wounds within your heart that never had a chance to mend before being opened again, over and over. You didn’t want to go back to the lab, knowing Neteyam was most likely looking for you there. You couldn’t go to the clearing for the same reason. You had no home anymore, no place in this world, once again. You could only think of one place to go, one place where no one would ever look for you.

Your knees were shaking furiously as you walked, and you were scared of another flashback that you would have to ride out by yourself, but it never came. You just walked, crying and panting from all the pain the last 24 hours brought, and eventually you made it to a place you never thought you would ever see again. The clearing looked peaceful, with rays of light penetrating through tree branches, creating Mandalas on the ground that you found yourself tracing with your eyes.

In the corner, lay a decrepit exo suit, and you made your way to it, settling on the ground next to it. You knew now this exo suit belonged to your dad, and you removed some vines that grew on top of his name, Gideon Barlowe. A beautiful name, you thought, and your mind wandered to the past, a past way before you were even born, and wondered what your grandparents did back on Earth. Did they encourage their son to leave his own planet in pursuit of planetary colonisation, monetary gain and murderous acts? Did they know? Did he know? Was he like that his whole life, or did he start off fighting the good fight, and was corrupted by the jagged and monstrous lifestyle? You wondered if this was what he has always dreamt of doing, or he had secret dreams of being a painter, or a gardener. Did he play guitar, too? You snored sometimes, did you get that from him? You had so many questions for this man you shared half your DNA with, but have never met. For the man that died on a planet far away from home, alone, with no one to mourn him.

Was that going to be you? Would Neteyam remember you in 20 years, when he would tell stories about his childhood to his kids, when he remembered the good old times? Would you get a Na’vi send off? Or were you going to be buried somewhere in the forest, for someone to stumble upon in a distant future you would no longer be a part of?

Sobbing uncontrollably, you heard yourself speak in between wails. “Why am I here? Great Mother, please tell me there is more to this life, there is more to life than this, because I cannot do this anymore. I am so tired. I have tried to keep going my whole life, even when I wanted nothing more than to cease to exist, blissfully collapse in an ether where I didn’t have to feel anything anymore. I kept going because I wanted to make my mum proud, I wanted to honour the body and life she has given me. I am trying so hard, but I am really fucking tired.”

A little past eclipse, you arrived at the lab, and used the keycard you remembered to bring with you. You hoped Neteyam would be gone by now, in case he was trying to find you here. You made your way through the hub and into your bedroom, which looked tiny in your Avatar body. You realise how uncomfortable it must have been for him to be here so often, then cursed your brain for making you think about such things. Your Avatar body needed a bed, so you walked slowly to where the other Avatar bodies usually were laid to rest for the night. There should be an empty space where your mum or Grace used to sleep. It didn’t take long for you to wake up back in the linkpod, as with most nights recently, you were barely able to maintain the neurolink by the time evening came.

Max was waiting for you. “Neteyam came by. He’s been looking for you, said you left the village yesterday and didn’t come back. He was worried sick.”

You didn’t answer him, as you slowly got out of the pod and tried to steady your feet on the ground, harder than it seemed when the entire room was spinning around you.

“What happened?”

“The mate you all hid from me for weeks came announcing herself in my tent as we were just about to kiss.”

“Any other questions?”

You didn’t wait for a response before you made your way out of the room, stalking towards the medical ward.

As you retired to your room for the night, you noted the morphine was not working as well as used to anymore. You sat on the bed, looking at the arm that was getting blue at the amount of needle holes it had, and you knew then you didn’t have much time left. Maybe a couple of days. A couple more days of this. And then it would finally be over. You gave it a fair shot, this life thing. You couldn’t say you felt particularly sad at the thought of it ending. You pressed play on your vintage record player and let yourself sleep.

“Even on my worst day, did I deserve, babe, all the hell you gave me?

'Cause I loved you, I swear I loved you, til my dying day”

You spent the next 2 days in a haze, drugged out of your mind, waking up before eclipse and leaving to your dad’s grave and sleeping in the woods until the night, barely able to make it on your own two feet. Even in your human body, Neyn recognised you, and stood by you, which gave you some peace of mind. You made sure to bring her fruits from the lab, and she cooed warmly as she settled next to you.

When you made your way back that night, Norm was waiting.

“Where the hell have you been? Everyone’s been looking for you for 3 fucking days.”

You removed your oxygen mask and made your way to the room, where he followed you. You were in so much pain you couldn’t see straight.

“I am talking to you!” he took you by your arm and spun you around. The motion made you instantly sick, and you struggled to keep down the fruits you shared with your ikran.

“Let go of me, Norm.” you had no strength in your body anymore, so it took you awhile to shake him off.

“You look like shit. What did you do?”

You managed to make it to the bathroom, where you shut the door behind you and got in the shower. Fortunately, for you or him, you couldn’t tell, Norm was gone when you came out.

The next morning, you woke up desperately searching for pain relief and didn’t know if you were going to be able to make it to the ward before your knees would collapse on themselves. You were shaking and dizzy, out of your mind with agony and walking to the bathroom felt like the most intensive workout you have ever done. You peered up at yourself in the mirror and were scared at the eyes watching you, rabid and wild, like an injured animal waiting to lash out. It was too much for you to bear, and before you could even think or rationalise, you felt your fingers curl into a fist and make contact with the cold glass of the mirror, shattering in dozens of pieces, and it made you weirdly happy to have a visual representation of how your soul felt. The instant pain of the all the wounds the smash caused also gave you a weird sense of euphoria, and you realised it was taking away from the pain in the rest of the body, which was only able to focus on one agonising sensation at a time. This felt like a kiss by comparison, and you knew then you could go on a little longer, you could continue with the rest of the day.

Norm came bursting through the door at the loud crash.

“What the hell happened? Are you okay?”

You came out of your bathroom, blood dripping all over the floor as you made your way to the bed, sitting down on it.

“Leave, Norm.”

“What?”

“Leave.”

“What the hell has gotten into you recently. you are rude and brash, and you hurt people’s feelings with no remorse. This isn’t you.”

“What the hell do you know about me, Norm?” you say, laughing bitterly.

“Ace, stop.”

“You don’t know anything, Norm.” you kept going, the fury and hurt getting the best of you, once again, your need to destroy everything in your path as a way to cope with your own heartbreak winning by a landslide.     

“Did you know I have needed pills to sleep and to live a normal day-to-day life since I was 13? I have been slowly depleting our sleeping pill and benzodiazepines inventory and replacing it with multivitamin pills I found in one of the drawers. I mean thank God none of you suffer from anxiety or panic disorder or need help sleeping cause I would have been busted so long ago.”

You laughed mockingly at his shocked face, jaw so close the floor now you could trip on it on your way out.

“Did you know I am about a week and a half away from dying after I accidentally smashed a vial of infected blood and got it in my mouth?”

You stand corrected, you think now his jaw was close enough to the floor to trip on it.

“Did you know I have upgraded from a pill addiction to a full blown opioid addiction in order to not collapse on the floor in excruciating pain because of the way this virus is eating at my insides? Yeah, yeah, that’s right. We’re almost out of a whole vial of morphine after I injected it in my veins every day for a while now.”

He had no words. “That’s about right.”

“I do know one thing you do know, though. You know that Neteyam had his mate announcement ceremony that day I took off. You were there to see the two love birds announce their love and pledge their commitment to each other the one day I was not there. And that’s why you were acting shifty. You know about that. And somehow you forgot to tell me, every day, for weeks. How does that work out, Norm, hmm?”

“I felt so bad for snapping at you a couple of days ago. I felt like a horrible fucking person for hurting your feelings. I should have been watching my back, instead.”

You got up from your bed and started walking towards the door.

“If I were you I would not linger in a room with poisoned blood dripping on the floor for too long.”

You found some paper towels at the side of your bed and wrapped them around your bleeding, pained hand, and with that, you left.

After you upped the morphine you usually took, you went to the lab and prepped a hood for some more experiments. Work was a good way to get your mind off things, to mindlessly do something that had a purpose other than driving you to the brink of insanity.

You heard a loud banging noise coming from the entrance, and you had a sneaking suspicion you knew who it was. You heard Norm open the door.

“Is she here?”

“Yeah, but Neteyam, I think you should go. She’s not in a good place, and I really don’t think doing this will end well for either of you.”

“I don’t care, I have to talk to her, I have been looking for her for 3 fucking days.”

You heard the door to the lab slide open and hissed at the man you knew would be trying to come in, realising hissing in a human body doesn’t have nearly the same effect.

“Get the fuck out, Neteyam. This is a sterile room.”

“I don’t fucking care about the room, Atan. Where the fuck have you been? Please come out so we can talk.”

You threw your head back and laughed, really laughed.

“You really are delusional if you think there is any way in heaven and hell I would want to hear anything you have got to say. The time for talking was a couple months ago, Neteyam. The time for talking was the first day I got my Avatar body, where in addendum to telling me you own my ass now, you could have also sprinkled in the fact your are now mated with someone else.”

“I am not mated with anyone, for fuck’s sake. Just come out so we can talk, please. I will explain everything, please!”

You stopped what you were doing and looked at him, for the first time since that day. He looked exhausted, anguished. Deep purple bags under his eyes, that were burning red where the whites should be. He has been crying. Good, you thought. He looked panicked and miserable and desperate for you to give him the time of day, for you to allow him to explain the unexplainable.

You sighed and your heart constricted in pain. Neteyam will not be happy until there was nothing left of you, until he took everything from you. At the same time, you were curious, morbidly curious as to what has actually happened, what led to this moment. You knew he loved you. You knew that much, but it didn’t seem to matter in this moment, as he broke your heart for what felt like the thousandth time in your short life.

“Go to the clearing, I’ll come when I’m ready.”

You half considered just leaving him there to wait, abandoning him just he did to you. You finished splitting your cells and treating them, and in about an hour, you went into the linkpod and took your Avatar for a walk in the woods. You reached the clearing shortly, as it was close enough that even child you could do it without getting too far away from the building.

You saw him standing there, his back turned to you and his legs submerged in the river that was rushing violently downstream. It was a cold day, and rain was trickling down your body like shivers from a kiss. There was tension in the air, and you knew a storm was coming. You could practically feel the charge in the atmosphere, and were expecting thunder to start any minute now, ready to mirror the agony in your soul.

“I’m here.”

He didn’t speak for a while. Just stood looking at the river, deep in thought.

“So many of our moments throughout the years happened here. Remember when I taught you to swim in the river? Now, in retrospective, that was a bad idea since the water kept taking you away, to the point I had to wait at the end so I could catch you in my arms, like you were a baby.”

You winced at the memory.  You thought you could do this. You felt numb in that lab, numb on the way here, but as soon as your eyes focused on him, tears starting pooling in your eyes and pain overtook your body, that you tried to counteract by wrapping your arms tightly around yourself. He’s caused you so much hurt, so much grief in the years he’s known you. But he was also at the forefront of most of your happiest memories. You could fill endless manuscripts with the beauty of his love, that shone so brightly over you your whole life. He was the light in all the darkness and you honestly didn’t think you would have survived this journey without him.

That is why this hurt so much, why your body was convulsing on itself in insurmountable grief. And also why you owed him this much. Owed him this conversation, and the right to explain his point of view, that you were still unfamiliar with.

“I remember. I remember even at the time, thinking this was a good metaphor for our relationship. Life kept sweeping me off my feet, but you were always there to catch me, before it could take me away. I had so much faith in you back then, you were a fact of life, like the eclipse. You were the one person in this world I thought would never hurt me.”

“Fuck, Y/N, all I did before I left is hurt you.”

“What are you talking about?” You were confused at the turn this conversation took. What did he mean? You couldn’t recall a single time Neteyam hurt you before you left. Sure, you would fight and bicker sometimes, but it was a normal part of any relationship, you thought. And he always made it up to you, would always come to the lab and sit with you with flowers he collected or trinkets he found in the woods, always holding you and kissing your forehead to make sure you were over it before he had to leave. Fighting with him was ironically one of your favourite things, because you knew the aftermath was the closest you ever felt to being in heaven.

“I almost fucking killed you. Or have you forgotten? Have you forgotten how I manipulated you into getting on top of an ikran when you were just a 13 year old human and almost watched you die? Have you forgotten I took you to the woods and raced you to your dad’s remains? I was a walking magnet for disasters in your life and I was tired, so fucking tired of watching your life fall apart all around me. I had to watch you learn to walk again, limp because of my actions, for years. I had to pull you out of flashbacks and nightmares you developed because of ME. You were always fine in the woods with Lo’ak or Kiri, but everything bad that has happened to you happened around me.”

He was crying, panting and angry, at himself or you or the universe, you couldn’t tell.

“I thought that if I left, you would be ok. I just wanted to protect you. My whole life, all I have wanted was for you to be ok. But it seems no matter what I do, I keep fucking up.”

You had no words to speak as you lay there, listening to him letting you in to a secret you have spent so many months agonising over. The reason for his departure haunted you for a year and a half, even when you refused to think about him, about it, it was there, constantly emerging from the depths of your subconsciousness, taunting you in your dreams. Why? Why? Why?

Because he wanted to protect you?

You didn’t have time to process all of this new information, before he continued.

“The night you found your dad, I was shaken to my core, in a way I have never truly been before. I was so heartbroken, for you and for myself, for knowing this will haunt you for the rest of your life. I went home and mother found me, and told me that maybe I can’t help you in the way I’ve always wanted. That maybe it’s better for you that I remove myself for a while and leave you room to breathe and heal. So I did. It took me a long time to get the strength to do it. Every time I thought today is the day, I would see you and you would smile at me, and we would sit on your bed and you would read to me or play me songs or just be there, just you and me, and I couldn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. You were everything to me, my light in all the darkness.

A year later, you sang me the song and you were smiling at me singing it, and I knew you were confessing feelings we have both felt for years and couldn’t say out loud. And I knew that if I stayed, whatever we had would escalate past the point of no return. If I stayed, that would be it. And that’s when I decided. I thought I was doing us both a favour. I knew it would hurt you, just as much as it hurt me, but I thought the pain would subside in time.”

You were crying now, you realised, tears falling silently and effortlessly down your face, with no intention to ever stop, instantly washed away by the pouring rain. There were no sounds, no sobs or wails, or panted breaths, just the sounds of rain and hopeless, soft cries and muffled sniffles, for the man in front of you, for all that you have lost, for the past you shared and the future that you would never have.

He got up from where he stood and turned around to face you. He walked towards you until he was so close to you could feel his breath on your face. His stare made goosebumps appear on your entire body, so earnest and desperate, so full of intensity for the words he was trying to convey to you.

“It didn’t.” He said, at the same time you thought the same words in your mind.

“A few years ago, mother and father told me I would one day have to find a mate. They knew and I knew it was expected of me, but I always put it off, so they eventually dropped it. I learnt later they both knew about us, so they didn’t push me into anything until they felt I was ready. A few months after they realised I decided to leave, they started bringing it up again. I didn’t want to hear it, but they said it was time, as I had refused for years longer than what was acceptable in the clan. I met with so many girls, all from good families, all healers in training, all wrong. Beautiful girls, smart girls, skilled healers and singers, and it was like looking at the grey walls of your lab. I felt nothing, I felt sick just thinking about it, like just the thought would be betraying the memory of our bond. Eventually, I told them they can decide. Grandma can decide whatever she thinks is best, and, as Tsahik, I would listen to her voice and wisdom, and do my duty to the clan. She chose Tiongli. I knew her growing up, and we were friendly, so I tried to make an effort. I would go to her tent, and she would show me her training sometimes, I would let her heal my wounds and imagined it was your hands touching me instead. I visited her family and paid my respects, and had dinner with them whenever they invited me. I hoped in time, I could learn to care for her, to lessen the distaste in my mouth whenever my family or the clan talked about the future, about the ceremony, about the life I was supposed to lead that I hated even the thought of.

And then, one day, my dad sent me to get Lo’ak from the lab. I was so scared of knowing I would have to see you again. It had been so long, and so many feelings gnawed at me on the walk there, terror and anxiety, guilt and longing. But then I saw you, and there was only one feeling: love. Like no time had passed at all. I knew then I was going to love you for the rest of my life, and that will never change. That was my fact of life, my eclipse.”

He slowly took your face in his hands, and his thumb was caressing your cheek trying to wipe the tears and raindrops that were falling mercilessly. You saw his face slowly getting closer to yours, and you knew you should pull away, you should remove yourself from his grasp before the kiss was going to remove the last ounce of happiness from you. You knew what you had to do, knew that no matter what information or answers or justifications he would give you today, they wouldn’t matter. You should pull away, because there is no future, no hope. But you couldn’t. You didn’t know what waited for you in the afterlife, but if there was any chance you would have your memories, you wanted this kiss to haunt you forever, to remind you of the life you left behind.

His lips touched yours so gently, it felt like a whisper. Like a hug, tender and warm, it was so different than your first kiss. Tears were still running down your face as your lips moved, entangled with his and begging for more. Your hands went to his chest, to his neck, to his back, just touching him, trying to memorise his body, this feeling. You wanted so much more, you wanted to be his, you wanted to feel him, you wanted him to own you, like he did your heart, which has been his your entire life and will still be his after your death.

You were a mess of wet tangled limbs and panted breaths by the end, and eventually, he broke the kiss to look at you through teary eyes.

“I love you, I will always love you. I am so sorry.”

“I love you, too.”

“But this doesn’t change anything, Neteyam.”

“Thank you, for finally telling me why you left. For giving me some closure for something that has plagued me for so long, it became a constant part of my nightmares. Thank you for having my best interest at heart; it couldn’t have been easy to leave, if you didn’t want to, it took a strong heart to do something that hurt you for what you thought was the lesser evil. But it doesn’t change anything.”

“You left me. You broke me. And you never gave me a chance to make my own decisions. To figure out for myself what was the path forward. I have NEVER blamed you for my misfortunes. The ikran ride is still a beautiful memory to me. You made it a beautiful memory. If it weren’t for your quick thinking, we probably would have both died at the hands of Toruk. You saved my life, Neteyam. You carried me home and stayed with me while I was having surgery, you stayed with me after, while I recovered. You pulled me out of the worst panic attack I have ever had when I found my dad, and you rode out so many of my flashbacks, I have lost count. You weren’t the cause or the common denominator of these events, I was. I am the one plagued by misfortune and hurt and death. Not you. And if you tell me you had to leave to save your own peace of mind, I would respect that. I don’t know anyone in this world who can take this, take me and all the shit that follows me everywhere I go. I don’t blame you.

But if you tell me that you did this for me, that I can’t accept. I didn’t ask for any of this. You gave me no choice, and no say in this relationship, in our shared life. You just left. I deserved better than that. And I deserved better than to find out about a mate after months of lies and manipulation and deceit. I don’t care. I don’t care if you are going to say that you didn’t want it, or you were going to undo it, or that you’ve always loved me and never her. I don’t care. You lied to me, you manipulated me. You accused me of fucking your brother as you were promised to another woman that you hid from me for months. I do blame you for that, and I will never be able to forgive you.”

“Please, Atan…I will tell her no. I will tell her -.” he was sobbing now, his hands still on your face, pleading.

“No.” you slowly took his hands in yours and removed them from your face.

“I think you should do it, Neteyam. She is a good girl, she will make a good Tsahik, and a good mate. Your mother was right, there is no future here - there never was. I love you, so much. But I think you have broken my heart one too many times. I am done.”

You turned your back and walked away from him and the life that was lost - forever.

You were completely soaked when you arrived in the lab, and you went straight to the Avatar laying room and cried. Cried until it felt like no more tears could possibly come out of you. You cried yourself to sleep and then cried in the pod, on the way to your bedroom, and in bed until your human body eventually collapsed from exhaustion. You cried in your dreams, in which Neteyam was kissing you and touching you, doing all the things you were silently begging him to in your mind just a few hours ago.

Eventually, nightfall came, and you had to get up to do the rest of your experiments and top up your analgesic. Ironically enough, you were making real progress on your work. You found a combination therapy that was showing incredible potential in slowing the virus down. It wasn’t enough to stop and eradicate it, but it was enough to give people more time and hopefully give the scientists more time to find a cure. It wouldn’t help you, but maybe you could still help others.

At some paint through the night, as you were making up some reagents, Norm bursts through the door holding a bunch of equipment and some pills, you realise. He puts them down on the bench behind you and speaks.

“Right, stop whatever you are doing, right now.”

“I am in the middle of something.”

“I don’t fucking care. Stop, now.”

You were taken aback at his words and attitude. Norm never got mad, or lost his composure. He was so most well balanced person you knew.

You put the pipette gun down and turned around to face him.

“I still need to adjust the pH on this.”

He ignored you while he prepared the myriad of little gadgets he brought with him. He motioned for you to take off your lab coat, and you rolled your eyes in annoyance, but did as you were told regardless. You were too tired to argue anymore.

He raised the sleeves of your top until they couldn’t go any further up your arm and put a blood pressure monitor on you. You felt tension as its sleeve tightened around you painfully, but eventually it gave out with a puff, and you heard beeping as the machine finished its reading. You looked to your right where the monitor lay, and saw red lights flashing, letting Norm know your blood pressure and pulse were dangerously low. His eyes widened slightly at the sight, but he held his composure, removing the gadget from around your arm and putting it away. He then read your oxygen levels, which you saw were constantly dabbling between 89 and 90%. Not good, you thought. No wonder you could barely breathe anymore. Norm cursed silently under his breath, trying to not let you see him, but if there was one thing you were good at, it’s reading people. Well, you thought you were, at least.

“Did you do any tests on your blood? How is your complete blood count looking?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Why the fuck not, Ace? It’s not like you don’t know how to do it.”

He was angry, really angry. You’ve never seen Norm this angry, you’ve never seen Norm acting this way towards you.

You just shrugged. With a huff of annoyance, he took your arm and prepared a needle and syringe to collect some blood. He gulped and you could see tears forming in his eyes when he looked at the violet bruises and needle holes that were plastered along the length of your brachial vein.

“Just didn’t get around to it.”

“You didn’t - Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

“What medicine have you been taking? Did you take the Relenta, or the combination therapy we have been working on?”

“Neither.”

You swear you saw Norm’s entire body enter a catatonic state and he turned so red you were worried he was going to release steam out of his ears.

“You have been sick for a month and did not take anything, none of the treatments we have been working on?”

You couldn’t look him in the eye anymore, finding comfort in the pattern of the tiles on the floor.

“I can’t believe you. I didn’t peg you for someone who would just throw their life away meaninglessly. Your mum had to die because we didn’t have a way to treat her illness, and here we are, with a solution that YOU came up with for your own illness, and you will just not even try?”

You were quiet, not really having a way to rebut his questions.

“Fine. We will start you on the combination treatment tonight and take it from there. There’s other things we haven’t tried yet and I’m sure -“

“NO.”

“I’m not asking you. I’m not letting you fucking die.”

“Why must you always fucking try to fix everything, Norm? Some things can’t be fixed. I don’t want the fucking pills. I am done. I want this to be done.”

“So you’ll just die? Is that what you’re saying? You want to die, and not even fucking TRY to see if there is more to this life. Goddamn it, Y/N. I thought having the Avatar would help you realise life is worth living, there’s beauty in this world beyond the walls of this lab. You got your first kill, you did the Iknimaya, you’re going to become one of the people. Don’t you want to see what your future holds? Don’t you want to live to see yourself grow up? Fall in love, start a family. There are more guys in this world than just Neteyam.”

You gave Norm a dirty look and got out of the lab.

Neteyam felt his whole body reel after your conversation. It didn’t change anything, he thought bitterly. He thought explaining it to you, allowing to see that he had good reasons for his actions would allow you to forgive him, to at least allow him the opportunity to make it up to you through time. You left, just like he had so long ago, but there was a finality to you that he didn’t feel then. Back then, he always had hope that a miracle would still be possible, one in which you got an Avatar, healed and loved him, forever. He wanted to love you forever, but his apology and explanations were not enough.

He lost you, again.

He spent the night flying on his Ikran, just flying and letting the rain soak his thoughts and hurt away. He just wanted to disappear. He wanted the rain to melt his bones until there was nothing left of him but the memory of happier times.

In the early hours of the morning, he made it back to the village, trying to hide his cried out eyes and calamitous grief. He was dreading having to talk to his parents, to explain to them what happened, to have to go through with Tiongli and this future he didn’t want and will have to suffer through for the rest of his life. He didn’t have time to worry about it too much though, because, as he managed to get to the tent’s entrance, he heard Norm’s voice and his dad’s, intertwined with his grandma’s voice rising above them.

“It won’t work. Eywa will not allow her to come back.”

“Why not? She has taken her Iknimaya, she has completed her kills, she has spent her entire life in the village’s service, trying to help the best way she knew how. If she doesn’t deserve this, who does?”

“It’s not that she doesn’t deserve it. It’s that she doesn’t want it. She doesn’t want this, Norm. The Great Mother will not transfer the conscience of someone with no future.”

“But maybe if this happened, she will realise that she wants to live. Once she’s rid herself of her weak body, of this disease, maybe she will -“

“The Great Mother’s word is final. She will die, because she wants to die.”

Mo’at’s voice rang in his ears so hard he thought his eardrums would pop.

She doesn’t want it.

She will die.

What were they talking about? Who would die?

No… it couldn’t be. No, the Great Mother wouldn’t be so cruel.

He didn’t wait to hear the rest of the conversation, running as fast as his feet could carry him back to the lab. He reached soon enough, he was faster than most other people in the village, and started knocking on the door of the lab with all his might.

“Y/N, OPEN UP, I KNOW YOU ARE IN THERE!”

Eventually, Max came to the door, through which Neteyam burst without consideration for the tiny human next to him.

“She’s not in, Neteyam. She left before any of us had a chance to say anything.”

“Was she in her Avatar body?”

“No, the body is in the den where they sleep.”

He didn’t bother thanking the man, as he turned on his heel and started running again. She was there, had to be.

It was still raining, the clouds relentless as they released drops that poured gently down his face and body, and Neteyam thought the Great mother was crying, mourning the love being washed away like a pebble in the river of the clearing, just like he was.

You were there, of course you were. A current shocked Neteyam at the sight of you. This was the first time he has seen your human body in months, and he found it hard to reconcile the image of you he has known all his life with this current one. You were incredibly thin, so thin, whereas a few months ago he could trace your muscles, he could now trace your bones. You were pale, almost ashen, and the hair that he once spent so long admiring was now brittle and dull, obvious even as it was, wet and clinging to your back. You looked lifeless. He felt a lump form in his throat and tears pool in his eyes that were still not dry from all the pain this day has brought.

You didn’t notice him yet, your human ears much less sensitive than your Avatar, so you were just sitting on the riverbank with your chin resting on your knees, which were brought to your chest and your arms wrapped tightly around them. You were looking at the water, and it was like you weren’t actually there. You were in your own world, far from here, from this hurt.

“I was going to ask if it was true, what I heard Norm talk about in the tent today, but I think you’ve answered my question.”

Neteyam saw you flinch, and it felt like even that brought your weak frame pain. You were trembling when you looked at him, and your face made his own drop in shock. Your beautiful features, the blush in your cheeks, the glimmer in your eye, the pink of your lips, your animated expressions or raised eyebrows, were all gone. Your eyes looked glossed over and numb, your face looked ghostly and sunken, and Neteyam swore he could trace every blood vessel on your forehead and neck. The sight of you made whatever happiness or hope he had left dissolve and trickle down his bones, until it reached the ground where it was eventually buried, never to be seen again.

“I didn’t think I could make myself any clearer, Neteyam.”

“tell me it isn’t true. Tell me he’s lying; he’s making it up.”

“What part?”

“All of it.” Neteyam was angry now, trying to contain the temper rising in his chest.

“Tell me you’re not dying.”

“Norm has a big fucking mouth.”

“Can you for once in your fucking life just answer a question? This is fucking serious!”

You winced at his words, then struggled to get up, but did eventually and fully face him. The state of you hit him like bullets, piercing and scraping at his every organ, leaving bleeding wounds behind.

“It’s true”.

Crack, crack, crack. 

“When?”

“The night you gave me the guitar. I was so busy being in love with you I forgot to put the proper protection on, and I smashed a bottle of infected blood. It got in my mouth, in my nose.”

“I thought you were working on a cure.”

“Haven’t found it yet.”

“But you said you have something that kind of works, something to give people more time.”

“I’m human, it doesn’t work that way for us.”

“So, you’ve tried.”

You weren’t looking at him anymore, just staring at the ground in front of you, somewhere next to Neteyam’s feet.

“Tell me you have fucking tried.”

It thundered aggressively as Neteyam said that, and he saw you once again tremble at the loud sound. You have never been a jumpy person. You were the bravest person he knew. You were the strongest person he knew. It was unspeakable having to watch you now, sitting meekly in front of him, when just a few days ago you took the Iknimaya, taking the climb to the toughest tests known to the Omatikaya, doing it like it was nothing, just another day for you. To know that this is what was hiding underneath, this is what you hid from all of them, made him both impossibly miserable and strikingly enraged at the same time.

“TELL ME YOU HAVE TRIED.”

“NO, OKAY?? NO, I HAVEN’T FUCKING TRIED.” You were sobbing now, your tears washed away by the rain and wind as soon as they fell down your cheeks.

“Why?”

“Because I am tired. I want this to end.”

“I thought you were happy. I thought you were better. You seemed better in the Avatar.”

“I was better… in the Avatar. Because that wasn’t my life. That was just a beautiful dream, while my life was the never-ending nightmare. It was easy to pretend in that body. It was easy to be the version of myself everybody wanted me to be. But I have to live with the real me every night. And I don’t want to do it anymore.” The more you cried, the more Neteyam’s blood boiled in his veins.

“That’s such fucking bullshit.”

“You know what I think?”

“I think dying is fucking easy. It’s your easy way out.”

You looked up at his much larger frame incredulously, and he saw how your mood was starting to mirror his own.

“What did you just say? You think this is fucking easy for me?”

“Yes, I think it is. I think all you’ve done since your mum has died is take the easy way out. Put everything and everyone in your little bottom desk drawer, keeping everyone at a distance. Do you know how much mother and father suffered every time you refused to come out, to come to the village? My mother cried herself to sleep at the thought of you alone in that lab, at the thought that you preferred that soulless, empty place to her, to us. Did you know that?

You have not once opened that drawer, not once dealt with anything. All you do is numb yourself down, pretend you are fine and the issues you have suffered through do not exist. Well guess fucking what, Atan? They exist. And until you deal with that pain and let it pass over you and through you, you will always take the easy way out.

You have made me feel like the worst person in the world, for leaving, for lying to you. But what the fuck have you done, huh? You lied to me about dying, for weeks! About dying! What, was I supposed to find you dead one day and that was it? That was what I deserved from you, after all the blood, sweat and tears I gave you? You said I took your choice away. You wouldn’t have even given me a choice to say goodbye to the love of my life before you fucking died!

I left you for a year because I wanted to protect you, you are leaving permanently because you refuse to fucking deal with the pain and hurt I know you feel deep down inside. You had a choice. You could have come to the many people who love you, love you unconditionally, and told us, and let us in, and let us help you. You could have gotten help, taken the pills, fight your damn hardest to make this work, to find a cure, for the life your mum gave you, the life she would have to watch you throw away. You have a choice now. To want to live, to want to fight through this and come out the other side a new, better person. To let me love you, let people love you. To do the consciousness transfer and be with me, and be happy, forever. And you’re choosing this.

You are a coward.”

Neteyam turned on his heel and walked away, before he got a chance to see you collapse on the ground, giving your last few breaths in the place he used to imagine both of your children laying in his arms peacefully while you sang them to sleep.

Tag list (I hope I didn't miss anyone, thank you so much for asking to be tagged &lt;3): @nuhteyam @eywas-heir @fanboyluvr @mashiromochi @puffb4ll @sassy-persona @simp4ff @mommyneytiri @inomoikawa @jackiehollanderr @jaysarchiv3 @meivap @dakotali @hlhl99 @eskamybeloved @erenjaegerwifee @winchestertitties

[insanityclause]

EXCLUSIVE: Sigourney Weaver will make her West End stage debut as storm-creating sorcerer Prospero in The Tempest and Tom Hiddleston and Hayley Atwell will play sparring lovers Benedick and Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing when director Jamie Lloyd returns Shakespeare early this winter to the historic Theatre Royal Drury Lane, a landmark venue in Covent Garden owned by Andrew Lloyd Webber.

Weaver, star of Ridley Scott’s Alien movies and James Cameron’s Avatar epics, last starred in one of Will’s plays when she played Portia in a 1986 off-Broadway revival of The Merchant of Venice. 

As a sophomore at Stanford in 1979, she played Goneril in a traveling production of King Lear. 

The star once revealed that she pretended “I was doing Henry V the entire time” she was playing Ripley in Alien. “I thought, ‘Well, as a woman, I’ll never be cast as Henry V, so this is my Henry V,” Weaver told New York magazine in a 2012 interview. 

“Sigourney knows her Shakespeare, she knows theater, and I  could not be more excited that she has agreed to play this role,“ Lloyd told Deadline.

He also said that he’s “thrilled” that “my dear friends Tom and Hayley” are headlining the romantic comedy Much Ado About Nothing in his Jamie Lloyd Company Drury Lane Shakespeare season.

The first preview of The Tempest is December 7, and it runs through February 1.

The first Much Ado About Nothing preview is on February 10, and that runs until April 5.

Built in 1763, the Theatre Royal Drury Lane became a popular venue for performances of Shakespeare. David Garrick and the ancient thespian greats played the Bard’s work there.

Lloyd Webber and his LW Theatre company spent an estimated $77M on a superbly realized restoration of the Theatre Royal Drury Lane, and he’d noted several times that he wanted Shakespeare back at The Lane, as it’s affectionately known, because he fondly remembers at age 9 being taken to see Gielgud in The Tempest “and it clearly made an impression on him,” said Lloyd.

The two men formed a close bond when they worked together on the now-Broadway-bound Olivier Award-winning Sunset Boulevard starring an incandescent Nicole Scherzinger as Norma Desmond.

“Andrew told me the story about Gielgud snapping Prospero’s staff on the last night and announcing that The Lane would be lost to musicals forever,” the director said.

Oklahoma! and other shows had preceded The Tempest, and it was to be immediately followed by My Fair Lady and many other musicals since.

One day, unexpectedly, the composer and impresario told Lloyd ,”Look, I’ve always wanted Shakespeare back at Drury Lane.”

Lloyd was shown around the theatre, was open to exploring “all the possibilities” and felt excited to be the first company to bring Shakespeare back to The Lane.

It made sense that The Tempest needed to be the one that marked the return.

Lloyd told us that he had an epiphany one night that Sigourney Weaver playing Prospero would “create theatrical electricity.”

He fired off an email Weaver’s agent, who responded that it was unlikely that she’d want to engage because Weaver hadn’t performed Shakespeare in public for over 30 years, and the last time she was on a stage was when she did Christopher Durang’s Vanya and Sonia and Masha and Spike in NYC in 2012.

The very next morning, Lloyd continued, ”There was an email in my inbox with the subject, “Hello from Sigourney.” And she wrote me this amazing email — really passionate, excited email. We got on Zoom straight away, and we had an amazing, inspiring conversation. She’s such a lovely, witty person. So insightful. She’d read the play, especially from a perspective of a woman playing Prospero. And that really excited her and it made sense and illuminated the play in new ways. And so she’s coming to make her West End debut at Drury Lane playing Prospero in The Tempest.”

He added that he kept coming back to Weaver’s performances “in all those iconic movies — Ghostbusters, Gorillas in the Mist, Working Girl, all of them.” 

Lloyd went a little bit fanboy and told her that he’d seen “Alien more times than any other movie. And I just thought, ‘How amazing would it be to work with someone that you’ve admired since you were a kid?’ Oh, wow. And to bring her to London. And again, it just feels like such an event.” 

The director believes that Weaver’s “commanding presence, huge charisma and that amazing power” is perfect to play Prospero. And that she can “clearly get into the complexity of the role” of this person “with delusions of vengeance, this kind of ruthless revenge against the people that have sent her away, to learning about forgiveness and love and compassion. There’s a real journey in that, isn’t there? And there’s a real internal struggle. And we talked about how a shipwreck can become a new kind of hope. Can’t there? I mean, really, that’s my sort of key thinking about the entire season, is that I just want this to be a really joyful season. And both of the plays are about the hope of the future and not dwelling on the past, maybe,“ he said. 

Lloyd added that he felt “honored” that Weaver even responded to his email because he thought “it bode so well in terms of just a direct email straight away; it’s very personal. As we know, sometimes people kind of do things through their teams and managers. But actually, she knows what theater is, and she knows it’s about relationships.”

Lloyd’s well aware of that too. 

He goes way back with Hiddleston, even further with Atwell.

Back in early 2019, Lloyd directed a hauntingly sublime version of Harold Pinter’s Betrayal with Hiddleston, Zawe Ashton and Charlie Cox at the Harold Pinter Theatre. It quickly transferred to the Bernard B. Jacobs Theatre for a limited run, where it was nominated for four Tony Awards.

Lloyd has remained close to his cast ever since.

Similarly with Atwell, who he directed in Alexi Kaye Campbell’s 2011 play The Faith Machine at London’s Royal Court Theatre. They reunited two years later in a revival of Kaye’s The Pride, in which Atwell excelled, at the Trafalgar Studios. The drama was an early example of Lloyd’s then-nascent Jamie Lloyd Company, which at the time was in partnership with ATG Entertainment.

He added that it’s “very meaningful” in terms of the season for him to be working with “those two old collaborators, they’re Jamie  Lloyd Company alumni. And I think they’re both two of the finest of our generation, aren’t they? And they know each other well. So there’s an instant chemistry between the two of them, and I can’t wait to see what they come up with for Benedick and Beatrice.”

Lloyd’s enjoyed watching Hiddleston and Atwell on screens both big and small. He mentioned Hiddleston’s performance in The Night Manager — he’s in the midst of shooting its sequel — and the actor’s adventures playing Loki in the various levels of the Marvel Universe. “And he still comes home to the theatre whenever he can,” Lloyd marveled.

Atwell soared in the Marvel Universe as well, plus she has been starring with Tom Cruise in Mission: Impossible – Dead Reckoning, Part One and its follow-up Mission: Impossible 8. She was remarkable in a a revival of Rosmersholm, directed by Ian Rickson at the Duke of York’s in 2019, the year before she played Isabel for director Josie Rourke in Measure for Measure at the Donmar Warehouse. 

“So she’s the real deal,” Lloyd declared. “Both are, and they’re also both very witty people. … They’ve got this great intelligence, this great wit,” Lloyd observed, perfect qualities for Much Ado About Nothing, which he called “a joyful play.”

Although he complained that he has seen it played a touch too “broad.”

He said that it doesn’t need to be played at a “slapstick pace” to be fun. “The language in its own right is funny. I think they’ll be amazing sparring partners but also hint at that kind of tenderness under the surface.”

Both productions of The Tempest and Much Ado About Nothing will be stripped back, and he will ponder with frequent collaborator Soutra  Gilmour on how the shows will look and feel. 

There’s a shipwreck in The Tempest, but Lloyd won’t reveal whether he’s tempted or not to place one on the Drury Lane’s boards.

However, unlike his Sunset Boulevard and Romeo and Juliet productions, he won’t be using video as part of the performance for the Drury Lane shows.

“They’ll be stripped down, but no video. I’m saving all the video energy for Sunset Boulevard on Broadway,” he explained.

The two Shakespeares will run between Disney’s Frozen, which closes September 8, and musical Hercules, which begins performances in summer 2025.

“That’s why the Shakespeare season is a strictly limited total of 16 weeks,” said Lloyd. He added that there have been no discussions about the plays being captured by the National Theatre’s NT Live cameras, nor has there been talk of transferring to Broadway. 

“I always just make something for the theatre in which it’s meant to be performed, and then we see the after that,” Lloyd said during a conversation at the Jamie Lloyd Company offices located in a wing of Somerset House on the Strand, literally a stone’s throw from the Drury Lane.

We first touched base about the possibility of Shakespeare at Drury Lane late last year and have kept talking, on and off, since.

All kinds of names were bandied about by a few in the know. “Tom Hanks,” someone gleefully told me. Wrong Tom, old boy.

“Margot Robbie,” another boasted. 

“It’s so funny. I’ve heard these names, “ said Lloyd, “but no, not true. I mean, I would love to work with Margot Robbie on a play. I think she’s remarkable, isn’t she? And she came to see A Doll’s House that we did with Jessica Chastain. And that would be a dream come true to work with her.”

However, he revealed that he had spoken to Robbie “a couple of times” but “not” about Shakespeare.

“I think, as I say, one day, she’d like to explore the idea of doing a play, but let’s see what happens,” he cautioned.

Lloyd soon heads back to New York to begin rehearsals for Sunset Boulevard.

He and Weaver plan to meet up while he’s there to discuss her Prospero. He noted that the name won’t switch gender to Prospera as happened with Julie Taymor’s 2010 film of The Tempest, where the revengeful noble magician was played by Helen Mirren.

“It will remain Prospero,” Lloyd insisted.

Rehearsals for The Tempest will begin in London on October 28, “literally a week after we open Sunset on Broadway,” Lloyd said. 

His Jamie Lloyd Company will produce the season alone without the participation of ATG Entertainment.

The 16-week Shakespeare season will feature 25,000 tickets for £25 [US$32] and they’ll be “ring-fenced exclusively” for under-30s, key workers and those receiving government benefits. He said that he’s “well aware” that in the past wealthier folk who can afford to pay steeper prices have taken unfair advantage and gobbled up specially priced cheaper seats.

“These are good seats too,” he beamed. But they will introduce new methods to ensure the cheap seats go to the “right people.”

Working on The Tempest at Drury Lane will sort of complete a circle of coincidence for Weaver. 

She’ll be taking on a role last performed there by Gielgud.

Her first Broadway credit in 1975 was to work on a revival of W. Somerset Maugham’s The Constant Wife, starring Ingrid Bergman.

Weaver worked as an assistant stage manager and understudy.

The production was directed by John Gielgud.

[polyamships]

Polyamships is hosting #MultiamoryMarch2023 💞

We’re happy to reblog any polyam creations for the month of March from any fandom or from original works. You can use the above prompts if you need a little inspiration, or you can create something in general for a polyamorous ship of any kind. We also have plenty of prompts from past years we’d still love to see fanworks for if they inspire you better. If you use a prompt, please make sure to let us know which prompt you're creating for somewhere on your post.

At us @polyamships and use the tags #MultiamoryMarch and #MultiamoryMarch2023 in the first five tags so we can hopefully see it. If you don’t see us reblog your post within a few days feel free to send us an ask to let us know, or submit it via our googleform here, in case we’ve missed your post or the tags/notifications are being weird.

All ratings are welcome but anything nsfw/triggery should be warned for and behind a read more, as should very long tumblr fic.

We also have an AO3 collection for the event that can be found here and the collection name is 'multiamory_march_works'.

We can’t wait to see what you create for the month, and please do spread the word about the event. ❤️♾️ QPR on the graphic is the abbreviation for Queerplatonic Relationship. And Sedoretu is a poly marriage invented by Ursula K. Le Guin in her science fiction story "A Fisherman of the Inland Sea," which you can find more out about over on its Fanlore page. All the prompts can also be found as text below the read more. Over the next month or two, we will also be doing a number of posts with expanded ideas for each prompt for anyone who needs a little more inspiration than just the one or two word style we have below.

March 1st - V relationship

March 2nd - Supernatural

March 3rd - Games

March 4th - Affection

March 5th - Awakening

March 6th - Pets

March 7th - Language

March 8th - Sick

March 9th - Declarations

March 10th - Convenience

March 11th - Wedding

March 12th - Cuddling

March 13th - Sharing clothes

March 14th - Sedoretu

March 15th - Adoption

March 16th - Sleepover

March 17th - QPR (QueerPlatonic Relationship)

March 18th - Together

March 19th - Art

March 20th - Grief

March 21st - Treasure

March 22nd -Bonding

March 23rd - Forest

March 24th - Apart

March 25th - Unlikely

March 26th - Argument

March 27th - Shadow

March 28th - Teasing

March 29th - Mark

March 30th - Pining

March 31st - Polyam is the norm AU

[blingblong55]

Take me to church- 141(missing Gaz in prt 1)

This is based on a request/personal need tbh:

NSFW, 18+, MDNI ಠ_ಠ, F!Reader, monster au, incubus au, p-in-v, CNC(ghost part),

Part 2 (König, Gaz, Graves,)

It was a known fact that there were demon like creatures roaming the Earth. Shifting into their human form and living normal lives and their true identities would be revealed, if wanted, at night. You would never expect that the task force you worked with was infested with them. You were always fascinated by them though, always researched on them. You had grown fond of one kind of creature, Incubus. You had seen the stories, the art other people did for them. And secretly you wanted incubus to find its way to you, to make you his for the night. To leave his marks on you, to please you.

One fortunate night, you roamed base. It was past the curfew your commanding officers had set. You couldn't sleep, so you tired yourself by taking a few laps around base. You, by accident had seen their true forms (individually ofc) you noticed their horns, the way their eyes would glow, how they had an evil sinister smirk on their lips. Your eyes wandered around his body. His muscles being showcased as the moon shone on them, a small piece of cloth only covering his underparts. You didn't know why, but just the sight of him turned you on. His eyes scanned the base, he must've felt someone was observing him, then his eyes met yours. You quickly turned away, hiding behind some building. You closed your eyes for a brief second, hoping he hadn't seen you. But as you opened them, he was right in front of you, he was reaching down to you, touching your chin, caressing it with his hand.

Ghost:

"oh doll...what have you done to yourself?" he smiled to himself, licking his lips as he thought of himself in you.

"Ghost?" his face slightly covered by a different kind of mask. You didn't move from his touch. You had to admit, you kinda liked it.

His mind wondering into the possibilities. He knew he could have you at any given moment.

His eyes never left yours, they appeared to be searching for...something...it was as if his own nature desired your body, soul and mind.

I must have her, he thought.

"what are you doing all alone doll..its past curfew..." he softly says, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, he leans forward, his lips close to your ear, "you know I can punish you for this." his voice so seductive, so needy.

"will you though sir?" although this is what you had wanted for years, it was still..scary. You tried to look confident under his gaze.

Fuck, did he want to devour your sweet sweet cunt.

He had been with a few women, but he always desired you, yeah..just you.

The one that made his thoughts go from dirty to unholy.

He stopped himself from exploring even more into his own desires. As you looked up at him, with those sweet innocent eyes of yours, he sent you back to your room. But before you were far, he heard you say "will I expect you tonight?". He had to admit it, tonight out of all nights he dreamed of fucking you..he would be victorious. "perhaps." and with that you went back to your room. All the walking you had done eventually grew you tired. You laid in your bed, the moonlight peaking through your blinds.

Ghost walks in, he locks the door behind him. As he approaches you, the piece of cloth he was wearing fell to the floor. His body started to crave you. He loved how you only slept in a long baggy shirt. It was the most you showed leg. Tonight he let his true nature rise, unlike other nights when he had contemplated whether or not to make you his, but eventually just walking away. He was sure he wanted to enjoy every piece of you. Although asleep, he started kisses you. His hands roaming through your body. He eventually rested his hands at your breasts. Fuck did they make him think of the many things he would do to you. His hands lifted your shirt, he looked down, they were so big, so tender. His mouth soon started to kiss them, caress them with his tongue.

By this point you were in trance, your eyes opened, your body enjoying his touch, yet you couldn't say a word. No, not under his power as an incubus. "Fuck lovie, look at how you have me?" he said under his breath, his hands cuffing your breast. "tits so good" he commented. His hands wanted more, he wanted more. As he started to move down your body, he would occasionally look up at you. His deep chuckle filling the room, as he watched how your expressions would differ based on his touches.

"like it?" but you of course didn't respond. He loved how you stayed somewhat silent under his trance. His tongue starts to lick closer to your area. Your body grew impatient. His hands pushed you into the mattress. He wanted his meal to be slow, to be memorable, not impatient or needy. His tongue eventually reached the opening of your pussy. His tongue roaming, welcoming himself in you. You were wet, leaking as he deepened himself in you. He moaned as he started to taste your juices. His eyes roll back in pleasure.

"Taste to sweet doll." He whispers. His fingers soon wanted some of the action. He kneeled in front of you as your legs were spread open for him. One finger, then two. They thrusted in you, making you squirt in the process. It drove him wild knowing he had this control over your body. Your eyes were fixed on his. You looked so fucking hot in this light and in this position. A smile drew on his lips.

When he eventually knew you were ready to take him, he fixed his composure. "ready doll? you'll be a good girl for me won't you?" his eyebrows furrowed, his voice soft, but his eyes spilled the demise he would plant on your cunt. "open wide for me doll." his hands holding onto his member. You let out a small gasp as he made way in you. He was so big and so thick. His veiny member rubbing against your walls.

He started to thrust in you.

At first it was slow and steady, he allowed your body to adjust to his size and rhythm. But fuck, the way your insides wrapped around him drove him feral. His slow thrusts turning more vile in you. Your expressions feeding into his own thoughts, god the way you looked at him as he fucked you, as he went more faster and deeper in you, it did things to him. Unholy things. He wanted to chain you up and make you his personal doll, he wanted to teach you his ways, abuse your pussy until you begged him to stop.

Your body soon reached its orgasmic moment, your back arched. His hands trailed to your back, keeping you in that position for him. He leaned in, biting and kissing your tits. "fuck doll." he said thrusting in you. He wasn't done, he was far from it. One of his hands reached back to your aching pussy, fingering you as your tears of pleasure leaked from you eyes. He looked down at it, it was dripping your own doing. He looked back at you and grinned. His hand reaching to his mouth, he leaked his fingers and then he opened your mouth, he quickly gathered some of your juices and he spit on his hand. Making a cocktail of the bodily juices. He places his hand on your mouth before spreading the dripping cocktail around your face. Slapping you as he did this.

"fuck" he groaned as his own wave of pleasure would soon arrive. His thrusts becoming sloppy, your and his liquids mixing as he pounded into you. "Fuck..fuck.." he loudly whispers. He threw his head back as he came in you. He stayed in you, leaning forward, his lips touching yours. "you have no idea the nights I have planned ahead for us doll." he crashed his lips into yours once more. "you did so great for me, like the good girl you are." he said, kissing your jaw and neck, choking you as he did this. He gave you a few more thrusts before pulling out and backing away, enjoying this view. He smiled proudly as you leaked both of your juices out. "look at that" he kneels, his mouth now back at your cunt. He starts licking, drinking some as he does this, savouring you. He reaches back to your mouth and spits in it. "swallow us both doll..I know you want to." his eyes piercing yours.

He later started to clean you up with a cloth. He left the room to grab some water for you both. You soon woke up from the trance. You looked around. Your body glistening with sweat. You smiled to yourself. He walks back into the room, smiling as he meet your eyes. "You did well doll." he praises you. He hands you the bottle of water, and watches as you drink from it. "next time I won't be so gentle." he says, you nods. "dont want you to be ghost." his lips crashing back with yours. And after a long makeup session, you two cuddle one another. His hands gently touching your skin.

Price:

wanted to do things to you. Your body drove him crazy. The way you moved, the way you talked, smiled.

he was just so close to letting his own sadistic thoughts win.

as he spotted you, he knew that maybe he had an opportunity, finally.

"r/n?" he said as he walked up to you. Hands behind his back, smiling as he got closer. "sir, I know its late...but I," his finger on your lips, "shhh,"

"I'm sorry sir."

oh the things he wanted to do to you, show you it was him who was in fact sorry, sorry that he'd leave you dripping his juices.

"if you are sorry, then I'll meet you in your room. Go on now," he said, letting you walk away.

The way your ass, curves, and mouth would all look on him after he was fucking you, now that was a sight to see.

He waited and waited. Making himself horny in the process.

He walked inside your room, you were just sitting there, reading some book. He closed the door behind him, walking up to you, licking his lips. "well hello." he didnt waist any other second. His lips on yours, he lingered inside your mouth. "taste so good love."

"oh god." you moaned out, as his hand trailed down your stomach. "god isn't pleasing you love" his hands now in you. His fingers pleasuring you, making you taste heaven each time he was rough. "I won't be kind to you tonight." he crashed his lips to you once more. It was pure then passionate. The cloth that covered him falling off in the process. He kneels down, eating you out. He moans as he tastes you. His own little piece of paradise. "oh fuck!" you gripped onto the sheets.

"thats it love, you like that?" his voice husky. He smiled as his tongue fucks you. "yes, yes yes!" you start to grow more desperate, squirming under his own tongue. Without any warning, he places your legs on his side, for support. His now throbbing member in you. He was violent with it. just like he had warned. No kinds to you. Your body had to provide its purpose, to please his every need. It burned a little as he stretched you, but fuck did it feel good.

With each thrusts he sent waves of pleasure through your body. "oh fuck fuck fuck..." you moaned and whimpered. He fingered you as he thrusted in you, making your own juices, his lube. He reached down, kissing you as your pussy ached with pleasure. You kept moaning, he spit in your mouth. "oh fuck!" his head back, his chest gleaming with sweat and you. His beard leaked you. He then looked back down, reached his hand down and grabbed onto your breasts. Holding on as he fucked himself too deep in you.

He was drunk on your body, not thinking straight anymore. He came. He unloaded himself in you. Letting you have all of him. But he wasn't done. He flipped you over. Your legs weak, and he held your back to his chest. His hand traveling down. His mouth at the back of your neck. kissing it slowly. He cupped one of your boobs, barely fitting it in his hand. He bit your shoulder.

"a true goddess to let me have you like this."

His hand flew to your mouth, covering it so you can be quiet for once. He fucked you this way. For nearly ten minutes he thrusted in you, making you cry in pleasure and pain. You're ass hitting his thighs each time. "oh yes love...just like that." he cums once more. He tossed you into a pillow, his hand pushing you into it. "don't you dare move." he slapped your ass as he fucked you. You moaned and screamed his name. His hands marking your back. The symbol of an incubus. Blood dripping from the wound. "it looks good on you, my little slut." he spits out, cumming on your back. He moans in pleasure. He kisses you, and soon he walked away, cloth in hand.

Soap:

This man fucks! Doesn't give a shit if as in incubus he must fuck women that are asleep..he'll just fuck

But oh the minute he spotted you. God it was the first time he was nervous.

Approached with caution, "I take you cant sleep"

"no." "so can I help..you know I can" he was trying so damn hard to look confident...inside he was a mess

He checked you out from head to toe. Wanting to see what your uniform hid.

you were a wreck, his eyes seduced you into trance.

You led him to your room, moving to your bed as you removed your clothes. He walks to you, cloth on the floor. He kissed your neck. Leaving wet kisses as he trailed down to your shoulder. He bit a few times, wanting to leave marks all over you. Just so other demons can see it was him you belonged to.

He couldn't wait any longer. He pushed you to the bed. "stay like that bonnie" your ass up as your head rested on your pillow. He spit on his hand, and then rubbed it on your clit. Oh the looked he had on his face. Such a whore for him. A smug look on him. "oh bonnie, the things you are." he said and with no warning or any foreplay, he was in you. Fucking your tight little cunt. You moaned loudly. Just the way he likes them.

"You like that bonnie?" he thrusted in you. Your moans and cunt almost making him cum. But he wanted more time with you. So he kneeled down and ate you out. Moaning as he licked your insides. Loving the effect he had on you.

"oh..fuck fuck soap!" you said gripping onto the sheets. With one sudden move, he turned you around. And then you noticed his nipple piercings. You're smirked. "oh bonnie, you just had to do that huh." he spit on you, lightly slapping your tits before he reached down and bite them. Licking your nipple. His eyes not leaving yours. "such big tits huh?" he said as he sucks on them. You nod. "I need words baby" he stopped. "...y-yes" you replied. He smiles and continues with his bites. His hands perked your boobs. He now had his member between them. And slowly he moved your hands to them.

So you can hold them for him. And he fucked them. Moaning and whimpering as your tits brought him great pleasure. "oh fuck bonnie" he let out, almost as a whimper. He looked back down at you, giving you light slaps and with his other hand he opened your mouth, forcing it wide open. His moved his member to your mouth. "suck it" he demanded. Your doe eyes on him, doing as he says. You placed him inside your mouth. His head rolled back in pleasure. The room filled with wet noises and him.

"oh r/n, the....things you do"

He came inside your mouth and then all over your face. He closed your mouth, "swallow" he demanded. Your innocent eyes looking at him, "swallow my cum bonnie, please" You nod, and then he kisses you. It was so sticky, the taste of him. His cum so thick and good. He tasted himself in your mouth. He moved back, getting off the bed and watched you.

"play with yourself" he said. You just nod and spit on your own fingers. His hand on his member. You fingers yourself, it was slow at first, then deep and fast. "oh fuck" you moaned. He jerked off at this view. And when he couldn't take it any longer, he moved to you, removing your hand and placing himself inside.

He thrusted in you, deep and slow. Like he enjoyed to watch you squirm and plead for mercy. And then it was fast and deeper. On your stomach, he could see himself, thrusting in you. Oh that view fucked with him and soon he filled you with him.

"oh yes pretty girl" he moaned loudly. Holding your hips as he came to his orgasm. His fingers on your aching pussy. Fingering you, enjoying how you squirted. And he kept thrusting. You soon felt a knot on your stomach. "come for me bonnie." he said, hand's on your hips, leaning his imprints on them. You soon came, hips running wild as this wave of pleasure rushed in your body.

"soap!" your hands flew to his arms, leaving your nail marks on them. Oh did he love the pain this brought. He came once more because of this. And when he stepped back as you leaked him, you kept moaning his name. "oh soap, fuck, fuck" he walked to you, your pretty face flushed and with red marks from his slaps. "oh you liked that bonnie?" he asked. Your brows furrowed, nodding a yes. "I need words bonnie, " he cupped your face and softly said, "come on pretty girl"

"I loved it," your voice shaky, feeding his ego.

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

A/n: okay so I feel the need to make two parts mainly because I got too overwhelmed working on this one alone..besides..I want Gaz's to be extra long and I don't want to strain your eyes.

Anon, I hope this is enough to feed ya until the next part

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

[sailingintothenight]

"A night in New York." P.P.

SUMMARY: Peter Parker and (y/n) Laufeyson spend a couple of hours together after the events of the end game.

A:N: Hello! It's been over a year since I posted my last story. I thought I was getting better from my illness, but this year helped me realize that I still have a lot to heal, but I hope this story is the push I need to continue writing because I really like writing about Tom and Peter, so, I hope you like this even though it's not very good hehehe but I had fun writing it so… thank you so much! - V.

The knife hits its mark.

The dummy's head in the compound's training room swings back and forth a few times and snaps back into place with a knife embedded in its fictional skull, while you, with a knot in your stomach, conjure up another one in your left hand with a bit of magic, a small white mist that transforms into a deadly weapon like your dad taught you to do before dying before a purple villain who lay standing under the cold night, merciless.

“Hi–” Peter Parker leans to the right as the knife embeds itself in the wall, an inch from his ear. “Holy cow! If you hadn't missed you would have cut off my ear.”

Your implacable expression doesn't change at his words.

“Do you think I missed?”

Peter stands there, eyes wide like a deer about to get hit by a car in the middle of the road when he realizes you hit exactly where you wanted to hit.

“Am I interrupting you?”

“Actually, yes…” Turning around, you play with the knife in your hand, like a well-executed magic trick as Uncle Thor likes to say. “I’m not done with him yet.”

“Well… he looks pretty dead to me.” Peter Parker laughs sweetly because he’s sweet, he’s sweet and innocent in the way he smiles, or tries to, like he hasn’t lost someone in the middle of an endgame battle, too. “I was just passing by on my way home, and I was wondering, do you want to do something?”

Your hand stops before you throw the knife, at the same time your brow furrows as you turn to look at him.

“What?”

Peter blushes, he can’t help it when your gazes meet because your eyes are strong, but he forces himself not to let himself be defeated.

“Yeah, uh, do you want to do something? I thought it would be a nice distraction from all this.”

"From all this.” You emphasize those words, poisonous like the snakes your dad used to turn into to scare your uncle. For a second, you think about how to be rude to him, how to say that all this involved suffering for your dad’s death, but something in his gaze is captivating, endearing and even honest with his own pain because he doesn’t hide it unlike you. “Like what?”

He blinks in surprise, because, although he came to you with the desire to help, Peter didn’t think you would accept that help.

“I don’t know… Do you want to take a walk around the city? I don’t think you’ve seen anything of it since you arrived in New York.”

“It’s not that I was really interested.” You answer honestly, brutally, but honestly. But before you answer, you think carefully about your next words, because in the depths of your mind, being alone doesn’t seem so tempting now that he’s there. “Okay, but I want the full Spider-man superhero experience.”

Peter is confused.

“Everything? You mean swinging through the city and stuff?”

You nod.

“Okay.” Peter nods back, and you can’t help but compare him to a little kid learning the first day of class, shy and a little bit scared. “Do you mind if we use the window and not the door? I heard Thor say you weren’t allowed to go outside until… you know.”

“I don’t mind.” You say confidently and walk over to him, because respecting rules isn’t something that runs in your family.

“Okay, cool, cool…” He says to himself, while his spider-sense makes his skin crawl at the closeness of your presence.

The two of you walk silently through the halls of the huge compound, empty halls now that their leader is no longer present. You turn right and right again, left through the lab until you find a window facing the city. Peter jumps up and stands on the edge as his superpowers help him keep his balance.

“You like burgers?”

“What?” You ask in surprise.

“Burgers, there’s this cool place that’s open all night – the cheeseburgers are my favorite.”

You frown as the image forms in your head.

“I guess I can try.”

“Great! Now I’m going to…” Peter tries to get you to come to him, but freezes up at not knowing how to tell you that you have to be against him so you can both jump out of the window. “You have to be against me so we can swing.”

He reaches out his hand for you to take, and for a second, a tingle spreads from your joined hands all the way to the bottom of your stomach as Peter lifts you up and helps you keep your balance. His hand on your waist is awkward, but he’s tender in the way he steals glances at you because you’re so close to him. And it’s the first time he’s been this close to a girl.

Throwing his web towards the nearest lighthouse, you both swing down to the city.

DELI burgers is open all night, and as you take your order, and unseen by anyone, even though the street is empty at that time of the night, Peter leads you to the edge of a two-story building to sit there, and you take your first bite of the bun that almost spills creams of different colors and flavors all over the paper bag. Peter looks at you curiously, waiting with those soft, bright eyes for you to tell him what it tastes like, what the verdict is for someone who comes from another world.

“It’s good.” You say with your mouth full. “It’s very good.”

Peter smiles as he eats his own burger, enjoying the silence between you that for some reason isn’t awkward.

“Burgers are really good, bad for your health, but good.”

You swallow before speaking again.

“I’ve never tried them before.”

Peter smiles shyly.

“I guess you didn’t have this in Asgard.”

You shake your head.

“No, but we should have.” You laugh. And for a few seconds that seem like an eternity, Peter threatens to lose himself in that sound, so sweet and free at the same time. But it is at that moment that he realizes that since you came to Earth and fought together, he had never heard you laugh. “Are you okay, Peter?”

“Uh?” He looks at you, surprised, because that is the first time you call him by his name. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay.”

In your voice, his name sounds nice, and he blushes at that thought.

“So… do you like living here?”

Peter looks at you, but you are focused on the night view, which is very different from the world you used to live in.

“Yes, despite the noise and the occasional crime, I like this city.” He smiles. “You… do you plan to stay and live in New York?”

For some reason, Peter is worried to hear your answer.

“I don’t really know…” you shrug. “Now that dad’s not here, Uncle Thor is in charge of me, although sometimes it feels like I’m in charge of him…” you laugh, and Peter laughs with you. “But dad asked him to take care of me, so it’s all up to him. Uh, I guess we’ll be moving to Norway soon to start fresh with our people.”

Peter looks down for a moment, because suddenly he doesn’t want you to go away, and at the same time, he’s sad because he knows well what it’s like to lose a father. Although Loki never considered himself a hero, it was heroic what he did to protect his brother and his daughter.

“I’m so sorry about your dad.”

You smile at him for a moment before looking away.

“Thank you, Peter. I know dad wasn’t… the best role model, but he was always a good dad, loving, protective, and very funny when we were together. I know he loved my mother very much and he loved me very much.”

Peter hesitates his next question.

“And your mom… is she still alive?”

You shake your head, and although sadness threatens to flood your heart, you manage to smile at the memory of her.

“No. She was a force of nature, the queen of her own world, so when Thanos came to her planet first, she gave her life for her people. I lived with her and Dad for many years, so I grew up in a very loving home.”

Your words made Peter wonder how you didn’t seem sad when talking about the people you lost, because you seem the complete opposite of him.

“My parents died too…” unlike you, Peter can’t manage to smile at the memory. “My Aunt May raised me like I was her own son.”

Because you don’t know what to say, because you never learned to put your feelings into words, because in that you were very similar to your dad, your warm hand gently closes around his arm, making Peter look into your eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Peter.”

Your gaze is honest, and he threatens to get lost in the color of your eyes, which, for some reason, look at him fondly.

“Thank you, (y/n).”

His voice is so sincere, that your heart races as you pull your hand away. You clear your throat softly before speaking again, just so your words don’t falter.

“So… Do you have a girlfriend?”

Peter’s eyes widen as he looks at you in surprise, and you laugh.

“Sorry, was that too personal?”

Peter manages to snap out of his stupor in time.

“No–” His voice cracks, and he laughs at how embarrassed he feels, but it’s a funny embarrassment. “I mean; I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Do you want to?”

Peter didn’t understand the question.

“Are you offering to be?” He asks suddenly, so fast that it takes you by surprise.

“I…” you laugh nervously, but suddenly, you’re asking yourself if you want to be. “I was asking you if you wanted to have a girlfriend.”

“Oh…” Peter, sweet Peter Parker, couldn’t help but blush as he tells himself how clumsy he is. “Well… I guess it would be great to have someone to share moments with. Did you… have a boyfriend?”

“No…” you shake your head, but at peace with yourself, even though deep down, you wanted to feel a love like your parents. “Uncle Thor says I’m still too young for that.”

Peter blinks.

“Can I ask how old you are?”

You chuckle.

“A lot older than you.” You give him an amused smile. “A lot more. So, it would be weird if you had a girlfriend who is much older than you.”

At your words, Peter’s heart races. Were you flirting with him? Because it seems that way.

“Well…” Peter doesn’t know how to flirt, but he finds a clever way to do it. “You don’t look like it. You actually look really young.”

And then, you both look at each other and burst out laughing.

The conversation continues for a while longer, until, you know it’s time to go back to the solitude of your room. A little less uncomfortable with his closeness, as if a burger and a few words could bring you closer to him, you cling to Peter for a ride back. The moment you’re standing on the floor near the window as he holds onto the frame before leaving, it feels strange for you to say goodbye to each other, considering that soon, you would have to leave, forever.

The thought makes Peter’s chest tighten painfully.

“Thanks, Peter. I had a lot of fun with you.” You say sincerely.

“I had a lot of fun with you too, (y/n)…” your name, on his lips, tickles your stomach. “…I really hope you don’t leave so soon.”

For some reason, the momentary goodbye is sad.

“Goodnight, Peter.” You smile before turning around, just so he doesn’t see the expression on your face.

“Goodnight, (y/n)…” He whispers, limply, watching you leave.

The moment you’re out of sight, Peter heads back home. After walking for a moment through the compound, a hand flies up to your heart as you see your uncle, arms crossed, standing outside your room.

“What are you doing up so late, sir?” you laugh, casually, because like your dad, you weren’t worried about being reprimanded.

“I saw you.” Thor looks at you with narrowed eyes, giving you an accusatory look that didn’t cause anything in you. “I saw you leave with that boy.”

“Relax, uncle, Peter was just showing me the city.”

“Did you kiss him?” he asks, not missing a beat.

“No.” You shake your head, surprised.

“Do you want to?”

You stare at him in silence, because it’s the same question you asked Peter.

“That’s a very personal question.” You laugh, but as you open the door to your room, he follows you inside.

“(y/n), darling…” Thor says your name softly, lovingly, making you turn to look at him. “Do you want to stay in New York?”

For a moment, you consider his words.

“Are you thinking of staying here?”

Thor sighs.

“You know we have to go back to Norway soon to lead our people in this new world, but if you want to stay here, with the Spider-Boy, you could… start going to school like him and make a life here.”

Your heart beats rapidly. Would you do it?

[spectralstitions]

THERE'S A MAP FINALLY LOL (EXPLODES)

Hey, it's Cas! In my last post about mapmaking, I wrote that the next time I posted about it, I hoped it'd be because my map was finished. Well, guess what? I FINISHED IT! It only took me, like... uh... half a year to get around to it. Well, here it is! Two versions: one plain, one labeled.

It's such a relief to have this finished. Finally, after a thousand years of just thinking about it, I have something resembling a visual resource! Yay! That said, it's not perfect, and definitely more of an approximation than anything. There are touch-ups to be made, many touch-ups, but I might just save that for an end-of-year progress check. For now, it's good enough!

The lack of labels has nothing to do with minimalism and everything to do with the fact that I really hate naming things. V-shaped icons point to major settlements. Dot icons mark settlements that are smaller, but subject to show up often for whatever reason. Those ones in particular I'm sure will get edited or shifted around over time.

Now, to meticulously explore each and every region!

I'll work from top to bottom!

Surprise, I'm starting with the name! I find myself drawn to names that sound simple but have lots of interesting connotations. In this case, I'd been searching for a name that captured the feeling of a far off, enigmatic place, something vast and always just beyond reach. Then, while I was searching, and in a manner not unlike that one Overwatch meme, the word "Hinterlands" played in the Lord Huron song I was listening to and I had my HOLY SHIT moment. There's no way a name this whimsical hasn't already been snagged by some cartoon or something, but I can live with that.

As an aside, if I were to pick just one piece of media that encapsulated what I'm going for with this project, it'd be the album Strange Trails by Lord Huron. Of all my many inspirations, it's the one that's had the most profound impact. So the name also works as a homage!

Starting off spooky with our first region, the Old Waythrough. It's a place most people don't like to talk or even think about, but it's always there, looming just under the surface. It has remarkably little presence even in local folklore, and what little there is has been cut into pieces and scattered about through generations of oral storytelling. That said, there are a couple surviving records of Parthans attempting flyovers, eager to prove their courage. None of them get very far, but interestingly, even across the centuries, their recounts have all been similar, describing endless, desolate lands that are empty save for random objects and footprints in the snow.

One famous story, and the tale behind the region's common name, recounts the miraculous journey of the first partha who made contact with the mainland using the Waythrough as a guide. If true, this partha is the only known creature to have crossed the Waythrough in its entirety—and in doing so, gave the fasa who saw them quite a scare!

Our next region is Parthesa, or the parthan homelands! Yeah, get ready for some confusing naming conventions. I'll try to break it down:

The species itself, singular and plural, is known as "partha". Its descriptive form is "parthan".

Partha born on Parthesa, as well as any outsider accepted into their flocks, are known as "Parthans" with a capital P.

All partha born on Parthesa are also called skyborn, while their mainland cousins are called wildborn.

It's a bit much, but I promise, so are they. Parthesa itself is frequently described as a paradise, mostly for the fact that there seems to be a strange lack of spirit activity on the islands themselves. Is that the full story, though? Who knows — Parthans aren't exactly scrambling to brag about how UNbetter-than-everyone-else they and their homeland are. On that note, did Parthans name themselves after their homeland, or did they name their homelands after themselves? Mysteries upon mysteries...

Famously, the islands are beautiful — flower fields, waterfalls, seaside cliffs, mountains and valleys to dip and dive through, and that wonderful ocean breeze! Plus, as long as you've got parthan feather insulation and love storms, the weather's great! Infamously, getting to Parthesa is incredibly dangerous without a Parthan guide, something that's hard to come by. Without one, travelers don't have a great track record of being seen again.

On the opposite side of the Waythrough, we've got the fasan homelands! This dashing, idyllic little landscape is defined by mountains, rivers, lakes, colorful flower fields, and forests of towering boreal trees. Also, ignore that green mountain I forgot to recolor.

Fasa like to incorporate waterways into their architecture in interesting ways, building settlements that trace the length of rivers. Despite their homeland's cutesy appearance, their deep forests harbor all sorts of dangers. Uniquely, this danger doesn't just concern spirits, but entire swathes of dangerous, predatory animals. Still, as long as you take the proper safety precautions, it's a lovely place to live. Their main city can be found by following the paths of the rivers into the mountains. Their harbor town is much newer but has quickly become prosperous!

Okay, you see this gigantic piece of land with almost zero markers in it? This one's my sandbox. Why does nobody seem to want to live here? Well, they tried. They really tried, judging by all the bizarre artifacts poking out of the ground everywhere. The place is a mass graveyard, with evidence of ancient raswa, fasa, and who knows what else engaged in constant territory spats going back centuries. However, these battles seemed to have stopped very suddenly. It's assumed that the appearance of spirits was the last straw that pushed people back into their homelands, finally convincing them the place was just not worth it, something that countless deaths couldn't accomplish. But it's been thousands of years, and people are making tentative attempts to settle again, this time in unity—and hey, so far so good! The few settlements that exist here are characterized by the diversity of their people.

If you follow the trails, you're sure to come across fellow travelers, traders, and the like, but the vast majority of the land is void of people. You could walk for weeks or longer and not come across a single soul! There's a lot to discover, but it's a bit lonely...

Down south, you'll find the Underbelly! The Underbelly is the common name given to this region of wetland and swamp. It's one of the deadliest—and in many people's opinions, the grossest—places in the Hinterlands. Miraculously, there are a hardy people who've managed to make a living in the deep swamp, their treehouse cities literal lights in the darkness. They trade with and have close relations to raswa!

Nearly done! Now we've come to the raswan homelands. Not to be an edgelord, but this region is one defined by utter darkness. Well, okay, it's supposed to be a little edgy, but that part of it comes second. On the left half sleeps an incredibly dense roofed forest, such that light rarely grazes the forest floor. Mushrooms spawn like wildfire, and only those with the grace of raswa are going to have much luck navigating it. On the other side of the mountains lies the raswan desert, a place where sandblood raswans lead nomadic lifestyles. It's also a place many go to get in touch with their spirituality. Sandblood raswa wander the depths of the desert, traveling by night, when sand in the air lights up like stars. With their unique skin colors and plain dark clothes, raswa disguise themselves as part of the night sky to avoid deadly desert spirits. The spirits are a pain in the forests, too—raswa have devised safe pathways for travelers, but all they can really do is hand you a charm and beg you not to stray. Due to the regions' conditions, the settlements here remain mostly raswa, save for their newer harbor town.

We're onto the last area! This island is in a weird spot, and it's kind of just weird in general, so I saved it for last. It's even weird in the formatting of this blog post! What is wrong with you, fae homelands? This island was created very recently by one of the gods, although they are all credited for it. "Homelands" is a strange word for fae to use, though, because most fae do not come from this land at all. In fact, there are barely any trees here! In any case, This island is what connects all people, encouraging unity in times of despair. From edge to edge, the place is a gigantic market space, full to bursting with different kinds of people, vivid colors, and overwhelming sounds and smells.

And that's that! I'll be real, I had way more fun just writing all that than I did even making the map, so I hope that even 1 person skimmed it and got something out of it. But if not, this'll be a good resource for me, too, so, I guess it's win-win.

I'm not really sure what's next for me! I kinda want to work on more visual development for the fauna, spirits, and gods, but the other, realer, and more boring side of me thinks I should probably figure out the extremely basic information like fasan & raswan government styles first. Cause, you know, the fundamental structure of their society is kind of important...

I've made progress in other areas as well, so I may make a separate post for that! But for now I need a short break. Hope you enjoyed. Yay!

[helenvader]

As a contribution for Week 6 of the ROP Summer Celebration 2024 I offer "everything you never wanted to know about my OCs" from Tale of a King, which takes plays both in the Second and Fourth Age.

The 2nd Age characters:

Enwyn fiên Wendall (daughter of Wendall)*

*I came up with a fake Old Western Southron as the language of the Southerners in the 2nd Age, it's not very extensive, but I needed to know what names of characters and places mean, and also, I couldn't resist having a linguistic Appendix for a Tolkien story).

My fancast for Enwyn is Jane Eyre as played by Mia Wasikowska

Family: One sister (Erriân fiên Wendall). One daughter (Neni, full name Neniêth fiên Halbrand). And an overbearing mother. Three nephews and one niece.

Character: Quiet and gentle (not submissive, though). Witty. Very patient. You have to be if you're Halbrand's/Sauron's wife. I've given some thought to what kind of partner Halbrand would need, and I came to the conclusion she'd have to have a sense of humour and not take him 100% seriously. And not to be as impulsive as he is, so as to ground him in reality.

Her struggles: Infertility. And coming to terms with her mortality, since her and her husband may never meet in the afterlife (which is why I chose a mortal woman as his wife for this story). 

Interests: Growing apples. :-) She has an orchard in my fictional village of Ramborn and later in Tir-Harad (the Queen’s orchard).

Later: Brewing cider (which is a Harfoot invention in my AU; her original orchard becomes their “collective” later on.)

She also likes to write, and the story includes excerpts from her journal.

The story also includes their daughter Neniêth, who resembles Halbrand in most respects: looks, stubbornness, talent for smithing. Becomes a well-known jeweller. Not a queen though, the Southlands are an elective monarchy in my AU.

The 4th Age characters:

Tany Perriwinkle

26 years old. Ancient languages expert, works in an archive. She is also an editor for her friend Bran who is a playwright (the whole story is framed by the play he is writing about King Halbrand). Pretty, lively, very social. Changes boyfriends a lot. :-)

Bran Tarry

In his 30s. Playwright. A reclusive bachelor. Creative (obviously), with a sense of humour. Tendency to tease Tany about her love conquests. Pragmatic. His apartment is a mess. :-)

They basically look like the characters in the play's poster. The era they live in is fake 1920s.

An excerpt from the story:

Act V, scene 3 Excerpt from Enwyn's diary Year 1337 of the Second Age

The funniest thing happened this week. Halbrand's wedding ring mysteriously disappeared, and all attempts to locate it proved fruitless. Unlike mine, his is just a simple one with no enchantment, and thus untraceable even for him.

It turned out the culprit was our Neni. The impudent little thing marched up to her father and confessed, immensely pleased with her accomplishment. Young as she is, she instinctively knew to take his ring and not mine, and was fully confident that he would not punish her. And, indeed, instead of scolding her, he laughed so hard that couldn't help but join him. It was apparent that he was proud of her for having tricked us so. His sense of humour has always been marked by a streak of mischievousness; and who am I to deny that it's a huge part of his charm? And, of course, he is no stranger to thieving. I might have teased him that her skills are far superior to his.

His love for Neni is beautiful to witness; it burns fiercer and brighter than the fires of the forge, but then, is he not a being of living flame? Nevertheless, he needs to learn to set boundaries when it comes to her shenanigans, or else she'll be spoiled rotten. He played the penitent, promising he would try, but I shall only believe him when I see it with my own eyes!

[scotianostra]

On March 9th 1566, David Rizzio, Mary Queen of Scots Italian Secretary was murdered at Hol6rood Palace.

So much has been said and written about Mary Queen of Scots, but what of her persona secretary?

This guy came to Scotland as part of Mary’s entourage and she must have have some strong feelings for him. I’ll go into the history books to quote John Guy, historian and author of “My Heart is My Own: The Life of Mary Queen of Scots”, who describes David Rizzio as a “young Piedmontese valet and musician, who had arrived in the suite of the ambassador of the Duke of Savoy and stayed on as a bass in Mary’s choir”.

She obviously took a liking to Rizzio because in late 1564 she chose him to replace her confidential secretary and decipherer, Augustine Raulet, who was a Guise retainer and the only person who Mary had trusted with a key to the box which contained her personal papers. Raulet, for some reason, had lost her trust.

Mary was in love, or indeed in lust with Darnley, a man John Guy describes as “a narcissist and a natural conspirator”, a man who like myself liked his drink and was, unlike myself promiscuous. Darnley is even said to have slept with David Rizzio

So the story goes ………Mary was dining with Rizzio and her half-sister Jean, countess of Argyll in a small closet just off her bedchamber upstairs in the tower of the Palace of Holyroodhouse that had been built by and named after her father, James V when unexpectedly, Darnley entered the room, sat next to Mary and put his hand around her waist, chatting amiably, perhaps unnerving her. Even more surprisingly, the earl of Ruthven appeared in the door of the closet. Ruthven wassaid to have been sick been and off his nightshirtbut was covered with a full coat of armor. He shouted “May it please your majesty to let yonder man Davie come forth of your presence, for he has been overlong here.” The rest is written as ………..

“Mary quickly realized the gravity of the situation and became alarmed. Rizzio was terrified and cringed behind Mary in the window embrasure, clinging to the folds in her skirt. Mary’s attendants sprang forward to attack Ruthven but he pulled out a pistol and gestured for them to move back. Some of the Earl of Morten’s men entered the room and overturned the table. The countess of Argyll, with quick thinking, grabbed the candelabrum so the room remained lit.” Before we knew it Rizzio was dead…....

The place he died in the Palace is marked, as in the photo, the lore says that, although the floorboards have been replaced, Rizzio's blood reappeared on them, as seen in the photo.

[shallowseeker]

Today, am a little obsessed with the concept of Cas + cars

The "pimpmobile" as the mark of immaturity & unsettled identity:

Ah, yes. THE Lincoln V. Very "Tom Selleck." (Magnum PI)

When he steals the Continental "pimpmobile," Cas is symbolically the young buck who hasn't settled down. Indeed, in seasons 9 & 10, Cas is wandering the world in search of penance, inevitably finding himself drawn into another guerilla-angel war. (The new flock with Hannah has all the markings of modern warfare, from the tracking to the maps on the wall. They're just trying to get home, but it's still war.)

In groups, Cas does not drive the car. (Driving is still pretty boring thing to him, and he misses his wings.) So, then, the Continental isn't perfect fit...he just likes it. It's a "searching" car. Cas is trying to find his preferred path.

1978 Lincoln Continental Mark V. (Image by Mikael.)

///

But perhaps Cas grows into the retro meaning of the Continental

The 1978 Lincoln Continental V was modeled after the Thunderbird and sold as a luxury item. Popular in its own right, colors like the one Cas drove were referred to as "understated like a diamond solitaire." It's aimed at the idea that "'real' men command quiet power and don't need to throw it around for show."

(Images by Mikael.)

When Cas is with Hannah, he starts embodying the retro meaning of the car: "Good guy you got there," says the trucker after seeing him interact with her child. Slowly, throughout season 10, the idea of Cas + parenthood is being planted and watered.

At this junction, Cas makes a bold switch to try to appear more human than angel, and among this is doing penance to Claire Novak. Cas learns that being a father fills him with...something. It's a feeling that appeals to him and gives his life a new kind of meaning. He's starting to create a life-framework he prefers.

Yes, the Continental is a "searching" kind of car. Cas drives it primarily when he's without his own grace. (Who ARE you now? Who are you, without "all the bells and whistles?")

When Metatron steals the Continental, thus begins his own dark night of the soul, and we see him struggling with soul-searching up until season 11. Indeed, Metatron has also lost his grace, and he loses his faith in everything, from his father to the very idea of the novel and stories.

When Cas gets the car back, something has changed in him, and it no longer fits. He's got his own grace back, for starters. He also starts staying in the bunker more permanently, the choosing of the human struggle over heaven's war. He's feeling out his human family and finding where he wants to fit within it. ///

The brown truck as mark of family!protectorhood

And post-Continental, it turns out Cas is toootally a truck guy. A few things about trucks:

they sit higher on the road, so the driving experience is totally different than a sedan, or even a muscle car

in terms of handling, you can generally be much rougher with them

that is, they're less responsive to steering, so you can grip and turn considerably less delicately, which might be really nice for someone like Cas

they're less responsive to braking inputs due to their suspension and weight, so if Cas is a lead-foot, this would also be very nice for him

they can carry heavier loads than cars and for greater distances

they're also very reliable and they're less likely to break down

when they do break down, they're easier to work on

Cas's 1987 Ford F-Series from season 12

In season 12, when Cas steals the workerman's truck, he takes on family protector more overtly (or the "father" role, as Cas conceptualizes it in season 15's Gimme Shelter). The protector!truck is a SPN mode reflected all the way from John's truckzilla to the tan Ford truck (same model, nearly same year) that Dean drives when he's "dad" to Lisa & Ben's family unit. Though perhaps unlike Dean, Cas thrives in this role. It's comfortable to him.

From SPN 1x21, John's black 1981 GMC Sierra Grande truckzilla, and from SPN 6x21, Dean's tan 1988 Ford F250. Far right is the The Ford of the kind man who offered him water and a sandwich after The Great Fall in SPN 9x01.

The tan truck is a positive sign of a healthy father!protector, whereas John's truck represents a crumbling of strength and brokenness, with only the outward signs of being a stable father. The tan truck also has a positive motif of kindness, since it bears a striking resemblance to the truck of the guy who showed Cas compassion when he fell (offering him food and drink).

Cas's taking of this vehicle as he rushes to rescue a kidnapped Sam represents a resolution to offer support as a father figure to Sam, post-Dean's "death." Certainly, Cas is Sam's friend; it's not as simple as Cas being solely his angelic protector figure. But there is an element of "parental" support in how he interacts with Sam, especially in later seasons (Gadreel + grace extraction, loss of the AU hunters + subsequent mentorship).

///

Stealing the vehicles, though!

Nevertheless, there's something a little dark in Cas stealing the vehicles, subtly reflecting the horror of the taking of Jimmy's vessel in season 4.

However, since his body was restored to Cas directly a la "organ donation" from God, this late-seasons vehicle choice can also reflect a choosing of roles and identity.

Of note, in his later vehicles, Cas usually drives them, even in groups. They are more fully his.

///

The tan truck + Jack n' Kelly

But oh, back to the tan Ford truck. This little farm truck is cute. It is probably in this truck that Cas first listens to the mixtape.

Cas continues his parenthood journey in it when he spirits Kelly n' Jack away. When Cas is agonizing over whether or not to kill Kelly, his little tan truck breaks down. It reflects his uncertainty to take on this new mantle of mature fatherhood, almost like Jack is pausing the narrative as he considers if Cas will be a good choice of Father. And after this, in the hotel room, Jack indeed chooses Cas.

In doing so, Jack's also choosing the Winchester human family of which Cas is a part. We see this when Jack literally steals Baby, and Kelly waxes poetic about how Cas has been chosen as she drives it. (And Baby does NOT break down. She complies, like she's agreeing that Jack should be born and Cas is indeed the Father.)

(Images WinchesterFamilyBusiness)

Alas, it ends in tragedy. There's something so achingly sad when we see the abandoned truck in front of this dilapidated lakehouse in the valley. It's a desolate image next to the dusty, dull impala. And unlike with the Continental, which represented a Cas trying to fill a graceless, human role by reflecting Dean, the truck showcases a more integrated Cas with new familial role: spouse. Which is why the widower arc feels like that.

Visually, Cas (the truck) and the house (the family unit) are dead. The war has killed them and left only an orphaned child in its wake. And Dean and Sam are in the valley. (Indeed, when Cas returns, in the script, he's described as long-lost father, returning home from War.)

(Lakehouses have so much spooky symbolism with regards to the interconnectivity of space and time, but that's another tale for another day.)

///

The Dodge SRT-10, AKA The Family Truck: renewed faith + fatherhood + retaking of Angelicity

Ah, the Dodge.

So, I love that Cas has this truck in particular. This truck is legendary, kinda controversial and it's just SO ridiculously overpowered and goes SO fast for a truck, hahaha. It's definitely a family support vehicle.

Originally, it is ALSO the vehicle, throughout multiple versions of the script, that was supposed to have the broken tapedeck. (Which means, since it's a 2000s-era truck, that someone probably had to put in a CD-tape combo. Ahem. Anyway, I prefer these original scripts, because this broken tapedeck mirrors Cas's empty deal wonderfully.)

So, the Dodge. With 500 horsepower and 525 lb-ft of torque, it is the fastest truck available, doing 0-60 in a reported 5.2 seconds. It's just so overkill for a quad family truck. ("Nobody else was making a four-door truck with 510 horsepower, so the Dodge people took it upon themselves to fill the void.")

This looks like a shopped-for truck. You're not just gonna happen across a truck like this. "Less than 10,000 of these were ever produced and with a fire breathing V10 under the hood, they were quite possibly one of the coolest trucks ever made." So, we can guess that yes, Cas does appear to genuinely like trucks, and he definitely seems to have chosen this sledgehammer of a vehicle.

The Dodge Ram 1500 SRT-10 pickup truck (specifically for work/hunting and family support). It's a stupid lot of power stuffed into a truck, like how Cas is an angel is stuffed into a human.

Also, this hints that Cas likes rapid acceleration and driving fast. This makes sense to me, as he complained about the Impala being slow, and he told Hannah in season 10 that he would take the curves FASTER "to help her nausea." (Oh, Cas...)

For the later seasons, this truck is visually very "Cas," and in scenes and drafts, he's exclusively the one driving it, and he's usually driving it when other family members are feeling vulnerable; ergo, support. (See original draft versions of The Spear.) Like the specter of the double diamonds in 15x09, The Trap, Cas is utilitarian and pragmatic, a divergent-convergent thinker.

In season 14, Cas also drives:

The blue Ford Fiesta

But I'm 99% confident this is Sam's car

Because vintage SPN underlines that blue, nondescript cars are actually Sam's preferred car make and look

It's fuel efficient, so Cas takes it to the shaman

Also, Cas's acting on behalf of Sam's wishes when he goes to see Sergei

Ford LTD Crown Victoria (the bird poop car)

Presumably, he drives the bird poop car in Peace of Mind to be a little more incognito than the big, imposing truck

It also reflects Sam's low state of mind

Sam drives it in Moriah, too, a direct parallel to Sam versus Chuck and Sam versus Mayor Harrington from Charming Acres

The super sexy 1968 Mercury M100

Another truck Cas drives in late season 15 with Jack is this open-bed teal classic. The incredibly collectible 1968 Mercury M100.

And this M100 is delicious.

It's also, like the SRT-10, highly sought after and not a truck you're going to just happen across. It's another shopped-for truck. (I find it unlikely that it was one of the classics sitting in the MoL bunker, since they were slaughtered by Abaddon in 1958 and this one's make is 1968.)

So, either Cas has gotten into rare trucks (a real possibility since this one is even more challenging to drive), or Dean shopped this one with him, too. It's probably a mix of both, considering that in 13x22's Exodus script, Cas is shown helping with basic mechanics and repair. It's very possible that Cas has developed an interest alongside his newfound interest in human language and metaphors.

ANYWAY, these M100's are as classy as fuck and are actually workhorse trucks, too.

It's got a legendary straight six engine, and again, there weren't many of these vehicles built or sold. (Straight six is a trusty little pump of power, especially for the time. It's also easier to work on than most; would be great for someone who's only so-so at maintenance.)

This truck, unless it's been upgraded, is a little bit hard to handle, too. It takes a firm grip and a heavy foot, because it's a manual through and through. Manual gear shifting and no power steering. It's a two-hander just to go around curves.

In terms of its style, it's a little more laidback than the Dodge, which is probably why Cas is taking it on the murder investigation (i.e. not hunting). It's got an open bed, which means it's probably a little more fun for Jack, too. (Indeed we see Jack enjoying sitting in the truck bed. The green/teal is a symbol of renewal & growth, visually keying into Jack's return and the slow healing of the family unit.)

CASTIEL: My name is, um well, my name's not important. I do know what blind faith is. I used to just follow orders without question, and I did some pretty terrible things. I would never look beyond the plan. And then, of course, when it all came crashing down, I found myself lost. I didn't know what my purpose was anymore. And then one day, something changed, something amazing. I... I guess I found a family, and I became a father. And in that, I rediscovered my faith. I rediscovered who I am.

This is Castiel's preferred answer to season 15's question of nihilism.

This is what Castiel has chosen, and his later-seasons vehicles reflect this desire and this chosen identity. He even walks away from it in 15x06 to meditate on his path, and when he steps away, he sees Chuck for what he is. He chooses to come back specifically to fight Chuck's machinations and protect his family from them. To help them find their way post-existential crises, the way they helped him find his way re:Heaven. For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish...till death do us part.

//

Some other Cas + cars fun stuff

The broken tapedeck in the script

The Fiesta is totally Sam's car